RAYE: The real deal BY: IAN THOMAS SHERRY, 5/4/2026 Raye dropped her smashing LP THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE. on March 27, and if you’re just now hearing of her, you’re late. It was Saturday Night Live (which is generally upholding the tradition of quality musical curation on variety shows, Arsenio, Chappelle, all the way back to Ed Sullivan) where I first discovered Raye. That was before her three Grammy nominations, and I was late then. Now, we’ve entered a new era of international pop. My 21st Century Blues (’23) was an ambitious foundational record, the product of Raye’s departure from Polydor Records. I listened to the debut in the wake of my stumbling upon Raye and knew she could do better. The sturdy collection of long-fermented music featured a variety of pop and r&b flavors plus flashes of her tone as a writer, yet despite its critical acclaim (especially across the pond) I found it musically thin and thematically broad. Not to worry, neither of those tropes are present on this 2026 LP. “Intro: Girl Under The Grey Cloud” is an excellent entrance into the most theatrical record I have ever listened to. The music of musical theater, especially when removed from the performance, makes my stomach turn. That is historically, but Raye’s sonic gravitas, worldbuilding, monologuing and all around-performative efforts can be described as nothing short of theatrical, so here I am at the breaking point of another personal precedent. The songstress stumbles from one stormy scene into another as (Track 2) “I Will Overcome” rumbles around. The true intro more-or-less continues the narrative: a drunk gal out on the town, far past anyone’s bed-time, searching for the answers to, well… everything. The focus narrows over the next four tracks. Time to more deeply address the sound I suppose. It’s a bright pacey pop, boosted by a 21st century studio and big band thunder, background vocals and a prancing matriarch at the center of it all. Raye preaches warnings on the (Track 3) “Beware.. The South London Lover Boy.” She tells a precautionary tail over a twirling keyboard/808 hook on (Track 4) “The WhatsApp Shakespeare.” Then there’s the theatrical masterpiece (Track 6) “Click Clack Symphony.” Raye revisits her well of 20-something depression and treats her vulnerability with girlpower. She assembles the gals, “send the call out, send the call out!,” and sets out on the town hoping to lose the inside thoughts outside, using the click-clacking heels as her beat. (Track 7) “I Know You’re Hurting.” must be the day after. This tune is the page-1 example of the triumphant music achievable at the peak of pop. When combined with the wholistically performative sensibilities of someone genuine, spirited and talented like Raye, a pop studio can create tear-jerking moments in the middle of Walmart. HUT. And now a brief advertisement for America’s second son, Jazz music baby. Well, ‘we’ brewed up this mystical instrumental gumbo with European instruments, so I guess it’s only fair that they get a take on it. Still, I often hesitate to consider the big blaring British bands I hear on 007 soundtracks to be jazz. I mean somewhere below “Gold Finger”s hollering horns Jimmy Page was just lurking, playing sheet music, a proper jazz band would’ve drawn that behemoth out, no? But still, the branches of British jazz bear undeniable fruit, Amy Winehouse at the very minimum. “This song is called ‘I Hate The Way I Look Today’,” says Raye. A statement of fact is followed by a beautifully bumbling brigade of similar thoughts as she raps and rambles, in true jazz style, a laundry list of complaints about her physical person. Comedic, relatable, listenable, Raye refuses not to check all the boxes, and this jazzy break at track 9 was a brilliant move to further flesh out her musical chops and back up a big claim from track 2: “And it’s funny, some people say I remind them of Amy.” Call me some people. (Track 10) “Goodbye Henry” begins with another cheekily dejected monologue, the kind Ms. Carpenter dreams to achieve, and I’m feeling frisky so I’ll share: “This is a sad song/ Though it feels happy / It is not happy at all, in fact / It makes me so, so sad to sing this song /But I will sing it for you anyway / This song is called "Goodbye Henry" / And I wrote it 'bout a boy / A very lovely boy/ And his name isn't even Henry/ But I'm just tryna be respectful / We don't talk anymore / He could be next-door and I wouldn't even know /In another life we could have made it /But in this one, well, we let go…” From there the bounding soul track wonderfully lives up to its billing. Raye rides horns, keys and drums like a tricycle and welcomes Al Green at the bridge, a treat for the ears as much as the heartstrings. (Track 11) “Nightingale Lane.” is yet another highlight, this time an Adele-style ballad. Over a pretty generically supportive score, Raye opens up those impressive vocal cords of hers, which she often opts to nimbly control, and wails a well-written chorus. She is comfortable at any pace, dancing through tracks all record long and adjusting with effortless swagger to the speed limit on “Nightingale Lane.” Did we mention that THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE? (Track 12) “Skin & Bones.” shocks the LP back to this decade’s pop pace for a number-1-worthy track. The equally catchy (Track 13) “Where Is My Husband!” stands as Raye’s top-charting song in the US, peaking at 11 on the Billboard. It’s curios that Raye’s exposure in the American media has yet to convert to top-10 radio play; the disconnection between fame and fortune has indeed sewn itself into modern media arenas. Her dime will come, never fear, so long as Raye continues to make songs like (Track 15) “Joy.” This late-album hit has the juice of certain 2010 smash hits as a big brass section jumps on top of a sleek afrobeat (which sticks around in the form of a rhythmic 808). The band’s sound and volume takes me back to Fifth Harmony’s prime, Jessie J, rooftop pop. (Track 16) “Happier Times Ahead.” Carries the same sentiment, sound and quality into the album’s conclusion, “Fin,” which functions as an audible credit-roll. Raye’s lyrics are good, the world she built excellent, her voice unique, vocal style unparallelled. She deserves to be praised in the same international pop circles as her British pop foremothers, Latin juggernauts and American stars. She deserves mentioning in the same conversations as young visionaries like Cameron Winter. And if she keeps up this pace, Raye will earn mentions in conversations about the all-time greats. THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE is a 9.1.

