Despite parting ways with his long-time collaborator Josh Young (a.k.a. YehMe2) in 2016, Flosstradamus Curt Cameruci continues to rally the HDYNATION—a.k.a. Hoodie Nation—as a one-man festival-rockin machine. For this playlist he created specially for The Dowsers, the Chicago trap-master selects the tracks that best reflect the Floss philosophy. "The overall theme is HDYNATION and its roots. I tried to incorporate some early Floss influences—90s Chicago rappers, drill music, NY hip hop from 411 skate videos, and even a punk track!"—Curt Cameruci, a.k.a. Flosstradamus
The electropop of Australian producer/DJ Flume certainly moves—the tracks on his latest album are full of dizzying drops, deep, tough rhythms, and gorgeous, sky-climbing pop hooks—but there’s a sludgy textural element that adds weight and helps him stand apart from the pack of superstar DJs. His latest album, 2016’s Skin, is a perfect piece of post-everything pop maximalism, and his hand-curated Spotify playlist serves as a virtual index to his influences. Jeremih bumps up against MF DOOM, while Boyz Noize share airtime with Sigur Rós. The assortment would make no sense unless you’re familiar with Flume, but, for the initiated, it’s damn near perfect.
All-star charity singles have a bad reputation that is entirely earned, but Lin-Manuel Mirandas “Almost Like Praying” (proceeds from which will benefit victims of Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico) is unexpectedly fire. The Hamilton playwright and Moana composer brought together everyone from Jennifer Lopez to Dominican icon Juan Luis Guerra for the impassioned, dembow-driven love song to Puerto Rico—and it bangs.Also worth a listen is “For Puerto Rico/Por Puerto Rico,” the Spotify playlist Miranda curated to tease the single, featuring all the artists involved. Spotify will make a donation based on the number of followers the playlist racks up, so its worth the click. As an added incentive, the songwriter has pledged that, if the playlist hits 50,000 followers, he will share an old photo of himself, dressed as Jennifer Lopez. (At the time of this writing, the count was over 70,000, but we’re still waiting for the big reveal.)Though the playlist comprises a mosaic of styles, its a smooth listen. Underground rapper Dessa and L.A. producer Trooko, both of whom also contributed to The Hamilton Mixtape, seem to fit right in next to Rubén Blades. And the transitions are softened by loads of Latin pop. The selections here might be a product of who answered the “Almost Like Praying” call, but the assortment of rap, pop, Afro-Latino rhythms and, yes, show tunes could also be seen as a reflection of Miranda himself: an American composer of (mostly) Puerto Rican descent, and a self-confessed fan of both hip-hop and Disney musicals.Either way, what comes together on the playlist is a soulful portrait of the Spanish-speaking Caribbean and its diaspora in the U.S. at this moment. If theres a commentary to be inferred, its that Puerto Rico is part of the U.S. in more than just name—its culture is woven into the very fabric of the United States, and were all connected to it.
There’s no pain exactly like losing a musician you love. Partaking in good art can’t help but feel like a communion between oneself and the work’s author, so even if we never get the chance to meet our favorite creators in real life, the loss of one feels deeply personal. Not to mention the collected weight of all those songs that will never be written, and concerts never performed. Add to this the complicated nature of mourning a public figure — whose private life and struggles are often known only to their family and friends — and, well, it’s just brutal.That’s why posthumous songs, while so often a source of strife between labels and artists’ estates, can be so soothing to us fans. They give us a chance to remember the musicians as they were (consider Sublime’s “What I Got”) or as they might be right now (Avicii’s “Heaven”). They let us feel grateful for what we had (Bob Marley’s “Give Thanks & Praises”) or pissed off over what we lost (Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart”). Sometimes they play like a final missive from beyond (John Lennon’s “Woman”). Often they’re prophetic (Tupac’s “To Live and Die in L.A.”). And occasionally they’re just big, beatific shrugs (Mac Miller on “That’s Life”).Some of these songs were released within days of the artist’s passing, and most came within a year. But all of them feel imbued with some extra meaning, from the sad irony of the opener, Hank Williams’ “I Ain’t Got Nothin’ but Time,” to the hard-fought optimism of the closer, Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come.” Music heals, so grab a tissue box and hit play.
