What we’re listening to, watching, and reading right now.

Just why?

ʅ͡͡͡͡͡͡͡͡͡͡͡(̸̢̛̼̞̭͋ͅ)̸͚̰͛̔̾̀̿͒͂:̴͓̞̑̌̂̆̊͋̀:̸͎̟̯̂̓̌　҉　　　　　͡　͞　͞　͞　҉● ࿀ ●  ࿀  ●　　　҉⃝ 　　　⃝͢ ͞　　　͘　͞⃝̕ ͢　　　　̛　⃝ 　　　̸　̡　　͢⃝̧ 　͡　͡　　̀　̧　̢⃝͜ 　 　҉　　͞　͞　⃝͞ 　͞　͡⃝  ⃝҉҈҉҈҉҈҉҈҉҈҉ :̶̢͙͙͕̠̩͆(̷̮͍͚̫͚͂̍)̵̳̗̊(　̟̞̝̜̙̘̗̖҉̵̴̨̧̢̡̼̻̺̹̳̲̱̰̯̮̭̬̫̪̩̦̥

I would never go so far as to say there’s no place for AI in music (I’m a fan of Holly Herndon, after all). But I generally find music made with generative AI to be offensively boring, especially the outputs of Suno. So I’m having a bit of a tough time processing the fact that I actually quite enjoy 1010Benja’s “Semiramis’ Dream.”

Benja has been unapologetic about his use of generative AI on his latest EP, Time Has Nothing To Do With What You Choose… The other three tracks can’t quite hold a candle to what you find on 2024’s Ten Total. But the opener “Semiramis’ Dream” is infectious. It explodes out of the speakers with a jungle beat and Benja’s incredible, obviously human voice front and center.

Matmos are an incredibly accomplished duo between their own solo records like the masterpiece A Chance to Cut Is a Chance to Cure and production classic Björk records like Vespertine. But Drew Daniel, one half of Matmos, is fiendishly prolific. When he’s not literally dreaming up new viral music genres, he’s also putting out records under the banner of The Soft Pink Truth.

Where Matmos usually focuses on a specific musical experiment — using only samples of medical procedures or building instruments out of PVC tubing — Soft Pink Truth goes wherever Daniel’s whims take him. That might be a house record. It might be a bunch of black metal covers. Or, in the case of Shall We Go On Sinning So That Grace May Increase?, it could be a shockingly beautiful and optimistic meditation on the rise of global fascism.

There was a period in the early aughts when Definitive Jux (nee: Def Jux) seemed like it was going to be the future of hip-hop. While the label featured plenty of experimental, boundary-pushing, and politically minded acts, Lif stood out as the most “conscious rapper” in the traditional sense. It was clear though, that label head El-P envisioned that as an important part of Def Jux’s identity, as the first record it put out was 2000’s Enter the Colossus EP, from Lif.

Mr. Lif’s follow-up was 2002’s Emergency Rations EP, a sort of place setter for the full-length I Phantom just a couple of months later. It opens with a skit about Lif missing, apparently having been abducted by government agents. In 2002, Pitchfork suggested the bit was “unfortunate and sophomoric.” In 2026, it seems alarmingly prescient in a time when masked agents are disappearing suspected undocumented immigrants, prosecuting political opponents, and banning established news organizations from the White House.

I’m sure we’re all familiar with Dark Crystal, so we know that Jim Henson can be weird and tackle slightly more mature subject matter. But there is little in his oeuvre that is quite as mind-bending as the Muppetless The Cube. This 1969 teleplay was produced for an NBC anthology series called Experiment in Television, which featured, appropriately enough, various experimental films, plays, and documentaries. One episode even featured Marshall McLuhan explaining his oft-cited theory that “the medium is the message.”

Even among all these oddities, however, Jim Henson’s The Cube stands out. It’s a 53-minute bottle film — taking place almost entirely in a single room. A man awakens in a white cube, unsure of where he is or how he got there. There are no windows, no door. Just walls of white panels.

Cold Court is a brother-sister duo from Philly that seems to love nothing more than shoving all of their influences together in a messy soup that at least superficially resembles the hyperpop you’ve come to expect from acts like 100 Gecs. But, where songs like “Dumbest Girl Alive” goofily wink at pop punk and emo, Cold Court are a bit more self-serious, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

The opening track on the band’s debut EP \ (^_^) / (aka Hands Up), “Nina,” starts off sounding not unlike the dance punk bands that stormed the scene in the mid aughts like Franz Ferdinand or Test Icicles. But that all starts to change about a minute in, when the skuzzy riff gets chopped up and fed through a beat repeater. Another minute later, there’s a mellow proggy bridge that calls to mind The Mars Volta. Then the whole thing ends on a barrage of glitches and digital chaos.

