Cover photo by Kimberly Ruiz Alvarez (SCA)

On a cold Thursday evening, hundreds of students formed a line spanning the surface area between Royce Hall and Powell Library in anticipation of watching the next musical act to grace the UCLA campus –the trip pop duo After. Since finding recent fame kudos to their uniquely accurate early 2000s-frutiger aero inspired sound and aesthetic, After brought their enticing digital presence to the historic Royce Hall stage as a part of the Student Committee of the Arts’ (SCA) spring concert. But before filling the venue with echoes of bubbly electronic notes and jangly guitar riffs, opening artists Cocona and Isaac Dunbar began the show to greet the audience with their own artistic flair.

Cocona

Isaac Dunbar

After

After initially closed the night with their more recent hit “Outbound,” which takes their 2000s indie-rock sound to its mournfully nostalgic limit. Massive applause marked the end of their set, and chants for an encore ensued. After ran back out for one last song, “Something Special,” the first song Dorsey ever wrote. The sensation of a budding summer-break romance filled the air as they concluded, and it seemed as though there was no need to long for that fantasy of the past, as all signs pointed to us already living in it. 

With Dorsey’s vocals, Epstein’s production and supporting guitar, and live drums from their touring percussionist, After performs electro-pop and indie-rock spectacularly, and their tour is worth catching if you can. A Coachella invitation seems almost inevitable for this rising band, and UCLA is blessed to have SCA’s hardworking team bringing such fresh and fun talent for free to students.

And you’ll definitely want to listen to their newest EP,  After EP 2!

No two projects from Water From Your Eyes sound the same. The only throughline in the two-piece band’s discography is their funky spirit and dedication to experimentation.

The dance-pop/art rock band was formed by vocalist Rachel Brown and producer Nate Amos.  The pair met in Chicago, were once lovers but are now best friends, and are now based in Brooklyn. 

Outside of Water From Your Eyes, both Amos and Brown pedal multiple bands: Brown releases music as Thanks For Coming, while Amos produces for My Idea and directs his solo project, This is Lorelei, which has recently been met with widespread critical acclaim.

Together, Amos and Brown make music that feels far greater than the sum of its parts. WFYE’s signature sound mixes electronic with 60s-70s rock and pop, creating a kaleidoscopic soundscape challenging  genre conventions and listener perspectives. Since signing with Matador Records in 2023, the duo has expanded into a four-piece live band featuring Amos’ partner Al Nardo on guitar and longtime friend Bailey Wollowitz on drums. 

The now decade-old band shares a label roster with legacy acts like Sonic Youth singer Kim Gordon and British rising stars bar italia, and has toured alongside Interpol, Snail Mail, and Geese. Most recently, they performed two opening sets for Hayley Williams at the Wiltern before performing back-to-back shows at Zebulon. Despite the grueling schedule, the band was determined to end their four-show, three-day marathon with a bang.

Their sold-out show opened with “Born 2,” off their 2025 album It’s a Beautiful Place. The album was recorded by Amos in his bedroom and marks a noticeable departure from their largely electronic production in favor of guitar-forward arrangements. Their new sound translated well into a live show, highlighting “Born 2”’s bittersweet instrumentals. 

Brown stepped onstage wearing dark sunglasses, delivering lyrics with a detached coolness. Although Brown’s stage presence comes with an air of insouciance, It’s A Beautiful Place is anything but emotionally distant. In an interview for NME, Brown and Amos explain that the album is an exploration of existence itself. “I think we both find a sense of solace in accepting the fact that we as a species don’t understand as much as we like to think we do,” Amos admits. The album represents the duo’s search for meaning, uncovering pockets of joy amidst life’s enormity.

Politics remains inseparable from the DNA of Water From Your Eyes, which rang true through their performance of “Barley.” The song is one of the defining tracks from the band’s 2023 album, Everyone’s Crushed. “Barley”’s dissociative lyrics capture the exhausting Sisyphean quest to climb the ranks of the music industry, and more broadly, within capitalism itself. 

The album grapples with feelings of burnout and entrapment within the system. Everyone’s Crushed was recorded during low points for both Brown and Amos: Brown working long hours assisting on film sets, and Amos’ struggle with maintaining sobriety.

Three years later, those anxieties still shape the band’s work. During the concert, Brown stopped to acknowledge the ongoing genocides in Palestine and Congo, reiterating that making music remains an act of resistance even when the violence feels ceaseless. They wore a keffiyeh onstage, tying it around the mic stand for the remainder of the night. The visuals behind Brown projected manipulated surveillance footage and distorted landscapes – every detail traced back to the notion that every decision we make is political. Water From Your Eye’s discography continually challenges assumptions– from what music can sound like to what the band is capable of, and what art can communicate during political collapse and social exhaustion. 

