Life on the road has shaped Squid’s worldview – and worldbuilding – but they won’t write a song about touring. Not exactly. The way it’s broadened their perspective bleeds through the characters, settings, and influences behind the art-rockers’ third album, Cowards, which pares down the knotty textures of 2023’s O Monolith. It begins as a relatively straightforward, or straightforwardly manic, catalog of evil, but its framework slowly becomes more slippery, oblique, and widely evocative. It’s unhinged and prickly, like trying to pick the salt out of the ocean, before zooming out and plunging in. “And we just play our songs/ To the sea,” Ollie Judge sings on the very last song, suddenly shifting the gaze back to the group, or society as a whole. “And hope that nothing comes/ And washes us away.”
1. Crispy Skin
As I write this, a copy of Agustina Bazterrica’s Tender Is the Flesh, Ollie Judge’s primary inspiration for ‘Crispy Skin’, sits on my bookshelf. I haven’t read it, but I know it’ll make me squirm, and the opening track on Cowards should elicit the same reaction. It imagines a future where cannibalism has become the norm, though Judge cannily makes no distinction between human and non-human flesh; we just assume it’s the first because the tone the band sets, taking sonic cues from Phillip Glass, is one of dystopian horror. Judge zones in on a single individual beginning to question the ethics of what’s been widely normalized: “Am I the bad one? Yep, yes I am,” he sings, yet quickly jerks any thought of immoral complacency away. As the rest of the group joins him towards the end, the I of the chorus and the we of the verses morph into one. Only during the outro do we get a bird’s eye view of the suffering itself: “The blood drips, drips faster than you can think.”
2. Building 650
On the opener, complacency is government-sanctioned and socially incentivized; on ‘Building 650’, it’s a matter of friendship. “There’s murder sometimes,” Judge concedes, “But he’s a real nice guy.” This track was inspired by Judge reading Ryu Murikami’s The Miso Soup by Ryu Murikami and watching Sofia Coppola’s Lost in Translation on the plane during the band’s first visit to Japan; in response, the band lays a gauzy, even hollow sense of displacement over their typically propulsive sense of dread. If nothing else, the driving interplay between the guitar and strings is proof of the band’s more classically rock inclinations throughout Cowards.
3. Blood on the Boulders
The album’s third track is the moment you realize Squid really aren’t overcomplicating things musically; it’s also the point on the album where the lyrics become more elusive, the reference points less overt. It’s easy to read it as being about society’s obsession with true crime, or about tourism, which turns violent with each repetition of “We return to the scene”; yet the scene, or destination, is either irrelevant or open to interpretation. It fashions one of Squid’s most enticingly lurching and simple grooves, erupting, like ‘Crispy Skin’, when the group vocals come along.
4. Fieldworks I
If the majority of Cowards comes from a place of anger, ‘Fieldworks I’ identifies the point where resentment starts to fester. The harpsichord and string arrangement lend a different flavor to the band’s anxious disposition, urgung listeners to lean in. It really makes sense as the genesis of the LP.
5. Fieldworks II
The use of the harpsichord over guitar, on which the main part of the song was written, is the biggest link between this and the first part of piece; it makes sense that the band split it into two. The track unfurls with great deliberation; the percussion sounds sturdy and resonant at one point, almost glitching into the abyss at others – a nimbleness Squid usually reserve for their melodic structures. When Judge returns to the theme of self-proclaimed and collective evil (“I’m evil too”) it sounds more forlorn this time, it sounds more forlorn and human. Desensitization leads to depersonalization, loss of memory becomes loss of self. Here, Squid stare into the fog.
6. Cro-Magnon Man
“Guilt is cold sweat in a box” is one of the most potent lines on the album, and Squid do a captivating job of encapsulating it on ‘Cro-Magnon Man’. It’s a fitting return to the twitchy, claustrophobic sound the band has become associated with, only the framework has shifted, diluting the boundaries between predator and prey, primitive and modern. Another great closing line: “I’ll frame my life in the bones that I have left.” So Squid keeps things skeletal – or rather, brittled-down.
7. Cowards
The title track of Squid’s third album is a statement of composure: if you’ve known this band as young masters of jittery grooves and intensity, you can’t possibly keep them in the same box after spending the better part of this album hearing them meld plaintive melodies and misty orchestration. The title track maintains the curiously melancholic mood that pervades the album’s second half; the band could’ve made the horns sound triumphant, but instead they’re wistful and inquisitive, twinged with a little bit of hope. “Us dogs and rats will never escape,” Judge concludes, though visitors, some less innocent than others, will come and go. Still, his fantasies once again take over the song’s outro – just less bloody this time.
