Genres

There was nothing like Hot Buttered Soul, the luxuriant, expansive, exploratory soul album by Isaac Hayes, when it was released in 1969. Given complete creative control, the Stax producer and songwriter stretched out figuratively and literally, two of its four tracks stretching past the 10-minute mark, exploding with strings and horns. It turned Hayes from songwriter to sensation to icon. His style—soulful, cinematic, assured, lush, deeply arranged—would win him an Academy Award for his theme song to 1971’s Shaft and earn him a headlining spot soon after at the historic Wattstax concert.

In the ’80s and ’90s, Hayes found most of his success as a film and TV star, but hip-hop musicians were keeping his music alive. Some of rap’s most defining songs between 1988 and 1992—Public Enemy’s “Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos,” The Geto Boys’ “Mind Playing Tricks on Me,” DJ Quik’s “Born and Raised in Compton”—were built off the baroque samples of Hayes tunes. New York producers like RZA, Pete Rock, MF Doom, and Evil Dee used his palettes to make boom bap. And drawn to the cinematic, ’90s British trip-hop artists like Portishead and Massive Attack used Hayes to cull their nocturnal moods. To celebrate 50 years of Hot Buttered Soul, here’s Hayes refracted through hip-hop’s prism.

Second-guessing Ken Burns documentaries has become a national pastime, especially when they focus on something close to viewers’ hearts, like music. When he tackled jazz years ago, naysayers ran rampant, and his 2019 PBS doc Country Music is similarly fodder for Monday-morning quarterbacks.

Even when you’re making an eight-part miniseries in which each episode runs about two hours, if you’re tackling a topic as monumental as country music, some things are bound to end up on the cutting-room floor. Burns did a bang-up job overall, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t some inevitable omissions.Y

ou don’t have to go digging back through all eleventy-jillion hours of Country Music to figure out which important country artists didn’t make the final cut. We’ve done the heavy lifting for you with this playlist of the people who were left out. While some of the artists Country Music forgot might be familiar only to hardcore country fans, others are bound to induce a major amount of bemused head-scratching.

Let’s look at some of the legendary, enormously influential artists who fall into that latter camp, for starters. We’ve got the likes of Billy Joe Shaver, who’s as responsible for the outbreak of outlaw country in the ’70s as anybody. Then there’s rock ’n’ roll giant Jerry Lee Lewis, who managed a remarkable comeback as a country hitmaker in the ’60s and ’70s. And speaking of hitmakers, how about Don Williams, whose sonorous baritone brought him dozens of Top 10 country singles in the ’70s and ’80s? That’s saying nothing of country/pop crossover queen Linda Ronstadt, one of the biggest superstars of the ’70s.

Lesser known but equally important names like country-soul pioneer Tony Joe White, trucker-country hero Del Reeves, and bluegrass star Jimmy Martin are conspicuous in their absence from the series too, but you’ll find them right here. You’re bound to come away with a wider view of country than what Burns’ narrative encompasses.

Blues iconography is overloaded with male guitar heroes, to the point that you’d think nobody without a Y chromosome ever hoisted an axe to bang out some blues riffs. In fact, the truth couldn’t be more contrary to that notion. Women guitarists have been a vital component of the blues since the beginning. So let’s leave B.B., Stevie Ray, and the rest of the boys out of the conversation for once and let some well-deserved light shine on the ladies who have contributed to the blues-guitar continuum, from the early days all the way up to the present moment.

Memphis Minnie started making music in the late 1920s; her songs and guitar style made her a queen of the country blues and even influenced later generations of blues rockers like Led Zeppelin, who covered her classic “When the Levee Breaks.” Sister Rosetta Tharpe became a pioneer of the electric guitar in the ’40s, while Etta Baker and Elizabeth Cotten emerged as influential guitar stylists in the ’50s (even though Cotten had already been at it for decades). And in the ’60s, Jessie Mae Hemphill started making her name; she would become a linchpin of the Mississippi hill-country style.

From the ’80s onward, the number of gifted female blues guitar slingers has grown exponentially, and these days there are more of them out there than ever. Susan Tedeschi, Sue Foley, and Ana Popovic are a few of the most widely known fret-burners of the contemporary crop. But the likes of Samantha Fish, Australia’s Fiona Boyes, and Brits Dani Wilde and Joanne Shaw Taylor are tearing it up these days too. So if you think the halls of blues-guitar greatness are strictly a boys’ club, you’re about to be proven wrong in the most pleasurable way possible.

