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Following the US election on Nov 8, 2016, we asked Dowsers contributors to discuss the moods and music the results inspired. We collected their responses in a series, After the Election.In August, my sister gave birth to a little girl, a long, strange creature with wispy flames for hair and curiously loose skin. Like all babies, she was just a lump to begin with: a lump that stole my sisters sleep, ravaged her boobs, and generally caused rockslide levels of chaos all around her. She had no discernible personality, no idiosyncratic facial expressions, no likes or dislikes. She just was. Then, thanks to said boobs and my sisters superior ability to hold her shit together in the face of extreme sleep deprivation, she began to grow. Her eyelashes shot out of her face and, out of nowhere, she became sumo-wrestler fat. She grew multiple chins, each more beautiful than the last, and her hair—while still carrot-hued—began to form itself into an old-man-mullet: full at the back, scarce at the front. As the weeks passed, she began to make noises, to smile, and then—oy, my heart—to laugh. To be delighted by dancing and singing. To communicate with us doting, cooing idiots. To begin interacting with the world around her.My sister took the little fatty with her when she voted for Hillary. She posted a picture online, of her chubby beloved strapped to her chest, her head cosseted in a winter hat with an “I voted” sticker. “One of us lost a shoe in the melee but it was totally worth it. Job done. Cant wait to tell her she was there the day history was made. #formydaughter #forhumanity #imwithher.”For my daughter. For humanity.Because thats what a Hillary win symbolized: a future that befits humanity; a future where my niece can grow up unencumbered by the idea that she is somehow “less than”; a future where ability, skill, and moxie characterize your path to success; a future where old white men are forced to make space for everyone else; a future where we keep each other safe. We voted for hope.When I started putting together this playlist, I asked the members of Pantsuit Nation, the rogue feminist Facebook group Hillary mentioned in her concession speech, for the music that was getting them through the days since November 8. 5,000 responses later, Im still reading the recommendations. From Ani DiFranco to Janet Jackson, from David Bowie to Beyoncé, from Kimya Dawson to Leslie Gore: thousands of people championing anthems of hope, of strength, of power.Thousands of declarations of self, refusals to normalize hate, calls to action. Thousands of hands that will lift one another up, and thousands of hearts wholl keep all daughters safe.The music speaks for itself. For her.

About a decade ago, cumbia experienced a “ñu” makeover. The traditional genre that was once the soundtrack to Latin America’s ghettos bridged the gap between the old and the new, the poor and the rich. Refashioning themselves as ñu-cumbia, a fresh generation of cumbia-thriving musicians and producers replenished this once-marginalized genre by injecting it with an array of riveting sounds, from reggae to EDM to jazz and even balkan. Uruguay’s Campo, who adds tango’s sophistication to the breezy “La Marcha Tropical,” introduces his beats to sound system block parties and South American resorts alike; Bomba Estéreo, the feisty Colombian duo known for igniting global dance floors, inspired Will Smith to start rapping again after a ten-year hiatus in the EDM-tropical “Fiesta (Remix)”; and ZZK Records, Buenos Aires’ pioneering digital cumbia label home to Nicolá Cruz, La Yegros and Fauna, keeps spotlighting this Latin American music explosion, now in an upcoming documentary series. While some setlist-featured musicians maintain the cumbia rhythm in its original güiro and accordion-driven format, others let experimentation lead the way. These are the new sounds of the old forbidden rhythm.

Although they’re often disregarded as a legitimate art form, video games have reached an astounding level of sophistication over the past few decades. We’ve come a long way since the days of simple arcade shooting simulators and digital table tennis. Video games have become one of the defining mediums of our time, offering deep interactive experiences and aesthetic invention not found in other formats.Music has always played a central role in video games, serving as both the sonic architecture upon which worlds are built and the emotional anchor players can connect to, as they explore new environments full of pixelated, inhuman shapes. Video game music is a unique art, beholden to the practical requirement of creating an endlessly looping soundtrack, while also tasked with building themes that slip into the mind subconsciously, returning and restating themselves with all the cohesiveness of a Sondheim musical. It’s background music created for a world completely unlike our own, and that’s why much of it sounds so out of place when heard outside of the game.Some truly remarkable music has emerged from the pantheon of video game producers, peculiar and moving pieces from the likes of Nobuo Uematsu, David Wise, Koji Kondo, Yasunori Mitsuda, Grant Kirkhope, Gustavo Santaolalla, and Disasterpeace to name but a few. This playlist highlights some of the finest moments in the genre, where the composer reaches past the lens of nostalgia and into territory that connects emotionally—even if you’ve never picked up a controller.