The band closed out the night with a cover of “Creep”. Brown joked, “I was kidding when I asked the people at Zebulon to print out the lyrics for me… But they take good care of me here.” The performance was loose and affectionate: Brown danced with Al Nardo, passed the mic to Nate, and laughed with the audience. The band fully leaned into the song’s melodrama without an air of seriousness.

That sense of humor has always been central to WFYE: before making music, Brown aspired to be a comedy screenwriter. The band’s work maintains an unpredictable absurdism, from cryptic lyrics to playful editorial photoshoots featuring bowling alleys and matching T-shirts. As Water From Your Eyes searches for light in the chaos, they remind their audiences that humor and despair can be good friends.

Check out Water From Your Eyes’ latest release!

In early March, I embarked on a bumper-to-bumper drive from LA to OC and decided to turn on War Child Records’ brand new HELP(2) album, a sequel charity project raising funds for children in war. The project is stacked with my favorites — The Last Dinner Party, beabadoobee, Big Thief, Wet Leg and Olivia Rodrigo — so I knew I would be entertained through the worst of traffic. However, the penultimate track “Sunday Light” featured four unfamiliar names: Anna Calvi, Ellie Rowsell, Nilüfer Yanya, and none other than Irish indie-folk artist, Dove Ellis. Soon the streaming algorithm did what it does best and introduced me to “Little Left Hope,” the opener on Ellis’s debut album, Blizzard. I became addicted and immediately looked up when I could see him play. Alas, on a surprisingly cold Wednesday evening, I drove through the gates of Hollywood Forever cemetery and found myself nestled in a crowd of every color hair dye, men with silver hoops, and an overwhelming scent of vintage stores… any indie fan’s dream. 

It was not my first time in the Masonic Lodge but the eeriness of a cemetery concert venue somehow stuns me each time. British trio, Mary in the Junkyard, kicked off the night with reverberating drums, siren-like vocals, and the pull of a viola. Vocalist Clari Freeman-Taylor sang sweetly to the crowd as we swayed in hypnosis to the howls in setting-suited “ghost.” While they had never been to the state before touring, the set ended with tight acapella harmonies in their self-proclaimed disstrack: “this is my california.”

The room was heating (quite literally) with anticipation as Dove Ellis, born Thomas O’ Donoghue, pushed through the back of the crowd to the small, luminous stage. He opened with “The Royal Brown Hole” on bass accompanied by Mary and the Junkyard’s viola player, Saya Barbaglia, along with drums, guitar, and a clarinet. Despite a humble stance, his voice boomed with such strength that there was not a phone in near sight, demanding the audience’s attention. Having recently performed with Geese on their 2025 tour, his sound was clearly reminiscent of college radio’s beloved Cameron Winters, but with bright folk elements infused. He then went into his most streamed, “Pale Song,” a poetic count of a haunted past. As he slowly sang “When You Tie Your Hair Up,” he looked longingly into space as if watching someone walk away. I could feel the earnest pain in his vibrato and the stillness between lines. Standing merely a few feet away from Ellis on the floor, the intimacy of his performance and the shyness of his movements made me feel like an intruder.

While his music cannot be limited by genre, each song tells a story and follows a melodic journey. Dove Ellis is a storyteller by nature, embodying characters through his words. The sheer power of his voice transcends each narrative, reminding me at times of the great Freddie Mercury. A personal standout, “Heaven Has No Wings” began with a teasing intro. Soft descriptive lyricism loomed in the air before allowing the other instruments to grow at the chorus as he humbly proclaims, “We all catch falcons / We’ve all got meat on our hands.” “Little Left Hope” felt brighter on stage than its slightly somber recording. I watched his open guitar cords pushed up by the capo and was comforted by gentle harmonies.

Characterized by a soft piano introduction and cinematic melodies, “Love Is” stood out upon my first listen and has since sparked much reflection in my own life. He builds with “Love is not the antidote to all your problems,” and chant-sings that love is not “keeping it loose,” love is not “what’s in your dreams,” and love is not “mapped by quotations and it’s not what it seems.” While on paper, his words may seem melancholic, Dove Ellis sang with assurance and ease, finding himself before stunned faces and applause. Overwhelmed by adoration, he introduced the band but shied away from saying his own name into the microphone.

He traded his electric guitar for an acoustic guitar in “To The Sandals,” which felt earthy and full of yearning. He then stood solo in front of the crowd and played an unreleased track. The room hushed, all eyes pointing towards the dimly lit keyboard on the left side of the stage. Here, his gentle vibrato echoed, and his falsetto silenced the room as we stood laser-focused on Dove Ellis’s every move. As the final key rang, the person behind me muttered what we had all been thinking: “Wow.” The final song for the night, “Away You Stride,” describes a shy kind of love waiting for someone to come back to you. As he sang, he glanced above us as if looking for a specific someone in the room. He sweetly professed, “I cut off my heart, I’m hoping to spend it on you,” crescendoing his last note to fullness. 

