Aurelia Butler

In addition to playing with the audacious Texas band, she helped define the image of an aimless generation with her role in the 1990 film “Slacker.”Teresa Taylor, a drummer for the Texas acid-punk band Butthole Surfers who became an emblem of Generation X aimlessness and anomie with a memorable appearance in Richard Linklater’s 1990 film “Slacker,” died on Sunday. She was 60.Her death was announced on Monday in a Twitter post by the band. The cause was lung disease.Cheryl Curtice, her partner and caregiver, wrote on Facebook that Ms. Taylor “passed away clean and sober, peacefully in her sleep, this weekend.”“She was so brave, even in the face of her horrible disease.”Ms. Taylor, also known as Teresa Nervosa, addressed her long battle with what she called an “end stage” lung condition, which she did not identify, in a 2021 Facebook post.“I don’t have cancer or any harsh treatments,” she wrote, detailing her daily use of an oxygen tank in a small apartment that had a television mounted on a swivel fed by “mega cable,” and that she lived with her cat, Snoopy. “I know I smoked like a chimney and this is to be expected,” she added. “My spirits are up.”Members of Butthole Surfers in Austin, Texas, in 1987.Pat Blashill​​Ms. Taylor was born on Nov. 10, 1962, in Arlington, Texas, to Mickey and Helen Taylor. Her father worked for IBM as a mechanical engineer. In her youth, she honed her skills with the drumsticks performing with marching bands in Austin and Fort Worth with King Coffey, who would later join her as part of Butthole Surfers’s distinctive twin-drummer approach, each playing in unison on separate kits.She never considered drumming as a career. “It was like, because you were a girl, you didn’t think of having any future in it,” she was quoted as saying in the 2007 book “Women of the Underground: Music” by Zora von Burden.She eventually dropped out of high school and met the singer Gibby Haynes and the guitarist Paul Leary, who had founded Butthole Surfers in San Antonio in 1981, while renting them space in the downtown Austin warehouse where she was living. In 1983, they invited her on a tour of California.During Ms. Taylor’s tenure, which lasted much of the 1980s, the band never scored a hit record although they eventually found success atop Billboard’s Modern Rock Tracks chart with the song “Pepper,” from 1996. But mainstream acceptance was very much not the point — as their name made clear.Mixing a taste for Dadaism and Nietzsche with a cyclone-force howl, Butthole Surfers proved audacious even by punk standards. Concerts featured naked dancers, flames, bullhorns and slide shows that included morbid films of surgeries and garbage fires. “Their live shows were an assault on the senses,” observed the music site Rock and Roll True Stories in a 2021 retrospective.With its hand-grenade musical approach and black humor (their 1987 album “Locust Abortion Technician” featured a cover image of eerily joyful clowns in greasepaint inspired by the costumes of the serial killer John Wayne Gacy), the band attracted an ardent cult following among Gen X ironists and hollow-eyed nihilists (not to mention Kurt Cobain of Nirvana).As the decade drew to a close, Ms. Taylor left the band after experiencing seizures she attributed to the strobe lights the band used onstage. In 1993, she had surgery for a brain aneurysm.Ms. Taylor, center, in a still from the film “Slacker,” with, from left, the actors Scott Marcus and Stella Weir.Orion ClassicsDespite her exit from the band she had made her name with, her biggest taste of fame was yet to come.In “Slacker,” she made a memorable appearance playing an addlebrained opportunist wandering the streets trying to sell a jar from a medical laboratory with purported pop-culture significance. “I know it’s kind of cloudy,” her character insists, “but it’s a Madonna Pap smear.”The film was an artfully ragged series of vignettes about young eccentrics played largely by nonprofessionals knocking around Austin. Premiering in the early days of “Seinfeld,” it was a movie about nothing that captured the spirit of twentysomethings who, according to the clichés of the day, cared about nothing and aspired to nothing.The film’s title became a nickname for a generation, and with her indelible appearance on the movie’s poster and other packaging materials, Ms. Taylor became a face of it — a slack-jawed youth, her skinny arms thrust into her pockets in a gesture both bored and rebellious.“We talked about doing a drugged-out freak kind of character going on about Madonna,” Ms. Taylor said in a 2001 interview with The Austin American-Statesman, recalling her experiences on set. “I had a rock star attitude and a big ego. I demanded a hat and sunglasses for the scene. I did not want my face to be seen. And it became an image.”She would go on to work at the Texas School for the Blind and Visually Impaired in Austin, according to The Austin Chronicle, and was writing a memoir about her time with the band.Information about survivors was not immediately available.As the years rolled by, her rock star swagger may have faded, but not, it seemed, her sense of irony. “I am the ultimate slacker,” she told The American-Statesman. “I’m on disability for depression, I get a check every month and I watch a lot of TV.” More