Durand Jones Goes Solo: Wait Til I Get Over BY: Ian Sherry 5/29/23 On May 5, 2023 Durand Jones released Wait Til I Get Over . Over the past five years Durand Jones & The Indications have been making great music. Their 2018 debut self titled album is great, their 2019 American Love Call is easily my favorite contemporary soul album, and their 2021 Private Space is a stylistic swerve done the right way. Now, we get Durand Jones’ first solo album. This doesn’t signal the end of the band. No, Jones made it clear on several occasions leading into his 2023 release that it was a deeply personal project, one that he needed to do himself. Durand Jones’ lack of Indications both intrigued and concerned me. The Indications thrive because of three general strengths (outside of Durand Jones): songwriting, consistently strong musical performances, and Aaron Frazer. Without the rest of his band, could Jones replicate these strengths? After all, the best bands’ songwriting is often a group effort, The Beatles or Queen for example, and Jones is just one man. That throwback sound the band revitalizes in such a refreshing way is difficult to capture, and attempting to recreate that same magic without them would be difficult. Aaron Frazer is The Indications' secret weapon, whose occasional lead vocals provide a great deal of variety, and whose help on choruses or ensemble vocal performances with Jones solidifies the uniqueness of the band's sound. Frazer is absent from this project. However, that was the point, and any of the resulting missteps on Wait Til I Get Over were a part of the calculated risk Durand Jones took going solo this year. So now, the results of his risk: Frankly, I have lots of critiques to roll out, but I'd like to start on a positive note. I love Aaron Frazer, and I was hoping for at least a feature from him; but he’s not needed. Durand Jones is a dynamic vocalist, able to carry nearly any tune and elevate even the most instrumentally bland music. Without that, this album would really struggle, lucky for Jones he can sing. Actually, he’s not lucky, just good. It's easy to say so, considering the songwriting on this album may be his strongest yet. Detailing the struggles of his people in the South and his own internal journey, Jones does a great job of using themes like community to fuel feelings like hope for a well-rounded yet fittingly unfinished narrative. While the narrative is cohesive, the stylistic choices are not. On the first three songs, Jones touches on three very different sounds. This can be done really well, but in this case it feels disjointed. “Gerri Marie” is a solid intro that sets a scene and vibe with Durand Jones and a piano. That’s it, but its simplicity is its strength. However, post the first interlude (track 2), this vibe is deleted by “Lord Have Mercy”. A jaunty sort of Bayou Rock song, it’s the first of a new Durand Jones sound, one that needs a lot of work. It effectively introduces the most unfortunate recurring theme of this album: poor instrumental production and vocal mixing. The instrumental layering is cluttered and a weird buzzy finish lays over everything, including Jones’ vocals. Yet, on the very next track, “Sadie”, Jones temporarily abandons his theme of musical mediocrity. It is a strong song in every way. Great hooks, choruses, and instrumental backing and breaks, it has all the makings of an Indications classic. So why not make that a theme? I think a look at track 5 can answer that question. "I Want You” is another Indications-worthy track musically, as well as a Jones masterclass vocally. He mixes in powerful background vocals at just the right moments and spoken pieces mid-verse, two things seldom seen, if ever, with his band. He is in his creative zone, stretching his attention to every aspect of the sound he wants to encapsulate. But, stretch is the key word. For the length of the song, every couple beats, there is a strange crashing sound. It's some sort of percussion, and it should have been any other kind of percussion, as keeping pace seems to be its sole purpose. But he chose this sound. A decision that doesn’t ruin the song completely, but one that, along with an occasionally jumbled bottom to the mix and an instrumental layering failure down the stretch of the song, can remove a distracted listener from the otherwise powerful tune. Durand Jones is a member of a great band, and great bands don’t let things like that slip through the cracks, but once again, he is just one man. These seemingly careless miscues continue through the album, and honestly, highlighting all of them is trivial. From the drowning of a strong communal vocal performance on “Wait Til I Get Over” to the alarmingly unfit feature on “Someday We’ll All Be Free” or the failure to catch a groove on “Letter To My 17 Year Old Self”, Jones misses opportunities to properly support his beautiful writing and vocal performances. However, he does not miss on “That Feeling”. Durand Jones is a bisexual black man from the South. That means both everything and nothing to this song. To my knowledge, it’s the first time he sings about another man, and he does so against that backdrop he spent so much time constructing. However, as he eases into this particular narrative, everything fades away. It doesn’t matter who he is speaking to, it’s beautiful. A story of wasted potential, told through a nostalgic lens, with that familiar hope and determination, “That Feeling” is love. It’s also the best song on the album. With raw vocals and a classic instrumental intro, Jones eases into the rhythm just as he does the narrative. Layering keys and guitar, he elevates the sound to the highest point of the album in stride with his words, before stripping it down to deliver a message: he and the love inside him aren't going anywhere. With the message delivered and the love story completed, Jones takes the last minutes to elevate one more time, leaving the audience with a powerful combination image and sound. Jones thrives in simplicity on this album, “Secrets” is a good final example. A piano and some voices are all he needed to close his 2023 release. Waves crash against a shore for the last two minutes, washing away the song and this, simply put, unique album. I hope it's unique for several reasons. First, Durand Jones is better than this. But, on top of that, he needed to get something out of his system. For his sake, I like to think he’s satisfied that need, at least enough to clean up any remaining loose ends with The Indications (in more ways than one). This album is messy. The production and mixing are scarily bad at times, as if he needed a reminder that the old days are supposed to be represented by the narrative, not the sound equipment. Jones also struggles to hitch a stylistic ride all the way through. This is fine for an EP, but for an album with a decisive theme, flow is essential. Yet, while it's easy to nitpick my way through this album, it's also easy to get lost in what Jones does well. He is an exceptional songwriter, a skill rivaled only by his vocal abilities. Those two strengths specifically can carry an album, and this is certainly one of those cases. I love Durand Jones, I am excited to see what he does next, and I believe the worst he can do is average. This album, all things considered, is just average. Wait Til I Get Over is a 5.25/10.

Wayne State Baseball Is Warming Up BY: Ian Sherry October 17, 2025 Wayne State baseball took on Macomb Community College in an preseason exhibition game Friday. Despite the decision not to keep score, WSU controlled the game. The game was complete with extra base hits, a Tony Hatzigeorgiou home run, and a plethora of Warrior pitchers preparing for the season. Brady Blakita rounds first with a single. Warrior outfielders skip off the field after an easy inning. Coaches and grad student Macio Miller gather behind home plate to analyze this early exhibition. Coaches and grad student Macio Miller gather behind home plate to analyze this early exhibition. Tony Hatzigeorgiou comes in to score for Wayne State. By: Ian Sherry

Flowers By Ian Sherry 7/16/2025 Durand Jones & The Indications are a staple in contemporary soul, and Flowers is exactly as good as it should be. Along with Thee Sacred Souls , Durand Jones & The Indications are leading a small-but-steady wave of old-school soul that began rolling at the end of last decade. Composed of the excellent dual vocalists Durand Jones and Aaron Frazier, plus the band they formed in college, The Indications have certainty in their musical identity, given their control over its development and a keen awareness of their collective comfort zone. That doesn’t guarantee a successful project though - the next step is always the trickiest. Their last effort, Private Space (21) , is proof of that. Feeling the need to branch out stylistically, more prominently feature Aaron Frazier, and cover a variety of other bases, The Indications produced a solid record, but not their most cohesive effort. Since then, Durand Jones got a load of personal material out on Wait Til I Get Over (23) , and Aaron Frazier released his second solo project last year. The healthy relationship they’ve curated as co-creatives is richly evident in the band’s re-amped fusion this time around. Flowers ’ opening grooves aren’t standouts, but they establish the gentle trotting soul sound that became this record’s sweetspot. The fifth track, “Flower Moon,” is the best example of the initial safety-net-soul tunes, but the following “Really Wanna Be With You” is where the record takes off. Track 6 marks the album’s first noticeably gutsy undertaking. Staying within the already-established feel, The Indications began to focus on their more elaborate structural ambitions. Jones and co. are no strangers to a pre-chorus (or drawn-out songs), but this song features a sizable pre-chorus-chorus combo on two separate occasions in addition to a few strong verses. That kind of macho songwriting is very reminiscent of soul’s prime – but one name in particular springs to mind. If Durand Jones wasn’t intentionally channeling Isaac Hayes on this churning soul tune, Ike’s spirit was working through him. While The Indications don’t possess the firepower of a prime Memphis soul section, they clearly understood the assignment and with Jones pushing his vocal limits as the song’s frontman, the result is a standout track. Now Flowers is rolling. The album’s 7th track is the pinnacle of The Indication’s sound to date. “Been So Long” m akes excellent use of all the tools at the band’s disposal. Aaron Frazier is listed as the league vocalist, fitting for the songs initially dreamy feel. As the song progresses, however, Frazier fades more frequently into a host of mellow voices. That communal feel creeps up on the listener throughout the song, removing the focus from the primary vocalist and spreading it across all aspects of the music, from the subtly growing instrumentals to the lyrics of the 3rd and 4th verse (which are by far the catchiest on the album). Then, all too soon, the 3:16 has elapsed This band has a habit of getting stronger as they go. The balance between Frazier and Jones, which they wrestled with last album, has never been a combative issue to my knowledge, just a good problem to have when it comes to making cohesive creative music. The tentative middle ground between the two talented vocalists is an easy place to settle when it comes to using both to the best of their abilities; this album’s first 5 songs are evidence of that. However, as Durand Jones & The Indications dug deeper conceptually on the back stretch of the LP, the 2 talents began to find their perfect balance. Following the feel-good track 7, Aaron Frazier delivers a spot-on Smokey-like soul performance on “Everything.” Officially swapping slappers, Jones responds with a classic Indications-style socially conscious anthem in “Rust and Steel.” From there, Frazier and Jones share the performative load with ease, seamlessly combining efforts on the rangy soul track “If Not For Love” (which comes complete with a sick sax solo) and the well-placed closing track “Without You” . Flowers has left me with very few complaints, and believe it or not, I love not complaining! It was clear from start to finish that Durand Jones & The Indications had a firm grasp on their strengths, an awareness of potential weakness, and a concentrated will to create a product with those awarenesses in mind. The band’s muted sonic palate was a perfect match for all the album’s undertakings, providing the old-school feel and preventing the band from feeling thin in comparison to their soul predecessors. The songs feel intentionally arranged, and none are worth skipping. It’s an oh-so-satisfyingly complete album, and even without the old-school style, that makes this record a classic. Flowers is a 9.2.