For a man with so little about him on the internet, Dove Ellis deserves to be known. His humility is honorable, but his music is rich in character, and his voice is full of life. Just as Dove Ellis sings, “Remember me in action, don’t remember me in space,” surely everyone in attendance will do just that.

Listen to Dove Ellis’s debut album, Blizzard:

Sean Solomon

Unknown Mortal Orchestra (UMO)

The genre-mixing, psychedelic rock, and pop band Unknown Mortal Orchestra ventured to Ventura Music Hall on their North American Spring Tour. The energy within the crowd was high as the lights revealed the New Zealand band. 

The band consists of four members: Ruban Nielson, fronting the band, his brother and drummer Kody Nielson, bassist Jacob Portrait, and a rotating keyboardist. UMO started as a solo project but grew into the band they are known for today. Ruban Nielsen is a multitalented instrumentalist who is the brains behind the genre-mixing sound that they are best known for. When he anonymously posted his music on Bandcamp in 2010, it gained unexpected traction, which inspired him to give music a chance. Nielson has always had a love for music but had a distaste for the structure of the industry. By translating his musical vision into reality, he carved out a successful career in the music industry. Using Nielson’s unique perspective on recording, mixing, and learning how to curate their sound along the way. UMO released their first album in 2011 titled Unknown Mortal Orchestra. Their fanbase expanded significantly with the release of their next album, Multi-Love, in 2015.

There was limited stage decor, just themselves, their instruments, and the lights. The colors of the lights matched the emotions behind the songs that they were playing, further connecting the music to their fans. As the music played steadily, the lights maintained a solid color, flashing in time with the rhythm — whether on the upbeat, the downbeat, or every single beat, adapting to the song’s energy. Fans were completely captivated. There needed to be nothing more but the band and their fans. The audience enjoyed the music in their own way. Some waited eagerly by the barricade to get as close to UMO as possible. Others were dancing with their friends and family on the sidelines, enjoying their favorite tunes being played live. The Ventura Music Hall audience was filled with locals. There seemed to be a strong community, an unconscious respect for one another within the hall. The audience flowed together seamlessly, creating a respectful environment where everyone could find their perfect groove.

UMO had a two-person horn section join for their song “Necessary Evil,” as well as some of their other classic tunes, which was a treat. They also played “Multi-Love,” “Hunnybee,” “So Good at Being in Trouble,” “That Life,” and many more of their well-loved hits. Their music has a way of fully engulfing whoever is listening to it. Each of the members of UMO has such well-trained ears to layer and build off of their tracks that you feel almost swallowed up whole when listening to them. Combining a love for psychedelic rock with a masterful understanding of the ‘wall of sound’ techniques, UMO creates undeniably entrancing music.

“She don’t want to be a man or a woman, she wants to be your love”. 

Then he further reveals the reality of the situation that he is experiencing and how he is feeling through the lyrics: 

“Multi-Love has got me on my knee, 

We were one, then become three, 

Mama, what have you done to me? 

I’m half crazy”. 

How his relationship has gotten him on his knees. That he didn’t know their relationship where they felt as one would end up involving a third person, leaving him feeling like an outsider. Another poignant lyric is when he sang: 

“It’s not that this song’s about her, all songs are about her.” 

Ruban Nielson was able to release these tensions in his relationship through music, not knowing the traction and understanding it would receive. Many turn to music as a vessel for navigating their inner feelings, and it is an excellent way of processing emotions. Writing and releasing these tracks must have felt therapeutic, a healthy release of emotions. Initially, one may not realize the hidden meaning behind the lyrics of this tune. It took some research about him and the band to catch this detail. It is remarkable what artists and musicians can create when channeling their emotions, whether navigating sorrow or celebrating joy. It is important to express oneself and be true to oneself — especially through one’s art form. It is always refreshing to see. 

As a dedicated fan of Unknown Mortal Orchestra since the release of Multi-Love in 2015, there is nothing quite like the rush of hearing those iconic tracks played live. I associate my time in high school taking the train to LA with UMO’s music, mostly because I was listening to them a lot at the time. Part of the reason was that the music video for “Hunnybee” depicts someone riding a train. Highly recommend looking up some of their past music videos. UMO delighted their fans by surprise-dropping exclusive, signed posters available for purchase. They even had their full vinyl catalog in stock, plus some T-shirts from their 2016 merchandise drop. As the concert came to a close, leaving fans to stream out of the music hall with smiling faces and arms full of merchandise. 

It seems that on the internet, the classic riff from American Football’s “Never Meant” is inescapable. But to alternative rock fans, the riff alone is the anthem for the midwest emo subgenre. In case you’re unfamiliar with their emo impact, American Football is a four-piece rock group that formed in Urbana, Illinois in 1997. In the gritty whirlwind of the emerging post-hardcore scene at the time, alongside acts like Sunny Day Real Estate, Unwound, and Fugazi, American Football was a more sullen and melodic outlier. Their unique sound for the time then turned them into the midwest emo pioneers they are hailed as today. After performing their iconic first self-titled album in full at El Rey Theatre last year, American Football returned to Los Angeles at the Wiltern to tour their new album, American Football (LP4).