Thirty years ago, Chile returned to democracy after being shackled by the dictatorship of General Augusto Pinochet for 17 years. Under his oppressive regime, Pinochet put a deadly hault on numerous forms of artistic expression — one of its most famous (atrocious) examples was the kidnapping and murder of protest folk singer Victor Jara who helped lead the New Chilean Song Movement of the late Sixties, early Seventies. You see, Chilean music wasn’t allowed to be political, or much less, criticise its government. Enter Los Prisioneros, a Chilean pop rock band with a knack for glossy anthemic hooks became one of the most defiant groups of their generation. Formed in the late Seventies, the San Miguel band’s early songs proved to be controversial in a time of extreme censorship, so their music gained popularity through labeless cassette distribution. Eighties songs like “El Baile De Los Que Sobran” and “De La Cultura De La Basura testified them as working class heroes with a rebellious spirit who know how to expertly navigate their way around insatiable synth melodies and catchy drum machines made for the dance floor. This era was also the height of the rock en español explosion in Latin America, so their rosy-hued disco pop wasn’t as welcoming in the mainstream — who demanded more rock guitars and, seemingly, pretentious frontmen — a vast departure from the scrappy, socially discontent group Los Prisioneros were known as. So when their fourth studio album dropped, 1990’s Corazones, it wasn’t an instant hit for the reasons aforementioned, yet it slowly became a South American legacy. It also marked a critical time in Chilean history when it was at a crossroads. Part autobiographical, part social-commentary, the record poignantly reflects the stigmas of Chile’s disenfranchised population, and it emotionally evoked the turmoil of an overwhelming transition in politics, all over sleek electronic pulses and intoxicating synth riffs. Songs like “Tren Al Sur” and “Estrechez de Corazón” pack one hell of a rhythm too that lends itself to high-gloss dance rock with a socially political edge. It’s a style that decades later would inspire hordes of Chilean pop groups like Javiera Mena, Alex Anwandter, and Dënver — bands that too fight battles of classism while demanding LGBTQ+ rights over disco-inflected dance pop. The early 2010s saw the first latest explosion of Chilean pop, and it traveled around the globe, a sort of electropop manifesto pioneered by Los Prisioneros.

You know the segment of the horror and sci-fi movie spectrum we’re talking about here. The worse they are, the better they are; the lower the budget, the higher the entertainment value. And the more goofy and outlandish the plot, the more there is to love about it. They operate in an entirely different universe than venerated, “legit” horror films like, say, The Exorcist or Rosemary’s Baby. They’re the kind of movies that turn up in the wee hours on TV, or maybe in a cult film festival if you’re lucky.

Some of the songs assembled here pay direct homage to some of those films. For instance, Roky Erickson’s “I Walked With a Zombie,” John Cooper Clarke’s “(I Married a) Monster from Outer Space,” and Screaming Lord Sutch & The Savages’ “Dracula’s Daughter” are all inspired by the films that bear those titles. And after recording “House of 1000 Corpses,” Rob Zombie took matters into his own hands and directed his own movie of the same name.

Then there are the tunes that suggest an alternative history of cheesy horror movies, ones that never actually existed but sound like they should have. Blondie’s “The Attack of the Giant Ants,” The Hollywood Brats’ “Vampire Nazi,” and The Cramps’ “Burn She-Devil, Burn” are creations that originated entirely in the minds of the musicians, but after you hear them it’s hard to resist imagining them coming to life at three in the morning on your TV screen.

It’s the perfect playlist to fire up when All Hallows’ Eve rolls around, but if you’re a lover of B movies and vintage cinematic kitsch, these tunes will do the trick whenever you’ve got the urge to get gloriously tacky on the scary side.