In honor of Kanyes birthday (June 8th), were pulling out this classic playlist from Andrew Noz that looks at the influences behind Kanyes abrasive and divisive 2013 album, Yeezus. The playlist could be read as an alternative history of modern music, with nods to classic acid house, soul, industrial, trap, Chicago drill, club-friendly hip-hop and everything in between. If nothing else, it reveals Kanyes omnivorous tastes, and provides a testament to the Chicago producers ability to coalesce all these seemingly disparate sounds into a cohesive (if still jarring) whole. You can count me among those who feel that Yeezus was his high-water mark, and this playlist does an amazing job at showing why.
Footwork is a little maddening, but its also brilliant. Its deeply experimental. The percussive elements are very tightly clipped and the songs are repetitious to the point of being disorienting-- its one of the musics key characteristics, and gives the music a polyrhythmic sway. And the songs mutate; they were created to be mixed and distorted by DJs, which means that they were more or less created to be defaced. Its also littered with random and current pop cultural references, making it a sort of barometer for social relevancy - a role that hip-hop used to fill. Its also deeply funky. There are a lot of great playlist out there that over this, and Teklife recently announced that they were going to become a record label. Wills Glasspiegel does a nice job here at introducing the genre.
There’s something uniquely satisfying and majestically meta about a hard rock classic whose core subject is the transformative power of rocking out. An unbeatable demonstration of Foreigner’s brand of no-apologies and no-holds-barred AOR, “Juke Box Hero” demonstrates that fact with all the cocksure swagger you could possibly demand.Over a stark, almost metronomic beat and a burbling, ominous synthesizer, frontman Lou Gramm devotes the first verse to a cinematic vignette about a downcast dude who “couldn’t get a ticket” to “the sold-out show” and now finds himself stuck in the rain. Nonetheless he gets all he needs by putting his ear to the wall and hearing the one guitar that “just blew him away.” As the tension rises through the second verse, he arms himself with the proverbial “beat-up six-string” and gets down to business. And you can tell how good all that rocking makes him feel because the song makes damn sure you feel it, too, especially when a series of windmill-ready riffs leads into a chorus that seems scientifically engineered to elicit fist-pumping, hard-strutting and anything else you need to do to cope with the surge of testosterone in your bloodstream. Formed in 1976 in New York by former Spooky Tooth and Leslie West Band sideman Mick Jones and King Crimson co-founder Ian McDonald with a cluster of burly Americans like Gramm, Foreigner undoubtedly knew they were never going to be cool. After all, they emerged as unrepentantly old-school rockers at a time when disco still ruled the airwaves and the critical establishment was far more interested in punk and new wave. There was little respect afforded to any band doing – as Jones later admitted – “the exact opposite.” Of course, that hardly meant there wasn’t an audience for their sound, which – thanks to the match of Gramm’s muscular vocal style and Jones’ flair for crunchy riffs and sticky hooks – was a big cut above most of the AOR that would become predominant on American radio through the ‘80s. On early hits like “Feels Like the First Time” and “Hot Blooded,” Foreigner managed to be beefy without being bombastic and dramatic without being overblown. They’d fine-tune the formula even further while somehow doubling its force when they joined forces with the era’s two most innovative rock producers: Roy Thomas Baker (Queen, Cars) for 1979’s Head Games and then Robert John “Mutt” Lange (AC/DC, Def Leppard) for 4.Alas, in the wake of the success of the globe-conquering but hardly strut-worthy power ballad “I Want to Know What Love Is,” the alliance between Gramm and Jones splintered. Though they would periodically re-team over the ensuing decades as Jones worked hard to maintain Foreigner’s health as a reliably rockin’ staple of the amphitheatre, county-fair and casino circuits, neither man would reach the heights they did in Foreigner’s ‘80s golden age. That said, Gramm did unleash one final iconic burst of AOR glory in 1987’s “Midnight Blue,” a pretty much perfect solo hit that may be the mightiest ever example of jukebox heroism. With all that in mind, we present this celebration of the Foreigner Strut, full of all the hits and deep cuts that you need for the ‘80s-movie training montage that may already be running in your mind.