Knowing their musical prominence, I was enthusiastic to see American Football perform, which also happened to be my first time at the Wiltern as well. At any concert, you’ll typically see the same type of fans or characteristics of people in the crowd based on which artist is playing that night. But at this show, I was surprised to see the diversity in passersby. Within the past few years, American Football has resurged among Gen Z fans in both musical admiration and “memeability.” American Football’s timeless 1999 self-titled album has left a lasting impression on multiple generations of fans, as seen especially at this particular show. Teens, young adults, and long-time fans reliving their alt rock adolescence all came together on this Saturday night to bask in the entrancing sounds of American Football’s discography. 

As the house lights dimmed, the crowd erupted in excitement. The stage began to glow a blue light while an ominous bass echoed through the venue. The band then opened the show with a new track, “Man Overboard.” Continuing through the entire set, the backdrop of their performance was illuminated with different videos and animations to accompany each song while the members of the band played in (mostly) complete darkness. I felt that this visual choice enhanced the experience of listening to their music in a live setting, heightened by the band’s choices of instrumental effects and venue acoustics giving them a shoegazey live sound. Throughout the show, a small handful of female vocalists joined the stage to provide scenic backing vocals to different songs. To my surprise, one of these included rising shoegaze artist Wisp during “Wake Her Up” — further highlighting American Football’s ability to adapt to a new generation of fans and musicians.  

Then came time for the first song off of their first self-titled album. Frontman Mike Kinsella uttered, “We’re gonna play some old songs now, this is from about… 200 B.C.” As the first notes of “Honestly?” echoed through the audience, excited cheers from the crowd — especially the twenty-something white guys behind me passionately belting every word — momentarily overpowered the music. As someone who has gone to more concerts than I can count, there have only been a handful of times we’re I’ve truly been in awe of a live performance. But this rendition of “Honestly?” immediately became a new addition to the list. The background screen began with beads of water dripping off a window, then turning into a cloudy night sky illuminated by flashes of lightning. Towards the instrumental breakdown at the end of the song, the lightning grew stronger, and the stage lights began to strobe — matching the pace of the bolts. The combination of the visuals with reverbed guitars and echoing drums was an unforgettable moment from the show, and a concert memory I’ll forever cherish. 

The songs that followed were “Stay Home” and “The One with the Wurlitzer.” The background screen faded into a daytime scene of the House from American Football’s first album cover, an immediately recognizable icon of the alt rock scene due to its frequent resurfacing in internet references. The house then was shadowed by a night sky, accompanied by drummer Steve Lamos under a spotlight during his trumpet solo in “The One with the Wurlitzer.” After a brief pause as the songs concluded, the long anticipated beginning riff of “Never Meant” turned the Wiltern into a stadium of midwest emo fanatics. Along with Kinsella, the audience gleefully sang, Let’s just forget everything said / And everything we did / Best friends and better halves. 

As a casual listener of American Football before, I’ve since been turned into an avid fan after being present for this performance. As more younger fans begin to discover the dreamlike instrumentation of the band, I can’t wait to see how American Football’s music is received by generations to come. 

Check out American Football’s new record here!

Opening with “Itsumo,” released in 2025, the stand-alone plucking of the guitar felt almost flamenco in its essence, instantly capturing the crowd’s attention and preparing us for the intricate musicality to come. Her voice came in along with the rest of the band’s instruments: Ransom McCafferty on drums, Noam Tanzer on bass, Claudius Agrippa on violin, and Noah Leong on viola — all bandmates who met during their time at Berklee College of Music with Semones. The expertise of her band made their schooling apparent and reflected Semones’ life-long dedication to music.

Her voice, just like the recorded versions, was precise, sweet, and crystal clear — gorgeously complementing the entrancing melodies of her jazz-rock sound. The first track showcased what her discography entails: meticulous guitar playing alongside beautiful lyrics in both English and Japanese.

The second track, “Kurayami,” had a darker sound with more violin, drums, and, as always, great bass line and guitar riffs. That melody harmoniously blended with her vocals and unique jazz yet grunge-style rhythms, which feel like her signature. In the fan favorite, “Dumb Feeling,” her sweet voice contrasts with the larger and more intense sounds of the chorus, which encapsulated the distinctiveness of her music. The orchestral building and falling of instrumentals in “Dumb Feeling” took me through a wave of daydreams, ranging from very flouncy moments that feel like skipping through grass, contrasted by rain on concrete. The song’s changing nature feels like our oscillating feelings in life, ups and downs, and embracing small moments:

“This is a dumb feeling
There’s something I like about it”

“Love when the train comes to my stop
I won't try to fight it
Let the dust settle on me
I'll stay still just to spite it”

Semones continued with more tracks from her 2025 album, Animaru, such as “I can do what I want,” “Tora Moyo,” and “Rat With Wings.” “I can do what I want” was an energizing and encouraging track to play mid-show. She continued on with “Tora Moyo,” a track that I believe reflects one of the most unique parts of her sound. She uses her voice like an instrument, often singing along with each note rather than making separate sounds. “Rat With Wings” provided us with more stripped-down moments and an emotional look at Semones’ raw talent and beautiful voice. The song captures what I believe feels like thinking back on old memories and having them flood our minds just to reminisce, but not as a way of returning back to that place.