The producer and pop singer had been involved in a nearly decade-long legal saga that began with a contract disagreement.The pop super-producer and songwriter known as Dr. Luke has dropped a defamation lawsuit against the singer Kesha, a former protégée who had accused him of rape in a 2014 lawsuit, the two parties announced in a joint statement on Thursday. The announcement signaled the end of a nearly decade-long legal saga that has riveted the music world and come to define both artists’ intertwining public narratives.The statement, posted to social media accounts belonging to both individuals, said that Kesha and Dr. Luke had “agreed to a joint resolution of the lawsuit,” which was scheduled to go to trial next month in New York after years of delays.In a pair of quotes attributed to each musician separately but presented together, Kesha said, “Only God knows what happened that night,” adding: “As I have always said, I cannot recount everything that happened. I am looking forward to closing the door on this chapter in my life and beginning a new one. I wish nothing but peace to all parties involved.”Dr. Luke, born Lukasz Gottwald, added, “While I appreciate Kesha again acknowledging that she cannot recount what happened that night in 2005, I am absolutely certain that nothing happened. I never drugged or assaulted her and would never do that to anyone. For the sake of my family, I have vigorously fought to clear my name for nearly 10 years. It is time for me to put this difficult matter behind me and move on with my life. I wish Kesha well.”In a ruling earlier this month, the New York Court of Appeals reversed an earlier decision by a lower court, calling Dr. Luke a “public figure,” which would have raised the bar to prove defamation at trial by requiring him to prove that Kesha had acted with actual malice. The court added that a state judge should have allowed Kesha to file counterclaims against Dr. Luke for distress and damages.No criminal charges were ever filed in the case.The legal back-and-forth began when Kesha claimed in a 2014 civil filing in California that she should be released from her recording contract with Dr. Luke, one of the industry’s most successful behind-the-scenes figures, because the producer had “sexually, physically, verbally and emotionally abused” her since she was a teenager. The singer cited a 2005 incident not long after the pair began working together in which Kesha said she was drugged and raped by Dr. Luke after a party.The pair worked together closely for the next decade, selling millions of albums and scoring two No. 1 hits, “Tik Tok,” in 2009, and “We R Who We R,” in 2010. But in her 2014 lawsuit, Kesha said that abuse from the producer, which included insults about her appearance and weight, had pushed her to the point that she “nearly lost her life.” Eventually, as the #FreeKesha campaign built online, stars including Adele, Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga, Miley Cyrus, Fiona Apple, Ariana Grande and Kelly Clarkson rallied behind Kesha’s cause.“I cannot work with this monster,” Kesha wrote in a 2015 affidavit, years before #MeToo became a rallying cry in the entertainment industry and beyond. “I physically cannot. I don’t feel safe in any way.”Lawyers for Dr. Luke, a notoriously private figure in the industry, said throughout the legal fight that the rape and abuse accusations — which they called “extortionist threats” by Kesha, her lawyer at the time, Mark Geragos, and her mother — stemmed only from contentious contract negotiations that began in 2013.Dr. Luke countersued for defamation in New York, and pointed to additional contracts that Kesha signed after the alleged 2005 rape, in addition to a sworn deposition, from 2011, in which Kesha said, “Dr. Luke never made sexual advances at me.”In a statement on Thursday, Christine Lepera, a lawyer for Dr. Luke, said the producer “has been consistent from day one that Kesha’s accusations against him were completely false. Kesha’s voluntary public statement clears Luke’s name as it proves she had no ground to accuse him of any wrongdoing.”For years, the cases wound their way through legal systems on two coasts. And while Kesha seemed to dominate in the arena of public opinion — culminating in an all-star performance of a survivor’s anthem at the Grammy Awards in 2018 — most of her legal claims were rejected in court or withdrawn, leaving her on the defensive in Dr. Luke’s remaining defamation suit.In 2016, a New York judge tossed Kesha’s own counterclaims of infliction of emotional distress, gender-based hate crimes and employment discrimination, citing a lack of evidence and jurisdiction. (Her California suit was stayed in favor of the New York action, and later dropped.)As the legal battle continued, Kesha said that Dr. Luke’s “scorched earth litigation tactics” had halted her ability to release music on his label, Kemosabe Records, then a joint venture with Sony Music. (“Dr. Luke promised me he would stall my career if I ever stood up for myself for any reason,” the singer wrote in her 2015 affidavit. “He is doing just that.”)But when