Rock + Alternative

Although Paramore’s new album, After Laughter, marks the return of founding drummer Zac Farro, frontwoman Hayley Williams remains the only permanent member of the Tennessee pop-punk group since the band began, five albums ago. But even as Paramore have diversified their sound, Williams’ side work as a guest vocalist has cast an even wider net, as she’s played with acts who are heavier or more poppy than anything in Paramore’s catalog.Williams has experienced some of her greatest chart success as a hook singer, crooning the gentle melodies on Atlanta rapper B.o.B’s blockbuster single “Airplanes” and German producer Zedd’s EDM crossover hit “Stay The Night.” Her affection for indie and electronic music came out in a collaboration with Scottish synth-pop band CHVRCHES, and she’s embraced family-friendly pop stardom with high-profile collaborations, as on the cover of “Rainbow Connection” with Weezer for a Muppets tribute album.But most of Hayley Williams’ guest work has been with the kinds of punk and emo bands that Paramore came up with in their Warped Tour days. She’s added a much needed feminine perspective to songs by Say Anything and has dueted on multiple occasions with husband Chad Gilbert of New Found Glory. But most impressively, Williams has been able to hang with metalcore bands like The Chariot and Set Your Goals on blistering uptempo collaborations, and Zac Farro’s recent return to Paramore was foreshadowed by her appearance on “As U Wave” by Farro’s long running solo project HalfNoise.Click here to follow this playlist on Spotify.

The first American Football album presents an image on its cover that has long remained in my mind. This image, a photo of the side of a Midwest house on a cloudy night, is conjured up from my unconscious and displayed on the projection screen of my mind’s eye every time I hear Mike Kinsella’s voice. American Football sounds like that photo looks: inviting, mysterious, and decidedly more complex than the surface would lead one to believe. The past few years have seen a renaissance in American Football’s emo/math rock aesthetic, with numerous young indie bands taking up the torches of sincerity and despair, displaying their emotions cleanly and clearly on distortion-tinged canvasses that recall the side of that house from the American Football album cover. And yet as the emo revival seems robust and healthy, I recently saw online that the house—which resides in Urbana-Champaign, Illinois—is for sale. Some things come full circle, it seems, especially with the release of a long-awaited second American Football album. But many things do change: people move away, houses fall apart, neighborhoods fall into dilapidation. Perhaps if the house is to be a metaphor for the resurgence of emo, it must be taken both as a memory and a state of disrepair that tasks the present with its rebuilding.

"I just wanna feel everything," Fiona Apple softly quivers on "Every Single Night." She repeats this line with just the slightest bit of hesitation, as if it were her biggest confession yet. And it is—those simple words boil down her entire existence: In moments when many of us would rather escape our skin, Fiona wants to soak up every granular sensation within it, even when, in her most brilliant poetry, "the pain comes in, like a second skeleton."There are few artists that can express such visceral emotion with such vivid eloquence—and even fewer who can deliver it all with a voice that carries the weight of every word as if it were the world. Because of this, we can forgive Fiona for only releasing four albums in the past 20 years. Still, that too-small catalog is overflowing with some of musics boldest, bloodiest imagery and rawest, most ruthless lyrics. Here, we highlight 10 of her fiercest lines—lines that could come from no one other than Fiona, a woman who knows the infinite beauty in feeling everything.1. "This mind, this body, and this voice cannot be stifled by your deviant ways / So dont forget what I told you / Dont come around / I got my own hell to raise"—"Sleep to Dream"The precocious teenagers introduction to the world is the best kiss-off ever.2. You fondle my trigger, then you blame my gun"—"Limp"In which she follows with another killer jab: "It wont be long til youll be lying limp in your own hands."3. "Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key"—"Werewolf"Perhaps the most important lesson, in music and in life.4. "Youll never see the courage I know / Its colors richness wont appear within your view."—"Never is a Promise"For every man who insists he understands.5. "How many times do I have to say / To get away / Get gone / Flip your shit past another lass humble dwelling"—"Get Gone"The second best kiss-off ever.6. "I think he let me down when he didnt disappoint me / He didnt always guess right, but he usually got my gist"—"Get Him Back"Every girl can perfectly understand this one…7. "All that loving mustve been lacking something / If I got bored trying to figure you out"—"Periphery"…and this one.8. "Do you just deal it out, or can you deal with all that I lay down?"—"To Your Love"The ultimate comeback.9. "My feel for you, boy / Is decaying in front of me / Like the carrion of a murdered prey"—"Carrion"Being dead to Fiona is worse than being actually dead.10. "My pretty mouth will frame the phrases that will disprove your faith in man"—"Fast As You Can"Dont ever underestimate the power of a woman and her words.

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.

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.

BECK: THE ALT-ROCK HERO

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: THE HIP-HOP NERD

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.

BECK: THE FOLK TROUBADOUR

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.

BECK: THE DANCING KING

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.

Hey! My name is Frank Hannon and I am a singer/solo artist, as well as the lead guitarist for the multi-platinum band TESLA. Our biggest selling (and some would argue "best" album) was an album recorded live in concert, called Five Man Acoustical Jam. It was an honest and raw recording.As a kid growing up and discovering music on FM radio in the 1970s, there was a trend of live albums that would fuel my passion for rock n roll. By 1976, FM rock-radio stations were playing live recordings that were huge hits. Peter Frampton had the biggest live album of all time, while he also previously had success with a live album in 1971 with Humble Pies Performance: Rockin the Fillmore!The 70s decade would produce and capture some of the best recordings of the greatest concerts by legendary artists. The albums that captured the purest, most raw and honest performances are the ones that grabbed me the most. It was the sound of screaming electric guitars mixed with an enthusiastic audience that created the interplay that would inspire me to want to play music the rest of my life.