As her set came towards its close, she played “Kodoku,” which quickly became a new favorite of mine, fluctuating between gentle and grand sounds. The track had a coming-of-age feel to it by gradually growing and crescendoing into a fullness that feels like the closing of a film. Like many of her songs, rather than ending on such a large note, the track pulls back and simplifies, making the endings softer and letting the tracks and her performance end lightly.

Check out Mei Semones’ discography here:

It was just days after my fifteenth birthday when Lorde released “Secrets from a Girl (Who’s Seen it All),” a sentimental song reminiscing on when she “couldn’t wait to turn fifteen.” I blinked, it’s been five years, and it feels like my entire adolescence has led up to my 19-year-old self singing, “I’m 19 and I’m on fire!” at the Ultrasound Tour. As a self-proclaimed “prettier Jesus,” Lorde has a curious tendency to return right when you need her most.

Lorde’s two shows in Los Angeles last week marked the last time she will perform this particular version of the show for her 2025 album, Virgin, before introducing a reimagined set for the rest of the year. Having already attended the tour’s first LA stop last October, I was initially disappointed that LA would miss out on experiencing the next phase of the Virgin era. In retrospect, I don’t think I realized how much reliving that magical night would mean to me. I would not have wanted Ultrasound LA to play out any other way because the three nights during which this show has graced the Forum have been as close to perfect places as I may ever get.

On Thursday night, the pit emanated pure euphoria like nothing I had ever felt before and maybe will never feel again. The hours that all of us dedicated fans spent together leading up to Lorde taking the stage meant that we were already comfortable being our most authentic selves around one another when the time came to sing and cry our hearts out. Openers Sophia Stel and Smerz turned the massive venue into a house party and jazz bar respectively, and their uniquely strange auras made them fitting choices to open for one of the most famously unconventional pop stars of the 21st century. 

Drenched in blue light, wearing just a t-shirt and jeans, Lorde rose from the stage to the hypnotizing sound of “Hammer” and spent the next two hours playing every track off Virgin along with thirteen other songs from across her career sprinkled throughout. With each non-Virgin track sonically reworked to suit Lorde’s avowed reborn self and most current artistic identity, the concert was a raw extension of her mind, body, and vision. Because the show was the embodiment of Lorde’s truest self, broken open with silver glitter dripping from her body and her most intimate thoughts spilling from her mouth, it felt like home.

The Pure Heroine hits provided a healthy dose of nostalgia, the pop bangers from Melodrama lit up the room like no other — further cementing that album as her magnum opus so far — and “Oceanic Feeling” and “Big Star” from Solar Power served as a reminder for both Lorde and the audience to slow down, take in the moment, and just breathe. Even with a packed setlist emphasizing how impressive and expansive a career Lorde has had at just twenty-nine, it was Virgin that benefited most from the live setting and served as proof that she’s only getting started. A danceable but deeply vulnerable album, Virgin turned the arena into the coolest therapy session ever. Lorde leaves no holds barred when disclosing all the feelings and fluids she associates with the sometimes freeing, sometimes destructive ways she has been pushing her body to the edge in recent years. As Lorde poetically recounted the transformative journey she has been on to get closer to her body, the honesty in her voice and movement made it easy to let loose in our own.

During Lorde’s nightly, off the cuff speech before “Liability,” she shared that her October LA stop on the Ultrasound Tour was her favorite show of last year which is why she wanted to come back and close out the tour here. She took this moment to vulnerably reflect on the journey this tour has taken her on: “Like no album, even, this show has changed me. It’s done a lot of things. It’s made me braver, I think. Something about playing in rooms like this, you have to put your shit aside because I see what you bring to these nights we have together. I know what’s at stake for all of us, so it doesn’t matter what’s going on. Some nights I don’t feel like taking my clothes off, baring it all. I know if I do it right here, something cool will happen. You know how to hold it.” By the time she closed out the show with “What Was That,” “Green Light,” “A World Alone,” and “Ribs,” we were a network of bodies, respectfully bumping into each other with each beat drop and exchanging energy each time our shoulders brushed and our hair swayed. It was a sight of pure joy that perfectly epitomized what Lorde concerts are for — dancing in this world alone both with friends you’ve known your whole life and strangers you just met that night.

