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.




Photo by Michael Muller. Image design by Gene Bresler at Catch Light Digital. Cobver design by Jerome Curchod.
Phoebe Bridgers makeup: Jenna Nelson (using Smashbox Cosmetics)
Phoebe Bridgers hair: Lauren Palmer-Smith
MUNA hair/makeup: Caitlin Wronski
The Los Angeles Issue

Neil Young, Coastal: The Soundtrack
Documenting his 2023 tour, Young’s umpteenth live album both simplifies the noise of Crazy Horse’s recent recordings and solidly renders familiar hits in a solo setting.

Adrian Younge, Something About April III
The third and final installment of his vintage psych-soul trilogy sees the songwriter bring the large history of Brazil into a tight narrative revolving around young love and class struggle.

Julien Baker & TORRES, Send a Prayer My Way
Baker and Mackenzie Scott’s debut pop-country collaboration is made up of a nuanced and emotionally kinetic set of hangdog story-songs that wear their nudie suits with pride.
Josh Hurst

The Tennessean country-soul songwriter’s latest finds her sounding comfortable in her own skin, offering what may be the purest distillation yet of her strange charm and dogged positivity.

Explicitly pitched as a response to the unrest of early 2025, the former Hüsker Dü leader’s first album in five years continues to confidently summon instant-earworm hooks and visceral thrills.

This 75-minute opus pays tribute to Baldwin’s righteous witness, applying his moral and spiritual rigor to Black experience in contemporary America with big ideas and vivid emotions.

The prodigious jazz band leader shifts from kinetic energy to meditative tranquility as he puts down the sax on a solo release that’s somehow both calming and jarring.

The celebrated Philadelphia rapper’s debut full-length is made up of masterpieces in miniature—two- to three-minute songs intimate in their scope and spare in their production.

Exposure is the dominant mode on the Chicago-based songwriter’s latest, in which her language feels more carefully chiseled, more focused and impactful than ever before.

Beyond being wiser than her debut, this sophomore LP is also sharper, meaner, funnier, more assured, more pleasurable, and more persuasive that Rodrigo is operating on a plane of her own.

Coalescing disparate genres, generations, and value systems into a big-tent pop blockbuster, Batiste’s latest streamlines musical and ideological sophistication into an LP designed for mass appeal.

The jazz fusionist plays to his strengths as a sample-based thinker and collage artist while also showing how he can wrestle his micro-moments into long-form works.

The teen punks’ debut is a set of sturdily constructed songs that blur the line between bubblegum tunefulness, power pop crunch, and punk abandon.

Kacey’s latest feels like several types of divorce album spliced together, at once messy, conflicted, and purposeful.

The jazz collective’s fourth album is first and foremost a dance record, bruising, visceral, and thrilling in its physicality.

Bird reconnects with his Squirrel Nut Zippers associate Mathus for the most straightforwardly old-timey music he’s made since the late ’90s.

The latest from Sir Paul is warm, inviting, a little weird, persistently tuneful, endearingly merry.

“Moon Piano” creates an environment that emanates tranquility without ever overstepping its bounds.

“Rumors” may seem almost like a deliberate provocation of the country purists.

HAIM has always made their music sound effortless, but here they sound genuinely unencumbered.

On “Petals for Armor” Williams is in full blossom, telling her story without requiring our permission.

Looking for a consolidated history of soul music in one handy package?

The narrative behind Aaron Livingston’s third full-length as Son Little is one of relinquished control.