Corey Towers

Taraka and Nimai Larson can’t wait to meet you. Most artists will hide behind a shield of press contacts and merchandise movers, but Taraka and Nimai do everything themselves. In setting up Thought Catalog’s interview with the two sisters, everything is handled via text messages. No trying game of email or phone tag; no bureaucracy.

It is this kind of transparency that makes Prince Rama so compelling; when asked what happened to Michael Collins, their now-absent third band member, they opt for brutal honesty no matter how it may sound. “It was just bad vibes,” Nimai tells us. “It stopped working.”

Devotees attend Prince Rama not for the spectacle, but for the sincerity. Where a “15-minute-exorcise” routine should be at the very least unnerving, it is a lighthearted, raucous affair. As drumsticks twirl and glitter shines down upon a dazzled Chicago audience, Prince Rama directs viewers through a series of emotions. In under five minutes, they channel the pain of losing bandmate Collins, the eeriness of the supernatural and the joy of dancing as though it were disco night in 1986.

Shortly after the performance, Nimai and Taraka are nearly impossible to get ahold of. This is not because they are avoiding the press; it is because they are busy embracing each and every fan willing to talk to them in the venue. Before they sold out shows and released records on Animal Collective-owned label Paw Tracks, Prince Rama were “f-cking broke,” Nimai says.

The love, between artist and fan, is mutual: as we speak to Nimai about Prince Rama’s newest record, post-Michael , her love of the new Lil Wayne record and food ethics, one fan leans over to interject, “They take the bad sh-t and make it good,” instantly summing up the prolific Brooklyn duo and their mission.

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Thought Catalog: You’re missing a band member! Where is Michael?

Nimai Larson: It was just bad vibes. It stopped working. We all came to this realization. We went on a three month long tour. One was with Light Pollution. One was with Deakin from Animal Collective, and on the last one we were touring by ourselves. It was three months straight. And after that it was breakdown central, and we were like, “This is not working.” The vibes just got bad. The energy was dark. It just wasn’t working anymore. It was super obvious. He moved to Florida. And we were like, “If you’re moving to Florida, we just don’t want to continue with you.”

Anyways, [Taraka] and I continued on our own. And it was a really scary thing. Can we do it? Are we going to sound empty? Are we going to be okay? And the first show we did, just the two of us, happened to be this crazy festival in Italy. I think that that was the first time the aestheticism of The Now Age came to play in our set. Our aesthetics became more clarified. Our vision became so much more clarified. Our sound became clarified. Everything we did.

And I feel because this is our first album with [just] the two of us, a lot of thought, I think I has gotten put into this, in turn, because of dropping a member. And I think that’s how [Taraka] sharpened up her thoughts into writing this manifesto. Because all of a sudden, it became very clear what we’re doing. She wrote the manifesto after we recorded [Trust Now].

TC: Tell me more about the album art for Trust Now. What is that between the two of you?

NL: [Taraka] was like, “Is this invisible Michael?” I said, “No. No. We don’t want to get into that territory.” I don’t think so. I think this is us. [Points at the album art] And the thing is, with this layout, we did a few different takes of this, and this one was the strongest. My cousin had chickens. We were holding chickens at one point. It didn’t work. [Laughs] We were facing each other. It didn’t work. We were standing. It didn’t work. Look at this crazy Photoshop we did.

He made us completely symmetrical. These are my hands, and he Photoshopped it to be [Taraka]‘s as well. That’s amazing. We’re wearing different jewelry, and everything’s slouching differently. Anyways, this whole cover is f-cking scary. I read some reviews, and they were like, “This album is f-cking scary.” And I was like, “Cool.” We’ve been through some scary sh-t.

TC: I can’t shake the impression that this new material feels darker than your previous efforts.

NL: The energy on this album is dark. This is a dark album. It’s darker because a lot of the songs are about holding back. There’s a lot of dishonesty in [Trust Now]. To me, the skull is very honest. It’s like, “Hello, we’re all gonna die.” Do you know what I mean? But right now, let’s joke with it and put some f-cking Wal-Mart jewels on it. We’re all gonna die, who gives a sh-t? Let’s have fun.

I’m not trying to say, “Life is sh-t.” I’m trying to say, “Death is coming. We’re all gonna die.” But isn’t it kind of funner [sic] to put glitter on, and some lipstick? And have fun? I mean, this album’s dark, but [Taraka] and I have the tendency to laugh at ourselves. This album seems scary, but it’s kind of fun to me. It’s hilarious to me. All these jewels.

TC: The energy that you mentioned. Are these dangerous forces?

NL: Could be. It’s different for everyone. Sometimes stress brings out the dangerous forces. “Materials should engage with the realm of light and shadow.” This is how I feel. This is a whole different idea. Sound can create forms — semantics — like, if you put a flat speaker underneath like a flat surface, and put some sand on it, it makes a sound. The glitter is like having a mutual reciprocity with your environment.

Not just dressing in a way that isolates you. But dressing in a way that invites your environment to interact with you and you to interact with your environment. It captures the life in the room and reflects it back. There’s a feedback loop that’s created. It just keeps you connected, you know?

TC: Speaking of connection, you had the audience in a trance when you chanted “Trust,” over and over again. What was that all about?

NL: Kind of like reminding us to trust, reminding everyone [to] remember trust. Again, I feel like its this reciprocity that needs to happen. Trusting people making the music; trusting the people listening. It’s breaking a boundary. You forget that we’re all in this survivalist community. And there needs to be this element of danger. For me, too. I’ve done that before and almost got dropped. I can get seriously injured doing that.

TC: I read that your relationship with Animal Collective actually began at a concert.

NL: [David Porter] came to some of our shows, and he was like, “I really want to put some of your stuff out on Paw Tracks. How do you feel about that?” And we were like, “DUH!”

This was our fourth album. We had put out the first three by ourselves. We needed help. We were f-cking broke. Doing it all ourselves was really hard. But yeah. That was amazing that they stepped in. That whole process of making Shadow Temple was amazing. We got to tour with Deakin/ Josh. They’re all so sweet. They’re such nice people.

And, I’m a forever to the grave Panda Bear fan. I love Tomboy!

TC: What’s your favorite song on that Panda Bear record?

NL: He played [“You Can Count On Me”] on Jimmy Fallon recently. You should YouTube that. It’s kind of funny, because there’s this sweeping camera movement that pans the audience. It’s Jimmy Fallon! Like, weird right?