WALK WITH ME V 1/18/2024 BY: IAN SHERRY Smiles aren’t worth a thing anymore. Aretha Franklin holds many titles and distinctions, the Queen of Soul, Rolling Stone’s greatest vocalist of all time , and the best funeral featuring an Ariana Grande performance - to name a few. She grew from the shockingly powerful youth vocalist in her father’s church choir to the voice of the world’s foremost musical city, and she built a career steeped with superlatives along the way. June 10, 2017. My dad and I hop on our bikes and take a ride into the heart of Downtown Detroit to see Aretha Franklin. The Queen of Soul’s hot summer performance was free to the public and it attracted the perfect crowd. Lifelong fans from around the metro area poured in. As my dad led me through the crowd looking for familiar faces, which he correctly assumed was inevitable, there was a buzz I haven’t felt in any setting or any form since that day. I was young, which placed me in the minority (in more ways than one). Aretha’s audience mirrored herself. It was the generation that had to choose whether or not they’d flee when the city fell on rough times, and whose choice to stay was rewarded with a musical movement unparalleled in its time. As I rode up, chained my bike to a lightpost, and followed my dad into that crowd, I stepped into Motown. In that moment, ‘Motown’ became much more than the legendary record label or a nickname for the city I’d spent my whole life in. Motown is a people, and just as that understanding began to sink in, The Queen took the stage. Suffice to say, even at her age, she was still Aretha. Covering hits from all corners of her catalog with the help of a masterfully curated cast of supporting performers, she gave the crowd more than our money’s worth. One year, two months, and six days later, she was gone. Lumped into one massive and incredibly significant memory, I’ll never forget walking through my neighborhood after Aretha’s passing. As my family and I walked to dinner, her voice and music poured out of houses on every block. Listening to the neighborhood’s memorial serenade, I kept thinking back to that concert. Though it felt like just days before, with The Queen of Soul at rest, it had fully sunken in, to a level that can’t be easily smoothed over with time. Now, whenever I listen to the Aretha Franklin songs that live in the air of my childhood memories, the first thing that comes to mind, fills my chest, is that final loveletter she sang to her city on that summer day. It’s a difficult pill to swallow. Like any other member of that 2017 summer concert crowd, I am very familiar with Aretha’s work from the 50s through the 70s as well as her commercial resurgences in ‘85 and ‘98 . In that time she covered all the bases. Regarding emotions, she took her audience through it all: the anger and sadness of a breakup, the longing of romantic loneliness, the fatigued satisfaction of finally finding the right one, catching a break. She speaks to friends, lovers, exes, you, me, and nobody in particular. An untouchable songwriter, performer, and short-form storyteller, walking in stride with The Queen is a privilege that any member of her audience can experience. But there is one emotion, one mode, that she seldom lets show: pure unbridled joy. Now, as my dad aptly pointed out in a brief discussion of this article, 'she’s pretty fired up on “Doctor Feelgood.” ' A great point that I nudge to the side for two reasons. 1, With a discography as vast as Aretha’s, you're bound to stumble across almost any mood. 2, I hope you can imagine, I bear a fairly hefty weight each time I listen to the songs I was raised on, including “Dr. Feelgood”, which may well have played on the way to the concert that morning or as we strolled through the neighborhood a year later. So to the fault of nobody but myself, in order to share a purely joyful, burden-free moment with Aretha Franklin, I needed something new. Luckily, about a year ago, I stumbled upon a record that I’m sure did not play on those summer days in 2017/18, a record that finally flipped my emotional script when listening to The Queen of Soul: So Damn Happy . In 2003, admittedly after her final return to commercial / critical relevance, Aretha released So Damn Happy . The record did not gain any critical traction, which is understandable considering that stage of her career, however it's the cited reasoning I take issue with. In their brief but harsh, paragraph-long review, Rolling Stone gave props to the efforts of Mary J Blige on the production, but ultimately thrust Aretha’s 2003 effort aside because the vocals were ‘shrill’. They claimed the vocalist, who they declared the greatest singer of all time two decades later, didn’t belong on the 2000s contemporary r&b instrumentals. Why is that? I have a theory. The music critic community, into which I seem to have injected myself, has an unspoken responsibility to conform to fairly uniform taste. Meaning, even if a given writer’s individual taste doesn’t align with what is widely considered high quality work, there is pressure to recognize its merit. This year's best example of this tendency is the critical acclaim afforded to Sexyy Red . The newest culturally dominant female rapper, her style is unapologetic, and to me, unappealing. I am certain that I’m not alone in this opinion, however taking an anti-Sexyy stance at this point in her career is risky to say the least. Blowback could take any number of forms, including accusations of gender-based disrespect and being disregarded as someone who simply isn’t up with the times. (So if you’ll allow me to cover myself briefly), Sexyy Red is one of the most talented artists we’ve seen in generations; she is the future, no doubt. The reason for my digression is simply to highlight the fact that coordination is important, from sharing opinions on a given album to the validation of the most common musical tropes. Artists like Phoebe Bridgers have built a career on their ability to elevate their easily approachable sound with heavily emotional writing and performances. Bridgers could easily sit in the mainstream of pop like Taylor Swift , but she sets herself to the side through her complete commitment to all things melancholy. In doing so, she limits, or rather, concentrates her audience, creating a distinct although not overly unique sound, and placing herself in the favor of critics everywhere. It’s the same factor that elevates artists like Big Thief or Jeff Buckley who dip into the sad sack and happen to be some of my favorites. Effectively conveying emotion through music is an achievement critics recognize across the board, however, they seem to disregard one key emotion: Joy. This brings me back to Aretha. For my money, there is no song in her entire discography more joyful than “Wonderful,” from So Damn Happy . After years and years of listening to The Queen battle through heartbreak and romantic confusion, there’s nothing more refreshing than experiencing a new thing, a good thing, by her side. She brings us into “Wonderful” with a bouncy and simple instrumental highlighted by flourishes on the keyboard. As strong a singer as ever, she rips through verses with her own flare, pace, and attitude, leading her backup singers through the sing-along-worthy chorus. As the energy builds throughout the song, Aretha begins to riff more on the microphone until the emotional climax in which her excitement takes control and transforms into joyful, nimble scatting. The entirety of So Damn Happy dabbles in a lot of musical and emotional elements, which may be largely responsible for its low profile, but “Wonderful” puts them together more effectively than any other song on her 2003 record. It's a simple yet perfectly executed step outside her wheelhouse, which is something that is critically celebrated in nearly any other scenario. So why haven’t you heard of it? Why is the song that makes me happier than any other not championed by critics the way they do Big Thief’s “Change” or Jeff Buckley’s “The Sky Is A Landfill?” Why is the nagging sadness I feel when listening to the music I associate with that final concert valued more than the joy I feel at the hands of my new discovery? Why is it that pulling your audience up into your state of happiness isn’t as critically significant as dragging them into your misery. Is it an industry trend? Is it the assumption that suffering is more relatable to the masses? Is it the widespread use of music as a coping mechanism for the streaming generation? Is it a societal obsession with hardship and misery? Don’t ask me, I love being happy. Listen to “Wonderful” if you do too.