Astrology’s pretty ancient, but we’re here for it as a modern-day cultural phenomenon—horoscopes and astrology memes are delightfully prevalent on social media, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a millennial who doesn’t know the ins and outs of their sign. Whether or not the zodiac has any actual impact on our day-to-day lives, it’s definitely affecting our listening habits every month with this ongoing playlist series in which we corral our favorite hitmakers born under the current sign.‍

As temperatures drop and leaves begin to fall to the ground (at least in some parts of the world), the sun moves from Virgo into Libra. Known for striving for balance and harmony, Libra is symbolized by a set of scales. According to astrologers, people born with this zodiac sign are thought to be social, intellectual, and fair. They have a strong urge to identify unfairness and make peace. Libras can come across as very civil, yet they have a tendency to be indecisive in trivial daily matters.

For the latest installment in our series of music horoscopes, we’re celebrating some of our favorite recent songs made by Libra artists. This month, you’ll find Flamenco pop singer  Rosalía’s hit “Yo x Ti, Tu x Mi” (translation: “me for you, you for me”)—a very Libra theme. Also in the selection are Childish Gambino’s Grammy-winning, injustice-revealing “This Is America,” Cardi B’s warning to liars and cheaters, “Be Careful,” and John Mayer’s tenderly honest search for peace, “I Guess I Just Feel Like,” as well as classics from Ashanti, Eminem, Bruno Mars, and more.

‍Photo credit: Jora Frantzis

Astrology’s pretty ancient, but we’re here for it as a modern-day cultural phenomenon—horoscopes and astrology memes are delightfully prevalent on social media, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a millennial who doesn’t know the ins and outs of their sign. But, whether or not the zodiac has any actual impact on our day-to-day lives, it’s definitely affecting our listening habits every month with this ongoing playlist series in which we corral our favorite hitmakers born under the current sign.“

Allow me to reintroduce myself—my name is Hov, H-to-the-O-V,” opens rapper JAY Z on his iconic The Black Album standout “Public Service Announcement.” The line, now engraved in hip-hop’s lexicon, is one that speaks to the fiery essence of Sagittarius, the astrological sign that dominates the sky from November 22 to December 21. Like JAY Z, whose 50th birthday falls on December 4, people born under this sign are said to be bold, confident, and optimistic. According to astrologers, Sagittarians can be spontaneous and adventurous in nature—and potentially restless or irresponsible when out of balance.

From Britney Spears to Taylor Swift, DJ Khaled, Janelle Monáe, and Miley Cyrus, some of this generation’s most daring and bright musicians were born under the Sagittarius sun. To celebrate the zodiac fire sign, symbolized by the centaur as well as the archer, we put together an era-spanning collection of hits and classics for your Sagittarius music horoscope, including Christina Aguilera’s “Genie in a Bottle,” Sia’s “Chandelier,” Teyana Taylor’s “Rose in Harlem,” Billie Eilish’s “everything i wanted,” and more.

Astrology’s pretty ancient, but we’re here for it as a modern-day cultural phenomenon—horoscopes and astrology memes are delightfully prevalent on social media, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a millennial who doesn’t know the ins and outs of their sign. Whether or not the zodiac has any actual impact on our day-to-day lives, it’s definitely affecting our listening habits every month with this ongoing playlist series in which we corral our favorite hit makers born under the current sign.‍

With the end of summer comes the start of Virgo season on August 23. Symbolized by the modest maiden, the earth sign is ruled by Mercury, the Roman god of communication, eloquence, and boundaries. Virgos are the idealists of the zodiac, always well-organized and practical as they delve into the finer details of life.

In the selection of tracks for our music horoscope playlist, you’ll find “Clarity” by Kim Petras, “Drive Safe” by Rich Brian, and “Overdue” by Metro Boomin, on which some of our favorite newer artists embrace their tender hearts in true Virgo spirit. We also mix in some classics––Cassie fantasizes about the most efficient way to approach her crush on “Me & U,” Nas paints a world free of injustice, racism, and destruction on “If I Ruled the World,” and Amy Winehouse takes a methodical approach to keeping a relationship in the friend zone on “Just Friends.” Beyoncé, Jay Electronica, and Tayla Parx are also featured. Use this playlist as a soundtrack for the last days of summer as you channel Virgo energy and get back into a routine.