Summing up the career of Beck Hansen is like trying to cram the entire history of music into a cookie jar. He’s a rock ‘n’ roll Renaissance man, a left-field weirdo turned superstar, a maestro of pop who’s color-blind when it comes to genre, and possibly the whitest musician ever who can still drop bars like he was born to rhyme. Beck’s path has been one long, twisting rabbit hole of sharp turns and aesthetic reinventions. And he’s amassed one of the most unique and utterly fun canons in recent pop history, one that breaks down the barriers between countless styles and scenes for the sake of reveling in the endless possibilities of music.As we sit on the eve of Beck’s 10 studio album Colors, we took the opportunity to revisit his many alternate personas, and examine the ways in which his various sonic detours seem to both contradict and complement one another simultaneously. Whether it’s in the hip-hop zaniness of Odelay, the wounded folk ballads of Sea Change, the tricked-out funk of Midnite Vultures, or the charged-up alt-rock of Guero, Beck always seems to find a way to fit his many musical whims into the same playful, surreal universe, pulling off each experiment with the visionary confidence of a pro. It’s anyone’s guess as to which direction he’ll choose next, but for now, join us as we unmask the Four Faces of Beck.
It’s no accident that Beck’s rise to fame coincided with a cultural moment for freakdom; the ‘90s alternative boom made the perfect breeding ground for his slacker-friendly version of rock, and Beck did his homework on how to sound like a total dropout. Early winners like “Devils Haircut” and “Lord Only Knows” illustrated Beck’s uncanny ability to make classic country, boom-bap, and power pop feel like slightly different versions of the same thing, all fueled by a giddy and inextinguishable energy. His later forays into rock, such as the stomping “E-Pro” or his work on the Scott Pilgrim vs. The World soundtrack, turned the fuzz up even more, embodying a platonic ideal of distortion-heavy garage rock that felt both low-key and larger-than-life at the same time.
Beck embodies white-boy rap at its most purely goofy, wearing his awkwardness like a superhero cape and casually dropping insane lines like “Mr. Microphone making all the damage felt/ Like a laser manifesto make a mannequin melt.” Though his earliest slam-dunks like “Loser” and “Where It’s At” prided themselves on their crate-digging underdog charm, Beck’s take on rap continued to evolve along with his sound. The party-starting recklessness of tracks like “Novacane” has gradually morphed into a sophisticated, stream-of-consciousness flow, heard best on paranoid songs like “Cellphone’s Dead” and “1000BPM.” That Beck is still able to integrate his peculiar raps into albums that predominantly operate in folk or rock zones is a testament to how natural an MC he truly is.
The most traditional of all his incarnations, Folk Beck often signals a turn towards the melancholy from everyone’s favorite loser. Between aching songs like “End Of The Day,” “Ramshackle,” and “Nobody’s Fault But My Own,” Beck’s acoustic guitar numbers often capture him at his most solitary and introverted—and deep in the process of developing a surprisingly universal language of song compared to his usual grab-bag mashups. But Beck’s folk side isn’t all doom and gloom; psychedelic pieces like “Jack-Ass” and “Dead Melodies” are as wide-eyed as his most joyous work, and on primitive early cuts like “Asshole” and “He’s A Mighty Good Leader,” his music takes on an almost punk quality, ringing with out-of-key notes and slack-jawed apathy. As with Beck’s other manifestations, one gets the sense that even if Beck had pursued an entire career in folk music, it would have been just as rich and surprising as the Beck we ended up with.
At the end of the day, Beck is a popsmith through and through, willing to use any means necessary to get a musical idea across and start moving some bodies. As time has gone on and Beck albums have begun to surface less frequently, he’s turned to the singles format to release some of his most upbeat and summery songs, such as the electro-clash sing-along “Timebomb,” or the bass-rattling silliness of “Wow.” But Beck’s knack for snappy rhythms and disco-ready beats is rarely as explicit as it is on his 1999 funk fantasy Midnite Vultures. Veering between banjo-laden soul hootenannies like “Sexx Laws,” slinky techno ravers like “Get Real Paid,” and slow-grinding anthems like “Debra,” it’s the musical equivalent of a dive off the mansion balcony into a pool filled with Kool-Aid, as relentlessly tasteless as it is incredible. And as with all Beck, it’s exactly in those kinds of clashes where the fun really starts.