8. Showtime!
The eerie, mournful quietude of the album is disrupted on ‘Showtime!’, a penultimate track that delivers a much-needed jolt of twisted, nervy energy. “I resist the urge/ Of a quiet life,” the voyeuristic protagonist declares, and the band animates his resistance with instrumentation that’s at once thrillingly funky and hellish. Apparently, it’s a song Judge wrote about Andy Warhol after listening to a podcast about his exploitative practices. Checks out: “You could be my angel star/ You could be my footnote,” he sings, a perfectly biting couplet.
9. Well Met (Fingers Through the Fence)
Squid have made a great number of songs that unsettle, expand, and explode; few are quite as stirring as this eight-minute epic. Thematically, it would be an astounding closer on most albums; what better way to end the record than to cast oblivion – off? away? the right phrasal verb slips right through – as an ocean of beauty? Clarissa Connelly’s voice is a hopeful foil to Judge’s end-of-times melancholy, the ether to his obliterated ground. What he sees is a great blur, tightening around us and constantly transforming. From the backseat, he can’t help but take it all in.
Ahead of the release of their self-titled album on Friday (February 14), Los Angeles trio Cryogeyser have put out a new single, ‘Mountain’. Featuring vocals from Wednesday’s Karly Hartzman, the eruptive track follows previous cuts ‘Stargirl’, ‘Sorry’, ‘Blue Light’, and ‘Fortress’. In a statement, guitarist/vocalist Shawn Marom said “about friendship, about having instead of longing. It’s a song about opening.” Give it a listen below.
Florist have unveiled ‘Gloom Designs’, a delicately mournful single from their forthcoming album Jellywish. It follows previous entries ‘Have Heaven’ and ‘This Was a Gift’. Check it out below.
Opening up about the new track, Florist’s Emily Sprague said: “A mile marker in the sand. Thesis statement for Jellywish. Macro reckoning with living. At first looking inward at my own life story, then reflecting on what it means to be continuously sifting through the everyday towards death, the magic and horror, being tired, earthly desire, destruction, fear, hopelessness, appreciation, empathy, illusion, mundane, wish. Witnessing human evil. The whole history of us, the question mark for what comes next. Love for our planet Earth and the goodness that so many people still exert for it and for each other. Thinking. Finality but not finished.”
At New York Fashion Week 2025, one of the most electrifying Asian designers setting the stage ablaze is none other than Rakee Ke Chen. Her latest collection, Echo Wanderer, transcends the realm of mere fashion—it’s a groundbreaking fusion of art and technology. By transforming melodies and rhythms into mesmerizing patterns, Rakee is redefining the very essence of fabric, pushing it to express the inexpressible.
This moment at NYFW isn’t just a showcase—it’s a seismic shift in the fashion landscape. Just a year ago, Rakee was captivating audiences with her digital collections at London Digital Fashion Week 2024, where her visionary work caught the attention of Epic Games. Now, she has not only unveiled a revolutionary music-inspired print collection but has also masterfully steered SCHNABBIT, the avant-garde streetwear brand she leads as Chief Designer, from a virtual concept to a full-fledged, show-stopping runway spectacle. Rakee isn’t just designing clothes—she’s crafting the future of fashion, one electrifying stitch at a time.
Echo Wanderer: Where Music Meets Fabric
In January 2025, the Ehco Wanderer project she developed for a French film festival gained attention after being published in a magazine. While the film festival presentation never materialized, the images caught the eye of The Ethereal Fashion Show’s organizers, leading to an invitation to showcase at NYFW. In preparation, she worked relentlessly, balancing design refinements, production coordination, and team management to bring her vision to life. For Rakee, design is about more than aesthetics. It’s about storytelling. Echo Wanderer began with a simple idea: What if music could be seen, not just heard? To bring this vision to life, she developed a system in TouchDesigner that translates melodies into visual patterns. Each beat, rhythm, and tone influences the prints, creating organic, flowing designs that feel like they’re moving even when they’re still. Once the digital patterns were finalized, they were applied to fabric using digital printing and water transfer techniques, preserving the energy of the original sound.
But for Rakee, it wasn’t just about the prints. She also played with texture and structure, using quilting and layered fabrics to add depth. The result is a collection that doesn’t just depict sound—it feels like it moves with it. At The Ethereal Fashion Show during NYFW 2025, the concept came to life. Models walked through a futuristic landscape, their garments reflecting unseen sound waves. The setting, paired with a music visualization film, made it clear—Echo Wanderer is more than a collection. It’s an experience.
SCHNABBIT: From Digital to NYFW Reality
While Echo Wanderer is a reflection of Rakee’s personal vision, SCHNABBIT’s evolution over the past year is just as remarkable.
