Yes, if I must be honest, the tragedy of modern pop songs being glanced at like a dead rodent lying on the street: with dismissal and pity, is quite reasonable. Said type of music might even fit into the category of useless, and I frankly recognize its pathetic attempt at pulling the heartstrings of exactly no one by presenting a melody and lyrics filled with awkward rhymes, corny beats, and sappy yelps. I might even go as far as to say that such modern pop songs are hollow, shallow, unoriginal, repetitive, indescribably painful to sit through, and just plain bothersome. It’s just that there’s this one song that I’ve heard during a shuffle spree and I can’t seem to stop indulging… 

And sure, that’s truly how it goes with trends in music: they come in like unexpected waves and everyone seems to enjoy them. Then, finally, the true intent of the song seeps through and the message is clear; no one cares about your ex-girlfriend, Charlie. The melody floats away while the words remain, and it (the song) becomes stale like a crisp in dry air and nobody wants to listen anymore. But in terms of Charlie Puth’s upbeat tune ‘Smells Like Me’, are you really going to deny yourself an insight into a new wonderland just because of the outside opinions? Sure, it isn’t and will never be a revolutionary song, whether it is in anyone’s hands or not. Still, will you be so shallow as to allow your growing insecurity to block off a pop song written by a pop artist just because he sings about missing his ex-girlfriend? 

Of course, who is to say that Charlie Puth will become the next big thing? That is not for me to tell. I will one day find the too-familiar pop tunes and high-pitch notes too much to bear, and I will be hearing it once again in the shower and wonder why the lyrics must carry such pitiful whining. Yet he is worth listening to because it is the prestige of living at the same time as his that makes it altogether a compelling moment. Those perfect pitch demonstrations will get old for him but they will never stop being impressive, and it simply makes me want to reach for my phone and play the song again– the miraculous feeling of being able to! 

And anyway, I was arguing with my ex-boyfriend one day about how sorrow plays into breakups when this song came up, and we froze and listened to Charlie’s voice do flips in the air while he sang about yearning accompanied by pop tunes. It was knowing my ex-boyfriend disagreed with Charlie that made me appreciate it even more when he started bobbing his head to the catchy music. I saw that, within disagreements and broken hearts, the only connection left between us was Charlie’s male straight voice singing pitifully through a speaker. 

There is something truly wondrous – whether it is apparent at first glance or not – about the misunderstood high-pitched notes of a young musical prodigy. If you’re lucky enough, you will allow the pop to drown the prejudice. Having his music at your fingertips means privilege, which you should cherish at least for the time being.  

The post Smells Like Charlie: A Taste of Smells Like Me by Charlie Puth  appeared first on SCAD Radio.

If you’ve never looked further than the sexy hunk of man meat in Carly Rae Jepsen’s 2012 hit music video “Call Me Maybe,” then you’re missing out.  

Now that we have distanced ourselves from the overplayed, overproduced pop of the 2010s, we must give credit to the creators of this uniquely calculated musical genre. If you’ve been in pop/musical spaces, you’ve probably run across people unraveling the reign of Swedish maestro producer Max Martin. Most people claim he’s the inspiration of this sound, but I believe that what allowed it to survive was artists like Carly Rae Jepsen. 

Jepsen started her pop princess career in the frankly unruly “Canadian Idol,” where she blundered her way through to the top three. But her second studio album, entitled “Kiss,” held the gem that would push her to worldwide stardom, “Call Me Maybe.”  

I was 7 years old in my school gymnasium when I first heard “Call Me Maybe.” A group of older boys jokingly put it on. I was extremely familiar with pop music at the time, to the likes of Ellie Goulding, Ariana Grande, Tove Lo, and Charli XCX – so Carly felt like she’d be the inevitable new princess of pop. But for some reason, she disappeared. The public consciousness of one Miss Carly Rae was wiped to “one hit wonder” status. It wasn’t until March 2015, when she released her single “I Really Like You” from her third album, that she reappeared. Please note that it was accompanied by the most objectively ridiculous music video, where Tom Hanks lip-synced atrociously.  

Her third album, “Emotion,” brought many shifts for Jepsen.  Most importantly, she garnered herself an undeniable shift in demographic. Her audience began to boom with the voices of 20-30 year old queer people, mostly men. They embraced her and her fun-loving persona, which only made Jepsen more dedicated. Jepsen played in queer festivals, pride parades, and has spoken out about queer issues for years now.   