For Tomboy, the first four or five songs are all my favorite. They go together so well. There’s not many live shows that I cry at, but definitely the last time I saw him, he performed Tomboy start to finish and I was just [in tears]. I was watching other people in the audience, like closing their eyes. It was just totally a spiritual experience for a lot of people. And I think that is so amazing, when bands can do that. It’s not very often that I get moved to tears during a live set.

TC: Top 40 makes it easy to forget how powerful music can be, sometimes.

NL: There’s some rap that I think is pretty up there for me, though. “John (If I Die Today).”

I go the gym with that. That song gets me to another level. It’s definitely a different level than I would get to by listening to Panda Bear or Liturgy. Still, there’s something about that raw emotion that’s still there, and super triumphant beats and lines that are just like, “BAM!” And I don’t know if it’s making me angry, or if it’s making me triumphant, or what it’s doing. There’s some rap music that just takes me away.

TC: I feel like the new Drake album does that for me.

NL: There’s a new Drake album? What the sh-t! I love Drake. Alright, I gotta check this out.

TC: Great as it is, you probably can’t take the new Drake record to the gym.

NL: What about Girl Talk? In Night Ripper, they blend Britney Spears with Yo La Tengo! Do you remember that song? I think it’s track number eight. I got to it and was like, “Are you kidding me?”

TC: Girl Talk is definitely on something when he plays live shows. I have no idea how you guys perform sober.

NL: I don’t need any more chemicals in my body. Because our music is so complex. I mean, there are musicians who do things so much more complex than [what we do] and they do tons of drugs. But that’s just not me. I get super paranoid if I do drink before I play.

TC: You don’t drink? You smoke cigarettes, right?

NL: I do, but not on tour. I don’t drink on the job. I don’t smoke cigarettes on the job. This is our career. So whenever we’re on tour, I take it very seriously. I know [Taraka] does too. This is our day job. We don’t have any other jobs. I know that a lot of people love to smoke during our sets, and that’s awesome. I don’t really give a sh-t. But we don’t really do any drugs.

TC: It helps to cut back. There are so many chemicals in modern food anyway.

NL: I know. My mom got cancer last year. I mean, she’s fine now. It coincided when [Taraka] and I moved to New York. We were broke, my mom got cancer, we both broke up with our boyfriends, our car broke down. All this crazy stuff.

My mom is the healthiest person. And totally lives such a clean lifestyle. We were like, “How did you get cancer?” I think what’s going on is that if you’ve ever eaten anything from the frozen section of a grocery store, then it’s “Welcome to cancerland.” You’re susceptible, because you’ve had sodium benzoate. [Pauses] I don’t know how I know that.

But I used to do this thing, back when I was really serious about my diet before I started touring, because it’s really hard to be food conscious on tour. It’s like, I just want to go to Whole Foods salad bar. But I have gotten food poisoning from the Whole Foods salad bar. This last time that I got it was a few weeks ago in Minneapolis right before our last Chicago show, and I threw up 14 times that night. It’s hilarious, like how close to dying I was. From Whole Foods salad bar.

I called them the next day, really f-cked up, and I was like, “Dude. You have to check the timing of your salad bar.” They were like, “What are you talking about?” I was like, “I practically died last night!” And they didn’t care at all, and I’m still kind of fostering this weird sort of anger towards Whole Foods, because they didn’t seem to care. And I kind of want to write them a letter [saying], “Switch out your salad bar toppings. Because, I got really sick.”

It’s hard, because the local fair trade stuff, is like, $3.90 more, and it’s like, “I’m already broke. Sh-t.” I used to do this thing where, if anything I’m buying has more than 10 ingredients, or if I can’t pronounce something, I’m not buying it. Which is really great, but hard. Think about it. Like Wheat Thins. Sounds like a really great idea. But there’s like 32 ingredients. And you’re like, “What is this…?” I don’t think I need any of that extra stuff. It can’t be good for you.

So, thinking about that, and then my mom got cancer. She doesn’t smoke or drink. It’s like, “Sh-t. I’m screwed.” Do you know what I mean? I have cigarettes in the car right now.

It’s like, “I tried to be vegan for six months, but I still drank all the time.” [Laughs] Good one. In all reality, I’m sure there’s Doritos that are vegan. French fries are vegan, too. So are onion rings. There’s a lot of crap that’s vegan, but it’s still crap. But I’ve been vegetarian my whole life, so I hope that helps? Maybe I won’t get cancer.

TC: Being a vegetarian isn’t easy.

NL: There was this time I got orange juice — it was in college. I got Tropicana orange juice, and it had added Omega-3s. I was like, “Cool. Because I don’t get enough. I’m a vegetarian.” I was drinking my glass of orange juice, spacing out, looking at the back of the carton, and it was like, “Ingredients: Orange juice. Fish oil. Water.” I was like, “Fish oil? Since when do I have to check the ingredients on my orange juice?” I was so pissed. I wrote Tropicana. I was like, ‘”You gotta be kidding me.” And they sent me a coupon for four dollars.

TC: Did you use the coupon to buy another carton of Tropicana orange juice?

NL: At first I was like, “F-ck you! Why would I want your f-cking orange juice?” And then my friend was like, “Nimai. You drink orange juice. Just buy the kind that doesn’t have fish oil in it.”

My boyfriend is also vegetarian, but he has completely different reasons for being vegetarian than I do. He’s like, “This doesn’t add up. Why is there always ‘Fresh Meat’ in the meat section of the grocery store? It does not add up. Fast food does not add up. This does not make sense.” And if it does not make sense to him, he’s not going to eat it.

But if it’s like, “Farm Fresh. Local,” and how often does that happen, then he might eat meat. But for me, I’m just like, “The animals.”

I did a huge project on being vegetarian in 9th grade, in high school. It’s not only about “Boo-hoo, the animals.” It’s like, “Boo-hoo, the environment!” And the politics behind it. It’s outrageous. It’s really scary how much of the earth’s resources we’re depleting to keep cattle grazing going. Oh, my God. And all the trucks that move meat. And all the oil. It’s a sick cycle. And that’s a lot of people.

[Taraka’s] boyfriend — all our people are vegetarians — her boyfriend has that kind of vibe. He’s like, “Man. The politics behind this, it’s depleting the environment. I’m not gonna support this.”

We were raised vegetarian. Obviously, I had the choice, whenever I moved out of my parent’s house [to] eat meat. And I actually did eat meat. I went on a week long [vacation] in California, and I was like, “F-ck it. I’m gonna do it.” I had everything. I tried everything, except for cow. First eggs. Then chicken. Then bacon. Then crab.

TC: Did you feel guilty eating seafood? I meet a lot of Pescetarians.