I have this vivid memory of walking to pick up my oldest from school in June of 2022. For a variety of reasons, I was in a very bad place mentally. And to make matters worse, it was brutally hot. I was depressed, angry with the world, sunburned, and soaked through with sweat. But as the second track on Conclave, “Habla,” settled into its groove, I found myself unconsciously strutting. Not walking, but moving through the streets in lockstep with the music, just as a much-needed cool breeze kicked up, and some scaffolding afforded me a full block’s worth of shade. For a brief moment, I found myself smiling for the first time in what felt like a long time.

Conclave’s self-titled debut has been one of my go-to summer records ever since.

I’ll give the usual caveat: The horror novel Japanese Gothic is best experienced going in with as little information as possible. Content warnings for graphic gore, scenes of domestic violence, self-harm, and mental illness. If you’re okay with that, then consider pausing here. While I will try to keep this relatively spoiler-free, there will be some plot points I can’t avoid.

Kylie Lee Baker’s latest novel, following her acclaimed Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng, is sort of a ghost story and sort of a time travel story. It follows two protagonists.

From the opening moments of bitknot, it’s obvious that Feeble Little Horse has found an entirely new gear. Where on Girl with Fish the blown-out textures were more ’90s indie rock and shoegaze, on their latest LP, there’s a more modern edge to the distortion and the riffs cut cleaner. Similarly, where the digital glitchiness was mostly relegated to window dressing on their sophomore record, on bitknot it’s integral to the arrangements and a core part of their emerging, distinct sound.

We got a preview of this new direction on the one-off single, and one of my favorite songs of 2025, “This Is Real.” It blended blast beats, Sonic Youth-esque guitar melodies, pitch-shifted vocals, and glitchy samples. It even briefly lets the metronome click bleed into the track. It’s a three-minute chaotic tour de force that needs to be heard.

Hiking is one of life’s great joys. Turning off the screens and stepping out into nature for an extended period of time, perhaps even several days, is rejuvenating. Unfortunately, as someone with two young kids and a bad back, I’m not really able to go backpacking anymore. So I often find myself trying to live vicariously through others who write about their lengthy travails along the Appalachian or the PCT. That’s what I thought I was signing up for when I picked up On Trails: An Exploration by Robert Moor. But it turned out to be so much more.

The prologue starts with Moor talking about his decision to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail. And chapter one doesn’t stray too far from the expected subject matter either. It focuses primarily on Moor’s trip to Western Brook Pond in Newfoundland and broadly discusses the concept of wilderness.

Hokum recently hit theaters, and it’s already outperforming box office expectations. If this Kubrick-referencing haunted hotel flick starring Adam Scott was your introduction to director Damian McCarthy, do yourself a favor and go watch his previous film, Oddity.

If you prefer to go in blind — the ideal way to watch any movie — Oddity is available to stream on Hoopla, Kanopy, Hulu, and Shudder.

I’ve got to thank my oldest friend and concert buddy, Tim, for turning me on to this one. Ashnymph is a London band that blends post-punk melodies with Krautrock rhythms and industrial grime. Their debut EP, Childhood, drifts between dreamy vocals buried in layers of reverb and four-on-the-floor dancefloor pounding. It’s a thrilling opening salvo from a band that feels on the cusp of a major breakthrough.

Childhood opens with an ambient recording of someone walking down a hall (I think), and some swirling synth noise before the first song, “Island in the Sky” kicks off properly with a motorik beat and bass throb. The thin, digitally manipulated vocals and robotic groove are punctuated with bursts of noise. But the big chords of the chorus bring a dash of pop, reminding me a bit of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club’s “Whatever Happened to My Rock and Roll.”

Kate O’Flynn views comedy and horror as “kind of the same thing.” Both are at their best when they surprise — a laugh or a scare that comes out of nowhere hits the hardest. That’s why, for the star of the new horror-comedy hybrid Widow’s Bay, mixing up the genres makes perfect sense — they heighten each other. “You’re never on steady ground,” she says. “Your guard is down, and you’re vulnerable to a laugh or a cry or a scream. It’s all up for grabs.”

Widow’s Bay, which starts streaming on Apple TV on April 29th, tells the story of the titular island, which sits off the coast of New England. It has a rustic small-town charm and also happens to very definitely be haunted. There have been countless myths and ghost stories since the town’s founding, along with a possible curse in which anyone born on the island can’t leave without dying. The town’s mayor, Tom Loftis (Matthew Rhys), is intent on revitalizing the island and turning it into a tourist destination to rival Martha’s Vineyard. But in doing so he ignores the very clear signs that something is wrong. In the first episode, for instance, a sinister fog rolls into town, but all Tom can think about is a visiting New York Times travel writer.

