All the music your sunburnt face can handle.
Despite the onslaught of sad news this month, the local scene kept pumping out gold nuggets.
The Seattle filmmaker’s 3-D turn distinguishes him in an excellent field.
Phoebé Guillemot’s unclassifiable sonic universe is like a safari through a mutant forest.
The indie mainstay finds new life in songs from another place and another time.
“I remember going to Disneyland with my homegirl,” she says, giggling on a U District patio. “We went to the Star Wars part, and I was tripping. They had, like, a synopsis of all the journeys and I kind of cried a little bit at the end. It was so good.”
Given the silo-centric culture here in Seattle, the notion of uniting the city’s disparate scenes might also be considered “experimental”—an interesting new tack the festival is taking this weekend.
Within the next five weeks, Hartinger is unleashing not one, but two new EPs of original tracks unto the world.
Seattle’s dance music scene goes to Golden Gardens for a day party.
A Redditor named “CoogiMonster” beat AEG to the punch, but did it really even matter?
In anticipation of the third summer of their weekly Wednesday evening dance party, Paradise Sunset Sessions hosted a little pre-launch soiree.
Activist hip-hop, occult rap, and weirdo punk made our month.
The Seattle nonprofit radio station has long celebrated the musicians who defined a particular kind of pop music. Now itis getting used to mourning them.
A firsthand account of the rapper’s hot-box bus stunt.
“I don’t think Uncle Ike’s is the cause of the problem,” Watson notes, “but I’ll be damned if it isn’t a perfect metaphor.”
The clearest and most incisive recent critique of the capital forces changing the Central District came last week in the form of a seven-years-in-the-making hip-hop record, Seattle’s Own, from Central District native and current South-Ender Draze.
People drift in and out, chat, or meditate, and you might see someone popping a melatonin or asking if the bar has tea.
It was the perfect recipe for an unforgettable evening—one that had many boasting it was their best night yet in 2016.
You can find the Tacoma-based trio ILLFIGHTYOU at the corner where glass-rattling bass intersects with murder-mayhem lyricism.
If NVM is Tacocat’s Nevermind—the album that brought them to the world’s attention—then Lost Time is their In Utero: heavier, darker, realer, and produced to pack a stronger punch.
Brilliantly minimalist songwriting from Ings, ass-shaking gold from Ca$h Bandicoot, four overwhelming records from Carlos Garcia, and spacey contemplations from Astro King Phoenix.
A decade in, the Seattle orchestral indie outfit has gone pop. Lead singer Matt Bishop tells us why.
Each month the DJs are accompanied by live hand drums from Tor Dietrichson, who throws down on the congas throughout the night, adding an organic and spontaneous flavor to the party.
The album, which chronicles the artist’s experience being evicted from his home, is impressive, especially considering it is being narrated so soberly by a 21-year-old.
Building on the success of their “Curry NA Hurry” video, Jamil Suleman and his co-conspirators are attempting to build an indie media empire.
When he released Visions of Us on the Land last week, Damien Jurado completed a four-year musical journey. But where is he now?
It got steamy at the Tractor Tavern as Red Bull brought out the Seattle music scene royalty.