Coverage Vol. 2 1/25/24 BY: IAN SHERRY I shouldn’t have done this one, it's too hard. One challenge of any cover is to maintain everything that makes the original great. This can be difficult considering you have to put your own twist on it and inject your own stylings, while attempting to replicate the personality and strengths of the original artist can interfere with that process. It’s a delicate balance, and that’s why covers are one of my favorite music industry phenomena. Today the point of emphasis is feel, and few artists benefit more from the feel of their music than T he Doors . Let’s talk about one of their best. Jim Morrison’s band charted its first #1 hit in 1967 with “Light My Fire” . It was clear from the very beginning of the legendary LA band’s discography that they had something sp ecial. Relying on keys and rolling guitars on top of steady drums, they were able to captivate a certain easily distinguishable sound, capable of bridging the gap between legendary groups like The Zombies and Grateful Dead . 1967 was a big year for music, with The Beatles changing direction on Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Band , Eric Burdon taking control of The Animals , and Motown and Frank Sinatra sharing the top of the charts. Perhaps most significantly, some of the most influential acts of the next decade began to emerge including Jimi Hendrix , Pink Floyd , The Velvet Underground , and of course, The Doors. The latter announced themselves in a historically and contemporarily unprecedented fashion. The 60s was a decade in which the average length of a hit song was just 2:59 , yet somehow, Jim Morrison and co. took over the number one slot with a song just over 7 minutes in length (and a decade later people thought “Bohemian Rhapsody” was long at 2 minutes above average). It was a new era in music, and The Doors arrived right on time. Naturally, other artists took notice. A hit song with its own feel, simple arrangement, instrumental solo, and a runtime waiting to be shortened, sounds like a challenge. Sounds like the perfect opportunity for a cover. Welcome to Coverage Vol. 2 Honorable Mentions Shirley Bas sey The Goldfinger Singer took the big band approach in her 1970 cover. While the vocal performance is strong and the band is impressive, it lacks the meticulous groove of the original and falls short of replicating or otherwise matching The Doors' signature feel. Stevie Wonder I’m stunned, dumbfounded, floored, flabbergasted to see Stevie Wonder sitting in the honorable mentions, but here we are. Stevie performs it like he does any other song of his late 60s era, and drops a harmonica solo in place of the original keyboard. To me, although he is the king of that instrument, it is too thin in comparison to the show of force by Ray Manzarek on the original. It’s as good as any other Stevie song from that time, and that’s a strong category, just not as strong as this particular competition I’ve thrust him into. Jackie Wilson While he supplied the most energetic vocal performance and perhaps the cleanest instrumentals, Wilson was overshadowed in other categories. The horn solo is great, but other forthcoming artists took an equally aggressive angle on the horns. On top of that, he misses the intended vibe of the song without inserting a formidable alternative. However, this is a fantastic rendition that narrowly missed out on a top four mention. You can’t go wrong on this list, I promise. NUMBER FOUR JOSé FELICIAN O On a list where cultivating your own feel is essential, Feliciano will always excel. I’d qualify his rendition as the anti-Doorsian approach. While his methodical delivery and gradual song structu re are most similar to the original, Feliciano conveys a level of warmth strong enough to rival that legendary Morrison brooding. That’s very hard to do. His performance is laid back for much of the song, as he paints it with nimble and complimentary play on his guitar. It is a pleasant invitation with just the right amount of emotion and an exciting freestyle finish. His choice to build performative energy more gradually than any other version of “Light My Fire” really reflects the message of the song. As his excitement and passion for the fire-lighter picks up the warmth and positivity is infectious, yet his original mellow vibe remains present. It's simple, but intentional, and perfectly executed. NUMBER THREE AL GREEN My favorite vocal performance on this list, Al Green’s swagger is undeniable. While you can argue amongst any of the covers yet to be named, he may have done the best job of making it h is own. Green’s legendary career is partially owed to his unwavering status as the smoothest vocalist around, but what makes his 19 71 record unique is its rough edges. Gets Next To You saw hits like “I Can’t Get Next To You” , “Tired of Being Alone” and “I’m a Ram” , all of which have sharp drums and horns. At times, Green doubles down on that ever-so-slightly abrasive sound by matching it with some of his raspiest performances ever, while still providing a healthy dose of his signature smoothness, to create an incredibly satisfying contrast. Sitting perfectly between upbeat blues and soul, it's my pick for the strongest album in his catalog, and he masterfully pulls “Light My Fire” into that fold. By speaking the first few lines, he opens a dialogue with his audience, pulls us in by delicately delivering the initial hook, and maintains total control as his intensity, volume, and confidence grow throughout the track. Once you’re hooked, Green doesn’t let you off the mat, but you wouldn’t want to get up anyway. NUMBER TWO The Doors The original “Light My Fire” is one of the greatest coming-out-parties in all of music. The Doors introduce themselves to the charts with un wavering pace, seven minutes of it. As I mentioned brie fly, the length was unprecedented, to say the least. So, in order to captiv ate this endurance deprived audience f or the entirety of their chart-topper, they had to do something special. I think the key to The Doors’ chart-topping accomplishment is the balance they struck. It pushed the envelope in more ways than length; a relentless keyboard solo and dynamic yet restrained vocal performance set it apart from its contemporary hits. It isn’t the best version but it h as by far the greatest le gacy. “Light My Fire” is one of the most important songs of its era, because it stretched a formulaic performance to its stylistic capacity and opened the charts up to the fast-moving, incredibly impactful, and ultimately self-destructive force of nature that was Jim Morrison. NUMBER ONE ETTA jAM ES Every other artist that covered “Light My Fire” avoided The Doors' murkiness in favor of their own sound and vibe. Their decisions are likely all based on the fact that beating a band like that at their own sonic game is risky to say the least. Etta James was not, could not have been, intimidated. So, she leads in with a heavy bass guitar that pushes the limit of the lower portion of the mix. To balance it out, she stays in the upper half of her vocal range, providing a clear and clean balance. The drums hold pace and the occasional guitar painted overtop fills out the sound. It’s simple and slow, like the original, but by cutting the instrumental solo, which every other artist attempted to replicate in some way, she brought it completely into her wheelhouse. Much like Aretha’s “Resp ect ” , her revision is hardly recognizable, and that is due to one crucial factor: Etta James herself. Yes, the instrumental adjustments are masterful, and cutting the solo does have an impact, but her vocal delivery is the biggest gamechanger. She pours every bit of swagger available into this song, much like Al Green, but her intentionally measured cadence shift makes a massive, albeit subtle, difference. She improvises her way through the song, delivering all of the written lyrics in quicker succession than the original. James’ slight alteration of every single line is largely responsible for over four minutes of difference, as she yanks the song back into contemporary song-length standards. The moral of the story: Etta James is untouchable, and if she covers your song, kiss it goodbye.