While her music has been dubbed “narrative-free” and “derivative,” her fans are diehard. From the bold musical grips of “Call Me Maybe” to the memes made of “Run Away With Me,” Jepsen stays present on the internet and with her fanbase. She does not fear the labels put on her, she embraces them. It is camp and silly, the very characteristics that pop music was built on.  

(Camp in this sense, is a queer term, suggested to have derived from the French term se camper, meaning “to pose in an exaggerated fashion.” In this case, it means ostentatious.) 

Carly is in no way completely original; she didn’t pioneer the pop experimentation of that era. But she did everything fearlessly. She never wavered to making music that wasn’t “her,” and that is something you must admire.  

If you choose to ignite the Carly Rae Jepsen flame inside your heart, here are my recommendations based off of 2010s pop hits to get you started.

The post Why Carly Rae Jepsen was the Pop Princess we Needed in the 2010s, but Didn’t Deserve. appeared first on SCAD Radio.

Bleachers, the indie-rock band fronted by one of the music industry’s most sought-after producers, Jack Antonoff, has had a reinvention of sorts, with their latest self-titled record. Having debuted just over decade ago, their signature sound has been characterized by smooth saxophone solos and Springsteen-esque coastal melodies. Yet Bleachers seem to slowly stray away from their established norm. Antonoff himself stated that the album is “like planting a flag in the middle of the journey,” which is evident. Although hints of their previous appendage remain, their self-titled fourth studio album does more than just reiterate their last three. It serves as a marker for the band not in the future, nor in the past – but particularly in the present.  

Coming off their departure from RCA Records, and signing with Dirty Hit, the album’s predecessor is a live album recorded from a show at Radio City Music Hall. Very early on it’s clear that Bleachers is a stark departure from Live at Radio City Music Hall’s pandemic-era reflections. It is riddled with slower, more methodical tracks that place less emphasis on the fast-paced drums and upbeat choruses that define their first two albums, Strange Desire and Gone Now. Antonoff’s ability to feature more measured songs isn’t unknown, as Take the Sadness Out of Saturday Night provided somewhat of an experimental take. Relying on a more acoustic execution in songs like Hey Joe, Woke Up Today and Isimo, he differentiates them from most of his previous works that signifies where the band is now. The gentle nature of the tracks shows a more grounded and secure side of Bleachers fans haven’t seen until now.  

For most of the band’s existence, Antonoff has worked through feelings of grief, loss, past lives, future doubts, and experience of growing up in Bergenfield, New Jersey, through music. Lyrically, Bleachers refreshes fans with a journey that reflects the new and exciting phase Antonoff and the band have found themselves in. Ordinary Heaven supplies, “You dance around the apartment/And I just get, I just get, I just get/I just get to be there”. Antonoff still manages to maintain the connective tissue that longtime fans can appreciate. We’re Gonna Know Each Other Forever supplements this with, “The tired on the wire/The born, strange, desired” which is a play on moments in Everybody Lost Somebody and Strange Desire. Fans are also treated to an uncredited feature of frequent collaborator and close friend of Antonoff’s, Lana Del Rey, on track five: Alma Mater. Together, they deliver a stroke of combined genius, capturing Del Rey’s songwriting prowess with an intro that’s reminiscent of the band’s sophomore album, and works well with Antonoff’s more relaxed vocals throughout.  

Modern Girl, released almost seven months before the album debuted, was an instant hit, solidifying itself as a classic in the band’s discography. It toys with playful lyrics that are a far cry from the more serious words of their quintessential songs of the past. The saxophone, Springsteen-inspired sound comes throughout the song’s entirety, perfectly encapsulating the unchanging parts of the band. Jesus is Dead and Tiny Moves each do the same in their own unique likeness, both capturing Bleachers’ own take on pop-adjacent songs, while Call Me After Midnight creates a light and fun coastal anthem much like Modern Girl.  

Bleachers finds its medium between the new and familiar in its title-track, I Am Right On Time, Me Before You and Self Respect. Each is an optimistic take on the album’s throughline of being present. Self Respect and Me Before You shine as the love songs that perhaps mirror Antonoff’s newfound marital status. Both feel like monologues Antonoff recites to his lover, retaining just the right amount of simplicity that’s digestible but keeping the poetic quality Antonoff is known for. I Am Right On Time shows his stance on finally being “on time” in the present, in a confident yet controlled melody. It’s a perfect way to begin their self-titled reincarnation. They triumph in taking this record to a much happier, more present place, once again delivering another Bleachers victory.   

