Music

Depending on where you’re from and where you’ve been, you may be able to imagine a place like Davenport, Fla., which vibrates with the sleepy malaise of suburban sameness. Beige strip-mall storefronts unfurl along the streets. Some have no real names, just signs reading BARBER, TATTOOS, GUNS, TACOS. Davenport is about 35 miles from the center of Orlando, and on the drive the freeway starts to loosen and flow more easily. The atmosphere quiets. The signs of chain restaurants push into the dimming sky.Outside a cluster of resort homes was a security guard, skeptical but joyfully talkative. I told him I was there to see a band. He asked if I was sure I was in the right place. Based on the landscape beyond the gate, I didn’t feel entirely sure that I was. The place had a Pleasantville eeriness; I could imagine everyone stepping out at the exact same moment to pick up the morning papers. There were rules here, the guard told me, tentatively handing over a visitor’s pass. I had to be out by 10 p.m., no exceptions. I couldn’t park on the street or on the grass. And — he leaned close to my ​window — no loud music.Wandering down the dimly lit corridor of homes, it was hard to find addresses, or any distinctive traits at all, until I noticed something that had fallen off a door and was now sitting on a doorstep: a metal sign reading “ROCK-N-ROLL AVE.” This house was the unimaginative container for the brightness and enthusiasm of one of the most talked-about young bands of the past year: the guitarist Téa (pronounced TAY-Uh) Campbell, the lead singer Edith Johnson and the drummer Ada (pronounced ADD-Uh) Juarez, who make up the group Meet Me @ the Altar.I’d been summoned to see the would-be future of pop-punk, the new queens of noise, the band supposedly destined to drag a whole genre back to its heyday of big choruses and bigger feelings. Pop-punk has a circuitous history, full of sonic shifts and different regional scenes, but it found a peak of influence back in the early and mid-aughts, when bands like Paramore, Fall Out Boy and New Found Glory gave it a glossy sheen and a huge commercial reach, driving untold sales of studded belts and hair dye and getting their best lyrics quoted on untold MySpace profiles. What made that era special, to someone like me, was the way all of pop-punk’s scenes were rising at once — on the radio, on the music-video channels, even on the charts. But then things stalled; the mainstream moment faded; bands broke up or pivoted to different sounds. Soon enough people were looking backward at that moment, sometimes with mild amusement.The three young women who were expected to change that were sitting in one corner of a sprawling, corporate-looking leather couch on the house’s main floor. The home was one of those prefurnished affairs, with a coffee table that looked too precious to touch and a glass dining table that looked too precious to sit at. The walls were stark white and barren, save for some sparse bacon-themed art. (“We did a thing with Wendy’s, and they sent it to us,” Campbell said, shrugging.) But then, up the stairs, taped onto the walls, were rows and rows of fan letters and fan art — depictions of the band spanning from the cartoonish to the alarmingly realistic.The Meet Me @ the Altar house in Davenport, Fla.Jasmine Clarke for The New York TimesFan art in their house.Jasmine Clarke for The New York TimesBefore this house, the trio was scattered up and down the East Coast. Campbell is from Davenport, and the band played early shows in Orlando, but Juarez is from North Plainfield, N.J., and Johnson was in Peachtree City, Ga. Their recordings were initially made in separate places and stitched together. Then came a rise that, from the outside, seemed impossibly rapid. First the video for one of their songs, “Garden,” circulated online, catching the attention of pop-punk stalwarts. Then, in the midst of a pandemic, came a deal with the iconic label Fueled by Ramen, and a simmering campaign of hype. They gathered here because they needed to focus on making songs but also on learning how to be a band, in granular ways — ways it can take a band years of playing and touring together to pick up. The house was meant as a type of incubator, a vessel for emotional and creative acceleration.The members of M.M.A.T.A. have a magnetism that goes far beyond their music making. But the band is still relatively new, and facing high expectations. Watching them on that couch, talking over one another and exploding into laughter, I realized that what some might read as their youthful unawareness of the stakes was really something else. M.M.A.T.A. are a confident band — one that knows exactly where it stands, but hasn’t yet considered the possibility of failure.At a pizza shop, a few blocks away from the Orlando venue where the band cut its teeth, the 20-year-old Campbell and 22-year-old Juarez gave me the short version of their story.In the summer of 2015, bored at her grandmother’s house, Campbell went on YouTube, looking for videos of drummers covering songs by TwentyOne Pilots. That search brought her to Juarez, who had built a vast catalog of drum covers on her YouTube channel. “I had no idea where Ada was,” Campbell told me. “To me, she was just on the internet.” Still, Campbell reached out, and they exchanged contacts on the app Kik. They began by covering songs together remotely, sporadically posting the results, until they eventually decided they needed a singer.Edith Johnson was 14, living in Peachtree City and poking around online — “the beginning of my emo phase,” she says now — when she, too, saw a video posted to Juarez’s YouTube channel. The title was “I’m in a Band, and We Need a Singer.” At the time, Johnson was sinking into the music scene at an Atlanta venue called the Masquerade, whose logo she has since had tattooed on her forearm. She sent in a video of herself singing Paramore’s “All I Wanted.”Juarez and Campbell, sorting through submissions, narrowed their choices to two. It was 2016, and they posed one question to help them decide: They wanted to know their potential future singer’s preferred political candidate. “At the time,” Juarez told me, “if someone said Hillary and not Bernie, that was a red flag.” Johnson said Hillary, and so — whether or not you think it’s prudent for teenagers who can’t yet vote to make personnel decisions this way — she was rejected.