Pink Tape BY: Ian Sherry 7/16/23 On June 30, 2023, Lil Uzi Vert released Pink Tape. For those who don’t know, Lil Uzi Vert (they/them) is a rapper from Philadelphia. They also share a birthday with me! One of the champions of Soundcloud-Era hip-hop, which birthed numerous stylistic trends (namely widespread autotune usage), Uzi has carved a niche for themselves and their sound within the mainstream of rap music. This niche includes some of the most diehard fans in music today. Perhaps to a fault, Uzi’s fans will back them, and to their credit, they keep the masses on their toes. From getting a gem attached to their forehead, to their increasingly diverse musical endeavors, they know how to play the game. With their 2023 release, they’re doing exactly that: playing games. Lil Uzi Vert has had different variations of success throughout their career. They’ve proven, at times, to be a prolific hit-maker. Their 2023 single “I Just Wanna Rock” is a shining example of this. Uzi also has the ability to make a musically strong and conceptually cohesive album. Their 2017 Luv Is Rage 2 is fantastic. Uzi has it in them. Unfortunately, Pink Tape is a flaming heap of garbage. Uzi feels distracted. They feel lazy, but most of all, they don’t properly represent the talent that they possess. Nothing is more frustrating, especially as a fan of albums, than listening to one that could have been good. Uzi’s 2023 record displays nearly none of the finer points of album construction, but as a brief palate cleanser, here are some positives I dug out of the 26 song monstrosity that is Pink Tape. I have to acknowledge (and hold on for dear life to) the fact that Pink Tape is an aesthetic success. Uzi, who seems to try operating from a holistically creative space, often has an intriguing and carefully constructed public persona; a persona that I wish was more musically present. Uzi themselves are rarely present on their album covers, often opting for a cartoon version or something on the abstract side. In fact, the only album they’re physically present on prior to Pink Tape is Luv Is Rage 2. Unfortunately, the slight visual similarities do not mark a return to 2017 form for Uzi. To me, Luv Is Rage 2 thrives in consistency, they locked in on a style and beat it to death in the best way. Meanwhile, Pink Tape’s extremely limited strength is found in diversity. You may be saying ‘well of course there’s diversity, it's 26 songs long’. Don’t assume, Uzi will prove you wrong. In 26 songs Uzi managed to put together one truly compelling stretch of songs, and they did everyone a favor by grouping them together so we can conveniently skip the rest. Although Nicki Minaj and Don Toliver donated songs to the cause at tracks 11 and 20, Uzi’s solo success is limited to tracks 14-17. Out of 26. I’ll save you the finger math, it’s not a good ratio, but since I’m supposed to be covering the good I’ll start at “Nakamura”. Named for WWE star Shinsuke Nakamura, Uzi samples the wrestler’s entrance song. It provides the high-energy arena vibe they were aiming for, accomplishing something that Uzi chased unsuccessfully throughout the first 9 songs of the album. It’s nothing complicated, but combined with a solid vocal performance from Uzi, the result is a fun song. “Nakamura” had to be good because it's immediately followed by one of the most intoxicating songs of the year. “I Just Wanna Rock” is Lil Uzi Vert’s club masterpiece. It’s pure energy, it’s overly simple, it’s overplayed, it’s New Jersey club, it's what music has come to, but at the same time, it’s perfect. Uzi sticks with the club trap for “Fire Alarm” featuring Snow Strippers. The bass presence is essential on this track as is the feature. It brings more chaotic energy to Pink Tape, but this time, it's listenable. There is a way to execute organized chaos, and Snow Strippers may be better suited for that direction. Speaking of direction, as soon as Uzi starts to head in an interestingly cohesive one, they decide to drop in a little metal. “CS” marks a new direction for Uzi yet again. While it isn’t by any means polished, it's exciting to see Uzi explore a direction of interest to them when so much of the album is the same old sound with a different ‘attitude’ or a severe lack of bass. They switch up tempo and intensity frequently on “CS,” and while it doesn’t always flow particularly well, the autotuned vocals float nicely atop stripped down instrumental and contrast nicely with the heavy metal hook. Uzi goes for a metal sound twice more on this record. Both songs do a great job of making “CS” look masterful in comparison. The intentional unpredictability of Uzi is on full display from tracks 14-17, and while that doesn’t by any means redeem Pink Tape, it gives the audience something to take away. Unfortunately, my birthday buddy has given me a plethora of reasons to be disappointed this year. Much like Lil Yachty, who actually branched out this year, Uzi has a tendency to make some of the most repetitive music known to man. This can last a verse, a song, or an entire album. It’s certainly an issue on Pink Tape, and although it’s a stylistic choice, it still upsets me. The first nine songs of the album have lots of issues beyond repetition though, from borderline incoherent verses to low quality instrumental samples. What bothers me the most is the blatant lack of low-end to the mixes. There’s not enough bass, pure and simple. Bass is essential in Hip-Hop. It can hold together a beat, guide the rhythm, or even become the centerpiece in place of a traditional rhythm section, like contemporary Michigan rap production often does. Uzi and his football roster of producers seem to have forgotten that until track ten. Nine consecutive bad songs to start a 26 song album! I can’t speak to whether or not this is a stylistic choice, but I don’t care. I can’t look past this level of questionable output from supposedly professional studios, much less listen to it. Uzi littered bones for me to pick throughout the entirety of this album, but the worst of all is the overarching issue of album construction. There are endless factors that go into the proper construction of an album; it’s an artform in itself. Uzi checks one single box with Pink Tape: a good cover. There’s different approaches to making an album. I split them into two categories. An album can be a simple collection of musically cohesive songs. Whether it transverses genres as it progresses or sticks in the same vein, the key to this kind of album is a balance of quality and stylistic flow. The second type is a little bit harder to execute: an album as an idea. It requires taking a concept, whether it's a feeling, experience, statement, all of those things, or none of those things, and creating a set of songs that flow into one another as one continuous story, which upon zooming out paints a complete picture for the audience. So, once again, there are two different types of albums. I don’t necessarily have a preference, but I believe there are two distinctly different directions, so attempting to go somewhere in the middle is dangerous and failing to hit either results in a conceptual failure regardless of the musical merit. Pink Tape is a conceptual failure. There is no definitive theme. The closest they get to a theme is the repeated declaration that Lil Uzi Vert is not in fact gay (something I wasn’t even aware was a topic of discussion). I have nothing to say on the matter other than that is not a theme, especially not in the way Uzi executes it. As far as albums go, because it lacks any sort of theme or intentional direction, as well as a cohesive grouping of music, Pink Tape is nothing. There is no redeemable factor to this record’s existence, and on top of that, there’s an hour and a half of it. I don’t know why Uzi made Pink Tape and it doesn’t feel like they do either. As a fan (who they profit off), an album is a semi-sacred occasion, and as an artist, disregarding the importance of that does everyone involved (minus those who profit) a disservice. Despite the bright spots, I won’t lie, Uzi has done themselves and their fans a disservice this year. Pink Tape is a 3.5/10

VOIR DIRE : RELEASED By: Ian Sherry 9/11/2023 On August 29th, 2023, Earl Sweatshirt and The Alchemist released their collab album Voir Dire . It features warm, sample-heavy hip-hop production via The Alchemist , and well-written verses by Earl Sweatshirt . With these two, that’s a given. However, Earl’s performances are all delivered with the same monotone cadence, which makes it hard to focus on his lyrical prowess. And, though his beats are catchy, most of them just loop or sustain the same, short-lived groove. It’s an exercise in simplicity. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it doesn’t give me a lot to say. I’m a fan of both artists, I was excited, and now I’m moving on. Voir Dire is a 5/10. Now for the article! Earl and The Alchemist whipped up a cute little album rollout this time around. Voir Dire came complete with internet lore, a strange streaming service, and NFTs! Can you feel my eyes rolling through these words? I get it, it’s just not my thing, and since custom album releases have become all the rage, I figured I’d take a stance. First of all, why? The easiest way to unpack any music industry phenomenon is to take a quick look around. For example, today’s context provides an immediate answer: everyone’s doing it. From Lizzo to Travis Scott , the mainstream has been taken over by album releases becoming a holistic experience. There are different methods, and Voire Dire is one such example. From the artist’s point of view, I can imagine it’s become a necessity to do something special to keep pace with consumer expectations. On top of fulfilling industry norms, it’s a creative and competitive opportunity: integrating personality into one’s music is a skill, and some are more skilled than others. Fortunately for the others, the release itself is a golden opportunity to put your personal spin on your artistic product. For Lizzo that meant a body positive mega-livestream. For Travis Scott, a huge tour complete with theatrical mosh-pitting. The commonality is an artist furthering whatever vibe they want for their album, whether it be positivity for an individual or pure energy for the biggest crowds. On a base level it's fun, and when done correctly, it can elevate a project. Let's not get carried away. Big rollouts set expectations. Regardless of the artist’s intent, everything they do in preparation for releasing an album feeds into the public’s perception and anticipation. Since the public tends to be very perceptive, that means the bigger you make it, the more pressure to deliver. So it better be good. Let’s talk about Donda . Kanye West , who seems to work his way into every article now, announced he’d be releasing the album Donda as an ode to his mother back in 2019. It was delayed and delayed, until its eventual rollout in 2021. That rollout was a failure. West tapped into all the theatrics, bringing out guests, selling tickets, and creating the ultimate spectacle. It was a massive celebration of the music industry superpower that is Kanye West. Once again, the purpose of an album rollout is to further the music’s message and bring the audience in closer before they hear the first note. So, now's a good time to remind you that the album was about Kanye’s mother, Donda West. Donda, not Kanye. Yet, the focus of the album’s content was all over the place, more reminiscent of a DJ Khaled ’s self-indulgent celebration on God Did than an introspective, vulnerable record like Jay-Z ’s 4:44 . Kanye packed the tracklist, loaded it with features, and his rollout mirrored that attitude: a celebration of himself packaged under his late mother’s name. Then, if his motives and focus weren’t already in question, he released Donda 2. The follow-up’s rollout was even more unique. In a move against the profit motivated industry executives, West released the literally incomplete album on the Stem Player in an effort to make money his own way. It’s always hard to say what West’s intentions are, but it seems like his mother’s name should’ve been kept separate. This is not artistic vision, it’s greed. As we delve further into the culture of the modern album release, I’m hopeful that artists can be more mindful and avoid crossing that line. The overall approach must stay on message and focus on the audience’s ability to receive it. Voir Dire again. Speaking of focus, let’s return to the Voir Dire . At first this album was an internet rumor. Then it was announced. And finally it became a complete rollout experience experience. As a fan of the two collaborators, I was excited that the album dropped without too long of a wait; that is, no advance release date was posted, a la Donda . Beyond that, their strategy provided anticipating fans with an opportunity to experience the content further through write-ups and NFTs. Did it pique my interest? Not especially. But their approach has merit, and I’m sure it’s resonating with the right audience. Voir Dire ’s release is a 8.5/10.