Pop songs with party sounds in them constitute a genre of their own, one that we’ll call party-sounds pop. I mean this literally, as these songs contain the actual sounds of celebration (laughter, genial greetings and affirmations, clinking bottles and glasses, general carousing) and loosely, because songs with party sounds in them are almost always party songs. They are songs about partying, with the sounds of partying in them, meant to incite partying or augment partying already in progress. How meta!The majority of these songs sound like they were recorded in a studio packed with people engaged in actual partying; imagining these scenes of debauchery is part of the fun in hearing these songs. Others sound like they were edited to include field recordings or found sounds, sometimes in experimental ways, like Dean Martins "(Open Up the Door and) Let the Good Times In," The Beach Boys "Wonderful," and Van Morrisons "Virgo Clowns." Live songs with audience noise in them were not considered, unless the audience sounds more like a party than a concert crowd (see: "Let Me Clear My Throat" by DJ Kool, "Mercy Mercy Mercy" by Cannonball Adderley, "Voodoo Chile" by Hendrix). Some, despite the mirth, are melancholy ("Tracks of My Tears" by the Pharoahs, "Undone - The Sweater Song" by Weezer, "Good Times" by Eric Burdon & the Animals, a song that presages Modest Mouses "The Good Times Are Killing Me" by 37 years).Regardless of the particulars, the ultimate effect of putting party sounds in a pop song is a sense of living, breathing atmosphere. It creates narrative and adds context, putting you right there in the song, sharing a high point of someones life. Also, hearing party sounds is infectious. Run this playlist to a room of people on the brink of a good time and youre all but guaranteed to tip the proceedings into full-blown throwdown.

In the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, the historic British town of Canterbury became the breeding ground for an idiosyncratic music scene that could have been called a movement if its avatars weren’t quite so unassuming in their demeanor. The Canterbury scene grew up around Soft Machine, which started out blending post-psychedelic weirdness with jazz influences before shifting into straight-up jazz-rock fusion in the ‘70s. Early Soft Machine and the bands that became part of their family tree (Caravan, Hatfield & The North, Egg, etc.) shared a quirky, very British sense of humor and a knack for blending jazzy jams into an offbeat but breezy brand of prog rock that boasted a much lighter touch than that of King Crimson, ELP, et al.

“I saw her standin on her front lawn just twirlin her baton / Me and her went for a ride, sir, and ten innocent people died.” — Bruce Springsteen, “Nebraska”Throughout the history of popular music, singers and songwriters have been drawn to the macabre, taking the song form as an opportunity to reflect on the vanquished and their assailants. Some describe it with sobering detail, as Snoop Dogg did when envisioning his own murder in “Murder Was The Case” (“Pumping on my chest and I’m screaming/ I stop breathing, damn, I see demons”). Others reflect on death with despair, such as Tom Waits (“Why wasn’t God watching?/ Why wasn’t God listening?/ Why wasn’t God there/ For Georgia Lee?”). Some approach it coldly, as a mere narrative like any other, while some give it a satirical dimension. One of the all-time best meditations on murder and its consequences is Tupac’s “Hit ‘Em Up,” which turns his failed assassination into an epic tome on urban warfare (“Grab your glocks when you see Tupac Call the cops when you see Tupac, oh/ Who shot me, but you punks didn’t finish/ Now you ‘bout to feel the wrath of a menace”). These collected tracks, whose topics range from mass murders to harrowing crimes of passion, contain some of the more chilling stories committed to record. -- Adam Rothbarth

Bayside’s Vacancy is an album steeped in the tradition of a very specific iteration of New York-bred punk rock. With a name nicked from a train station in the nether reaches of Queens, the group shares far more in common with other bands that have emerged from the city’s outer boroughs, family-oriented neighborhoods, and even the suburban sprawl of Long Island than they do the hipster transplants infesting Williamsburg and Manhattan’s Lower East Side. The number of top-tier musicians who call these, the uncool parts of the greater New York metropolis, home is really rather bonkers. After all, where would New York punk and hardcore be without the likes of the Ramones, Sick of It All, Murphy’s Law, and Brand New?

Even if you dont take part in Christmas (whether its because of religious reasons, a disdain for the hyper-commercialized culture surrounding it, or youre just a miserable bastard), you can at least appreciate the fact that, if you only for a day, the world seems to slow down just a little. The streets are emptier, social-media notifications seem more infrequent, and the possibility of receiving work-related emails after-hours momentarily diminishes. And hey, in an age where our smartphones have all but genetically fused with our fingers, thats something even this Jew can all celebrate.In that spirit, weve put together a playlist of songs that may be (directly or tangentially) about Christmas, but theyre nobodys idea of a traditional Christmas song. Sure, some of them actually chronicle the birth of a certain future messiah, but in Big Stars "Jesus Christ," Alex Chilton announces his arrival with all the matter-of-fact nonchalance of a newspaper birth notice, while Lou Barlows beautifully blasphemous "Mary" posits that the whole immaculate-conception deal was concocted by JCs mom to disguise the fact she was knocked up by the man next door. (Neil Young goes one further by suggesting, "Maybe the star of Bethlehem/ Wasnt a star at all.")Other songs here delve into the dark side of the season, be it portraits of drug addicts with no capacity for holiday cheer (The Falls "No Xmas for John Quays"), or cautionary tales about beaten-up department-store Santas (The Kinks "Father Christmas). Or there are songs where Christmas is merely invoked as the fantastical backdrop to animal-liberation missions (The Flaming Lips "Christmas at the Zoo") or as an ironic counterpoint to scenes of everyday urban malaise (Run the Jewels "A Christmas Fucking Miracle"). And then are the abstract instrumentals (Mogwais "Xmas Steps" and Aphex Twins "XMAS_EVET10[120][thanaton3mix]) whose Christmas connection may not amount to anything more than a randomly applied song title, but nonetheless carry a palpable wintry chill.So if youre the sort of person who wouldnt be caught dead in a Santa hat, or you have a burning desire to tell the carollers outside to fa-la-la-la-fuck-off, heres a Christmas playlist for atheists and assholes alike.