Its hard to believe that the Disney-loving, noodle-haired teen hanging from Britney Spears arm in the 90s would not only become one of pops biggest stars, but also a bona-fide, critically lauded hit-making powerhouse. Sure, lending his sky-scraping pipes to *NSYNC——one of the decades more successful forays into boyband-hood——guaranteed him a degree of visibility, respect, and fandom. But who could have predicted this unthreatening symbol of wholesome tween-pop would mastermind a career typified by unabashed sexuality, genre-bending sounds, and boundary-breaking hits?And with the release of his fifth album, Man of the Woods, on the horizon, Timberlake isnt taking his foot off the gas yet, with the album teaser seemingly nodding to yet another gear-change. Thanks to its slo-mo scenes of JT frolicking in nature (a field, some mountains, the snow!), many scathingly assumed he, like Miley Cyrus and Lady Gaga before him, planned to cast off the pronounced black-music influences that helped make his name and “rebrand as a white man.” And yet, in spite of the Gap ad-ness of the marketing campaign, one listen to singles “Filthy” and “Supplies” reveals all you need to know about this record: His signature aesthetic (i.e., meticulously produced, R&B-spiked pop) remains firmly intact and, in true JT-style, any country melodies and “southern-fried guitars” in the mix are mere seasoning to his soulful pop meat.In fact, Man of the Woods appears set to expand Timberlakes sound in much the same way each of his albums has, from the minimalist heartthrob pop of 2002s Justified to the sophisticated soul of 2006s FutureSex/LoveSounds to the chameleonic futurism of 2013s The 20/20 Experience (parts one and two), each exploration heralding a new creative phase for the industry darling. Here, we break down the man and his music into his four most distinct phases, and unpack the influences behind them.
*NSYNC might have had some monster hits (“Bye Bye Bye” being one of the best pop songs to come out at the turn of the millennium), but it wasnt until JT launched his solo career that his potential for super-stardom really registered on the industrys radar. “Like I Love You” was an instant smash, a divinely low-key debut that fused effortless vocals and Usher-style dance moves with stabbing acoustic guitar, whispered sweet nothings, and stark, skittering beats. Not only was he working hard to unshackle himself from his family-friendly, boy-band reputation, but he was also laying down his statement of intent to the record-buying public. And what a statement it was. Gone were the days of five-part harmonies and his-and-hers double-denim, and in their place were revelations of dream-shattering infidelity (“Cry Me a River”), impossibly delicious falsetto, and brazen explorations of sensuality (“Rock Your Body”). In fact, Justified really did what it said on the tin, commercially vindicating Timberlakes decision to walk away from *NSYNC, and unapologetically establishing his own sound.
Justified let us all know that JT was more than just a boy-band heartthrob, his overt sexuality and incredible songwriting merely hinting at the sophistication, worldliness, and sense of humor that FutureSex/LoveSounds would unleash on an unsuspecting public. JT had resoundingly grown up, the groove-laden R&B of his debut now eclipsed by a new electro-laced sound. He began exploring a funkier direction, riffing on Princes dirty-party dynamic on the Timbaland-helmed “SexyBack,” layering hip-hop beats and futuristic synths over meticulous production and flawless vocals (“Sexy Ladies / Let Me Talk to You”). Its both a vibe that he returns to with regularity—with the mastery and control of “Suit & Tie” nodding to perennial smoothie Marvin Gaye and neo-soul titan Maxwell—and a style that has influenced the next generation of post-boy-band hopefuls, like ex-One Directionite Zayn Malik.
Hes starred in multiple films, hes besties with Jimmy Fallon, hes hosted Saturday Night Live, hes appeared onstage with Taylor Swift and Garth Brooks, hes soundtracked multiple box-office hits, hes guested on records by Michael Jackson, Timbaland, Pharrell Williams, Madonna, and JAY-Z... is there anything JT cant do? Apparently not. After firmly staking his claim as one of pops biggest stars with FutureSex/LoveSounds, JT took some time out, lending his talents to a smorgasbord of side projects. In anyone elses hands, this apparent pandering to the masses might have proven to be a disastrous move, but in true Midas-style, JT turned a career breather into a chance for more creative expansion. Most notably, he wrote one of 2016s biggest hits, the interminably happy “Cant Stop the Feeling!” from DreamWorks Trolls movie.