Lorde walked through the crowd of crying fans during “David” and went on to perform a euphoric encore at a B-stage which allowed her to sing and dance among us. An arena of people sobbing tears of joy and shouting, “You’re the only friend I need” to their favorite artist may seem extremely parasocial in any other context — and it admittedly probably still is — but I knew exactly what they felt when they did that because I felt that way too. For many of us, Lorde’s music not only soundtracked our adolescence but got us through it, and because we got through it, we got to simultaneously mourn, celebrate, and say goodbye to our childhoods right alongside her.

In a few weeks, I’ll be in my twenties, a full-time “grown woman in a baby tee,” but when I think of my teenage self from here on out, I’ll forever picture her in the pit at the Ultrasound Tour – jumping, dancing, and singing her heart out with glitter on her eyelids, arms, and acne and a smile of sheer bliss plastered on her face. If growing up is what allowed the stars to align for those two sacred hours of my life, maybe growing up doesn’t have to feel so scary after all.

Listen to Virgin below!

Singer-songwriter Olivia Austin, known onstage as Operelly, makes music for the tenderhearted. Her eclectic lyricism and quirky arrangements have forged a pop sound that feels familiar yet experimental, a delicate balance that music platform Nina Protocol has referred to as “matured nursery rhymes.” 

Operelly’s sound is not to be siloed. Her music is both electronic and acoustic, and entirely heartfelt. Austin has previously named Stereolab and The Magnetic Fields as sonic influences. Her music reminds me of other twee-revival electronic artists, like ear or Worldpeace DMT, with notes reminiscent of Clairo’s bedroom pop days– but trying to put your finger on exact genres will leave you mystified.

Operelly’s sold-out Los Angeles show started off with an opening set from Ella Woolsey. The indie folk artist offered a set adjacent to the headliner: with her acoustic guitar and crooning vocals, Woolsey explored themes of love, loss, and melancholy. I spotted Woolsey’s boyfriend—fellow artist Nate Sib—and his friend Rommulas among the throng of girls attentively watching her set. 

A blanket of silence fell over the chattering crowd the moment Operelly stepped onstage. Her presence, just like her music, seems reserved at first— but so alluring that you’ll be tempted to pry. The crowd leaned in as Austin stood in front of a baby pink harmonium, which obediently bellowed the opening chords. As she sang, Austin stamped her ballet flats to the beat; fittingly, Operelly refers to her musical identity as “tiptoe music.” 

“When I tell my man I write all my songs about him he doesn’t seem very flattered…” 

“Tell my man” is the first track in Operelly’s latest release, *FLUTTERS AWAY*. The EP offers listeners a glimpse into Operelly’s world, with five self-written and produced tracks. Each song offers a wonderfully elaborate soundscape, from the layered acoustics to Operelly’s drawled lyrics and the band’s breathy supporting vocals. 

The crowd jostled, recognizing the clicking percussion that underscores “You Don’t Have One Hope.” I shared their excitement– the track is my favorite off Operelly’s debut EP, Handwriting Practice No. 1.  Operelly performs “You Don’t Have One Hope” with earnestness. As she sings, she strums the guitar upside down, strumming with her left hand – a quirk that amplifies her eccentric charm. 

The lyrics, which mention pajamas, glitter glue, and exam chairs conjure memories of primary school playdates and fuzzy daydreams. Beneath the childlike imagery, the performance felt like a full-circle moment. Operelly had first submitted the lyrics of “You Don’t Have One Hope” as a poem for her UC Application essays. Four years later and freshly graduated from Berkeley, she performs the song in front of a crowd that danced and belted every lyric alongside her: 

“You failed me, but not in the way that I failed you / 

I hope it’s okay to scrapbook you with glitter glue / 

You don’t have one hope for now”

That same sense of wonder carried seamlessly into her rendition of “Rainbow Connection”, a cover that perfectly encapsulated Austin’s signature playfulness. As she approached the chorus, a devotion to the lovers and dreamers, Operelly transformed El Cid into a collective memory. As the banjo strummed, Austin guided us towards a reunion with our childhood imaginations.

Operelly ended the night with “My Bell Rings,” one of Austin’s earliest and most popular songs. Using samples from Stereolab and Oneohtrix Point Never, the song paints a dreamscape that defines Operelly’s music. As the instrumental break swam through El Cid, Operelly danced with the crowd, shaking her hair and waving her hands with grace. Time suspended as the audience swayed in unison, enveloping us in a blissful haze. 

Olivia Austin is a musician that quietly defies expectations. She’s signed with Deadair Records, an outlier amongst their roster of hyperpop and noisy rap acts like Jane Remover, Kuru, and Underscores. Her presence is subdued, but her charm compels crowds to shout her lyrics. As she wraps up her tour and teases her next project, I look forward to supporting Operelly as she assuredly leaps, not tiptoes, into a blossoming career.