NL: They have eyes. I did it all. I ate it all! It wasn’t even tasty. It just didn’t really vibe with me — I just know too much. Once you see the light, you can’t go back. I already did this project, I was already raised this way. Heard, seen, and read about this stuff. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I tried it. It just wasn’t for me.

TC: You sound passionate about food ethics. What would you be doing if you weren’t making music?

NL: I would be a nutcase if I wasn’t making songs. [Laughs] I don’t know what I would be doing if I wasn’t doing this. I don’t think I would be better off. I think this is good. I would probably still be in Texas. I would probably be trying to pursue some bullsh-t art career, hating my life. I think I would be trying to start a printmaking company. Or starting a gym. It was a toss up. I remember that. I was like, “[Taraka], I’m going to major in Kinesthesiology! I want to be a personal trainer for the [Dallas] Stars.”

Prince Rama will be playing at Glasslands in Brooklyn on the 23rd of this month. For more information about their tour, check out this write-up.

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1. “By Your Side” by Sade

Let’s get one thing straight, I live and die for Sade. Her music is lush, beautiful, and romantic. I’m her # 1 (or, at the very least, # 34) fan. That being said, listening to Sade during a hook up is a privilege, not a right. If you’re on that monogamous “I love you” tip with someone, then feel free to blast Sade until your bed frame breaks. But if you’re just having casual, meaningless sex, Sade is not your girl. She once came on when I was hooking up with this boy I only had lukewarm feelings for and we both just stopped and were like, “Our relationship is not good enough for Sade’s music. We don’t deserve her.” And a few weeks later, it was over.

2. “Boyfriend” by Best Coast

This record came out while I was dating this cute, great guy and stuck in that gray/ gay area all summer long where we were just like “I really like you but I don’t think we should be BF/BF…” Anyway, I was always accidentally playing this song when we were hooking up and, all of a sudden, I just got super paranoid because the lyrics are “I WISH HE WAS MY BOYFRIEND. I WISH HE KNEW I LOVED HIM. GOD, IT WOULD BE GREAT IF WE DATED.” I started to worry that he thought I was feeding him subliminal messages by playing the song, so I stopped playing it. Incidentally, I was also stoned for most of this summer so maybe it was paranoia?

3. “F**k The Pain Away” by Peaches

Just because you’re having vacuous sex with someone, doesn’t mean you need to play a song about it. I mean, I get it. You’re screwing the “pain” away. You won’t care about me the second you climax. I get mine, you get yours. Just don’t remind me via lesbian elctropop that was briefly popular in the early ’00s.

4. “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy” by Paris Hilton

There’s nothing less sexy than listening to Paris Hilton talk about her sexiness. She sounds like a sex demon that somehow landed on Earth, decided to make some noises with her tongue and call it an album. If you listen closely enough, you can actually hear producer Scott Storch laughing hysterically in the background while cashing his check.

5.”Sadie” by Joanna Newsom

Joanna Newsom is nice to listen to at 2 a.m. when you’re busy feeling things and want to freak out your roommate, but she’s not appropriate sex music. Her voice kind of sounds like your mom screaming at you to come inside for dinner or something. “RYAN! COME INSIDE AND EAT! THE FOOD IS GETTING COLD!” Ugh, my dick goes down half an inch just visualizing it. Yeah, she’s anti-sex music. Like I’m pretty sure those True Love Waits Christians listen to her when they want to banish impure thoughts. They tell them that this is what sex sounds like — two wet cats in the rain getting strangled — and everyone gets scared straight.

6.”You Oughta Know” by Alanis Morissette

“I know that we’re being really tender and romantic right now but I just want you to know that it will all end in tears. I’ll end up hating you or you’ll end up hating me. No one will be going down on ANYONE, let alone in a theatre. So cheers to us hating each other someday. Get undressed.”

7. “Buffy The Vampire Slayer Theme Song” by Nerf Herder

I can’t be the only Buffy freak who has the theme song on their iPod, right? It’s definitely cool and trendy to tell people that you loved Buffy, OMG, but it is quite another thing to be smooching some dude and hear the “DOO-DOO-DOO-DOO” intro come on to your iPod. (I also have the My So-Called Life theme song as well. Deal with it.)

8. “The Wreckoning” by Boomkat

Given any opportunity, I will mention the amazing blip that was Boomkat, actress Taryn Manning’s bizarro pop band. “The Wreckoning” takes Taryn Manning’s vocals and roofies them with 10,000 Adderall. Add to that an “edgy” pop beat and lyrics about a relationship gone sour, and you have The Least Sexy Song Ever. Thank you so much, Taryn Manning. You have given us all so much, most notably a hilarious miscarriage scene in Crossroads, but it’s your foray into music that proves to be the gift that keeps on giving.

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If you spend any time following music, or internet culture, or better yet the significant zone of overlap between the concentric universes of internet and music, you have probably had someone ask you “have you heard of Lana Del Rey,” “do you like Lana Del Rey” or, in particular, “why is everyone always talking about Lana Del Rey.”

You might even have had someone ask you “who is Lana del Rey,” in which case you most likely paused, searching for words, until you became overwhelmed by a sort of topical fatigue, electric visual impulses of Twitter feeds or high-contrast blogs flickering briefly in your head before you gave up. This article is intended as an explicatory primer on/ analysis of the Lana Del Rey phenomenon that you can send to your Facebook friends, your mother, your coworker who has just heard of her yesterday, or to someone who says to you next year, “oh yeah, what was the deal with that one singer last year again?”

First of all, the part that nearly everyone knows by now: Lana Del Rey is an attractive, pillow-lipped singer who released a single called “Video Games,” accompanied by a video comprised primarily of aesthetic but vague lo-fi video clips and paparazzi recordings of actress Paz de la Huerta tottering drunk, as if to make some kind of ‘statement’ re Hollywood, potentially ‘old Hollywood.’

The sun-faded, melancholy Polaroid aesthetic would have been familiar to the point of fatigue to those who consider it important to keep well abreast of independent music; said aesthetic has been widely employed on the ‘indie scene’ in general over the past two years or so, a product of the tendency for each generation’s hip 20-somethings to express nostalgia for a time they themselves didn’t quite experience.

In that regard it’s unsurprising that Del Rey’s video received an initial wave of curiosity/ attention; many musical bands/ acts that employ the artificially-nostalgic look/ sound receive some derision from traditional music critics, and even singles-driven music blogs that value and promote that aesthetic don’t tend to represent it as innovative, instead tolerating it with an understanding that this is the present ‘language’ that is currently in fashion.