Justin Timberlake has never been one to shy away from pushing the boundaries. When we expected nothing but tweeny ballads, he gave us minimalist pop with Justified. When we expected sultry R&B, he gave us sophisticated synthy funk with FutureSex/LoveSounds. When we expected more of the same meticulous control, he gave us the rangy, experimental two-part album The 20/20 Experience, complete with forays into neo-soul (“Pusher Love Girl), Afrobeat (“Let the Groove Get In”), and ambient soul balladry (“Blue Ocean Floor”). And right on time, just as we begin lending weight to allusions of country influences on new album Man of the Woods, JT drops singles “Filthy” and “Supplies,” and throws our assumptions back in our faces. In fact, JT seems to be mining different hometown influences here, nodding instead to his Tennessee hip-hop homeboys Chamillionaire and 8Ball & MJG in his dirgey bass and lightning-quick vocal deliveries. But JT’s albums have always been a complex feast of varying influences, from the pop verve of Michael Jackson to the filthy funk of Prince to the haunting melancholia of David Bowie, and theres no reason why Man of the Woods should be any different.
She was a tragic character from the very beginning—Lana Del Rey was Born to Die. And yet, half a decade later, her story continues; her myth still grows. The pouty princess who once served as Hipster Runoffs lifeline has made her way to the (literal) top of Hollywood with a renewed Lust for Life. "Were the masters of our own fate," she coos with confidence on the albums title track. Its a well-worn cliché that sounds downright profound coming from a woman who has meticulously created and refined a persona that is far more than meets the black-lined eye.Lana is not the tortured seductress we first assumed her to be. No, she is a true and shrewd 21st-century star. She glorifies outdated stereotypes, while challenging outdated perspectives on sex, race, youth, beauty, power, fame, and the American dream. She then neatly fits these ideas into classic archetypal figures that come alive in noir soundscapes as silky and sumptuous as her bed sheets surely must be. Here, we break down Lana Del Rey into her four most distinct roles and unpack the influences behind them.THE FEMME FATALE
Lana got plenty of heat back in 2014 for telling The Fader, "The issue of feminism is just not an interesting concept." The fact that she opens a song with a line like "my pussy tastes like Pepsi Cola" doesnt help her cause, but shes hardly proven to be a powerless woman. In fact, Lana is arguably at her best in her most infamous role: the femme fatale. Her idea of feminism is using and abusing the power of femininity, not unlike strong sex symbols before her, from the slithery slyness of Nancy Sinatra and Brigitte Bardot to the overt eroticism of Madonna. Of course, the femme fatale can be as lethal to herself as she is to the opposite sex. When her own dangerous games of sex, drugs, and intrigue turn against her, self-awareness becomes crucial. When Lana admits that she wants "Money Power Glory" and that "prison isnt nothing to me" (on "Florida Kilos"), she takes on the gall and grit of proud bad girls Rihanna and Amy Winehouse.
Lana will break an endless amount of hearts, but will forever find true love elusive. She can lure the boys in but never quite let them go. She is the hopeless romantic, much like "Lust for Life" collaborator The Weeknd, who once said, "she is the girl in my music, and I am the guy in her music." On her big, symphonic ballads, shell sweep you up in every intimate detail with the pained quiver of Antony Hegarty, the vivid imagery of Leonard Cohen (whose "Chelsea Hotel #2" Lana has covered), and the brooding intensity of Chris Isaaks sultriest unrequited-love song, "Wicked Game." All the while, she associates youth and beauty with romance ("Will you still love me/ When Im no longer young and beautiful"), believing that none of these things will ever last—but it doesnt mean shell stop falling in love.
Behind every calculated move and every shade of cool is a sad girl "crying tears of gold." This is the fate of a tough temptress with a soft soul. Lana wallows in her sorrow as much as she does in her drugs, booze, and boys. Her most indulgent torch songs are draped in infinite sadness, starting with the obvious "Sad Girl," with its dark, dusky swing in the style of Twin Peaks enchantress Julee Cruise, or "Million Dollar Man," in which she echoes the most "Sullen Girl" of all, Fiona Apple. She even finds a kindred spirit in Mr. Lonely himself with her stunning cover of Bobby Vinton’s "Blue Velvet." Still, through all that misery, at least she knows that shes pretty when she cries.
Lana embodies the American dream as every bit of the illusion that it is. The American flag is her most provocative symbol, whether shes standing proudly before it (mischievously winking) or suggestively wrapping herself in its stars and stripes. She finds money, fame, and all that dream promises—but never happiness. She sings of Springsteen in "American"; portrays herself as both Marilyn Monroe and Jackie O in the video for "National Anthem"; and even gets political on "Coachella – Woodstock in My Mind." Her vision of America starts and ends on the West Coast. She paints the Golden State as both scandal and savior with hints of EMA and Courtney Love; tells sordid tales of "Guns and Roses" like only Guns N Roses could; and finds her fellow California "Freak" in video co-star Father John Misty. All together, she is America the Beautiful, the Cunning, the Miserable.