GRAMMYS ON TRIAL 2/4/24 BY: IAN SHERRY On Sunday, February 4, 2023, the 66th annual Grammy Awards will take place at 8 pm. If you like good music, you may not like the Grammys. In fact, I’d tend towards the opinion that you absolutely should not. Anyone who’s ever watched the Grammys has experienced disappointment. They’ve experienced confusion as an artist strolls to the stage to accept the most prestigious award that applies to their mediocre product. That combination of disappointment and confusion leads to anger. Then, all of a sudden, music’s biggest night, the one that’s supposed to bring fans together nationwide, is steeped in division. Twitter lights up in outrage, TVs shut off, and people go to bed thinking next year will be better. People are mistaken, because in fact, the Grammys only get worse. Their archaic thought processes and categorizations grow weaker as music diversifies, and their failure to adjust in any significant way becomes increasingly offensive. Yet, they sit alone at the top of their critical field. If you’re interested, please join me down here as I throw rocks at the throne. One of the greatest criticisms of any institution is to say they’ve lost sight of their original purpose; the Grammy Awards are a perfect example. Elected officials often get lost in the game that is politics and begin to govern with the intention of securing reelection instead of serving the people. The Grammys have fallen into a similar trap. In order to maintain their unparalleled grip on the pinnacle of musical achievement, they feel they need to please an audience. Their word is final, yet if people are displeased their credibility comes into question. So, in order to maintain credibility and reserve the right to assert their opinion, they have to simultaneously appeal to the largest possible demographics while pacifying the frustration of undervalued fanbases. For this year’s attempt at saving face, Harvey Mason Jr., the CEO of The Recording Academy, added three sub-categories: best African music performance, best alternative jazz album, and best pop dance recording. While the surface-level intention here is good, it doesn’t make a dent. The Grammys' genre divisions can’t be fixed by adding niche awards here and there. If there is a category for Christian music why not other religions? If there is a category for Electronic music why does it only apply to the Euro/American EDM and hyperpop movements and not the majority-Black Techno and House movements of Detroit and Chicago? You’ll never get to the root of the problem by going one at a time. The result of their box-checking strategy is an uncomfortable and unbalanced relationship with not only the artists, but their audience as well. How is an audience supposed to accept the word of The Recording Academy as gospel when that word has been so obviously impacted by a variety of monetary influences and inherent biases? Criteria is the key word when it comes to exercises of this nature. An entity that is determining the best or worst of anything must have criteria in order to consistently deliver a decision. Discrepancies sew doubt into the minds of the audience, and I have many doubts running through my mind this year. Morgan Wallen is the newest rage in country music. In 2023 he was all over the charts, even holding the number one slot for 16 weeks with “Last Night” . His music dominated the country audience, but more impressively, he brought in non-country fans as well. I won’t pretend to count myself as one of them, but I do find it incredible that he will receive the same number of golden Grammy trophies as me this year (0). While his songwriters have a shot in the best country song category, Morgan Wallen himself is not nominated once. If the Grammys aren’t about the fans, at least not his, they must put more of an emphasis on critical success, right? Caroline Polachek must be nominated for album of the year. Wrong. Instead we sit in a weird in-between where popularity matters only within fanbases The Recording Academy values, where critical voices are used to defend certain artists’ inclusion but ignored to justify others. For instance, Ice Spice is nominated for Best New Artist, but not Sexyy Red . Both artists had massive presences on the rap charts and TikTok, planted their names amongst the top female rappers, made significant feature appearances, and received strong reviews from critics, yet only one is nominated. Sexyy Red is what we, in the tradition of complaining about the Grammys, call a snub. Yes, gathering around and complaining about the Grammys snubs is a tradition at this point. I’m sure The Recording Academy can feel this culture of negativity amongst their audience, though I’m not sure they care. As long as those angry people still tune in, what's the harm? A lot of work goes into crafting an audience such as this; we’re frustrated but we return without fail. They sell it and we buy it, and when there’s a dip in sales they find a way to pull us back in. In 2021 they charted by far the lowest viewership this century. The next year, they received praise from all corners of the entertainment industry when Jon Batiste won the 2022 album of the year. To follow that up, they put on a 50 years in hip-hop celebration last year, which received awards and resulted in a 30% spike in viewership from the previous year. So, how do they maintain an audience constantly threatening to wane? They lean into other demographics as needed. There is no 51 years in hip-hop celebration this year, in fact there’s no hip-hop nominated for any of the top three categories. Instead they sprinkled nominations in for Grammy darlings Kendrick Lamar and Jon Batiste , despite Lamar having a slow year in terms of production quantity and Batiste’s new album receiving lukewarm reviews across the board. This kind of token placement throughout the nominations is a common Grammy trope, and its used to justify Harry Styles’ Harry’s House winning over Beyonce’s Renaissance or Macklemore’s The Heist winning over Kendrick Lamar’s Good Kid, M.A.A.D. City (notice how they’ve been sure not to repeat this particular mistake). If you create the standard that a certain kind of music’s merit is limited, then its inclusion in any form is appreciated. Have you ever taken a moment to wonder why you never see hip-hop albums win Album of The Year? In fact, only two have ever done it. Is it fair to say that Lauryn Hill’s The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill and Outkast’s Speakerboxxx/The Love Below are the only two rap albums ever to sit at the top of their year, that even the best rap albums can’t, on average, stand up to the best of other genres, that rap is a lesser artform? No, that’s nonsense, yet that’s what the Grammys imply. The Grammys imply that Black music can be pigeonholed into one umbrella category, and somehow, that’s remained acceptable. In 2021 Black artists accounted for 44% of charting songs according to Billboard , yet a CNN article from the same year revealed only 24% of the nominees were Black. The vessel through which the Grammys bottle up Black artists is the Rap & Spoken Word Poetry category. While it's dangerous to assume an artist’s inclusion in a given category is based on anything other than merit, patterns imply intent not coincidence. Case and point: every single artist nominated in the R&B, Rap & Spoken Word Poetry this year is of African descent. Knowing that, it becomes a lot harder to remain under the impression the category has anything to do with music, not to mention the glaring differences in the art being presented within the category. However, the person who highlights this categorical foolishness the best isn’t even Black. Jelly Roll is a rapper and singer from Nashville. He spent more than a decade rapping, inspired by the Southern royalty rap of the 90s and 2000s. However, when he finally received his first Grammy nod it was in the Country & American Roots Music category. Just like there's no room for Lil Yachty in the Rock, Metal & Alternative Music category, there was no room for Jelly Roll in the Grammys definition of rap. After more than a decade, this was abundantly clear to him so he transitioned to a genre that fit his skin tone and accent in the highest critical context. That’s the kind of power these awards wield. They shape the landscape in which artists attempt to create music, and they enforce their racist mindset on the industry at large. That’s why Lil Nas X couldn’t release a pop/country song without backlash, Tyler, The Creator got his music pulled from the radio for practicing the same horrorcore rap that made Eminem famous, and Iggy Azalea climbed the charts by rapping in her best impersonation of a Black woman instead of her natural Australian accent. At the source of every institutional form of discrimination is an institution. In the music industry you can point to a number of villains, but none more public and pathetic than the Grammys. To The Recording Academy: allow me to remind you of your supposed purpose. You are the highest positive critical force in American Music. You have a responsibility to recognize the best of the best, based purely on merit, by creating categories which cover all types of excellent music and rewarding the best artist within that category. The purpose of categories is to ensure those who deserve to be recognized are accommodated, not to appease the fans, insert or cover your inherent bias, or reinforce the configuration of the pop charts. The pop charts, after all, speak for themselves. We don’t need you to base your decisions upon streaming numbers or radio listenership, Billboard exists for that very purpose. No, we turn to you because you are the all-encompassing, musically critical institution which best summarizes the feelings of the most reputable pundits and the people for whom the artists make art. You wield the power of public opinion, not the other way around. That power is unrivaled in the music industry, as streaming is the livelihood of the artists who you’re meant to empower. After all, their art is also a product. Instead, you’ve become the product. You sell yourself to the public every year. Everything you do, from the categories and the artists nominated within them, to the presenters and performers selected to put on your show, is all a part of the institution, the product, the lost cause: the Grammys. Of course, we can't completely abstain from the ceremonies. So, here's a list of the best amongst the nominees, who I think will win, and who should win regardless of the nominations for every category I feel inclined and qualified to pick.