As Lead Designer, she helped take SCHNABBIT from a digital-only concept—previously showcased at London Digital Fashion Week 2024—to a physical collection that debuted at NYFW 2025.This shift wasn’t just about producing clothes. SCHNABBIT has always been known for its bold storytelling and rebellious streetwear aesthetic, inspired by the brand’s signature character: a rabbit with crocodile DNA, symbolizing individuality and fearless expression. Translating this virtual identity into real-world garments meant preserving its futuristic, high-contrast visual language while making it wearable, tactile, and functional.
On the NYFW runway, this vision came to life in unexpected ways. Instead of conceptual, tech-driven garments, it focused on the raw energy of street culture, incorporating graffiti-inspired prints, oversized silhouettes, and bold neon accents. The collection leaned into the playfulness of cartoonish motifs, featuring SCHNABBIT’s signature rabbit character in vibrant, exaggerated forms. Unlike Echo Wanderer, this collection was designed for wearability and cultural impact, reflecting the energy of modern streetwear and its connection to digital identity. As models moved through the show, a massive SCHNABBIT bunny appeared, wielding a Money Gun, spraying SCHNABBIT-branded currency into the audience. It was a moment of spectacle, blurring the lines between fashion, performance, and entertainment. The energy in the room shifted. This wasn’t just a show—it was a scene from a world Rakee had meticulously designed, brought to life through 3D modeling, digital animation, and bold, futuristic aesthetics.
Her expertise goes beyond fashion. With a background in industrial design, costume design for sci-fi films, and digital world-building, she constructs narratives as much as she designs clothing. Her work was highlighted by Epic Games, cementing her reputation as a designer who understands the language of digital media. Her ability to integrate virtual landscapes, cinematic storytelling, and interactive elements into fashion makes her one of the most forward-thinking creatives in the industry today. SCHNABBIT is evolving into something bigger than a clothing brand. The comic-style world-building, virtual environments, and expanding digital lore suggest a future that could easily translate into video games, animated series, or metaverse experiences.
From designing digital costumes for sci-fi films and video games, to winning major awards, to bringing her designs from the metaverse to NYFW, she has continuously pushed the boundaries of fashion, technology, and storytelling. Rakee Chen is redefining what it means to be a designer in today’s world. At NYFW, she proved that the future of fashion is not just about what we wear—it’s about the worlds we create.
Phil Elverum’s work (first as The Microphones, now—for the last two decades—as Mount Eerie) is a tender study into the infinite reverberations of small things: asphalt parking lots, gusts of wind, etc. After a detour into more narrative (though still quotidian) songwriting, Elverum returned last November with Night Palace: an epic and dynamic plunge into elemental mysteries and personal histories. In our conversation, we chatted about the hazards of metaphor, returning to analogue recording, making black metal with his daughter, self-referentiality, and much more.
Night Palace is a very expansive and eclectic album, not unlike some of the Microphones records. But, as I understand it, the recording process was much more solitary. What entices you towards more solitary music-making these days?
I always kept The Microphones pretty ambiguous whether it was a band or a collective. I mostly decentered myself in the list of names. I don’t want to minimize the other musicians’ contributions. But the truth is, for the most part, those friends were people I brought in by saying, “Hey, can you sing this note for a little bit?” Night Palace isn’t that different in this sense. This has always been my own solitary studio experimentation.
However, those Microphones albums were made in a phase of my life where I lived in Olympia downtown. All my friends lived within a few blocks. Nobody had internet or cellphones. I’ve written about this in Microphones in 2020, trying to get at what was different about that time. It was very much a communal thing. Even though the actual practice of me recording happened when no one was around. Life was more communal and utopian.
Do you find yourself surrounded by other artists these days?
No. I live on a small island now and I’m way less social. I live at the end of a dead end road. I’m fine with it. I can go for long uninterrupted days just doing my own thing.
Is part of the reason you’re able to work way more isolated now because you had a background in a much more social, artistic environment?
I think that’s a good point. Without that foundation of community, for my own development as a human, I wouldn’t have that stability to build on. But a lot of it is also practicality. Being a parent, my window to make art is way more limited. Since I only have fifteen minutes sometimes, I’m less fussy about what works for me.
What’s your day-to-day routine like when you’re recording?
Drop my daughter off at school at 8:30. Check the PO box in town. Then, drive home immediately. I’ll have equipment set-up from the night before. I do a lot of work mentally, thinking about what I’ll do the next day while making dinner or talking to people. In my head, I’m saying, “Hmm, what if I put distorted bass on that part? Or if I moved that section over here?” When I actually have the freedom to start my work day, I jump right into it. Usually, I have to stop to eat lunch which is annoying. [Laughs.] But otherwise, I go until it’s time to pick [my daughter] up.
Does it feel more like a day job in that sense?
Kind of! I’m going to work during my available hours. But it doesn’t feel like work. It feels mentally unhealthy. After a full day of being in that zone, I get in the car, and I feel disembodied. I’m looking at the other parents and kids, thinking, “Who am I? What is this?” It’s disorienting. My partner is a painter, and she has the same thing. When you paint for too long, you’re just not good in the mind afterwards.