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First of all, I’d like to formally welcome you all to Surveying the Soundtracks. My name is Sofia Folgia, a lover of music studying how to write TV and Film, and this will be an ongoing series at SCAD Radio. Every Saturday, we’re going to look at a “needle drop” in film or television and talk about why the director chose that particular song and how it relates to the overall theme and message of the work. God willing (or time willing), this is going to be a weekly series, so tune in next Saturday for another Surveying Soundtracks Saturday!  

On January 22nd, 23rd, and 24th, the Trustees Theater will show three different films by the legendary Japanese animation company, Studio Ghibli. Founded by Hayao Miyazaki, Studio Ghibli is known for its fantastical storytelling, endearing characters, and it’s beautiful hand-drawn animation style, a distinct identity that has inspired multiple generations of filmmakers from a current SCAD student to Gullimero Del Toro.  

In my opinion, an underrated aspect of Studio Ghibli films is their incredible soundtracks, many composed by the now seventy-three-year-old Joe Hisaishi. He is a frequent collaborator of Miyazaki, creating the soundtrack of all 11 films that Miyazaki has directed for the company, including Miyazaki’s latest film, The Boy and The Heron. Hisaishi is characterized by his versatility in his composing; Ghibli movies are very distinct from one another in their worldbuilding and tone, and Hisashi seems to excel at it all, from sweeping triumphant ballads to quiet reflective melodies. Because of the greatness of this composer and the other composers he has mentored, rarely, the studio would ever use a contemporary song in its films. However, not only is there a popular American song present in a Ghibli film, but it’s also ingrained into the plot of the film.       

Whisper of The Heart is a romantic drama film that follows Shizuku, an aspiring writer, and Seiji, a craftsman, despite their rocky first meeting and their ambitions, fall deeply in love. The movie has the complex characterization and stunning visuals that is expected from a Ghibli movie, but what came as a surprise was the first song the audience hears: a choir singing John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads”.  

Not only is the song used in the opening shot of the film, it is baked into the plot. In the movie, Shizuku is asked to translate the song by her teacher but struggles with conveying the song’s deeper meaning to her peers. She decides instead of translating it literally, she pens her own version. Her translation is completely different from the original song, the opening verse and chorus being this in English:  

I dreamed of living alone but fearless 

Secret longing to be courageous 

Loneliness kept bottled up inside 

Just put on your brave face; they’ll never know you lied. 

Country Road, may lead me home 

Know I belong there, all on my own 

Destiny calls, motionless I stall. 

Know I can’t go, Country Roads 

In the original version of the song, John Denver croons about his longing for West Virginia; its sights, sounds, and memories associated with it fuel a melancholy that Denver portrays in his voice and his strumming as he feels lonely without his blue ridge mountains. However, Whisper of the Heart’s translation strips away the precise location but keeps the sense of melancholy and ups the sense of loneliness. The generality of the song makes it relatable to the audience and also helps the audience relate to Shizuku’s feeling of finding her place to live freely outside her hometown and the uncertainty that comes with adolescence.  

Whisper of the Heart is ultimately about Shizuku’s journey as she begins to find where she wants to be in the world, and whether she wants Seiji to be with her. Her version of “Country Roads” is sung at the height of her longing, with Seiji playing the violin under her singing. As she sings of how she feels trapped as her true calling is miles away, Seiji’s accompaniment becomes bouncy and playful, almost like it is telling her not to worry – she will find her path soon.  

The post “Surveying Soundtracks Saturdays: Whisper of Heart”   appeared first on SCAD Radio.

In the seventh big-screen outing of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, the iconic quartet of Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, and Michelangelo, known for their crime fighting and lively personalities, have undergone a notable visual evolution. Over the years, they’ve transitioned from foam latex costumes by Jim Henson’s Creature Shop to CGI creations that have continuously adapted their appearance. In “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem,” they’ve taken on a fresh, animated look, resembling hand-drawn characters with vibrant marker colors and intricate ballpoint pen details.

This departure from their earlier attempts at realism no longer aims to emulate mutated terrapins turned human-sized beings. Instead, the turtles now exude a playful, cartoonish charm, reminiscent of doodles a kid might sketch during a boring class – a perfect homage to their origins as superhero comic parodies. Their appearance has never been more appealing.