But the first wave of backlash against Lana Del Rey began to emerge when it was ‘discovered’ she was, by all standards of perception, no bootstrapping blogosphere chanteuse, no lucky YouTube phenomenon, but an “outsider,” the daughter of a millionaire who had funded her multiple calculated attempts at ‘breaking in’ to the music industry through professionally-produced recordings. In a prior incarnation, the 25 year-old Lana Del Rey went simply by her birth name, the much less-gauzy Lizzy Grant — and early photographs show that the mesmeric pout that had so captivated viewers in her video for “Video Games” was itself engineered, the product of a collagen injection.

The passionate music world has never been forgiving of what it sees to be crimes against authenticity, but the perception of Del Ray as a creature doggedly masquerading as an “indie sensation” without having been thus crowned through the appropriate channels is particularly damning to her in the current climate. The internet has democratized fame, making it something theoretically achievable by anyone — and desirable by everyone. We often hear about how today’s teens and 20-somethings are being raised believing they are all uniquely talented, capable and impervious to criticism, but the situation is actually slightly worse.

Thanks to social media, talent whether real or imaginary actually matters much less than ‘personal branding’ (note that Lana, or someone acting on her behalf, has secured Twitter accounts for her name both as ‘Del Rey’ and the common misspelling ‘Del Ray,’ just in case), and the condition of being the one who is able to garner the most attention. The atmosphere is so crowded, so noisy, in fact, that it even favors those who eschew conventional ideas about quality; just speaking of the music world, lo-fi and minimal production are in fashion. Popular rappers release singles for free via Twitter, containing drowsy, cottonmouthed pop culture references and provocative buzzwords far more than elegant rhymes or compelling beats.

Lana Del Rey had the gall to cheat social media, to be a manufactured, plastic-surgeried rich girl parading ruthlessly through a climate that ‘rightly’ belongs to scrappy, memetic internet hipsters. Unfortunately for her, they’re the ones who decide what’s cool. The anti-LDR movement gained a little blog buzz, spearheaded by the always brilliantly self-aware Hipster Runoff; when the site turned the lion’s share of its attention on satirizing Lana (as of writing the site is dominated by a ‘All Lana All The Time 24/7 #LDR Coverage’) banner, it was also satirizing the exaggeratedly-incensed ‘cool kids’ who suddenly seemed so devoted to expressing their offense at her existence.

It was partially schadenfreude that made Lana Del Rey such a popular topic on trendsetting music and culture websites, and it was partially the fact that questions about authenticity and the meaning of success are quite understandably some of the most compelling to the demographic that drives social media behavior. In an interesting twist, Lana became such a hot topic that articles or blog posts about her were an easy traffic get for the precise sort of young writer grinding thanklessly in the hope of becoming recognized as a writer — by getting a lot of attention and by being abreast of current trends.

In other words, the very people in a position to resent her most became the ones that kept her at the forefront of popular topics. That could at least partially explain why most of the buzz about Lana was unforgiving, vicious, resentful.

That, and the fact that any argument about Lana’s authenticity would have become not irrelevant but at least impotent if it could be proven that she was actually good, a question that few seemed able to definitively answer. Any definitive review from a major music site, whether positive or negative, would be posted to Twitter with a statement to the effect of, “okay, NOW can we stop talking about her?” Yet no one stopped. Critical opinion was split, and all of it was so muddled in the Lana Del Rey ‘zeitgeist’ that talk about the music was always obfuscated anyway.

That was, until Lana Del Rey’s widely-panned Saturday Night Live performance. The inarguably beautiful, statuesque singer may have referred to herself as a “Gangsta Nancy Sinatra” who reportedly feels she’s on par with Elvis, but she looked like a doll in dress-up, moving stiffly, her expression rueful, preoccupied as she failed to hit her own notes. Her inability to perform, the utter absence of anything promising about her as a singer, stood out starkly in contrast with the luminous production value of her band, of that soft-lit, iconic stage.

It cannot be debated that that performance was awful. Following the release of her record, nor can it be debated that Lana Del Rey is an average musician at best, her Daddy-bought production values gilding the fissures in her ability. That she made anyone’s top lists speaks strongly to the ways audiences value music as a reflection of the culture in which they live just as much as they do for its objective quality. Lana Del Rey is the sound of her time, is the sign of her time, nothing more and nothing less.

But following the disastrous SNL performance, the blogosphere descended on this definitive proof that Lana Del Rey, to whom they had devoted so many words, so much attention, was unworthy of such attention. She was an unforgivable transgressor, according to a tidal wave of young people who write for free or for close to it, who want more Twitter followers, who are taking advantage of her for traffic, who just might deeply resent her because she has money and they don’t, or more likely, because she has cut in line.

It’s somewhat ironic that the same episode of SNL that featured Del Rey’s infamous appearance also featured a sketch called “You Can Do Anything,” satirizing millennials who lack the ability to gauge their own skill level or the extent to which they deserve opportunities for praise. In Del Rey’s mannequin lips, her strangely-empty eyes, her singleminded pursuit of her musical dream whether or not she “deserves” it, in her cold dismissals of all of her critics, those who drive the tide of sentiment see their own faces reflected, I fear.

And they’re obsessed with it, either horrified fascination or the fixation of a child discovering his own face in a mirror for the first time. That’s why no one is “over it.” This is some scary sh-t. Can we please stop talking about her now? Only when we can stop talking about ourselves.

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In the weeks since the ‘controversy’ over my Lana Del Rey piece, I have spent a great deal of time trying to come to terms with my relationship to fame. For a brief moment, I was a barnacle on a sinking boat’s hull, which is a feeling I usually only have in relationships with women.

This is a feeling I want to have more often. I want to be a part of something. I want to bond with a celebrity, but I want that celebrity to be my friend before they become famous. I don’t want to deal with the emotional volatility, social pressure and unlimited sources of money/power/sexual gratification that come with fame. I just want to be in the presence of a transformational figure, an artist with a clear vision.

I have spent the last two hours searching the internet for such a figure. I believe I have found him after an exhaustive Google search for ‘genius artist.’ He is a musician that goes by the name ‘Max Black,’ which I quickly discovered is a pseudonym. There was a philosopher named Max Black, but he’s dead now. That renders him incapable of assisting me in my journey toward artistic clarity.

This non-dead Max Black ended up being very helpful. I engaged in a 30 minute Gchat conversation that spanned numerous topics of interest. When we were done, I had a new sense of clarity regarding the Lana Del Rey phenomenon, my own struggle with notoriety and the nature of existence. I believe that Max Black will lead the next great musical revolution. If I could describe his music, it would be a cross between the aggressive dance-punk of LCD Soundsystem, the chillwave nostalgia of Washed Out and the aesthetic taste of a young ABBA.