Does parental obligation keep you from going overboard and living entirely in that zone?
Probably. It’s easy to romanticize the art life and wonder, “What if I didn’t have kids? What if I could go for 18 hours and really ruin my body and not pee or eat or keep the fire going?” I like having to be more grounded and healthy about it. It’s more sustainable.
One of the great lines on this record is “Recorded music is a statue of a waterfall.” How do you expect these songs will mutate as you tour them?
I have a band. We’ve played a couple shows so far. It’s a good question because I’ve never really tried to replicate an album in a live context; I always see it as two separate things. You shouldn’t try to replicate multi-track recording live. It just comes off as weird. With this band, I want to strike something new. We haven’t quite found it yet. There’s a lot of potential, but we’re still getting to know each other. But also, I know at the end of the touring, the music will have solidified. I’m going to mourn this period I’m in now. I hate when it solidifies. Right now, every time we play a song it feels different. I hate when bands over-practice.
Does that uncertainty ever frighten you?
Yeah, it’s totally scary. Terror and joy mixed together is the sweet spot to be in when making art.
On another note, for a while you were making records in rapid succession. There was a much longer caesura between Microphones in 2020 and Night Palace. Was your approach to recording very different for this one?
Yah, I decided after Microphones in 2020 that I didn’t want to record on the computer anymore: something I’d done for the previous four or so albums, starting with A Crow Looked at Me. It started out of practicality; I was moving around a lot, I didn’t have a space to set up for analogue recording. But I still had my old stuff. I decided I wanted to revert back to analogue, which takes up more space and requires a lot more tinkering.
What do you like most about recording analogue?
The forced slow-down. The limitations. It makes you more mindful of what you’re doing to the song, rather than just hitting the space-bar infinite times. [With digital,] you’re checked out; you’re not actually hearing it.
So it’s more about the practice of making music than the sound?
I think so. It helps me hear what I’m doing more. I think about it deeper. Also, the time it takes to rewind a tape to the beginning—that pause—makes you take a breath and recentre. That’s important for me.
A part of the A Crow Looked at Me and Now Only records was about peeling back how your own songwriting had long dealt with death or what you call “conceptual emptiness” as a poetic subject or metaphor. It seems Night Palace, especially a song like Non-Metaphorical Decolonization’, is doing something similar with the concept of post-colonialism. When I first heard that song, my mind turned to the line in ‘Toothbrush / Trash’ where you position photos as a force colonizing memories.
Honestly, I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks for pointing that out. I forgot about that line. I woke up with that song in my head the other day, for some reason. I was in B.C., and maybe that’s why; [my late wife] Geneviève was Canadian. Colonized was a bit of a loaded word for that moment. This was before I was feeling imperative about talking about actual settler-colonialism in a song.
A trend in your recent work is interrogating the very idea of metaphor. What do you think the potential harm in a metaphor is?
I inevitably use a ton of metaphors, even as I’m squirming against them. I’ve been prickly over the years of writing these songs. I use this nature imagery, then people talk to me about the songs and say, “Oh I love nature too!” People mirror back what they take from the music, and I often realize I’ve just created an escapist, beautiful picture. I don’t want to talk about nature but, rather, foundational ideas. I’m using nature as a metaphor, and I’ve experienced the downside to that, which is having people interpret it as pastoral escapism.
Are you saying hearing that reception has changed how you approach songwriting?
It’s made me way more aware of my tendency to use those words, but I don’t know if I’ve actually changed. I’ve rollercoastered; I go through a phase where I’m like, “I’ll sing a lot about parking lots! And trash!” But a year or two ago, I had a realization walking on the beach nearby. It was a peak Pacific Northwest nature experience. It was raining, I was drenched. I was super alone at this meditation retreat. And I thought, “This moment is what I want to evoke.” But this other part of me said, “Phil, wait! If you just talk about rain and solitude and wind, the same thing will happen. You’re creating this Pacific Northwest nature escapist fantasy.” But then part of me said, “Fuck it! Just embrace it! Let it be what it is! Speak from the heart.” I don’t need to think about how people will take it. It was a very liberating moment. That’s why there are songs on Night Palace that are very metaphorical, very nature-y, full of wind stuff. It’s always a bad path to get too meta and get too mindful of the listener.
One of the things I find most censors artistic practices is—when you’re a person who reads discourse and goes on the internet—you have all these common forms of criticism that implant in your brain and moderate certain impulses. Is that something you find happens a lot, or is it more isolated to this one example?
I mostly do a good job not looking at that stuff. I know it’s out there. I’m not perfect. I peek at reviews, they’re interesting to read sometimes. But the amateur commenters can be disorienting. I don’t think it’s healthy for anyone to look at that stuff.