Furthermore, the turtles have been given a youthful twist, leaning into their “teenage” aspect. The film, directed by Jeff Rowe of “The Mitchells vs. the Machines” fame, features a young voice cast, including Nicolas Cantu, Micah Abbey, Brady Noon, and Shamon Brown Jr., portraying characters eager to emerge from the sewers and enroll in high school. April O’Neil, a TV reporter, has also been reimagined as a young, aspiring journalist on a scooter, guided by the goal of reinstating her canceled prom to reclaim her status. These choices infuse the movie with a delightful coming-of-age narrative, intertwining the themes of growing up and saving the world.

In this version, the turtles’ mentor, Splinter, played by Jackie Chan, embodies an overprotective guardian who’s been scarred by his encounters with humanity. Despite their training, the turtle brothers have never faced a genuine threat until the film’s events unfold. Their initial pursuit of the mysterious robber, Superfly (Ice Cube), is motivated by personal agendas. Their plan revolves around April, their newfound human friend, documenting their victory over the villain to gain acceptance from a city that often views them as monsters.

However, their quest takes an unexpected turn when they discover that Superfly is not just a criminal but an actual fly, leading a group of mutant misfits, including characters like Bepop (Seth Rogen), Rocksteady (John Cena), Leatherhead (Rose Byrne), Wingnut (Natasia Demetriou), Mondo Gecko (Paul Rudd), and Ray Fillet (Post Malone). These mutants share a common desire for acceptance, albeit through a more drastic approach – turning others into mutants to become the majority.

“Mutant Mayhem,” written by Jeff Rowe in collaboration with producers Seth Rogen, Evan Goldberg, Dan Hernandez, and Benji Samit, occasionally exudes a laid-back ’90s hip-hop vibe, which may seem oddly relaxed for a movie intended for both children and adults. Nonetheless, the film’s charm is undeniable. The turtles’ witty banter and pop-culture references make for endearing exchanges, while the film’s visual aesthetics maintain an enchanting quality, evoking the craftsmanship of handmade creations. Much like the “Spider-Verse” movies, “Mutant Mayhem” showcases the full potential of animation, building up to a chaotic finale that draws inspiration from kaiju films and New York comedies of the past.

This climactic act thrives in the animated medium, offering a joyous spectacle that encapsulates the unique essence of animation. Despite the labor challenges the industry has faced, the dedication of talented artists shines through. Films like “Spider-Verse,” with its Ben Day dots, and “Mutant Mayhem,” with its hand-drawn features and attention to detail, has brought new life and warmth into the film industry, invoking a sense of nostalgia that can’t be overlooked.

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SPOILERS IN REVIEW

Rare are the times when I feel the anguish and tragedy of a film pierce my heart more than when I saw a child poison his dog as an experiment to prove to himself the reality of his father’s suicidal behavior. Of course, a lot of context is needed to understand this specific moment in the film, but it highlights the specific perspective of the story: one of a child in the midst of a trial to determine if his mother killed his father.

Daniel, the child, lies at the center of this murder mystery and courtroom procedural “Anatomy of a Fall”, directed by Justine Triet, which won the Palme D’or at the Cannes Film Festival this year. Sandra, the mother, is accused of killing her husband, Samuel, after Daniel and Snoop return from a small hike and find Samuel dead at the stoop of their front door, after he appears to have fallen from the attic window of their three-story cabin. The rest of the story follows the subsequent investigation into the death of Samuel, along with the trial that results from Sandra being the main suspect in the potential murder, as the only person to have been in the house at the same time as Samuel’s death.

Throughout the entire film, there is a measured effort from the filmmakers to exclude every explicit scene of the death. We only see Daniel encounter the body, along with the reenactments of the death and the moments before it, seen from the footage recorded by the detectives for evidence for the investigation and criminal trial. Daniel, partly blind from a previous incident, follows along through the process, confused and attentive, trying to piece together in his mind his recollection of that morning, along with his beliefs on the death, all mirrored by the constant framing of his face on the screen, trying to extract any ounce of opinion from his expressions, as well as placing his perspective as the one of utmost importance.

