Is white lipstick the trashiest shade of lip color? Despite continually mulling over what belongs in the oozing dumpster of the trash aesthetic, I never really thought about it until the elongated scream of “Whiiiiiiiiiiiii-te lipstick!” that kickstarts the sonic tribute to this pasty lip on Hunx and His Punx’s new album Walk Out on … Continue reading
The Weeknd’s Hurry Up Tomorrow features Giorgio Moroder. Those eight words alone might be enough of a gushing review, the shortest I’d ever write. Do you need to know anything else about the new album besides the presence of the pioneering heavenly father of disco who sent Donna Summer’s divine voice levitating into outer space? … Continue reading
Isn’t it about time that we feel bad about masturbating again? I mean, other than a few edging holdouts, how long has it been since jacking was taboo? That yanking your plug or flicking your bean or however you want to do it could risk a judgmental side eye and rejecting shake of the head … Continue reading
“Don’t wanna be a bossy bottom!” This line from the song “Bow Tie Eater” made me cackle during my first listen to Geneva Jacuzzi’s new album Triple Fire, released by Dais Records. It wasn’t just the reference to a power-tripping sub or the welcome shock of needy “Give me love” desire and in-heat grooves after … Continue reading
Chrystabell and David Lynch’s new album Cellophane Memories may be one of the worst albums I’ve ever heard—or the best. Either way, as a work of art, I’m certain it’s some sort of genius. I make the distinction here between an album and art because Cellophane Memories, released last week by Sacred Bones Records, is … Continue reading
What is the last really good song about eating box? No, not Harry Styles’s “Watermelon Sugar,” the earworm bane of every easy listening-scored shopping experience. For me, I have to reach way back to those sleazy 1990s for some cunnilingus classics: Madonna’s “Where Life Begins” and Lil’ Kim’s “Not Tonight.” Yet, while Kim’s insistent chorus, … Continue reading
I’ve only visited Los Angeles once despite frequently returning to its sprawling noir imagery in some of my most beloved films and music. Yet, none of these—not even our Lady of Southern California, Lana Del Rey, or the master of its surreal seedy underbelly, David Lynch—has ever truly articulated my experience of contemporary Los Angeles. … Continue reading