‍Photo courtesy of Parkwood Entertainment

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: We’re in the midst of a post-punk renaissance! It’s a phrase that was on every music critic’s lips back in the early 2000s, when The Rapture were mining Gang of Four’s solid gold, Interpol were summoning the ghost of Ian Curtis, and !!! staked out the common dance-floor turf between PiL and ESG. And there’s evidence to suggest that the revival never really ended, as post-punk’s rhythmic principles have become firmly embedded in the DNA of modern indie rock. But whereas the post-millennial post-punkers offered a hedonistic escape from the looming black clouds of 9/11 and the Iraq war, the current class cropping in the U.K. and Ireland is forcing listeners to reckon with reality as if thrusting your head into an unserviced porta-potty on the final day of a weekend festival.

There’s an old line of wishful thinking that suggests political turmoil makes for the best music (as if a couple of great records would be enough to compensate for the rise in income inequality, the degradation of the environment, and the proliferation of fascism). But the theory bears out when you consider all the exciting—and fiercely antagonistic—artists from the Isles who are thriving amid the chaos of the post-Brexit era. From the working-class warfare of Sleaford Mods to the pub-brawl poetry of Fontaines D.C. to the inspirational aggression of IDLES, these are good times for music about the bad times. But if these groups reinforce a definition of post-punk that centers on bruising basslines and melody-averse admonishments from vocalists with thick regional accents, other artists featured on this playlist uphold post-punk’s legacy of fearless, nonconformist experimentation, as manifest in the oblique artcore of black midi, the hypnotic pulse of Vanishing Twin, and the extended percussive odysseys of the aptly named Nottingham duo Rattle. That’s why post-punk revivals never go out of style: There are always so many different kinds of post-punk to revive.

‍Photo courtesy of Daniel Topete

Identity, as Nitsuh Abebe writes in the intro to The New York Times Magazine’s “25 Songs That Tell Us Where Music Is Going” feature, is at the center of nearly all conversations about music today. The gist of this theory is that the ethnicity, sexual preference, experience, and general “identity” of the artist should be a primary force in understanding the artistic object. And so the playlist of music curated for the Times’ article is an identity-based projection of where music is ostensibly going.

Yet, rather than envisioning an ideal future in which the divides between people are overcome, this list simply thrusts the social issues of today into tomorrow, reinforcing the status quo and prognosticating that, if this list comes true, future society will more or less face the same obstacles we have today. Music, like all art, is a function of its particular moment, therefore, this playlist raises an interesting question: How do we overcome the problems of society today to be able to create genuinely new art tomorrow?In the Adele portion of this feature, the section’s author claims: “That’s the future of music: recognizing, in the present, that you’re permanently indentured to the past.” So, the way forward is to look backward. But what this theory ignores is that the duty of humanity (up to this point) is to overcome its past, not to cherish it. Understanding the history of popular song forms is not going to change the world; however, pursuing a meaningful critique of the society that produced these forms might.

For the most part, the socially oriented songs on this list seek to engage the present moment in content, but one must wonder whether it does in form. There is very little actual radical music on this list (except for possibly Kanye West). There’s little avant-garde, and basically no classical (which, historically, has grasped social change far better than popular music). There’s no instrumental jazz, there’s one metal track (plus a bonus slot for a Metallica song), and no electronic music. Punk? Don’t bet on it. World music? Nah. So the presumption that this list represents a diverse set of voices that we should use to point the way forward does not seem to hold water. This playlist is diverse in the same way that a Starbucks music endcap or the Billboard Top 40 is diverse. The actual marginalized voices and the actual radical music of today—the real stuff that could illuminate the politics necessary to create a better world tomorrow—are few and far between here.

That isn’t to say that this music is bad—some of it is among the very best mainstream pop music. Future’s “Mask Off” is one of the great self-negation anthems of the year; Leonard Cohen’s “You Want It Darker” is a compelling artifact of truth and despair; Church of Misery’s “Make Them Die Slowly” is a pretty decent Japanese heavy metal track; Kanye West’s “Fade” is a masterpiece of production that brilliantly combines four unique samples; Charles Bradley’s “Changes” is an attractive cover of a Black Sabbath classic. But do they really critique the world we live in? Do these songs truly grasp the essence of social life today? And if so, do they point beyond themselves, showing a way forward? On a formal level, not really. Frankly, if this is the music of tomorrow, we should expect to remain living in the world of today.