Listen to *FLUTTERS AWAY* below!

You’d probably drive past Zebulon without thinking twice. Just past a bridge and nestled between two freeways, Zebulon’s plain white facade houses a dimly lit bar. Inside, scattered conversations hum over the muffled sound of music. Enter the back room, and you’ll find a routine gathering spot for music lovers in Los Angeles, from blunt-banged twentysomethings to oldheads that have seen every show at the bar for countless consecutive weekends.

On Friday evening, Zebulon hosted Snuggle’s sold-out Los Angeles debut. The ambient dreampop band is based in Copenhagen, Denmark – home of the trip hop revival and some of the hottest acts in independent music. Snuggle is deeply entwined with other critically acclaimed Danish artists, attending the same music school as ML Buch and Erika De Casier, and signed under the same label as Smerz, Astrid Sonne, and Elias Rønnenfelt. 

Snuggle could’ve blended in with the crowd they were playing for. The two-piece band, composed of Andrea Thuesen Johansen and Vilhelm Strange, was unassuming at first glance. Johansen wore a zip-up with bermuda shorts and mesh socks, while Strange sported a pair of jeans and a vintage tee. 

The stage was humbly decorated. Two mic stands, two guitars. A Persian rug at center stage. No fancy lighting. The right wall displayed two t-shirts printed with the band’s latest album art: SNUGGLE, in stretched font. A small disco ball twinkled above the growing crowd.

Snuggle dispelled any notions of simplicity the second they started playing. Their debut album, Goodbyehouse, is a project that rewards noticing. The Fader has deemed the September release a thoughtful “intersection of bittersweet pop songs and gloomy indie rock,” referring to the album as “music to shelter to.”

Hearing “Sun tan” live brought me back to right where I first heard the song – leaning on the train window to Nara Deer Park. The humidity in Kyoto had left my skin slick and my hair stuck to my forehead. As my favorite track off Goodbyehouse, “Sun tan” has summer nostalgia – heat exhaustion included – baked into it. 

Despite the sweet memories, the song is marked by an unshakeable melancholia, from the moaning bass line to Johansen’s hushed, breathy vocals. The marriage of tenderness and grief is shaping up to become Snuggle’s niche. In the chorus, Johansen and Strange sing, 

“Sorry, that I let you down / 

I never thought it’d turn out this way / 

Should’ve kept it short and sweet, I know / 

I got carried away”

Bittersweetness is laced in Snuggle’s origins. Both members were previously in other bands – Johansen as Baby in Vain’s vocalist and Strange as Liss’ guitarist. Liss disbanded in 2021 after lead singer Søren Holm committed suicide, a loss that almost led Strange to quit music entirely. 

Goodbyehouse channels the grief of its creators into a quiet earnestness. The project captures grief in all its forms, from an all-consuming melancholy to the fragile hope of new beginnings. Johansen and Strange soften their sorrows through their music– Goodbyehouse stands as a testament of the musicians finding each other to lean on and push forward.

Guitar sounded through the Zebulon for the final song of the night, “Dust.” As one of the Goodbyehouse prerelease singles and one of their most popular songs, “Dust” is a song about impermanence. No matter how constant the heartache feels, Johansen and Strange say, we all return to the earth. Despite the morbid lyrics, the band’s acceptance of mortality becomes strangely comforting. Johansen and Strange’s songwriting shines in lines like:

“Ash trails on your skin / 

My fingers following them / 

The wall paint is melting / 

These four walls, all they contain / 

Is gone / 

It’s gone / 

Burning cities, cicadas silent / 

Everything is dying (Everything is dying)”

Before the final chorus, the guitar builds to a climax and floods the room. Johansen repeats, “Ashes to ashes,” leaving the crowd at the Zebulon stunned. The song fades out. Snuggle says thank you, goodbye. They don’t linger.

My friend, moved by their performance, taps someone who grabbed a setlist and asks for the name of the final song. We follow the crowd, filing out of the back room into Zebulon’s back patio. Our eyes, adjusting from darkness to dimness, take in the sight of huddles smoking in schoolchairs. Even outside the venue, the final refrain of “Dust” is yet to settle. Snuggle’s carefully constructed universe had the crowd ready to curl up with their thoughts.

Listen to Goodbyehouse!

For years, Panchiko existed more like an internet rumor than an actual band. In 2016, a user on 4chan uploaded a heavily distorted CD they had found in an Oxfam charity shop, asking if anyone recognized it. The album, D>E>A>T>H>M>E>T>A>L, contained almost no identifying information beyond a few first names buried in the liner notes. As people online began tracing references hidden throughout the album — from anime and manga to Blade Runner and Dune — the search for the band slowly turned into years of internet archaeology.