You can find his music here, and his Tumblr blog here.

I have organized our discussion by topic. The transcript might read as strained, but I assure you that Max Black and I are not only artistic peers, but we are also best friends forever (aka ‘BFFs’).

ORIGINS

DS: How did you get started in music? What’s your story?

MB: You want the real story or the story my publicist came up with?

DS: The real story.

MB: I attended Academy of Art University in San Francisco. I majored in Digital Video Production, with a minor in Sculpture. All of that cost me $300,000 after interest. I tried to get work directing music videos, but I was told that my work evoked a ‘young Helen Keller.’ I’m not familiar with a director named Helen Keller, but I imagine that was not a compliment.

DS: Where did making your own music come in?

MB: Well, I figured if I was going to direct music videos, I could just make my own music and then direct the videos.

DS: Do you have any videos yet?

MB: No.

DS: What artists have influenced your music the most?

MB: I listened to a lot of My Bloody Valentine, Gang of Four, etc. More contemporary artists include Neon Indian, Childish Gambino, Toro y Moi and M83. My tastes are very refined.

DS: What’s your favorite My Bloody Valentine album?

MB: God, there are so many…

DS: Actually, there are only two.

MB: Two is so many. I like them all.

THE MUSIC

DS: Tell me more about  your record, ‘The Rockafire Implosion EP.’ How long did it take to produce?

MB: 3 days.

DS: You produced 5 songs in 3 days?

MB: Garage Band is a great program.

DS: Is the DIY aspect of your work a major part of your persona?

MB: Yes. I like to think that I am a DIYer. My mother loaned me the money to buy my MacBook Pro, but I went to pick it up from Best Buy all by myself.

DS: What’s your favorite track on the EP?

MB: ‘Mexican Sandwich,’ because it makes me nostalgic.

DS: Does it make you nostalgic for anything in particular?

MB: No, that would be foolish. The point of music is to be universal. The song is supposed to make you nostalgic for general things, like sunshine, VHS tapes, eating sandwiches, summertime, the beach, your black lab, Scrappy who was run over by that Metro bus when you were 12. God, there was so much blood everywhere. You know, general things everyone can relate to.

DS: Your song, ‘Brad’s Head Revisited’ is about your first same-sex encounter. Do you consider yourself bisexual?

MB: I don’t like labels too much, though I do use the term ‘bisexual’ in the song. I believe sex should be about the free expression of emotion between two hot people. Well, they don’t have to be hot, but that’s preferred. Also, it doesn’t just have to be two people. Much like Girl Scout cookies, I say ‘the more the merrier.’

DS: Do you eat a lot of Girl Scout cookies?

MB: Of course. My little sister, Kimmy, is a Girl Scout. We share a room, so I’m always getting hooked up by her. She’s got a ton of boxes under her bed.

FAME

DS: You are not famous. No one knows who you are, you are broke, you live with your mom and you haven’t sold any records. Does this bother you?

MB: No. I’m famous with the right people.

DS: I’m not sure what that means.

MB: Look, some people are more important than others. As such, I cater to important people.

DS: How many Tumblr followers do you have?

MB: Eight.

DS: And all eight of them are important?
MB: To me, they are.

DS: So, what you’re saying is that you decide who is important, and then those people that you decide are important decide that you are important.

MB: No, you have it all wrong. The answer is, I am famous.

DS: I guess my question is how do you define fame?

MB: My definition of fame is so complex that if I explained it to you, your head would explode little chunks of crazy all over the floor and ceiling of your apartment.

DS: But doesn’t that just mean that fame is totally arbitrary if there is no established benchmark for fame?

MB: Yes, fame is arbitrary. That’s what’s so great about it. I can literally say or do whatever I want as long as I have enough time and money to throw at my art.

DS: Do you consider yourself a narcissist?

MB: No. I’m just ‘highly motivated.’

AUTHENTICITY

DS: You write all of your own music? No samples?

MB: That is correct. I considered using some samples. Specifically, “Who Let the Dogs Out?” by The Baha Men. No one was more enthusiastic about that than my mother. My mother paid for the record, and she felt like sampling that song would help me book more bar mitzvahs.

DS: What stopped you from using the song?

MB: My father is a lawyer.

DS: Do you feel like you are honest with your art? Does your work come from a place of truth?

MB: I would never lie. I have never lied in my life, expect about finishing Anna Karenina. That book sucked. There’s a guy who wasn’t authentic. Tolstoy liked to talk about denial of the self, but let me tell you. That beard was a fashion statement that he was very proud of.

DS: Where did the name ‘Max Black’ come from?

MB: I took two words that are awesome and put them together to make a name.

DS: Are you aware that there was a philosopher named Max Black?

MB: Only vaguely. I think I came first.

DS: You most certainly did not.

MB: I think you have your facts wrong.

DS: No, I actually don’t.

MB: I was the first musician to be called Max Black. That must count for something.

IDENTITY

DS: You have chosen to remain anonymous, unlike so many of your contemporaries. Why? Are you afraid that the spotlight will become too intense?

MB: There is certainly trepidation on my part. I see what has happened to Lana Del Rey and I cringe. I’ve decided to go the opposite route. Whereas Lana Del Rey is a real person named ‘Elizabeth Grant,’ who invented the persona of Lana Del Rey, there is no real person for me. There’s only Max Black. Max Black is not real, therefore any and all criticism of Max Black is pointless. Why would you criticize someone that isn’t real? That’s like critiquing the moral choices of ‘Chandler’ from the NBC sitcom Friends. I feel that I am very much like ‘Chandler,’ but also not at all. I’m a mystery.

DS: Will you ever unmask? Will the world ever know your name?

MB: There’s no name to know, as I said. I’m a mystery.

DS: But I’m talking to you right now. You have an e-mail address and you recorded an EP. Are you sure that I didn’t just make you up as a part of an elaborate hoax?

MB: You’re ruining the mystery.

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1. Becoming X by Sneaker Pimps

Sneaker Pimps is best known for their ’90s hit “6 Underground” but their entire debut album is actually spectacular. Trip hop, as a genre, isn’t particularly known for being a ray of sunshine but with then-lead singer Kelli Dayton’s bubblegum vocals, the record is injected with a certain kind of lightness and accessibility. It takes sinister beats and doses them in stellar hooks and melodies, making it the perfect accompaniment to any drug experience. Before things ever get too #dark and you risk feeling paranoid, the band delivers a Top 40 vibe that brings you back to the land of happy happy joy joy.