The ’90s have never sounded better than they do right now—especially for modern-day indie rockers. There’s no shortage of bands banging around these days whose sound suggests formative phases spent soaking up vintage ’90s indie rock. Not that the neo-’90s sound is itself a new thing. As soon as the era was far enough away in the rearview mirror to allow for nostalgia to set in (i.e., the second half of the 2000s), there were already some young artists out there onboarding ’90s alt-rock influences. But more recently, there’s been a bumper crop of bands that betray a soft spot for a time when MTV still played music videos and streaming was just something that happened in a restroom. In this context, the literate, lo-fi approach of Pavement has emerged as a particularly strong strand of the ’90s indie tapestry, and it isn’t hard to hear echoes of their sound in the work of more recent arrivals like Kiwi jr. or Teenage Cool Kids. Cherry Glazerr frontwoman Clementine Creevy seems to have a feeling for the kind of big, dirty guitar riffs that made Pacific Northwestern bands the kings of the alt-rock heap once upon a time. The world-weary, wise-guy angularity of Car Seat Headrest can bring to mind the lurching, loose-limbed attack of Railroad Jerk. And laconic, storytelling types like Nap Eyes stand to prove that there’s still a bright future ahead for those who mourn the passing of Silver Jews main man David Berman. But perhaps the best thing about a face-off between the modern indie bands evoking ’90s forebears and the old-school artists themselves is the fact that in this kind of competition, everybody wins.
It may be that 2019 was the best year for ’90s metal since, well, 1999. Bands from the decade of Judgment Night re-emerged with new creative twists and tweaks: Tool stretched out into polyrhythmic madness, Korn bludgeoned with more extreme and raw despair, Slipknot added a new drummer (Max Weinberg’s kid!) who gave them a new groove, and Rammstein wrote an anti-fascism anthem that caused controversy in Germany (and hit No. 1 there too). Elsewhere, icons of the era returned in unique ways: Nine Inch Nails’ Trent Reznor scored a superhero TV series, Primus’ Les Claypool teamed up with Sean Lennon for some quirky psych rock, and Faith No More’s Mike Patton made an avant-decadent LP with ’70s soundtrack king Jean-Claude Vannier. Finally, the soaring voice of Linkin Park’s Chester Bennington returned for a moment thanks to Lamb of God guitarist Mark Morton, who released a song they recorded together in 2017.
Taking a look at the playlists for my show on Boston’s WZBC might give the more seasoned college-radio listener a bit of déjà vu: They’re filled with bands like Versus, Team Dresch, and Sleater-Kinney, who were at the top of the CMJ charts back in the ’90s. But the records they released in 2019 turned out to be some of the year’s best rock. Versus, whose Ex Nihilo EP and Ex Voto full-length were part of a creative run for leader Richard Baluyut that also included a tour by his pre-Versus outfit Flower and his 2000s band +/-, put out a lot of beautifully thrashy rock; Team Dresch returned with all cylinders blazing and singers Jody Bleyle and Kaia Wilson wailing their hearts out on “Your Hands My Pockets”; and Sleater-Kinney confronted middle age head-on with their examination of finding one’s footing, The Center Won’t Hold.
Italian guitar heroes Uzeda—who have been putting out proggy, riff-heavy music for three-plus decades—released their first record in 13 years, the blistering Quocumque jerceris stabit; Imperial Teen, led by Faith No More multi-instrumentalist Roddy Bottum, kept the weird hooks coming with Now We Are Timeless; and high-concept Californians That Dog capped off a year of reissues with Old LP, their first album since 1997. Juliana Hatfield continued the creative tear she’s been on this decade with two albums: Weird, a collection of hooky, twisty songs that tackle alienation with searing wit, and Juliana Hatfield Sings the Police, her tribute record to the dubby New Wave chart heroes (in the spirit of the salute to Olivia Newton-John she released in 2018). And our playlist finishes with Mary Timony, formerly of the gnarled rockers Helium and currently part of the power trio Ex Hex, paying tribute to her former Autoclave bandmate Christina Billotte via an Ex Hex take on “What Kind of Monster Are You?,” one of the signature songs by Billotte’s ’90s triple threat Slant 6.