Well, you did record the song ‘Get Off the Internet’.
[Laughs.] Yah, feels like a million years ago. That was a whole different internet.
The song ‘Swallowed Alive’ has your daughter screaming as vocalist.
I had the idea a long time ago to record her screaming. I wanted to make some black metal with her for personal use, not to release. During COVID, I got double kick pedals. I was practicing, training my leg muscles, watching YouTube tutorials. I wanted to record that music, and I know that I couldn’t scream. But my daughter can scream!
Her screaming wasn’t recorded alongside the drums in the song. They were recorded on their own from my improvising. I recorded that improvised blast of noise then, separately, her screaming into a mic that was running into a huge bass cabinet with distortion. After that, I had a mic on that cabinet recording onto a four-track. Then, I recorded the clean and distorted signal through the amp. I sat on that tape for four years. When I was putting together Night Palace, I took it and pitch-shifted it down. That’s why it sounds like a huge man talking. At the end of the tape, she was just talking, saying, “You get swallowed by the lion, swallowed alive and you live to tell the tale.” She was just improvising. She’s so proud to have a vocal part on the album. Whenever I tell her I did an interview, she asks if they asked about ‘Swallowed Alive’.
Do you and her share a lot of music together?
Totally. She’s pretty resistant to it these days. Every car ride we bicker about who gets to choose the next song. But she’s always exposed to whatever weird music I’m listening to.
There’s a lot of parent-offspring collaborations. Alan Sparkhawk (who you’re playing shows with soon) has a new album with his kids on it, Jeff Tweedy has albums with his sons, Leonard Cohen’s son recorded most of You Want It Darker. Is a close creative relationship something that appeals to you?
I would be so happy if she has a life in the arts of any kind. She’s just nine now, so she’s still becoming who she is. I would love it, but there’s no particular pressure about it.
Another collaboration on the record: ‘Blurred World’ has Geneviève credited with humming. Was that just an old archival recording you sampled?
Since tape is expensive, I was taping over old reels of mine. Not my own songs; I used to record friends a lot. One of the songs was by Alex Mahan which Geneviève and I had done background humming on. The two humming tracks were beautiful on their own, so I erased all other instruments and wrote ‘Blurred World’ to fit with it. It was too good to erase.
Are there other archival elements that slip into the record?
The same thing happened when I recorded over a song from Adrian Orange [Thanksgiving], an old friend. On his song ‘You’ve Been Fucking Indoctrinating Me Blues’. I had these room mics on an organ and piano take. The song was recorded with a full band in a big room. But the room mic on the organ and piano was the weirdest, ethereal thing. I took that, ran it through distortion, compressor, and gate to make it sound really distressed. That’s the root of ‘Myths Come True’. There’s some really old tapes on ‘Breaths’ too. I was into the idea of making tape collage rather than songs. So there’s some old stuff from Dub Narcotic studios in the early-00s on the record. Just sound: room hiss, noise. I wanted to transport the atmosphere of that time and place onto songs.
Is that another thing working with analogue offers you? It makes you look at old tapes from your archive.
Maybe, though it’s actually harder to do it with analogue than a hard drive that’s organized.
But when you have to record over the tapes, it forces you to look over it. I imagine you listened to everything before taping over.
For sure. And I backed it all up digitally too. It’s very physical to tape over something. It’s like recarving the same piece of wood.
Like much of your music, there’s a lot of returning references on Night Palace. The line “My roots are strong and deep,” for instance. Even Joanne Kyger’s “The Night Palace” has come up at least twice in your work before this album.
Self-referentiality can get to be too much, to get too spiralled inwards into your own self. I’m trying not to do that. I don’t want to try and disguise the interconnectedness of my work and present it as unique islands of disconnected things. I like to draw my thread through things, to leave little breadcrumbs. I like that as a listener hearing other peoples’ work. I’m reading The Third Realm by Karl Ove Knausgaard right now; it’s part of a trilogy of novels. A character they run across in a grocery store actually appeared two books earlier. The feeling of making that connection is so satisfying.
For me, your self-referentiality is interesting because lines (like “Let’s get out of the romance”) appear across your work, but often they keep getting complicated or contradicted when you come back to them. It feels like we’re seeing a whole evolution of your thought across your music.
Yah, I’m definitely pro-complication. It’s easy to let things boil down into a closed and easy answer. I don’t want that.
Before joining Kendrick Lamar at the 2025 Super Bowl Halftime Show last night, SZA added four new tracks to SOS Deluxe: LANA, the deluxe edition of her sophomore album. These include an updated version of ‘Joni’ featuring Don Toliver, ‘Take You Down’, ‘Open Arms (Just SZA)’, and ‘PSA’. Check it out below.