The most neutral adjective you could use to describe the voice of Sleaford Mods mouthpiece Jason Williamson is probably “distinctive.” His wordplay, as in the opening couplet of the Nottingham duo’s 2014 breakout track “Tied Up in Nottz”—“The smell of piss is so strong, it smells like decent bacon / Kevin’s getting footloose on the overspill under the piss station”—is impressive enough, what with the way he stitches together an in-joke about the band’s favorite grimy Hamburg hotel and a reference to everyone’s favorite Kevin Bacon movie. But Williamson’s air-hammer delivery and thick-as-marmite East Midlands accent—both front and center on the new album English Tapas—contribute hugely to Sleaford Mods’ appeal, even if some non-Limey listeners may require the use of subtitles—and probably footnotes, too.Indeed, the unabashedly regional nature of Williamson’s voice remains a rarity for any act who’s garnered international attention. The vast majority of British acts have largely stuck with the tradition instituted by The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, which holds that popular music should be sung in an American accent or a close enough facsimile. While fellow British Invasion acts like The Kinks and Herman’s Hermits subverted the convention—and the ubiquitous voices of Adele and Ed Sheeran sometimes demonstrate a similar degree of latitude—it can still be jarring to get an undiluted dose of Cockney, Brummie, Manc, Geordie, Scouse or any other strain. Sleaford Mods belong to a proud counter-tradition of vocalists who not only defy the pressure to Americanize but brandish accents that have traditionally been masked as markers of low class in British society.This quality creates a fascinating connection between an otherwise disparate series of singers, poets, and shouters operating not just in the punk and post-punk styles dear to Sleaford Mods, but in folk, electronic, grime, and even sound poetry. To mark English Tapas’ release and the band’s first North American tour this spring, here’s a selection of these distinctive voices. And if it just sounds like a whole lot of British people—and a few Irish—yelling at you, just remember: You probably did something to deserve it.

Indie supergroup GØGGS features singer Chris Shaw of Memphis-based punk outfit Ex-Cult, indie psych darling Ty Segall, Bay Area garage noise revivalist Charles Moothart and bassist Michael Anderson. Having started as a conversation between Shaw and Segall when Ex-Cult opened for White Fence back in 2013, the band has just surprise-released their second album Pre Strike Sweep digitally in early September and are currently celebrating the physical release. Built on the more aggressive side of their foundational music influences (namely 80s hardcore), GØGGS is both fierce and thoughtful, exploring each members root in the underground through the totally fitting theme of destruction and rebirth. We recently asked them to make us a playlist, and were stoked to see them explore that theme and their musical influences family tree even further.Says Chris Shaw: "Pre Strike Sweep- the title track from the new GØGGS album- is a song about starting over. New beginnings are a common theme in rock music, so it was easy to make this list of rippers that are all loosely based on some kind of change. This is also probably the only playlist to ever feature Lee Hazelwood and Urban Waste back to back. Medicinal marijuana will do that to you."Listen above or go right here.

I’m not paralyzed with fear, but sometimes I wonder if I ought to be. Mostly, it’s the little things I obsess over: the worsening signs of global decline and potential extinction-level events already upon much of the world, but filtered through my bubble of North American privilege. It’s petty stuff, like wondering how much longer my five-year-old daughter will get to eat her favorite food of shrimp tempura, as she may be among the last people on Earth to enjoy seafood before warmer waters and climate change decimate the food chain. Or figuring out how realistic it is for my wife to keep pursuing her lifelong dream of visiting the Maldives, as the island nation may be underwater in our lifetimes, as well as Miami, New Orleans, and more than 400 other American cities and towns soon after.I know these preoccupations are silly and useless given the wretched circumstances and challenges already facing the overwhelming majority of humankind. I ought to see how good I’ve got it, what with my ready access to food, fresh water, fuel, and free Wi-Fi. Sure, every generation believes it’ll be the last, and millennial cults have yet to get the right date for the end times. But it feels like we’ll finally be the ones to make good on all those visions of apocalypse: whether it’s famines, fires, bee-population collapse, or other environmental crises; a viral plague or rampaging superbug; or a nuclear war sparked by rising tensions in North Korea, Iran, or Pakistan. My fears about the future are so huge and unwieldy that the only responses I can manage are pitifully small and solipsistic.But there’s another response, which is anger. How else to react to the Trump administration’s attempts to erase the already too-modest moves by its predecessor to address the climate crisis? Thankfully, it remains to be seen whether Trump can actually gut the Clean Power Plan or pull America out of its commitment to policy change in the Paris Agreement, given the resistance by many industries that have already adjusted to new realities and to the efforts of the Obama team to bulletproof changes in legal terms. It’s ironic how much the President is willing to sacrifice his nation’s economic supremacy and superpower status to the country he loves to bash so much: China is understandably eager to find clean-energy solutions now that so much of the country’s air is unbreathable.I know there are more positive and productive responses than my neurotic ones. Nevertheless, the road ahead is still filled with fear and despair, the same emotions that color the songs on this playlist, which ponder our distressing present and ever so uncertain future. The next Earth Day is April 22, and with Tom Waits in mind, I wonder if it would get more attention if we renamed it The Earth Dies Screaming Day. It couldn’t hurt.