The criminal trial follows shortly after, where a solid hour of the runtime is spent on deliberating on the facts of the case. The circumstances of Samuel’s death, along with the many testimonies and cross examinations feel exhilarating, as each piece of information supersedes the previous, swaying the opinion and verdict of the case from one end to another, mimicking the pattern of a pendulum for the audience. But in the center lies Daniel, as he is made to testify, while also making the conscious decision to attend every day of the trial where every ugly truth and side of his parents is revealed. From Sandra’s infidelity and resentment, to Samuel’s suicidalness and guilt over Daniel’s accident, Daniel received every piece of information he desired, and along with his experiment, decided that his mother was not guilty, and that his father indeed killed himself. His testimony was the last, and his mother was acquitted. A sensitive and thoughtful kid, he was forced to reckon with his limited perspective, as did the audience, as the film leaves the audience never feeling 100% sure of whether Sandra killed Samuel. A masterful practice on narrative restraint, the film chooses no side, and leaves you to your own devices.

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Nimona (2023) is an animated sci-fantasy comedy adapted from the graphic novel of the same name. In the film, we follow a shapeshifter, Nimona, and her plan to not have a plan. She is determined to become Ballister Boldheart’s, a disgraced knight, sidekick while Boldheart intends to prove his innocence to the Institute.

Much conversation around Nimona has been its production limbo of 8 years. While not nearly as complicated, my experience with Nimona’s story is similar. Around 2015, I was given permission to have an Instagram account after months of begging. I began to consume a lot of content on my explore page and much of which were Tumblr screenshots. Scrolling through my feed, a very peculiar shapeshifter kept popping up. I was interested in this character, however the screenshots were rarely credited, and I wasn’t ‘old enough’ to venture to Tumblr yet, so the shapeshifter’s identity was a mystery.

In 2019, I was a freshman browsing the YA section at Barnes and Noble. I hadn’t thought about the shapeshifter in quite a while; I never found out her name and she soon faded into obscurity. Nonetheless, I came across a memoir while browsing. It stood out to me for many reasons because all I could do was ask questions. What’s a memoir in pictures? Who’s ND Steveson? Why does this art style look so familiar? These questions are mundane; however, I could not shake one feeling: I’d seen this before and I loved it.

After years of lying dormant, my question was answered. It was Nimona. That Christmas, I received ND Steveson’s memoir and a copy of Nimona. I dug deep into both copies, but I found myself deeper in love with Nimona than I did when I was 11.

With a connection as deep as this, I was thrilled to attend SCAD Film Festival’s screening and Q&A with directors Nick Bruno and Troy Quane. I had seen Nimona in my bedroom surrounded by my stuffed animals, but having a reactive audience significantly elevated my viewing experience. With the film being an early screening and during class time, the crowd was smaller than what I had seen at others, however the passion and excitement facilitated by the audience conquered all expectations I had.  A film that was history in the making for both me and general audiences seemingly lacked coverage in one regard: the filmmakers’ writing journey.

During the Q&A session, I was eager to learn from the visiting directors and listen to their journey with this film. I was thrilled when Troy Quane responded to my question about Nimona’s development with one statement sticking out, “Adaptation is never straight translation.” This struck me because both Nimonas are very different plot wise, but they still impacted me all the same. While the production behind the film was hectic, I still have the same fondness as I hold towards Steveson’s Nimona.

Nimona was meant to be a shared experience and I believe most other audience members felt the same passion and excitement I felt sitting in that theater.  Whether it was their fifth viewing or their first, the audience had a moment of connection when the credits rolled and the cheering erupted. Nimona’s quest to completion was a love letter to creatives’ persistence; it was a love letter to those who could not get a sparky shapeshifter out of their head and this letter was penned by those who were dedicated to their vision and that’s, as Nimona would say, pretty metal.

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This past week SCAD Film Fest honored director Emerald Fennell with the Spotlight Director Award before a sold out screening of her new film “Saltburn” (out November 17^th). The excitement was electric as showtime approached with a line of patiently waiting attendees wrapping around the block. After an acceptance speech by Fennell, it was time for one of the most anticipated films of the festival, Saltburn. Just over two hours later when the film ended Fennell received a standing ovation from the enthusiastic audience at the Lucas Theater. In her latest film (only her second directorial outing) Emerald Fennell transports the audience to the English estate of Saltburn. Showcasing eccentric characters and wicked desires, Fennell has once again created a masterpiece.