Tigers Lose A Wet One BY: Ian Sherry The Detroit Tigers took their home field for the last time this season on Sunday, September 9. The Tigers' organization opted to thrust the game's start time forward 30 minutes to beat an oncoming storm. Weather became a hot topic as the fans rushed into Comerica Park to watch first-place Detroit fight to clinch the AL Central. Dark clouds approach Detroit as most Tigers fans find their seats for the Sunday game against Atlanta. Tigers offense leaves the field after an fourth inning-ending double play. A concourse attendant carefully minds his condiment station at Comerica Park. The sky grows more ominous by the second as the Braves extend their lead to 3-0 over the Tigers in the fifth inning. A pair of fans huddle under an umbrella as the Tigers groundcrew rolls out the tarp following the seventh inning stretch. Locally famous Tiger fan continues to rile up a crowd of drenched spectators through a steady downpour as the Tigers remain delayed. Shortstop Javier Baez tosses a ball to the crowd as the Tigers retire the Atlanta offense in their return to action. This experienced Tigers follower files out alongside the wettest and toughest fans remaining for the last time this regular season. By: Ian Sherry

A Perfectly Timely Review of Head of the Love Club BY: Ian Sherry 5/22/23 I discovered Hänlyn shortly after the release of this EP and after spending the last few months listening to her I decided she was the final piece to an article I’ve been wanting to write for some time. As I attempted to properly unpack Gretel Hänlyn’s talent in her section of “Putting You On Three” , I realized this EP needed its own review. So, months after the release, it’s here. On March 13, 2023 Gretel Hänlyn released her sophomore EP Head of the Love Club. Gretel Hänlyn’s debut Slugeye showcased a clearly defined and developed sound coming from a talented artist. Its production, song structure, and stylistic flexibility, (all things young artists often struggle with) were all standout quality. She thrived when creating complicated soundscapes and then singing right down the middle of them, allowing the music itself to shine while her voice pulls everything together. It was a musically diverse and well-rounded EP, but after this most recent release it feels safe. Gretel Hänlyn’s 2023 Head of the Love Club is exciting to say the least. Let me tell you why. “Dry Me” is a perfect start. Immediately Hänlyn brings an intensity, both vocally and instrumentally, she’s never shown before. She ranges up and down vocally within lines, hitting highs and lows in just one sentence. The vocal performance itself pulls the listener in close through the 1:30 mark, at which point she begins to build tension. Rising synths and a repeated acoustic guitar progression lead to the payoff at the 2:45 mark: her voice reaches peak intensity, and heavy piano slams in the low end along with the drums as a much lighter piano riff is sprinkled over the top. The intense soundscape provides the perfect release of tension, and though it lasts just over 15 seconds, it is a fantastic preview of things to come. Moving chronologically, “Drive” puts this EP in motion. Employing a lot of the keys to the success of Wet Legs debut project, Hänlyn nails the more raw end of this modern indie pop sound. The electric baseline rolls over and over, setting the pace alongside punchy drums. Her buzzy spoken vocals sit on top, letting simplicity command the audience’s attention, until the chorus serves as a well-timed interjection. She brings in poppy feminine vocals and electric guitar to do so. Sending the audience seamlessly in and out of witty verses is essential, especially with these kinds of spoken vocals, which can wear down an audience over long terms of exposure. “Drive” is a challenge, but a simple and effective one: Hänlyn is bringing the energy and you have to absorb it. “King of Nothing” immediately addresses the other end of the modern indie pop spectrum, and its placement directly behind “Drive” feels like no mistake. To use a literary term, it is essentially a foil of its predecessor. The baseline rolls just like before, but the distortion from the previous verses’ baseline is placed on the chorus’ guitar in “King of Nothing”. The distortion is also removed from the vocals, and the higher, more delicate layered vocals take hold of the verses instead of the choruses like before. Using a similar song structure to boot, Hänlyn is able to create a completely different sound with just a few small switches. Whether or not this particular contrast is intentional, Hänlyn’s technical and artistic abilities are on full display with “King of Nothing”. “Wiggy” provides more of a stylistic continuation than the previous transitions. Hänlyn amps up the vocal layering. The song moves along nicely, once again being subtly guided by the baseline. She uses the higher pitched guitar to insert air into the track by separating the upper and lower ends of the mix. Together, these factors create a very catchy sound. For most of the song she layers the instrumental up and down more seamlessly than any of her other work, even to a fault as the final chorus is frankly built up too much. While it doesn’t have the most sonically pleasing conclusion, track 4 is another detail-oriented success that transports the audience to a happy wiggy world. Yet another stylistic swerve, “Little Vampire” revisits the Slugeye vibe. Using acoustic guitar and drowsy vocals (a combo that reminds me a lot of Nirvana), Hänlyn begins to build tension like she does so well on this EP. As the song progresses, a buzzing sound creeps up and she begins to mix in eerily delicate vocals. She even sprinkles in some keys in place of vocals. As the buzzing persists and the wall of tension continues to build, her delicate vocals start to feel crushed under the weight of what’s coming. Then, the song ends. Gretel Hänlyn knows exactly what she’s doing. She knows how well she builds tension. She knows the power of her vocals to set the mood. She knows that her command over the mix only adds to that mood. And she uses this knowledge to trick us: leaving her audience with a conclusion that should be unsatisfying, yet somehow is completely the opposite. “Little Vampire” might not be the most exciting song on Head of the Love Club , but it's a masterpiece. Hänlyn knows that too. “The Head of the Love Club” is probably the worst song on the album. It begins with a grinding distorted guitar and it continues without much pause for 2 minutes. It is just too much. The points where it releases and is replaced with a pleasant baseline are very enjoyable, but it's not nearly worth the payoff. It also disrupts the flow of the song, preventing the instrumental from building properly, removing any chance for airiness, and taking away from an enjoyable vocal performance. I know what Hänlyn was going for, but the result is disappointing, especially considering she successfully executes this concept elsewhere in this EP. Thankfully, “Easy Peeler” is a complete release of tension. Weaving in three different acoustic guitars at some points, Hänlyn creates an elegant sound. Her beautiful vocals only add to it. She adds an electric guitar on the chorus and later verses, ensuring she won’t lose that familiar low end, as she thrives atop the mix. My only gripe with this song is its occasional struggles layering the instrumental, however she nails it on the last try. She lets the vocals rest a bit longer on the last attempt, allowing herself time to layer the final high point, piece by piece, and give this pretty song the ending it deserves. “Today (Can’t Help but Cry)” is as good of a conclusion as “Dry Me” is a start. The sharp contrast between the two allows the audience to reflect on the 26 minute journey as they enjoy the Kate Bush-like world Hänlyn creates down the stretch of this final track. A classic indie pop intro is followed by soaring verses. She clears out any distortion in favor of echoing vocals, for a dreamy sound. Hänlyn sings in stride with the music on this track. Instead of looking for a pocket in the mix for her vocals, she floats alongside it. She minimizes the instrumentation of the bridge in favor of those echoed vocals, before bringing it back to ride out the album. She lets the audience admire this soundscape as it fades away, taking her 2023 EP with it. My initial thoughts centered around how many risks she took considering the quality and consistency of her first EP. However, I now realize that for Hänlyn, executing risks comes naturally. She stays within her abilities, and those abilities are responsible for one of my favorite releases of the year. Things like building tension, mid-line tone shifting, vocal layering, and messing around with song structure, are occasional tools for most artists (something to try once in a while for effect). For Gretel Hänlyn they are an integral part of her sound. She is so advanced, it's hard to believe her streaming numbers aren’t higher, but it won’t be long. Of course, there are kinks to work out on this EP, but to me, they feel like the musical equivalent to first-world problems. There is one glaring miss on this album, but there are so many good things to unpack, even on that song, I have no problem looking by it (except when I’m rating). If you haven’t listened to Head of the Love Club please do, and if you haven’t heard of Gretel Hänlyn, you’re welcome. Head of the Love Club is a 9.25/10. Suggested Listening Balance