2. Mezzanine by Massive Attack

While we’re on that trip hop tip, I would feel remiss to not mention the seminal album Mezzanine by Massive Attack. It is SUCH a drug album. The opening track “Angel” sounds like it was created by two people in their living room who were just like, “Wanna see how high we can get? Like for fun?” Plus, there are some gorgeous haunting moments on tracks like “Exchange” and “Teardrop” that will feel like a back massage to any stoned person.

3. L.A. Woman by The Doors

Sometimes you just gotta let yourself have a “I’M STONED AND LISTENING TO THE DOORS” moment. Their weird, ambient, sexy rock and roll sound was practically made for it. Sidenote: When I was in high school and a wannabe stoner, “Riders On The Storm” was my ringtone. Sooooo deal with that.

4. The Best Of Jimi Hendrix by The Jimi Hendrix Experience

I’m sorry to take you down this hippy dippy ’60s k-hole but it’s not my fault that all of these musicians were on so many drugs back then! They essentially provided soundtracks to your drug trip that magically made it to the top 40. This was pop music! Anyway, I remember being REALLY high one warm night last summer and laying in bed with my window open playing “Wind Cries Mary” approximately 40,000 times. It sounded so comforting at the time, like a nice hug from your stoner friend who likes to talk about aliens and is annoying but ultimately harmless. There’s something about Jimi Hendrix. His energy manages to radiate through his music and all of a sudden you feel like you’re in the ’60s hanging out in an opium den. (Do they still have those?)

5.The Dark Side Of The Moon by Pink Floyd

This isn’t my fave drug record but I had to include it because it was so influential… or something. In high school, we used to smoke weed and synch it up with The Wizard Of Oz but I never really thought there was a synchronicity. Let’s face it, when you’re high enough, EVERYTHING will start to feel connected. Besides, I’ve never done hallucinogens before and I’ve heard that’s what you need to do in order to get the “full effect.”

6. Souvlaki by Slowdive

Like trip hop, shoegaze is a fantastic genre of music to get high to. The swirling guitars, the vocals drenched in reverb, and the hazy beat all act as the perfect backdrop to any drug experience. Slowdive is an iconic shoegaze band and their album Souvlaki is a touchstone of the genre. Tracks like “Allison” and “When The Sun Hits” envelop you in a dreamy fog and spit you out in some exotic spa in Eastern Europe. You can even listen to this record sober and feel stoned, which is great and saves brain cells!

7. Soul Rebels by Bob Marley & The Wailers

I’m putting Bob Marley on this list purely for sentimental reasons. The first time I ever smoked pot, I listened to this album in my backyard with my best friend and we pretended like we couldn’t speak. We then decided to have a photo shoot on my front lawn and posted the pictures on our Deadjournals with the caption: WE GOT STONED! Incidentally, my Honors English teacher had spies that checked our online blogs and found about it. She came up to me the following week and said, “I heard you got stoned last weekend. We need to talk.” Then, straight out of Black Swan, she proceeded to give me a lecture on how much I’ve changed and asked me, “Where did my sweet Ryan go?” If the movie had been out already, I would’ve responded curtly, “HE’S GONE!” But since it wasn’t, I just said “Um, he’s still here?!” and had a panic attack.

8. Badlands by Dirty Beaches

(Note: “Lone Runner” isn’t technically on the record but WHATEVER.) Drug music can either be super mellow or sort of tense and edgy, as you’ve probably surmised from this list so far. Dirty Beaches — the new(ish) band that sounds like Roy Oribson writing a suicide note — definitely falls into the latter category. Some of their tracks are actually terrifying but depending on what drug you’re on and what mood you’re in, it could be just the thing you need.

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Since the age of ten or so I’ve done countless stupid things in hopes of finding cool — bought JNCOs, bleached my hair, listed obscure bands as favorites on MySpace, wore aviator sunglasses — but all failed to give me the degree of coolness I longed for. The reason was that coolness is in large part defined by doing what you want and not caring about what anybody thinks (also defining characteristics of the sociopath, oddly enough). But I cared immensely what everybody thought of me. Still do. I’ve come to accept that I’m not destined for cool. Instead I aim my energies at funny, the positive characteristic of those in need of constant validation: whereas the cool guy rarely hears others perceive him as cool, the funny guy always get to hear the laughter.

This past Christmas, when I was home for the holiday, I went through some old boxes in my parents’ garage and found a DVD of my band from college playing a show (another thing I did in search of cool: played in bands for several years). After I finished watching it, I sat on my bed amazed at how clumsy and self-conscious I looked on stage. Twenty-one-year-old me banged his head and punched his guitar as if lost in an ecstatic trance, but anyone paying even a little bit of attention (or anyone who’d attended more than one show) could see that these moves were all carefully choreographed. This got me wondering just what it is that makes musicians cool. I’m not talking about Prince, Al Green, or Debbie Harry here — I mean awkward white guys like myself. How do they make the audience believe that they belong on stage? And who are the coolest?

What follows is my list of the five coolest white guys in music. Near misses included Lou Reed, Bob Dylan, Lemmy, Eric Burdon of the Animals, and Paul Simonon of the Clash, but here are the real standouts.

5. Pasty Cool: Jack White. If I saw Jack White in public, sans guitar, I’d be more likely to think We Need to Talk About Kevin than There Goes the Rockstar. Yet White has managed to make department store amplifiers and two-piece bands hip, and, even more impressively (or strangely, depending on how you look at it), he’s woven the oddest fictions into his biography. Why would anyone lie about his ex-wife being his sister? I have no idea. But somehow, it’s cool as hell.

4. Look at Me Cool: Mick Jagger. Before I get into Jagger’s brand of cool, let me note that I don’t think Mick was originally the coolest member of the Rolling Stones. Bill Wyman rocked the hard-to-get cool, hanging out in the back of the stage like he couldn’t care less about his screaming fans. His memoir, Stone Alone, could have been called, I Slept with a Lot of Women. But dating a thirteen-year-old is not super cool — even if it does prove how little your care what anyone thinks — so he’s off the list. Keith Richards used to be pure danger, white-hot rebellious sex, but then he died at some point in the early ‘90s, and since then, hasn’t really been the same. Jagger warrants a spot on the list for breaking the rules of cool, since everything about him — from his stage moves, to his unfortunate disco sellout, to his tendency to learn several foreign phrases so he can speak to crowds in their native tongue — is screaming for approval. Yet he’s still so damn slick. Jagger also has to be acknowledged for inspiring generations of skinny spazzes — Iggy Pop, Howlin’ Pelle Almqvist, etc. — to sculpt their own brands of cool from the Jagger mold.