SOS Deluxe: LANA came out in December. In an interview with Apple Music, SZA said: “It’s been so unique, this experience. Because really, I wasn’t going to do a deluxe. There were just a bunch of songs that my fans kept asking about. And then stuff that I felt like was nice but didn’t fit SOS at the time. And I just wanted to give something, but it turned into a crazy mess. Because… I thought I was doing something nice by just, like, ‘OK, these tracks that I wasn’t planning on putting out at all, I’m just gonna put them together and like, give them, because that would be nice.’ And then they were like, ‘Actually, fuck you, we wanted way more than this’…”
Kendrick Lamar performed the Apple Music Super Bowl LIX Halftime Show last night (February 9), making him the the first rapper to headline the event as a solo artist. As confirmed in advance, SZA joined him during the performance, with the two artists dueting ‘Luther’ off Lamar’s latest album GNX as well as their Black Panther soundtrack contribution ‘All the Stars’. The Compton rapper also brought out Samuel L. Jackson to introduce the show as Uncle Sam, while Drake’s ex Serena Williams danced side-stage to ‘Not Like Us’, which had thousands of people singing along to the “A minorrr” lyric (though the “pedophile” line was censored). Watch a replay of the performance below.
Lamar opened the show with GNX‘s ‘bodies’ before segueing to the single ‘squabble up’. Jackson then returned to criticize Lamar for being “too loud, too reckless, too ghetto,” urging him to “tighten up.” He obliged by delivering the DAMN. hits ‘HUMBLE’ and ‘DNA’, as well as last year’s ‘Euphoria’. He then gave GNX‘s ‘man at the garden’ and ‘peekaboo’ their live debuts, brought along SZA, and charged into a full performance of ‘Not Like Us’. “You really about to do it?” the dancers teased him, to which Lamar responded with a new verse: “This is bigger than the music/ They tried to rig the game, but you can’t fake influence.” He looked directly at the camera as he rapped “Say, Drake, I hear you like ‘em young.” Finally, Mustard made a cameo for the closing performance of ‘tv off’.
Before kickoff, Lady Gaga sang ‘Hold My Hand’ in a segment filmed on Bourbon Street, which was introduced by Michael Strahan and Tom Brady. “This year began with a terror attack that tried to shatter it’s spirit,” Brady said. “But the resilience of New Orleans is matched by the resolve of our country.”
While the rest of the world prepared to celebrate the Millennial year 2000, programmers quickly identified a problem with the current computer programming system. This problem is what is now referred to as the “Year 2000 problem”. Apparently, computer programs in those days used just two digits to code the dates for years. So, with the year turning 2000, there was the worry of misrepresentation of the years ending in “00”.
In this article, we will be discussing the popular Y2K bug, what it means, its effects, and how the world prepared for it.
What Is the Y2K Bug?
Also known as the Millenium Bug, the Y2K bug was a computer programming concern that arose from the impending change in the representation of years. Back then, computers used only two digits to represent years, such that dates ended as “98” for 1998, for example. With the year turning 2000, there was the worry of misinterpretation of years such that the computer may represent “00” as 1900 rather than 2000.
The Y2K bug posed the problem of global disruptions to systems and miscalculations. This potential computer glitch would have resulted in significant failures in many sectors, affecting businesses and companies. The gaming industry was not left out of the threat of the Y2K bug. High-earning casinos, like Vulkan Bet, would also have been greatly affected by the millennium bug.
What Was the Effect of the Y2K Bug?
The Y2K bug was a potential computer programming problem that was expected to cause widespread disruption to systems and structures in the world. Programmers feared the possible challenges that this could lead to. This is because this bug had the potential to affect systems that depended on date-based calculations.
For one, the Banking and Finance Industry would have been affected greatly in terms of incorrect interest calculations and maybe failed transactions. With the system unable to correctly identify the correct year, the industry would have incurred more losses as a result of the error.
Another industry that would have been affected is the healthcare industry. Since the date is an important part of the data storing system in this sector, the Y2K bug would have led to a mismanagement of patients’ records and errors in medical records.
Other industries that would have been affected by the millennium bug include the transportation industry, the gaming industry, and utilities.
How Was the Y2K Problem Prevented?
When it became apparent that the Y2K bug was going to have a global effect, it was no surprise that it was going to require a global effort to fix the issue. As the year 2000 approached, software and hardware companies worked efficiently to create a solution. Their strategy was to ensure every hardware and software that processed data on dates was incorporated with the “Y2K Compliant” program.
The “Y2K compliant” solution was a set of technical fixes and strategies that ensured that all computer systems and software could process dates correctly after the year 1999. The simplest of the set of solutions was to change the date format from a two-digit to a four-digit year format. This ensured that systems could correctly interpret the year 2000 without mistaking it for 1900.