Return of the Clipse By Ian Sherry 7/23/2025 On July 11, Clipse returned with Let God Sort Em Out . One of hip hop’s greatest duos is back in all-time brotherly form. Before I share the upshot, let’s talk about the Fall-off. The gist is this: at some point every rapper hits a wall, loses the juice. After years in a game that demands killer instinct and inter-industrial connections, there comes a time when artist can no longer create in the rat-race-space that is hip hop. Did you listen to Music To Be Murdered By (20) ? That was a falloff. Did you listen to Donda (21) ? That was a falloff. Did you listen to Tha Carter VI (25) ? That was a falloff. Pusha T is 48 years old. That’s older than Eminem, Kanye, and Wheezy at the time of their respective Fall-offs, which only makes more impressive the fact that rap’s champion of old-school weight-moving is only getting stronger. Upon entering what would be a tricky period in the average rap career, Pusha T has released 3 consecutive catalog-topping records, and this time it’s a family affair. Sometime in the early 90s, brothers Gene and Terrance Thornton were kicked out of their family home, onto the streets of Virginia Beach when their father found a brick in his kitchen. Now living on the same streets they served, the brothers had no choice but to make some shit shake. Luckily, they had some talent tucked behind all the 1s in their pockets. With moving being their specialty, they soon discovered their ability to move people with their raps. As Terrar and Malicious tore across the VA underground, it wasn’t long before Pharrell made that same discovery. And the Clipse was born. The duo made an immediate impact on the 2000s rap landscape, locking down their place in Southern rap history and influencing the following wave of hip-hop-heads (Tyler The Creator especially) across their first two records. But as The Neptunes p assed on production responsibilities to Mr. Combs and the brothers’ life paths became, divergent their work together came to an end in 2010, with Pusha T entering the Kanye-sphere and Malice stepping away to find God and write his memoir. For a long time Clipse felt like a part of hip-hop history, a part of that time I just barely missed, a dynamic connection I never quite got to experience. Eclipses are a powerful rarity of nature: an otherworldly cycle beyond our control brings into alignment two massive looming figures in our sky, turning out our lights and placing the world on pause. Its been 15 years since the last Clipse, and the moment VA’s finest realigned, my world went on pause . 'Chivalry ain’t dead, you ain’t let her go alone, Found you in the kitchen, scriptures in the den Half-written texts that you never got to send Combin through your dresser drawer, where do I begin? Posted Noted Bible quotes, were you preparing then?. Malice’s words on “The Birds Don’t Sing” hit me harder than any other lyrics released this year, and they gave it to us in track 1. There’s not personal information readily available on the internet regarding the Thornton clan (a self-ensured blessing on their part I’m sure), which only adds to the mystique of Clipse as they dive into both family and personal matters for the length of Let God Sort Em Out . The record's first offering begins a pattern of ferociously confronting the elephants and skeletons scattered across the Thornton household, their beginnings which they’ve revisited in metaphor for years now – all with the help of John Legend's golden vocals. It’s a phenomenal first track content-wise as it flips the narrative on Clipse’ past from a place they escaped to a place they feel the need to revisit, with Pusha spewing his regrets from an apologetic place he’s seldom displayed and Malice recounting the tragic, consecutive passings of their parents with a special focus on his painfully retrospective appreciation for his father. Malice’s tirelessly constructed perspective works to offset his hotter-headed brother, deepen the album’s content, and link its chaotically corresponding takeaways. I had small but reasonable concern about the brothers’ chemistry, considering the 15 years that passed and the changes they’ve undergone. It seemed Clipse no longer had their collective focus, dope dealing, but in a satisfying show of maturity and a will to succeed, they found common ground. With their feet on familiar soil: the skateboard beats of the man who discovered them a quarter century ago, the brothers Clipse stand back-to-back ready to spit (with K Dot in tow). And as the second Pharrell instrumental rumbles to life, a storm of thought approaches. Scene by: Allie Larpenteur Clipse bursts into motion “Chains & Whips,” as lyrics slice through the air publicly eliminating internally burdensome and real-life targets alike. Kendrick Lamar drops in beside them to tack on a third fantastic verse – his relentless assessments of self and surroundings blend perfectly with his hosts, a pattern that’s common among this return album’s carefully sorted guests. Just like that, God’s sorting has sprung into full effect. The fashionista thug persona Pusha has been cultivating over his last two solo projects goes beyond lyrical content; his increasingly heady beat selection and ever-expanding industry access have allowed his sound to reflect this era of his career. Now, with Malice by his side, Pusha seems to have a reinvigorated sense of urgency in his words. Both brothers preach lifestyles, and while they differ in certain respects, they’re able to coexist within cohesive tracks thanks to a comfortable chemistry and like-mindedness in the most key areas. "M.T.B.T.T.F." is my favorite example. The underlying source of Let God Sort Em Out’s holistic synergy is Pharrell Williams. The sonic platform of this album exudes royalty and palpably high stakes – the perfect climate for Thorntons. Williams played big role in Pusha T’s recent stylistic progressions, and his wall-to-wall effort on this record only further solidified a sacred scene at the crossroads of contemporary hip-hop. It goes beyond banger beats like “Ace Trumpets.” The album feels like a collective vision. Take the flow from “M.T.B.T.T.F.” into “E.B.I.T.D.A.” : track 7 is a thumping beat. The choppy drums perfectly set up heavy bass drops, like tossing a ball up and slamming it down over and over and over as the brothers let their punches fly. Track 8 follows with Pharrell riding his light, spacey beat from the needle drop. His synth-work and atmospherics on “E.B.I.T.D.A.” replicate the elevated tension of a “Summer Madness” and maintain it as a backdrop for his fellow emcees. He is the glue and one of the many forces that brought these titans back into alignment. Following the seventh track, every song on the album has a feature. When track 9, “F.I.C.O.” presented a beat in the tonal valley between its successors’ sounds, Stove God Cooks swept in with the perfect hook to match. When Pusha laid down one of the hardest verse-chorus combos to start “Inglorious Bastards,” Ab Liva was there to deliver an on-par capping verse in a refreshing bassy tone the nasally Virginians lack. When Pharrell introed the eleventh track, “So Far Ahead” in his computer hip-hop gospel bag (which I could take or leave), he perfectly set up the sturdy beat drop into a relentless Pusha T verse. It worked so nice, they did it twice! (Which I didn’t need). This time dropping into a superior Malice verse, before trotting that flow-stopping chorus out one more time (which I really didn’t need, perhaps the only decision I disagree with record-wide). Nas stopped by quick on “Let God Sort Em Out/Chandeliers,” taking over the second half after a no-sweat-vet beat switch and riding a rolling beat for the album’s most memorable stand-alone feature. As the notorious number 13 rolled around, the sun started to emerge as "By The Grace Of God" introduced light to the previously stark sonic setting. The triumphant ending track finally eased the constantly applied pressure, allowing me to reflect on the album. And as I searched for chinks in the armour, I soon came to realize there are none. My expectations were massive for this record that I never thought I'd see, and my expectations were met. Does one small song-flow decision on a passable tune with great verses negate that fact? No. Let God Sort Em Out is a 10.