3. Dance Party Cool: Wayne Kramer. Watch 0:12-0:34 of The MC5 doing “Looking at You” at Wayne State, which features lead guitarist Wayne Kramer tearing up the stage while playing exactly zero notes.

2. Copyright Cool: Tom Waits. Waits’ cigarette-choked voice is so distinct that he has successfully sued Frito-Lay, Audi, and Opel, not for using songs, but for using original songs with singers that sound too much like him. To reiterate: Tom Waits has copyrighted his style. A YouTube video recently pointed out that the one who sounds most like Tom Waits is the Cookie Monster, but Waits has yet to take legal action.

1. Do the Weirdest, Least Cool Thing Possible and Still Be Cool: David Bowie. If it comes down to level of difficulty, Robert Plant gets an honorable mention for singing about Lord of the Rings. Neil Young gets a nod for doing a synth album followed by a rockabilly record. But if you told me that a lanky little Brit was going to dress up as a transvestite disco alien with a women’s tennis mullet dyed the ugliest shade of red imaginable and sing a bunch of songs about outer space, I would tell you that this man was not going to have a lot of sex. And I would be wrong.

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I don’t know what you and your friends talk about when it’s serious conversation time (I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume it’s global warming/ the possible European Federation and its impacts on the world economy), but when we really get into it — we talk about Divas. Capital D. And no, not Beyonce or Lady Gaga or whatever other pitiful facsimile of a Diva our generation has managed to scrounge up, I’m talking about real ones. Tina, Whitney, Barbra, Cher, and — in my opinion, most importantly, Celine. We’ve gone back and forth on what really makes a Diva, and we’ve generally come up with a three-pronged set of criteria.

1. Overcame some kind of struggle
2. Has A Phenomenal, Life-Changing Voice
3. Goes balls-to-the-wall on every song, no exceptions

Miss Dion clearly has all of these three in spades. She dealt gracefully with her incredibly public, early-teenage awkward phase in which she looked like a less delicate Sarah Jessica Parker (and, did she ever turn into the swan!), not to mention all that public stigma of marrying her (let’s be honest, incredibly creepy and so much older) manager who mortgaged his house when she was 12 to launch her career. That is, by all standards, almost Woody Allen unacceptable — but she didn’t let our wrinkled noses and furrowed brows get her down. Struggles=overcome. Let’s not even discuss her Hope Diamond of a voice, as we are frankly not even worthy to talk about it. And no one goes all out like Celine does. You hand her the sheet music to the Eensy Weensy Spider, she sings that thing like it’s her last five minutes on Earth and those will be her last words to the human race. Celine knows what it means to be a singer.

Listening to her songs is like God blowing you kisses and winking at you. I often consider breaking up with my boyfriend (whom I love dearly) simply to, two weeks later, passionately reunite with him as “It’s All Coming Back To Me Now” blasts at full volume out of the enormous speakers I’ve suddenly installed in my apartment. Her music is such that you create moments to appreciate it, to absorb it, to try in vain to rise up to its level. There is absolutely no song that Celine Dion has touched that she hasn’t made infinitely better — no exceptions. She drove all night, she’s alive, she has the power of love, she knows the way it is. What have you done with your live? Nothing. If Celine is the yardstick against which to measure yourself, consider your mere existence a perpetual failure.

If there could be one thing that could possibly enhance Dion’s God-like prowess, it would be when her work is combined with that of another Diva. Her work on VH1′s Divas spectacle makes your face melt off into a tiny puddle of admiration, and her cover of Tina Turner’s “River Deep, Mountain High” is like a thousand tiny orgasms going off in your ears. Dion needs no wall of sound; she is the wall of sound.

Not to mention that Celine is French-Canadian, God’s chosen people.

It’s time we all gave a little more thought to the deity in human form we’ve been graced with, it’s time we show more appreciation. With her dulcet tones beneath our wings, there is truly nothing we can’t accomplish in life — so long as we give the occasional human sacrifice and pray five times a day facing Montreal. It’s high time our Celine love go back to Titanic-era insanity, and she gets the attention she truly deserves. It’s the least we can do.

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Photos by Alex M. Smith, styling by Lauren Oppelt

Andrew WK is more than just the sum of his parts. His energy, attitude and fierce positivity have all participated in solidifying his status as a hard-partying rock star, but it’s been his unwavering loyalty to his fans and his overall mission that have brought him success in the worlds of music and business. “My music isn’t about communicating an experience; it’s more about trying to conjure up a feeling,” he explains. For Andrew, both his approach to music and the work itself come from very personal place. “When you’re young you have all these emotions — anger, confusion, frustration — bad feelings. I wanted to find a way to not feel that way. I wanted to work on something that had ideals and hopes associated with it, that I could also be inspired by. Something that could build me up to be a bigger and better version than what I would have been otherwise. I had a mission, even if that mission was just making exciting music. Creating that kind of pure joy, which isn’t necessarily associated with any reason, is what I always liked most about music and art; this idea of pure energy. A feeling of possibility that wasn’t necessarily associated to an idea, an opinion, or a belief. An undeniably good physical feeling that you don’t need your brain to process — your body tells you by giving you the chills or butterflies in your stomach. I wanted to immerse myself in that, that physical sensation of joy.”

Growing up in Southeast Michigan, the son of a professor and a “super mom,” Andrew was encouraged to experiment with music at a very young age. By the time he was four, he was enrolled at the University of Michigan’s School of Music, where he began training in classical piano. With no older siblings to guide his foray into popular music, he found other ways to satiate his curiosities. “I would hear something on the radio or see something on television, and my mom would really do her best to try and help me figure out what it was.”

Even without a musical lexicon, one of Andrew’s earliest musical attractions was to a “sort of funk guitar wah-wah sound, like the Shaft theme song.” He articulated what he could to his mother, and found himself with a Led Zeppelin record that didn’t really fit the bill. “I was expecting Barry White or Shaft and was confronted with this strange rock ‘n roll stuff — I didn’t like it all, out of sheer disappointment. A couple years later, I put it on again and it ended up being my favorite album. I was so thankful to my mom — she wasn’t sure if it was appropriate music for me to be listening to, but she never stopped me.”