The strange part is that the reality behind the mystery was surprisingly ordinary. Panchiko was just a group of teenagers from Nottingham, England, who recorded about 30 CDs around 2000, handed them out locally, and eventually moved on with their lives. More than two decades later, the same band that once distributed homemade CDs to a handful of people now performed in a sold-out venue in Anaheim, California (and across the world). 

I arrived two hours early to the House of Blues with the assurance of making my typical barricade appearance. Having previously seen Panchiko at The Majestic Ventura Theater in 2024 — and being part of the band’s uncannily devoted cult following — I assumed the two-hour buffer would be enough to put me near the front of the line.

Instead, in the 80-degree Anaheim heat, I was met with a line nearly half a mile-long, made up almost entirely of Gen Alpha teenagers. Eyebrow, bridge, and septum piercings paired with anime shirts and shaggy hair was the dress code I was not informed about. It was the first time I had ever felt “old” at a concert, which, coming from a 22-year-old, felt strangely reassuring. Panchiko’s music, with its longing, alienation, and emotional ambiguity, has a unique ability to continually regenerate itself and appeal to younger audiences. The feelings embedded in songs, written over 25 years ago, still resonate with people who were not even alive when the band first recorded them.

After my friend and I had moshed ourselves to the front during Clarion and Dead Calm’s opening sets, fans began cheering on any sound technician or audio/visual crew member on stage in hopes of luring out our main course. Though there wasn’t music to mosh to, there was still a continuous push towards the front to get the best view of whoever we’d get to see in the next few minutes. 

Giant white letters revealing an inflatable “Panchiko” crept up in the foreground while the members emerged on stage. Owain Davies (vocals/guitar), Andrew Wright (guitar/keyboard), Shaun Ferreday (bass), Robert Harris (guitar), and John Schofield (drums) opened with “Stabilisers For Big Boys.” Whatever space we had managed to carve out for ourselves in the barricade immediately disappeared again as the crowd surged forward.

His walkie-talkie-esque segment of the song was echoed louder from the crowd, almost in conversation with Davies:

I’ll bathe the angels in blood ’cause it’s that time of the month /
I wanna worship the sun, don’t pull a face when you cum /
You never suffered the truth because you wasted your youth /
I wanna do what I please because they fuck you with ease /

As a D>E>A>T>H>M>E>T>A>L album enthusiast myself, this song’s level of yearning and anger made me quite excited to hear what their newly released music would sound like live. Panchiko’s newer material sits in that space where lyrics are still abrasive, but the delivery and arrangement give them a reflective, warm, playful, and lighter weight.

A lot of that comes through on their 2025 studio album Ginkgo. The record is comparatively restrained in how it moves. Tracks tend to build in a straightforward way, introducing a melodic idea early, letting it repeat, then slowly widening it rather than breaking it apart. Their single “Ginkgo” is a good example of this as it keeps unfolding from small adjustments into a crescendo of yearning, nostalgia, and love. Again, the young crowd (myself included) lives in a constant state of transitioning and self-discovery. At this stage of life — love, loss, friendship, romance, neglect, fear, isolation, and nostalgia all feel so confusing and unidentifiable — experiences that seemed and still are so easy for the members of Panchiko to voice for others.

This same angst and crescendo later found itself in the quintet’s transition to the song “Gwen Everest,” which seems to be about the way people lean on substitutes for dealing with pain. The small reassurances and performances of okay-ness that try to manage pain rather than confront it directly, make up the main chorus, which we all knew from heart:

The rest of the lyrics circle that same idea, where belief, love, or hope aren’t really presented as answers, but as things that shift between helping you get through a moment and quietly falling apart once they’ve done their job. What is internally intended to be melancholic and misanthropic gradually becomes outwardly expressed as euphoric. Mosh pits began to fluctuate, and the crowd surfing commenced. There was no complaint of a rib getting jabbed or a head getting kicked because how could you when Panchiko was playing while it happened? 

The group closed with songs in their top five most listened to works of their career. “D>E>A>T>H>M>E>T>A>L,” “Laputa,” “All They Wanted,” and “Kicking Cars,” almost as if they especially wanted to mess with our emotions. Their song, “D>E>A>T>H>M>E>T>A>L” eased into “Laputa,” as both songs tied together emotionally through stories of living in something already distant and faded out, or something static and unchanging. In turn, revealing some tears on faces from the soft light of the sea of iPhone lights and waving arms. In “Kicking Cars,” lines like being “another stupid pet” land less as shock and more as an exhaustion with the roles people are expected to play. Taken together, this final stretch didn’t feel tailored for an emotional resolution but rather a continuation of our internal battles. Each song returned to the same unresolved loop of wanting escape, recognizing constraint, and still imagining something beyond it. And while we might not have an answer for any of it, Panchiko can at least help us feel it.

Bubbles were mass-deployed, multiple Garfield bags were thrown, and blood was shed over setlists. Only some survived to tell the tale. This is my #Panchiko story.

Check out Panchiko’s album, Ginkgo!