Before Coachella, Tomora wasn’t on my radar at all. It’s actually only by chance that I stumbled upon them — I opened the wrong stream because my TV was lagging like a MFer. I paused for a few moments, entranced by the two ethereal Nordic women banging on giant drums to a techno beat. I made a mental note to check them out the following weekend, because Drain was the priority (especially since the Sonora stage wasn’t streaming on weekend two). It was only later that I would find out that Tomora is a collaboration between Norwegian singer-songwriter Aurora and Tom Rowlands, one-half of The Chemical Brothers.

Suffice it to say, they were incredible, and I immediately checked out the record, Come Closer, after watching their week two set. Admittedly, the studio album can’t quite capture the ecstatic catharsis of the Coachella set (seriously, I need to see them live), but it’s still an incredible work. It’s a love letter to ’90s European dance music, dabbling in big beat, trip-hop, and techno.

This might feel like a somewhat obvious recommendation to some, but it flew under my radar until now. Alfred Bester’s The Stars My Destination (originally published as Tiger! Tiger! in the UK) is a 1956 sci-fi novel that some have cited as a precursor to cyberpunk. It’s a work I admit I have some conflicted feelings about, but one I think is well worth reading if you consider yourself a fan of sci-fi. It’s also well worth seeking out a physical copy, something I wish I had known before I started reading it in the objectively inferior ebook form that can’t capture the ergodic elements of the climax.

It’s hard to explain the plot of The Stars My Destination. At its core, it’s the story of a man who vows revenge on a spaceship — an inanimate object — after he is left for dead in the wreckage of another ship. But that doesn’t capture any of what the book is actually about. The plot moves so quickly, so much happens in this relatively short 250-page novel, that it’s difficult to keep up. It’s either a riveting breakneck thrill ride or a chaotic jumble of barely coherent events, and I’m still not sure which.

For obvious reasons, I’ve had Moon on the mind all week. So I was trying to figure out what I should recommend this week that would thematically fit. Brian Eno’s Apollo: Atmospheres and Soundtracks is incredible, and if you haven’t listened to it, go do that now. But it also seemed a bit on the nose. Radiohead’s A Moon Shaped Pool also came to mind. But it also felt a bit obvious. Then I remembered Kate NV’s Room for the Moon, a record I had on repeat in 2020.

Russian artist Kate Shilonosova chases ideas across 11 tracks inspired by Russian and Japanese pop from the ’70s and ’80s, as well as children’s movies. This obviously leads Room for the Moon to indulge its most whimsical impulses. It’s a fairy tale rendered in snappy Talking Heads-esque bass, proggy synths, and reverbed drum machines.

Los Thuthanaka basically came out of nowhere last year to capture Pitchfork’s album of the year with their self-titled debut. Because it wasn’t available on streaming, it largely flew under the radar. I honestly kind of forgot about it until Pitchfork gave it the number one spot in its year-end list. In retrospect, I’m not entirely sure how, though. Los Thuthanaka sounds like nothing else. It’s joyous, jagged, and sounds like it’s being blasted out of a broken Bluetooth speaker in your neighbor’s backyard — it’s glorious.

The follow-up EP Wak’a turns down the tempo and smooths some of the sharper edges. It uses the same sound palette of blown-out speakers and sampled traditional Bolivian instruments that’s equal parts pluderphonics and psychedelic rock. But Wak’a is just as indebted to shoegaze. Its chord progressions and melodies are more wistful, the guitars drenched in fuzz and reverb. There are horns and keys that peek through the mix like half-forgotten memories of other songs.

It’s rare for a movie to get technology right. And it’s even rarer for that movie to be a thriller or horror, where realism takes a backseat to scares and tension. But Red Rooms mostly gets it. Nothing takes me out of a film quicker than a tech MacGuffin that might as well be literal magic. Yes, the phrase “dark web” will always sound a bit silly, but at no point during its 118 minutes does the tech become a distraction.

It’s not the tech that makes Red Rooms great, though. It’s just something that could have easily tanked an otherwise excellent movie. What carries the film is the expert tension building by director Pascal Plante. The perfect slow-burn pacing. And the incredible performances by Juliette Gariépy as Kelly-Anne and Laurie Babin as Clémentine.

Last week’s recommendation, Sotomayor’s Wabi Sabi, has a very particular vibe that you don’t find in a lot of records. One of the few things it called to mind was 2022’s Topical Dancer from Charlotte Adigery and Bolis Pupul, which I ended up revisiting this week a lot.

The two records don’t seem particularly alike on the surface. But they’re both rough around the edges smash-ups of electronic and organic elements packaged for dance-floor abandon. The way the sounds and rhythms click together feels very much of the same ilk.