When speaking about his parents, Andrew’s voice softens. His admiration is evident, and his approach to music was obviously affected by the lessons he learned as a child. “I don’t think a parent’s job is to keep their kids from being exposed to the world. I think it’s more about building the capacity and intelligence in that young person, so they can process those experiences themselves in an intelligent way. My mom would let me do anything, like draw naked lady pictures when I was young and not freak out about it! She made me feel like I was okay, and that the world was okay, and she trusted my judgment.”

It’s not hard to see how Andrew WK’s positive message and mission evolved — they were ingrained in him from the start. Like so many creative voices, Andrew had his sights set on New York City early on: “New York was made out to be so exciting in films and television. I liked the tall buildings, the energy. There didn’t seem to be a lot of people in New York that were doing what I was doing. It wasn’t based on one attitude or one shared opinion. New York seemed so volatile. I think I wanted to feel threatened in a way that would inspire me to work really hard. I respect the mindset that you don’t have to move anywhere to realize your dreams, but when your dream itself is moving to New York City it’s a no brainer. I didn’t think it would take moving here to do what I wanted to do, but it seemed more fun to me — it was a pleasure.”

It’s hard to pinpoint why some musicians drown once making the move to New York while others thrive, but certainly work ethic and drive are major components. For Andrew, it seems that his unrelenting positivity and openness to new opportunities have also played major parts in his success. His endless touring, and his willingness to collaborate with fellow musicians on events like the 2012 World Snowboarding Championships in Oslo, Norway, in which he is serving as a rock ‘n roll ambassador, are part of the puzzle.

Another important part of Andrew WK’s success has been his “party hard” message. Unlike other musicians who espouse the use of alcohol or drugs to heighten the party experience, Andrew’s message has always been about the high you get from life, unfiltered, unadulterated. What better way to capitalize on that appeal than to create a nightlife mecca where revelers from all walks of life can get down?

Santos Party House is a passion project between Andrew and a group of friends, who wanted to create the ultimate New York City destination. It opened in 2008. “I like clubs, but I usually can’t get into them,” he says with a laugh. “We all had very strong opinions, and a lot of experiences with venues, bars, clubs, sound systems and everything else. I think we really did achieve what we wanted, which was combining the best elements of all these things. We definitely went big with it. We didn’t want to settle or shoot lower out of fear, because it is a huge undertaking in a big space. It was also really important for us to do it in Manhattan, because there hasn’t been a new, proper dance venue downtown with a real cabaret license in over 20 years.”

“The only way we were able to do any of it was with the support of the city and the people themselves, so creating a space to give back to the city which has given all of us so much was a great privilege and a real labor of love for everyone involved. It’s the most rewarding and the most magical thing I’ve ever been involved with!” Santos has been a success since its inception, and its appeal has extended beyond New York City’s borders. In February, when Andrew attends the World Snowboarding Championships, he plans to bring Santos to Oslo every night. And of course, the completion of a new record set for the end of winter means yet another year of touring is on the horizon. For Andrew, it’s a mission he’s overwhelmingly happy to accept.

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Kanye fans who read TC (according to our Facebook stats there at least 2,000 of you…), here you go — a fresh-faced, 19-year-old Kanye West in 1996 rapping on stage in Chicago with his then partner Phenom. The poor video quality actually makes it difficult to discern if his ego had already grown to the absurd proportions it currently maintains, but even this unsavvy contributor must admit that he sounds pretty damn good.

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Something in the Way, Nirvana

The title of this song (which doubles as the chorus) allegedly describes Cobain’s struggles with depression, i.e. there’s always something in the way of his being happy, feeling better. That sentiment paired with extraordinarily somber vocals makes “Something in the Way” one of Nirvana’s more emotional — and depressing — songs.

Is That All There Is?, Peggy Lee

“Is That All There Is?” articulates three ‘coming of age’ experiences with sheer disappointment and detachment, uniting each event with an awful disillusionment that sort of makes you not want to live anymore. The song’s mid-tempo beat attempts to mask the bleakness of its lyrics, but that dichotomy only serves to depress the listener further. In my experience.

No Surprises, Radiohead

“No Surprises” depicts sadness and disenchantment in a simple, no-frills kind of way. Radiohead has no shortage of depressing songs in their catalog, but “No Surprises” is the one to turn on when you’re feeling overwhelmingly ‘over it.’ And by ‘it,’ I mean life.

It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding), Bob Dylan

A protest song for defeatists, “It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding”) expresses Dylan’s scorn for contemporary (1965) American culture. With lyrics void of optimism, it’s difficult to listen to this song and not feel completely powerless.

Nothing Compares 2 U, Sinead O’Connor

This song so perfectly describes the initial stages of heartbreak: the desperation, the denial, and the sort of pathetic groveling only a heartbroken person is capable of. Makes me want to take Sinead out for ice cream every time I hear it.

Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want, The Smiths

There’s something about quietly begging an unknown entity for something to go right for once that strikes me as equal parts relatable and miserable.

Sometime Around Midnight, Airborne Toxic Event

The ultimate Seeing-The-Ex-Who-Broke-Your-Heart anthem, “Sometime Around Midnight” is an emotional rollercoaster that ultimately leaves you wishing your cart would derail.

Mad World, Gary Jules

This Tears for Fears cover accurately describes loneliness in a crowd without relying on cliché. While it’s not his song, Jules does “Mad World” the justice its haunting lyrics deserve.

Oh Well, Okay, Elliott Smith

“Oh Well, Okay” perfectly captures the mutual isolation that comes along with loving someone who’s suddenly become indifferent toward you. The resolution of the song is both exasperated and pained, likely similar to the relationship it describes.

White Houses, Vanessa Carlton

While it’s the most upbeat song on this list, “White Houses” is its own special brand of sad. Carlton’s story of a particularly eventful summer paints images of youth and regret in the listener’s mind. I feel 5% emptier every time I hear it.

Everybody Hurts, REM

Expected as it is, “Everybody Hurts” makes for a great depressing song because it appeals to very base, overarching emotions that you feel almost idiotic for harboring. The repetitive call to “hold on” is especially chilling when you’re in a dark place.

Brick, Ben Folds Five

“Brick” is just so goddamn sad. Before I knew anything about abortion, I knew that. Based on Folds’ high school girlfriend, the lyrics convey a secretive, confusing, heartbreaking experience that all too many people can relate to. The contrast between Folds’ trademark ‘fun piano guy’ persona and “Brick” adds another grim shade of context to the song.

As I Sat Sadly By Her Side, Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

No list of depressing songs would be complete without a contribution from Nick Cave, whose lack of faith in humanity is evident in “As I Sat Sadly By Her Side.” If you’ve ever dated a depressed person (or been a depressed person), the air of helplessness and alienation in this song really strikes a chord.

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