Spotify “Wrapped”
My most-listened-to artist this year was Los Lobos. That’s according to my Wrapped, Spotify’s annual personalized data synopsis. The funny thing is, I have no memory of listening to Los Lobos all that much this year.
I love the band. A few years ago, I decided they’re the most underrated American musical artist of the 20th century. They should be massive household names, on par with Dylan and Petty and Springsteen and Fleetwood Mac, but they’re not. Maybe it’s because of their proud Latino heritage and polyglot sound, which confused record companies. Major labels’ lack of imagination still astounds me.
So with a lot of Los Lobos love, I made a three hour playlist of my favorite Lobos songs. Spotify says I listened to them a lot in early September; again, no memory of this. I think I must have put the playlist on in the background while playing with my daughter and doing chores on a weekend. Three hours later, it’s my year of Los Lobos.
Except, when I think back to 2023, that’s not what I remember. I remember visiting the Flying Nun record shop/museum in Wellington, New Zealand, diving deep into Kiwi music past and present. I remember seeing the Smile in concert in July and endlessly playing their debut, a bit of cold, dark counter-programming in our summer from hell. I remember falling in love with Being Dead, a goofy garage rock trio from Austin, and listening to their tape repeatedly on our stereo while our daughter bounced around. I remember diving deep into the Band again after Robbie Robertson’s death, playing “Acadian Driftwood” over and over and thinking a lot about the music we love as teenagers, how it can sit inside us, dormant like a seed, and bloom repeatedly.
What happens when we turn over our memories and meaning-making to companies and data? Most of this listening happened outside of Spotify, and it wasn’t passive like my Los Lobos soundtrack. It was an active engagement, tumbling down the past and thinking about the future. This is something data can’t quantify. Any metric is shallow, mistaking the finger pointing at the moon for the moon itself.
Reference Tracks
I was a guest on Lisa Machac’s wonderful podcast Reference Tracks, where music professionals talk (and in my case, agonize) about the three songs that have made a big impact in their professional and musical lives. Past guests include Susan Rogers, Prince’s longtime engineer, and Larry Crane, Elliott Smith’s producer and founder of Tape Op. I’m humbled to be in their company, and I had a lot of fun with Lisa. Weirdly, it’s rare to sit around with other music obsessives and talk about music. It has me thinking of baking that into my life somehow, not as a podcast, but as a social hang. Also weird to be on the other side of the interviewing mic for a change.
Recent guest DJ sets
I produce My KUTX, an hour long guest DJ set at KUTX 98.9 in Austin. Some recent favorites:
*Fermin Núñez, head chef at Suerte and Este, two of my favorite Austin restaurants. I’ve always wondered who gets to pick the music in a busy commercial kitchen (it’s down to seniority and good taste!). Fermin’s mix is full of a lot of regional Mexican music I wasn’t familiar with.
*Lisa Machac. This is how we originally connected, and hearing her emotional connection to the Austin music scene was really lovely.
*S.L. Houser. Music scenes function because of people like Sara, a musician, a music educator, an arranger, a producer, and a songwriter. She’s quietly putting in the work because it’s not work. It’s a life.
*Greg Beets and Richard Whymark. Two former KVRXers (like myself) produced an oral history on Austin’s wild, wonderful ‘90s underground rock scene. Squat Thrust, Fuckemos, Pork—the band names alone are worth it. The book is great, and I really love their old-school zine they’ve been writing to promote it.
*Nemegata. My new favorite Austin band, and more proof that we’re living through a golden age of Latin-inspired music in town. When people lament about the scene or I worry that nothing new is being expressed, I’m reminded of bands like Nemegata, who merge their roots with psychedelic futurism.
*The American Analog Set. A pleasure catching up with one of my favorite Austin musicians. Here’s my quasi-review of their wonderful new album:
The first thing I notice when I play the American Analog Set’s new For Forever is just how heavy it sounds. The longtime Austin institution, which released its debut back in 1996, has traded hushed minimalism for noisy minimalism. Singer/guitarist Andrew Kenny thrashes a Gibson SG, a guitar more associated with AC/DC than AmAnSet’s intimacy. The songs sound feral, desperately needing to exist. They’re often sexual in topic and in their sonic energy. It’s been nearly two decades since the group’s last release, and For Forever feels weighted with time and shadows. But it’s gracious in that AmAnSet way: if it’s dark, the band is here as an open-hearted companion.
The band has always stuck out a bit in the Austin scene. Most razzle dazzle; AmAnSet contentedly burn at a low temperature. They share some musical DNA with Low and Yo La Tengo, but AmAnSet’s songs feel more insular, pulling from cinematic influences while also indulging in pure pop pleasure. The story behind For Forever‘s creation is so at odds with how creative work is usually seen or celebrated. After ending the band following the release of 2005’s Set Free, the group casually got back together a decade or so later. No grand plans or pressure; instead, the members simply played at Kenny’s home studio on Monday nights. These weekly jams patiently evolved into songs. For Forever collects about four years’ worth of this slow motion process, and you can hear this spaciousness. It’s a weekly social hang as art.
Recent music I’ve enjoyed
The Serfs // “Order Imposing Sentence”
Chaotic electro-punk from Cincinnati. Shades of Devo and Suicide, but they have their own thing going on.
Art Feynman // “All I Can Do”
Art Feynman is the moniker for Luke Temple, known for his work in Here We Go Magic. His first two albums under the Feynman name were exercises in lo-fi home recording, sounding like oddball pop records you’d find in a dollar bin. On Be Good The Crazy Boys, he’s got a full band, emphasis on full: recorded live, alive in the moment, pulsating. He’s described it as an ode to Talking Heads and Compass Point-style funk. There’s a lot of music you’ll hear these days—at restaurants, gyms, grocery stores, in commercials—that I call “wallpaper funk”: it’s lite-ly funky, inoffensive, a bland rhythm designed for mood enhancement more than enjoyment. Art Feynman does not make that. He writes complex songs with multiple hooks that demand your body’s full attention. (Bonus points for album art/font that I can’t take my eyes off of. It looks like a demented take on kids’ books I’d find at the Scholastic Fair in elementary school.)
Low // “Just Stand Back”
Margaret Glaspy came into KUTX’s live studio this month and performed this song with Spoon’s Britt Daniel. What I increasingly love about Low was their simplicity, and within that simplicity they could deliver frightening lyrics:
One more step and I'll slit your neck
You'll get used to itYou better just stand back
I could turn on you so fast
It reminds me of “Monkey,” off the same album: “Oh my my / Little white lie / I swear I’m gonna make it right / this time.” Their lyrics are active, not frozen in place. It makes Low’s music jump out at you, feral.