Taking place in the beautiful Victorian-era English countryside, the events of Saltburn begin with two unlikely friends, Oliver (Barry Keoghan) and Felix (Jacob Elordi) who meet while attending the University of Oxford. Oliver, an ordinary college student, is enthralled by Felix’s wealth and popularity. When Felix invites Oliver to stay at his home, Saltburn for the summer, Oliver jumps at the opportunity. This is where the audience begins to see the dark side of Oliver’s love for Felix. As Fennell reveals the extent of Oliver’s lust for status and wealth, the film dives into darker and darker territory. Through black tie dinners and red-cup-on-the-lawn parties, romances and rivalries, Fennell spins a twisted tale of obsession through the lens of class struggle and old aristocracy.

After her directorial debut Promising Young Woman (2020) garnered 5 Oscar nominations and a win for best original screenplay, audiences have highly anticipated Saltburn, and for good reason. The film boasts an impressive cast, starring Barry Keoghan, and Jacob Elordi, who both offer incredible performances. They star alongside a supporting cast that brings the tenuous relationships and social politics of Saltburn to life. Supporting actors Rosamund Pike and Archie Madekwe deliver standout performances throughout the film. All together the cast of Saltburn masterfully portrays moral ambiguity, internal conflict, and selfish desire.

Saltburn features cinematography from Linus Sandgren, best known for his work on 2016’s La La Land which earned him the Academy Award for best Cinematography. With such a prolific cinematographer on board, it’s no surprise that Saltburn is a truly beautiful film. Sandgren captures the dream-like atmosphere of Saltburn, blending the beauty of the natural world with the early oughts U.K party scene in a way that gives the entirety of the film a consistent style, featuring brightly lit nights, and the landscapes of a summer’s day in the English countryside. It’s his beautiful use of style and contrast that reflects Fennell’s thematic messaging on the screen. I would be surprised if Sandgren’s work on Saltburn isn’t one of the main points of discussion come award season.

Saltburn will undoubtedly go down as having one of the best soundtracks of the year. Though not on the star-studded original soundtrack level of Barbie, Saltburn features a compilation of early 2000’s British pop and dance hits that set the scene perfectly. Tracks like MGMT’s Time to Pretend and The Killers’ Mr.Brightside stand in stark contrast to the dark content of the film. Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s Murder On The Dancefloor soundtracks the final scene of the film in a brilliantly choreographed solo dance number performed by Barry Keoghan. Trust me, this scene is the ultimate showstopper and is one people will certainly be talking about.

With Saltburn Emerald Fennell has cemented herself as one of the great filmmakers of her generation, going two for two spectacular films in just three years. While the graphic content and at times fast pacing may not be to every audience’s liking, the provocative and attention grabbing nature of Saltburn is sure to garner even more praise once the film hits theaters.

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Just an average Tuesday night, who wouldn’t head down to El Rocko for a rockshow? The oddity of it all aside, on an ordinary Tuesday in October, I found myself wandering into this local time capsule for some live music. Hosted by Coastal Rock Productions, a psychedelic trilogy of acts graced the club and the side streets of downtown Savannah for the night. Savannah’s own Beneath Trees and Black Hat struck the night off followed by Orlando’s Timothy Eerie. With the regular cool and groovy crowd of this scene, the audience, though tame, ate up all these acts had to offer. 

Beneath Trees kicked off the show with a bass drum so punchy you could feel it bouncing off those golden walls. With a sound perfectly marrying the vigor of late 70’s British punk clubs and the eccentricity of modern psych, tapping feet and bopping heads were quick to catch on. A two person act, Hemmy on drums and Vieve on guitar and vocals can easily fill a space, and, yet bring it all back to that striking garage feel. In their own words, we were graced by some “high-energy, psych-infused, garage-punk,” and I am eager to hear what more they have to offer. A definite recommendation to those obsessed with ‘70s rock subgenres tied into one vibrant package. 

With a speedy change of set came the alluring five-piece Black Hat. Cinematic, hypnotic and most definitely psychedelic. Echoed, delicate vocals circled by the twangy reverb of an electric quickly pulled the crowd into a trance. Their set was filled to the brim with alluring jam sessions with a rhythm section so locked in they could’ve captured the audience all on their own. Their cover of Canned Heat’s Vitamin C was an instant hit with the crowd as phones were whipped out to capture a clip of the song. An incredibly faithful cover, a true testament to their style. This act encompasses the pure vibes of late ‘60s psych jam bands with ever-continuing improvisations that seeped into one another.

