I love reading about bands. I've read the AllMusic reviews of my favorite albums multiple times over. If my Apple Music selection has a writeup to go with, I'll read it. And I can read a good band book in a matter of hours. I'm not a professional nostalgia whore, but reading about these bands really does put me back in that time, and in that headspace. Like the music itself! I can't get enough of that particular high.
By the early 1900s, player pianos had evolved to more fully reproduce a human performance, including subtle dynamics like tempo changes and the introduction of a damper pedal. The human role went from deskilled to fully deprecated as electric motors replaced foot-powered bellows. With the Seeburg Lilliputian Model L, the only job left for humans who wanted to play the piano in the 1920s was to put in a coin.
R&B in the 21st century has been in a constant state of flux, tugged between safe traditionalism and blurry attempts at progression. For the last decade-plus that "progression" has seen R&B music become more indebted to trap records and the moody atmospherics of alternative bands like Radiohead, Coldplay, or My Bloody Valentine.
Oumy is a leading figure in contemporary Senegalese music. Her style, which blends hip-hop, African R&B and global pop, makes her one of the most exciting artists on the country's urban scene. Beyond her music career, she has also been involved in social projects within her community, participating in cultural festivals and campaigns related to the environment and equality.
Intense listening capabilities from these exquisite players which required, more than anything else, a great deal of trust. They posited about thematic structures, which somehow got agreed upon, live in the moment through a collective groupthink. Right there on stage. No words spoken, just an exchange of bizarrely intense looks. Ranging from 'we're almost there' to 'don't you dare.' That's trust, people.
It's a film about music. Particularly, about what remains when a musician cannot play and is left to consider the terrible sacrifices made, without conscious consent, to this all-consuming vocation that creates family pain and jealousy almost as a toxic byproduct. It's a drama to put you in mind of Glenn Gould and Hilary du Pre, sister of Jacqueline. Screenwriter Mark O'Halloran has adapted the 2013 novel Intermission by Owen Martell about renowned jazz pianist Bill Evans.
We tend to think AI music tools are just gimmicks for social media creators, or that they're limited to basic beats. But it's hard to dismiss them when companies like Google, Meta and Stability AI are pouring resources into generative audio models that can produce full compositions in seconds.
Natanya tears genres open and rebuilds them in her own image. Her drums swing loose and jazzy over heavy 808s; synths drift dreamily before snapping into gritty guitar riffs. Writing, producing and arranging all her own work, she weaves together neosoul silk, R&B groove, indie edge, and flashes of grunge, all carried by a buttery falsetto that nods to Aaliyah, Amy Winehouse, Janet Jackson and early Destiny's Child.
Spotify is rolling out a new feature that's meant to make transitions in between tracks even smoother. If you'll recall, the streaming service released the ability to create customized transitions within playlists in August last year. It gave people a way to create uninterrupted progressions and eliminate awkward silences between songs.
"Many found the music offensive, the dancing objectionable, and the popularity of both with young people verging on a mental health crisis." So writes music historian Susan C. Cook about ragtime, the heavily syncopated ancestor of jazz that arose in the late 1800s. Like all things, ragtime's subversiveness faded over time, and, a century later, the works of Scott Joplin and other practitioners had been relegated to carnivals and fairs, their jaunty piano melodies now evoking quaint notions of old-timey fun.
"When I read the fine print, it was 'an experience with REO Speedwagon's music.' It's none of the original members," Fletcher recalls. "I don't want to promote the show unless it's the real thing. I don't know why you would want to see that. It's just a cover band. To me, that's a little bit strange." He adds, with a sigh, "If there are no original members, who cares?"
Revolución to Roxy begins long before glam, synthesizers, or LP covers became cultural landmarks. Manzanera's earliest memories are shaped by upheaval: childhood in Cuba during the revolution, displacement, and an upbringing that crossed Venezuela, Colombia, England, and beyond. That instability, he says, produced something lasting-understanding. "If you grow up speaking two languages, you are scientifically proven to be more compassionate," Manzanera says. "You have this kind of duality, and one of those is the power to be empathetic. For a musician, that is such a helpful tool."
I've just given a keynote presentation at Lines of Flight: Improvisation, Hope and Refuge, a conference hosted by the International Institute for Critical Studies in Improvisation. I'd been invited to talk about my performance research with Dálava, a cross-genre project that is influenced by animist, Slavic cosmology and a land-based folk song tradition that has been in my family for generations.
Flipping through the jazz section on a visit to his local record store a few years ago, artist Kye Potter found a battered tape by American pianist and composer Jessica Williams. It looked every bit the quintessential DIY release. The labels had come off the tape, he says. It was home-dubbed, with photocopied notes, a little bit of highlighter to accentuate the artwork, and released on her own label, Ear Art.
The only song here that really matters. Written just hours after the murder of Alex Pretti in Minneapolis and released a few days later, Springsteen names names (looking at you, Stephen Miller and Kristi Noem) and speaks bold, specific truth. With a title that recalls his own impactful Streets of Philadelphia, a melody reminiscent of Bob Dylan, and an urgency not felt since Neil Young's Ohio, it may not be groundbreaking musically, but Streets of Minneapolis is exactly what we need right now.
Take the title of The Spiritual Sound as a kind of syllabus, and you'll find a heady list of musical reference points that Agriculture aim to exalt. The jarring intros of black metal songs that make you feel like a portal to Hell has opened inside your headphones. The sound design on later Scott Walker arrangements meant to conjure a Biblical plague. The slow, majestic build of post-rock epics that hold back their climax for maximum transcendence.
Co-written by Rocky with Cristoforo Donadi (aka Ghost), Zach Fogarty, and Ging (fka Frank Dukes), the track features a psych-rock-inspired sound, setting the tone for the direction of his upcoming album. Buy Don't Be Dumb on Vinyl/CD On "Punk Rocky," the Harlem rapper channels heartbreak with lyrics like, "She ain't gon' be in my life no more/ Got me crying in the microphone/ Let me shout on the megaphone/ That ho ain't my type no more."
January is the month where music is moving underneath the surface, feeling out the venues, plotting and planning for those great days under the sun, at a festival. If you are a globe-trotting DJ or band, January is the month you're finishing up those FaceTime calls with managers and bookers, and plotting out which month you'll be on the road playing the Empty Bottle in Chicago, the Iron Horse in Northampton, MA, or the Continental Club in Austin, TX.
A MARTINEZ, HOST: As we finish this year, let's listen to some of the musicians we lost in 2025. Sam Moore was half the R&B powerhouse Sam & Dave. He sang on smashes such as "Hold On, I'm Comin'," "I Thank You" and this one. (SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "SOUL MAN") SAM AND DAVE: (Singing) I'm a soul man. I'm a soul man. MICHEL MARTIN, HOST: We also lost the guitarist on that song, Steve Cropper. He defined the sound of Memphis soul with the Stax Records House Band. He appeared on hits by Otis Redding, Booker T. & The M.G.'s and Wilson Pickett.
But to anyone tracking the data over the past few years, it was inevitable. In 2022, Bad Bunny's Un Verano Sin Ti redefined the market, driving Latin music's streaming growth to new heights. It later became the first Spanish-language album nominated for Grammy Album of the Year. The takeaway is simple: When you have accurate, real-time data, you don't guess where culture is going, you know.