her lawsuit stalled, Kesha began once again releasing albums via Dr. Luke’s companies, referring obliquely but definitively to their plight on the LPs “Rainbow” (2017), “High Ground” (2020) and “Gag Order,” released last month. While the albums helped grow Kesha’s public persona from a wild party girl into an underdog feminist icon, they struggled commercially; “Gag Order” debuted in May at No. 187 on the Billboard 200, selling just 8,300 copies.Dr. Luke, for a time, saw his career sink, as well. Following a string of chart-topping singles with artists like Katy Perry, Cyrus and Clarkson in the 2000s and early 2010s, the producer struggled for years to find hits amid the Kesha backlash. After working intermittently under pseudonyms, Dr. Luke has since returned to the mainstream — while remaining very much a background figure — finding success (and Grammy nominations) with acts like Doja Cat, Kim Petras, Nicki Minaj and Latto.Last month, Dr. Luke was named ASCAP’s pop songwriter of the year for the third time, following wins in 2010 and 2011. More

An alternative to nearly all the other best-selling 2020s pop is surging, as acts including Grupo Firme and Natanael Cano present corridos with fresh perspectives.“Génesis,” the album released on Thursday by the Mexican songwriter known as Peso Pluma, could easily become a blockbuster. Its advance singles have already been streamed tens of millions of times. Other songs that Peso Pluma has released this year have racked up hundreds of millions of plays — among them “Ella Baila Sola” (“She Dances Alone”), his collaboration with the band Eslabon Armado, which reached No. 4 on Billboard’s mainstream pop chart, the Hot 100.Peso Pluma — Hassan Emilio Kabande Laija, 24, whose stage name translates as Featherweight — is at the commercial forefront among young Mexican and Mexican American musicians who are updating vintage sounds for a broad new audience, in songs known as corridos tumbados, or trap corridos.He’s not alone. Acts like Natanael Cano, Grupo Frontera, Banda MS, Grupo Firme and Junior H have also lately been expanding audiences for the variety of styles that get lumped together, in the United States, as “regional Mexican music.” (In Mexico, there are nuanced distinctions among styles and song forms.)Regional Mexican music is a folky, organic alternative to nearly all the other best-selling 2020s pop. It relies not on computers but on hand-played, largely acoustic instruments: guitars, accordions, brasses, reeds. Many of the biggest hits, like “Ella Baila Sola,” are actually waltzes.In Mexico, the Southwest and California, regional music has already been popular for decades, with elements slipping into country music and rock. Mexican-rooted performers — like Selena, Ritchie Valens, Question Mark and the Mysterians, Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead, Freddy Fender, Carlos Santana and Los Lobos — have long made clear that music in the United States has elaborate, though rarely celebrated, Mexican connections.Grupo Firme in 2021. The band is one of several that has been expanding audiences for what is known in the United States as regional Mexican music.Alberto Tamargo/Getty ImagesIn some ways, the broader audience for Mexican regional music seems like a demographic inevitability. The 2021 United States census counted 38 million Americans of Mexican origin, by far the largest Latino subgroup. Obviously, their music wasn’t going to stay under the pop radar forever.The old story of pop — one of them, anyway — is of music that emerges locally and somehow, despite considerable odds, manages to reach ever-widening audiences. It starts with scrappy fledgling songwriters, do-it-yourself production, inside references and hometown slang. Then, as it gathers momentum, the music adapts to new listeners who may not know or care about the initial context. The sounds get slicker; the lyrics grow more generalized. Some kind of crossover takes place.Regional Mexican music hasn’t ruled out crossover possibilities. Cano, a pioneer of corridos tumbados in the late 2010s, split his 2022 album, “NataKong,” between electronic, trap-influenced productions and acoustic songs; he tapped the electronic dance music producer Steve Aoki for one track, “Kong 2.0.” Bad Bunny has brought his own reggaeton-style verses — very different from corridos tumbados melodies — to Mexican regional songs by Cano and by the Texas band Grupo Frontera, which had one of its own hits by cannily reworking a Colombian hit, Morat’s “No Se Va,” into a Mexican-style cumbia.Before the release of his album, Peso Pluma showcased style-hopping collaborations: joining the Mexican singer Yng Lvcas in a reggaeton song, “La Bebe”; releasing a single with the Argentine electronic producer Bizarrap (“BZRP Music Sessions, Vol. 55”) and rapping in “Plebada” alongside the Dominican dembow rapper El Alfa.But to have a song like “Ella Baila Sola” in the United States Top 10 proves crossover tactics are no longer mandatory. The lyrics are in Spanish; the instruments are acoustic, far from pop’s electronic norm. And while there are plenty of other straightforwardly romantic love songs like “Ella Baila Sola” among regional Mexican hits, others