The solution was multifaceted. It included other components like code audits, mass patching, system updates, and testing. It was designed that way to ensure that every area that could be a potential target was properly protected. It’s safe to say that the bug was prevented by proactive efforts.
Aftermath of the Y2K Bug
The new year came with a surprise. Unlike what many feared would happen, there were no records of major disruptions. This triggered criticisms among some individuals who didn’t hold back from airing their views about how the Y2K bug was handled. Many accused world governments of exaggerating the problem, with some even suggesting it was a political tactic designed to cause panic.
While it may be agreed that these individuals are entitled to their opinions, the effort put forth by governments and technical experts in the years leading up to 2000 cannot be overlooked. They knew that the Y2K-compliance solutions required significant resources, and they worked toward it. They ensured that computer systems transitioned smoothly into the new era.
Lessons From the Y2K Bug
The Y2K bug will always stand out as a moment when the world united to prevent a potential crisis. It emphasized the need for vigilance, preparation, and teamwork in addressing challenges. If the world were to experience a similar threat today, would we be able to tackle it? Time will tell.
Beach Bunny have announced a new album, Tunnel Vision, which comes out April 25 on AWAL. Featuring the previously shared singles ‘Vertigo’ and ‘Clueless’, the record finds the band renting with Sean O’Keefe, the produced behind 2022’s Emotional Creature. Accompanying the announcement is the title track, an exuberant song that Lili Trifilio sings with quivering intensity. Check it out and find the album’s cover artwork and tracklist below.
Tunnel Vision Cover Artwork:
Tunnel Vision Tracklist:
1. Mr. Predictable
2. Big Pink Bubble
3. Chasm
4. Tunnel Vision
5. Clueless
6. Pixie Cut
7. Vertigo
8. Violence
9. Just Around the Corner
10. Cycles
As far as living up to expectations, Hurry Up Tomorrow couldn’t land much closer to what fans had in mind. The final installment of a trilogy that includes After Hours and Dawn FM is predictably opulent, bombastic, and overwrought – the only way the Weeknd would have it. Towering and immersive as it is, with a runtime of 84 minutes, the album also meanders nearly as much as it dazzles, with many of the songs failing to find a point between redemption and repentance. At some points, it finds rapture, then falls back down the rabbit hole. The record’s midsection is tough to endure, but Abel Tesfaye really does save the best for last. Musically, at least – we have to wait and see if the accompanying film, arriving in theaters later this year, will make a difference.
1. Wake Me Up [feat. Justice]
Of course, the Weeknd begins Hurry Up Tomorrow with a vision of the end, and even what comes after it: “No afterlife, no other side.” Synths gleam as his voice broods over a sample of Giorgio Moroder’s Scarface score, until the track snaps back to life with a Justice-assisted beat. The bassline alone is enough to get you excited about the record, even if you’re still daunted by the prospect of listening through it all.
2. Cry for Me
It’s hard to think of a more grating song on the album to pick as a single; if this weren’t a track-by-track review, I doubt I even would have mentioned it. With Metro Boomin and Mike Dean on production, the Weeknd certainly knows how to make an IMAX-sized projection of the most toxic parts of a fraught relationship, but the percussion is so blocky it doesn’t even land on that level. And a few vocal and production tricks do little to make the song’s repeated, self-pitying plea sound any more appealing.
3. I Can’t Fucking Sing
The Weeknd does an admirable job of making his 84-minute epic sound seamless, and ‘I Can’t Fucking Sing’ is part of that effort.
4. São Paolo [feat. Anitta]
It’s not the most innovative take on baile funk, but it is impressive how the Weeknd drags it into his world, shot through with pure lust and unquenchable yearning, exhaustion teetering into chaos. The five-minute runtime may seem overwrought, but it’s justified and actually makes it feel convincing. The better advance single, for sure.
5. Until We’re Skin & Bones
Smart move to put a transitional track after the barrelling noise of ‘São Paolo’, and a sick one at that.
6. Baptized in Fear
“Heartbeat slower,” Weeknd repeats on the track, which is about is about having a near-death experience in the bathtub. It’s a moody and slow-paced Weeknd tune that says moody and slow-paced, if that’s something you’re nostalgic for. It’s a first for this record but most definitely not for the Weeknd, just another paralyzing trip down memory lane.
9. Open Hearts
The Weeknd can wallow in melodramatic balladry all he wants, but teaming with Max Martin injects his shadowy, ominous pop with such an ecstatic rush that it can turn a whole project around. “It’s never easy/ Falling in love again,” Tesfaye sings, no doubt a familiar trope. The song makes it sound possible.
8. Opening Night
This is a longer interlude but no more substantial. Plus, Tesfaye whining about a “chronically online,” overly emotional lover ruining the first of his tour feels unnecessarily specific.