Finally, the night was rounded out with Timothy Eerie, a psych pop act whose sound felt pulled straight from an unrecorded The Pretty Things record but packing more of a punch. If mod rock married ‘60s psych, you’d get this band. With a projector shone atop the bands’ faces, the lava lamp-induced environment was complimented by the swirling notes in the tracks. The Pink Floyd-esque lighting found itself mirroring the Roger Waters shirt donned by their drummer, too, whose energy was unmatched. Their musicianship was hard to miss, each member bringing incredible chops to the table as they stayed locked in through and through. Catchy bass lines followed through the driving drumming; erratic, yet controlled. All in all, an atmospheric act you can’t look away from no matter how hard you may try. 

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It’s almost Stick Season, and I can’t stop crying.

It all started at the Iron Blossom Music Festival in my hometown, Richmond, Virginia. Noah Kahan stepped out onto the stage, looking like he’d been plucked straight from the crowd of granola 20-somethings. The first chord to “All My Love” strummed from his guitar, and the crowd erupted with toe-stomping energy. People clapped and screamed and sang along with every word. This carried on till about halfway through the show, when everything fell silent. A single spotlight lit Kahan as his bandmates left the stage, and he performed “Call Your Mom.” I’m not a sappy person, and I loathe crying in front of other people. Though, as Noah Kahan poured his heart out alone, I found myself breaking down.

If I’m being honest, I had no idea who Noah Kahan was until his latest album, “Stick Season.” I remember hearing “Northern Attitude” on Tik Tok and wondering where the tune came from. It was only after buying my tickets to Iron Blossom, that I realized Kahan would be headlining and began my deep dive into his discography.

When I first listened to “Stick Season,” something immediately clicked for me. There’s a deeply personal quality to Kahan’s lyrics. His words are uninhibited, laying all his scars, regrets, and desires out for his listeners. “Grab a past box of photos, I rip myself open,” sings Kahan in “Still,” a track lamenting a failed relationship. He puts care into every lyric, crafting a hyper-specific narrative that grounds listeners in his experiences. 

Kahan’s authentic sound matches the message behind his lyrics. His blend of acoustic melodies with fast-paced pop-rock elements puts a modern spin on folk that draws you in. A youthful irreverence threads through “Stick Season,” highlighting an emotional state so singular to coming-of-age that it becomes universal. Kahan pushes that feeling, confronting the bitterness and embarrassment associated with growing up in a smalltown and how one can both resent and yearn for the place they come from.

Grief and loss take many forms in “Stick Season,” where Kahan expresses how loss, whether it be the loss of a relationship or a loved one, can cling to you and drag you down a path you never expected. Mental health has been a focus of Kahan’s well before “Stick Season.” In his 2018 EP, “Hurt Somebody,” Kahan describes feeling trapped by his fear of moving forward. Later, in his “Cape Elizabeth” EP, he stews over the future, his love life, and the inevitability of loss. 

Kahan’s raw depiction of mental health and depression hits home especially in our post-COVID, media-driven society, where disconnection and trauma still linger. To combat the growing mental health crisis, Kahan transformed his own experiences into The Busyhead Project, an initiative to support mental health care and accessibility. Since its foundation in May, Busyhead has raised over 2 million dollars from “Stick Season” Tour tickets and donations.

Kahan’s success is on an exponential incline. After an overwhelming response from fans, Kahan extended his “Stick Season” tour with additional dates in the U.S., Europe, and Australia. Since releasing his extended album “We’ll All Be Here Forever” in June, Kahan has collaborated with musicians Post Malone, Lizzy McAlpine, and Kacey Musgraves. I wouldn’t be surprised to see future collaborations between Kahan and artists like Hozier, Boygenius, and Olivia Rodrigo. Kahan and Hozier have had two viral performances together this year, one of which I had the chance to see at Iron Blossom. Kahan has also shown appreciation for indie supergroup Boygenius and popstar Olivia Rodrigo, who covered Kahan’s song “Stick Season” for BBC’s Live Lounge earlier this month.

Artists like Noah Kahan are hard to come by and a privilege to witness. It’s a truly special experience finding music that makes you feel seen, and Kahan’s art accomplishes just that. Good timing and social media may have aided in Noah Kahan’s success, but it’s his heart that will keep fans like me listening.

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