With 232 pages and an expanded 12″ by 12″ format, our biggest print issue yet celebrates the people, places, music, and art of our hometown, including cover features on David Lynch, Nipsey Hussle, Syd, and Phoebe Bridgers’ Saddest Factory Records, plus Brian Wilson, Cuco, Ty Segall, Lord Huron, Remi Wolf, The Doors, the art of RISK, Taz, Estevan Oriol, Kii Arens, and Edward Colver, and so much more.
Lambrini Girls, Who Let the Dogs Out
The UK duo hurls hand grenades in the direction of contemporary society’s myriad ills across their riotously fun yet deadly serious indie-punk debut.
Franz Ferdinand, The Human Fear
The Scottish rockers’ sixth album leans into variety with the help of a new lineup, though most of the LP’s highlights come in the form of singles exhibiting the band’s tried-and-true sound.
Ethel Cain, Perverts
More of an immersive art installation than an album, this 90-minute drone project is every bit as moving as its pop predecessor despite feeling deliberately difficult.
Jon Pruett
Their music, which favors beats and atmosphere over songwriting, make them an ideal fit for the dub treatment.
While so much of Callahan’s past songwriting has felt like poetic exercise, this time autobiography shines through.
The record is kind of fascinating in its obsession with the “boogie”—both as a verb and as a musical genre.
Attempts to unpack the legacy of one of Chicago’s favorite sons could veer into a novel-length investigation—but an overview of what made him an essential voice is on Technicolor display here.
Pratt’s melodies hold nary a wasted chord or unwanted phrase.
Steve Gunn’s latest has more palpable emotion and literary bent than ever before.
Pearls Before Swine’s quasi-historical mystery album is hard to grasp, its songs coming in waves of breath and snippets of sound.
Decades after the mainstream’s punk pivot, Mascis is still the master.
Hair-raising, skin-crawlingly good stuff, if you’re into jammin’ on the one, passin’ the pipe, or just rocking back and forth in a violent trance.
“Wanderer” is a triumph of raw emotion, old direction, and new meaning.
“MITH” feels drawn to the elephant in our nation’s ugly-ass living room.
A 1-2-3-go punk-pop record in the Buzzcocks vein with a nice little bend in the tempo, as if you just got zapped by lightning.
A two-man mixtape of psych, guitar pop, soul power, and good times.
Rhys has an ideal voice for these space-age ballads and cosmic troubadour rambles.
Wooden Shjips are still chasing grace through repetition; they simply have a broader palette to work with this time.
A fuzzy, funky, cosmic party record.
What’s really on display here is Czukay’s maddening restlessness.
Belle and Sebastian are best now not at conjuring melancholy afternoons looking out the window, but at celebratory disco epics that get people dancing on the tables.
The schizophrenic energy of Ought’s early albums is harder to find here, but it’s not gone.
“Live at Lafayette’s Music Room” offers a window into one of the most acclaimed (and equal parts ignored) bands of the 1970s.