9. ‘Reflections Laughing’ [feat. Travis Scott and Florence + the Machine]
Now this is the way to punch through the mirrored facade of fame, and everyone on the song understands the assignment. The Weeknd is hanging by a thread. Florence Welch, whose powerhouse of a voice is barely audible, supports him through the chorus. Travis Scott, his vocals pitched down, expertly personifies the protagonist’s demons. But it’s the voicemail in the middle of the track – that’s Chxrry22’s voice – that’s the most spine-chilling. A single question is tucked at the end: “What does that shit feel like anyway?” ‘Reflections Laughing’ offers a glimpse.
10. Enjoy the Show [feat. Future]
In other words: Enjoy the Weeknd luxuriating in his own demise over some baffling chipmunk vocals. Future is here to deliver reference to ‘Can’t Feel My Face’ because even Tesfaye can’t withstand this level of self-referentiality. The caustic performance doesn’t gel well with the plush arrangement, even if it’s a deliberate juxtaposition. This one doesn’t need to be five minutes long.
11. Given Up on Me
The beat drop on this one is enticing, though I spent most of the rest of the song contemplating the word “hungriness.” His desperate pleas don’t even have the bite they have on ‘Cry for Me’ – until they disintegrate into the fractured piano jazz of the song’s back end, which is genuinely soul-stirring. Metro Boomin tries and fails to add a real pulse to the song, which subtly drives the point home.
12. I Can’t Wait to Get There
The Weeknd’s metacommentary works better for me when it’s over a cryptically sinister backdrop, less so when it sounds this glossy – let alone self-possessed. Tyler, the Creator did this way better on Chromakopia.
13. Timeless
Again, why was this the big single? Is it just the Playboi Carti feature? Even in the context of the album, there’s barely enough momentum to prop up this kind of soulless flex. Besides, at its best, the Weeknd’s s music sounds compellingly out of time, not timeless. No wonder it wasn’t as big as so many of the Weeknd’s past hits.
14. Niagara Falls
So much of the sample flipping on the album’s R&B ballads is awkward, and this track feels particularly out of place. It ultimately serves its narrative purpose, though, and you gotta hand it to the Weeknd for making immolation sound so opulent.
15. Take Me Back to LA
Calling back to Dawn FM’s ‘Escape From LA’, ‘Take Me Back to LA’ might be one of the most poignant and revealing cuts on the album – and one of the Weeknd’s best ballads. “I put my hand over the fire/ And see if I can still cry/ And that’s when I realize that/ I hate it when I’m by myself,” he signs, unwhiningly. Imagine if he sang this instead at the Grammys.
16. Big Sleep [feat. Giorgo Moroder]
Giorgo Moroder being credited on the song is enough to coax a truly impassioned performance out of Tesfaye, who stands tall against the eerily operatic scale of the song.
17. Give Me Mercy
Max Martin contributes to another one of the album’s brightest moments, though this one’s a little more understated (and better for it). It sounds like something you’d catch playing on 103.5 Dawn FM, and it’d be a hit in a better world.
18. Drive
‘Drive’ continues the record’s strong closing stretch with a sublime melody and the Weeknd regaining hope for freedom. Or… hungriness?
19. The Abyss [feat. Lana Del Rey]
The closer we get to the end of Hurray Up Tomorrow, the more it seems like the Weeknd is willing to give his persona a dignified conclusion – which, of course, makes it all the more likely that he won’t. Lana Del Rey is a familiar voice in the Weeknd’s canon, but hearing a female voice this late into the album is still startling, especially as she repeats, “Is a threat not a promise?” With one of her most dynamic guest performances, she makes it count.
20. Red Terror
The Weeknd lets Oneohtrix Point Never’s Daniel Lopatin weave his magic around ‘Red Terror’, even if Tesfaye has to strain to fit his song into it. It’s intriguing – the intersection of stardom and parenthood is certainly a hot topic – but works mostly as a setup for the last two songs.
21. Without a Warning
The Weeknd’s is constantly self-aware through Hurry Up Tomorrow, but the starkness of ‘Without a Warning’ lends the song a different kind of gravity. I mean: “I should have been sober, but I can’t afford to be boring.” The moment the beat drops is goosebump-inducing, but to have it dissolve so quickly is an even bolder move. The sky looks grim, and just for the drama.
22. Hurry Up Tomorrow
“Done with the lies/ I’m done with the loss,” the Weeknd declares on the final track, singing like he’s already on the other side. Defeat has rarely sounded so honest, painless, so heavenly. The acceptance is only a mirage, if you want to believe it, because the song ties right back into House of Balloons’ ‘High for This’ and the cycle remains unbroken. You can, of course, believe otherwise. We knew the main character dies at the end; what we didn’t expect is that Tesfaye would give us a choice in it.