proudly flaunt street slang and drug-trade references, like Fuerza Regida’s new “TQM,” which has amassed more than 100 million Spotify streams in a month.English-language pop’s timid longtime gatekeepers — radio stations — have been outflanked by audio and video streaming services. As with K-pop and reggaeton, language barriers have been challenged by corridos tumbados. And while streaming algorithms remain hidden, it’s entirely possible that listeners trying out the world-conquering songs of Bad Bunny have been led toward more Spanish-language pop, including regional Mexican music.Natanael Cano became a pioneer of corridos tumbados in the late 2010s.Pedro Mera/Getty ImagesThe corridos tumbados that international audiences are now discovering are a 21st-century evolution of a venerable tradition. Corridos are storytelling ballads, a staple of Mexican music since the 19th century, when songs carried news in nearly journalistic fashion. Early corridos were often titled simply by the date of the events they reported; they were tales of folk heroes, bandits, laborers and revolutionaries.Later, fictionalized corridos tightened and sensationalized their plotlines; some were adapted into Mexican movies. The long-running band Los Tigres del Norte — which has filled arenas north and south of the border for decades — has corridos devoted to immigrants who are navigating lives that straddle Mexico and the United States.In the late 20th century another variant emerged: the modernized bandit songs called narcocorridos, which tell stories of the drug trade. Some were commissioned by drug lords as praise songs. “Just as rap was forcing the Anglo pop world to confront the raw sounds and stark realities of the urban streets,” the music historian Elijah Wald writes in his book “Narcocorrido,” “the corrido was stripping off its own pop trappings to become the rap of modern Mexico and the barrios on el otro lado.”“El otro lado” is “the other side”: the United States. Plenty of nominally “regional Mexican” music now comes out of California and Texas. And music with deep rural roots now regularly tells urban stories as well.Current corridos tumbados bring together multiple elements of regional Mexican styles like ranchera, norteño, banda and mariachi. The music is lean and nimble, with improvisatory guitar filigrees, leaping and slapping bass lines, darting accordion countermelodies and huffing brass-band chords, all delivered with pinpoint syncopation. Pop hooks — perhaps from a trombone or an accordion — support raw, seemingly unpolished voices, even as the band arrangements demand real-time virtuosity.Corridos tumbados carry forward a core element of Mexican music: a stoic sense of irony. A tale of heartbreak or betrayal is likely to be punctuated by hoots of laughter or mocking cries of ay! And a jaunty brass band might be oom-pahing behind a tale of a bloody shootout.Narcocorridos and corridos tumbados have also borrowed strategies from gangster rap. Lyrics flaunt drugs-to-riches stories of hard work, overcoming odds, facing down haters, partying and flaunting designer labels. And as in hip-hop, performers constantly boost one another’s careers — and their own — with collaborations and guest appearances. On “Genesis,” Peso Pluma shares tracks with Cano, Junior H, Jasiel Nuñez and half a dozen others.Mexican regional music, like far too many other pop styles, is largely a man’s world; videos by groups like Grupo Firme are filled with boozy macho camaraderie. But that is also evolving. One of the recent successes of regional Mexican music is the group Yahritza y Su Esencia, from the agricultural Yakima Valley in Washington. Yahritza Martínez — her parents are from Michoacán in western Mexico — is still in her teens.Yahritza is backed by two of her brothers on her 2022 EP, “Obsessed” — the title is in English but the songs are in Spanish — with tracks including “Soy El Único” (“I’m the Only One”), a raw-voiced waltz about lost love that she wrote when she was 14. Yahritza has the heartfelt but crafty skills of songwriters like Taylor Swift; her voice is hurt, intimate and strong, pushing past language into feelings. The long-ignored promise of Mexican regional music, as it reaches the wider world, is that it will restore human-scale emotion to pop — defying technology, touching every listener directly. More

As The New York Times prepares to pay tribute to the genre on its 50th anniversary, we want to hear about the lines that have stuck in your heads and shaped your musical lives.It’s hard to pinpoint the exact birth date of a musical revolution. But if you ask most experts when hip-hop burst onto the scene, they’ll tell you it all started with a block party in the Bronx on Aug. 11, 1973.Since that auspicious day, hip-hop has spread from Sedgwick Avenue to every corner of the globe, becoming a multibillion-dollar industry and a cultural touchstone for generations of music lovers.As The New York Times prepares to commemorate hip-hop’s 50th anniversary, we want to hear from you. Please share with us:Lyrics that are at least a couple of lines longLess popular lyrics that mean something to youThe artist’s name for each lyricTell Us About Your Favorite Lyrics More