Hip-hop brought black America at its most unfiltered into the mainstream like never before. And rappers have been pushing the envelope for sexual content dating back to even the genres earliest pop crossover moments. (Recall the "Rappers Delight" verse about "super sperm.") But it took some time for hip-hop to get really dirty. In the late 80s and early 90s, it was often gangsta rap pioneers like Ice-T and N.W.A. that set the bar for explicit sex talk, but it felt almost like a side effect of their penchant for breaking other taboos.Miamis 2 Live Crew became one of hip-hops first major acts to center their image on sex, and, in the process, upset the same censorship advocates that had been so focused on Prince a few years earlier, becoming unlikely champions of free speech. Throughout the early 90s, gangsta-rap albums continued to be peppered with odes to orgies and oral sex, and even relatively clean-cut acts like MC Hammer made ass-shaking anthems like "Pumps And A Bump." LL Cool J evolved from hip-hop love-song pioneer to the sex god of "Doin It." Sir Mix-A-Lots "Baby Got Back" became a pop phenomenon in part because of his cleverly cartoonish approach to sex, but, as his career continued, he got even more anatomical with songs like "Put Em On the Glass."In the mid-90s, the burgeoning hip-hop underground allowed more leeway for kinky lyrics that didnt even try to get past radio censors. Akinyele of "Put It In Your Mouth" fame dedicated his career to obscenity. Kool Keiths Dr. Octagon project became an indie-rap touchstone with a playfully absurd cocktail of sci-fi themes and sex raps. And R.A. The Rugged Mans 1994 debut album contained such perversely nasty lyrics that even the presence of rising mainstream star Notorious B.I.G. on "Cunt Renaissance" couldnt keep it from being shelved for several years.Early sex-positive female rap stars like Salt-N-Pepa gave way to X-rated pinups like Lil Kim and Foxy Brown, and in the early 2000s, Khia and Trina. By the 2010s, nearly every female rapper of note is as comfortable and unapologetic in rapping about ass and pussy as their male contemporaries, from superstars like Nicki Minaj to underground upstars like cupcakKe. Meanwhile, the rise of the Internet has reduced radios role as a gatekeeper, giving tracks like "Fuckin Problems" and "UP! (Beat the Pussy Up)" more room to thrive on the pop charts without being cleaned up for broadcast.

Following the US election on Nov 8, 2016, we asked Dowsers contributors to discuss the moods and music the results inspired. We collected their responses in a series, After the Election.In the early ‘80s, just as I was starting high school, starting to think for myself for the first time, and developing semi-informed opinions about the world around me, that world took a turn toward the troubling. With Maggie Thatcher in power in England and Ronald Reagan assuming the U.S. presidency, the Western world suddenly made a treacherous shift toward the right, and the neocon movement was on the rise.Fortunately for me, right around the same time, I discovered the joys of college radio, opening up the burgeoning world of post-punk and new wave to my eager, impressionable ears. As luck would have it, a number of artists from that realm in both the U.K. and U.S. were turning out tunes that expressed their frustration at the state of things. Naturally, punk was perfect for crafting urgent, aural agitprop fueled by righteous anger, and the likes of Black Flag, The Clash, The Dead Kennedys, and The Bad Brains were right on the money in that regard. But from the politically conscious synth funk of Heaven 17’s “(We Don’t Need This) Fascist Groove Thang” to The Specials’ spooky reggae noir portrait of Thatcher’s England on “Ghost Town,” there were plenty of ways to turn sociopolitical angst into affecting music that could both inform and inspire.That remained true throughout the ‘80s, and history shows that the evil these songs decried was eventually unseated. Three decades later, both sides of the big pond are beset by even darker political demons, and music remains a natural place to turn for solace and motivation. Soon, we will undoubtedly see a whole new crop of songs that speak to this disturbing moment in our history, but in the meantime, the ones that worked for us back in the ‘80s can still do the trick. Some of them are directed specifically to Thatcher and/or Reagan, but their targets are nevertheless timeless, and others provide just the kind of sympathetic sigh or rallying cry we need right now.