Editor's Note

March/April 2022

Tasha Hefford

“The idea that there’s somebody waiting for me on the other side of all this shittiness was very comforting to me at that time. It kickstarted the whole process of getting off of my ass, writing this album, and trying to stay out of trouble.”

Francis Baptiste, It’s Easier if It’s in A Song by Hina Imam 


There’s something beautiful about a space where nobody really knows what they are doing or what they are even doing it for. Under the romantic cloak of artistry, these moments are what I like to call ⚠ a sweet escape ⚠. It’s poetry that makes you embarrassed of your own thoughts. Music to listen to while you escape the hell-realm. Art that makes you feel powerful. Or fragile. These things circumvent a long-trained and self-consciously strict pragmatism that rules most things. You know the one. It’s what we pour all the largely shapeless bewilderment of the world into and let it congeal in the freezer until it bursts. Despite everything — no yolo — people are still capable of making art that is brilliant and life-affirming and ⚠ deliciously escapist ⚠. Disorderly feelings call for similarly untidy songs. I will die on this hill! 

In this issue, writers take that shapeless meat and stuff it into a mold of their own devising. Who are the artists we cover? Who are their people? What’s in the work they make that listeners emotionally connect with? How do the relationships of artists with artists, artists with listeners, and artists with art intersect? The way these creative networks interface, connect and care for eachother is what we cover most. It reminds me this is what makes things suck less. It actually makes things really fucking good. 


1 very harmonically dense uncategorizable sound,