“I was really angry, actually really mad,” Johnson said. “And I was like, ‘This is wrong, but it doesn’t matter, because I’m going to be in the band anyway.’ And literally that’s all I thought about, every single day, every single hour, for like two years.”The issue wasn’t just being in a band, something Johnson could have done easily. It was being in this band, with two girls she saw as at least somewhat like her — the kinds of Black and brown kids sometimes pushed to the margins of punk scenes. For Johnson, joining the band was an obsession, a mission, a destiny. “I texted her literally almost every day,” she said, nodding at Campbell. It was two years later, when things hadn’t worked out with the other singer, that Campbell relented, and the trio was complete.There is something specifically miraculous about this band’s emergence, something most easily recognized if you are of a certain age — say, a teenager in the early 2000s, when your time around any capital-S Scene would intersect with the rapid expansion of the World Wide Web. An era spent spiraling into message boards and chat rooms, lonely or bored and reaching out into a thrumming wilderness of faceless personas, hoping to brush up against another set of hands that matched enough of your desires to form something that felt like a bond. Someone “like you,” even if all that really meant was someone who loved some of the same songs, or who also felt lousy in her own scene sometimes and wanted to rage and shout. And of course, there were those of us who dreamed of starting our own bands, kicking around names on Instant Messenger with strangers we’d never meet, a thin veil of fantasy laid over the realities of our circumstances.Meet Me @ the Altar is a thrilling result of a generation beyond all that: kids who grew up communicating on the internet, with one another and with the world, and who could eventually say, “Let’s start a band,” and do it. The internet may seem to become less innocent with each passing hour, but there is still much to be said for what a young person can find on it. Here is a trio of young people who used the internet to its highest exploratory potential, and found one another — and then flourished, reveling in an unfinished but fluorescent version of themselves.First they posted covers on YouTube. Then they took to the road on small tours. It helped that they had the support of their parents, with each member coming from a musical family. Campbell’s parents met, she says, when her father, a producer, heard a recording of her mother, a singer, and fell in love. Johnson’s family has roots in gospel singing, and Juarez’s father is a drummer from El Salvador; when she was young and learning to play, he was the one to post videos on YouTube. “He just wanted to send them to my family back home,” she says. “He didn’t realize the rest of the internet could see them.”The girls began gathering in Florida, playing shows at Soundbar in Orlando, where there was enough of a scene for the group to get its bearings, and begin to create a hum of excitement. That hum became a loud buzz in June 2020, when Dan Campbell of the band the Wonder Years tweeted about the song “Garden,” starting a domino effect. Alex Gaskarth from All Time Low also endorsed the band, as did the singer Halsey. At the time, this version of the band’s lineup had just two self-released EPs to its name. But more and more people were getting a first taste of M.M.A.T.A.’s signature experience — the soaring and infectious chorus — and by the end of the month, labels were sending offers.There was only one label the group had its eye on: Fueled by Ramen, the home of bands, like Paramore, that M.M.A.T.A. idolized. “That was always the goal, the end goal,” Campbell said. “That is what we would have been working toward, to be on Fueled by Ramen. And everything happened so fast that I feel like we didn’t even truly have time to realize, ‘Damn, we’ve been thinking about this since we were 14 years old, and it’s actually happening right now.’”When news of the band’s signing hit, in October 2020, there was palpable excitement. But much of the talk was about the band’s racial makeup’s being different from that of almost every other act previously pursued by the label. Pop-punk has an image that doesn’t always align with its fan base: The fans, often enough, are young Black people or people of color, or are not male, and yet the face of the genre remains largely white, largely male. This opens the door to a lot of less-than-desirable outcomes, from small things (exhausting repetition of the same lyrical themes) to large ones (men taking advantage of their influence over young fans). Of the many reasons people were excited about M.M.A.T.A., there was also the idea that they could signal a change, a corrective.M.M.A.T.A. are a band of young women of color who have their horror stories about the ways they’ve occasionally been treated — by peers, by fans, by men working the door. Now these young women of color were being labeled their genre’s saviors, and the predictability of the American imagination was on full display. There are those who are most at ease, most in awe, when the problems in a subsection of American culture are battled by those already most affected by them. It feeds a mythology that marginalized people are acting out of charity, not necessity. M.M.A.T.A. were suddenly expected to save a scene — as opposed to building a newer, more generous one.“White guilt is something, isn’t it?” Johnson said, grinning slyly, a crescent of pizza crust clasped by her iridescent nails. “If I’m being completely honest, that’s what it was. People were like, ‘Oh, here are all these bands of color!’ And we got to be at the forefront of that. And then, also being women —” She stopped for a split second, just long enough to snap back to a needed clarity. “And,” she said, “we’re also good.”At the Mill Hill in Trenton, N.J., in February.Leigh Ann RodgersWhen I met with M.M.A.T.A., they were riding high off performing a sold-out D.J. set at an emo night in Brooklyn, and were perhaps a little energized about arguing over the fates of their favorite genres. Emo was a commercial force 15 years ago; what did it mean now? Was the pop-punk scene in decline or ripe for resurrection? What parts of it were most worth saving? The need for some kind of pop-punk reconstruction was laid bare outside Soundbar, where one of the band’s friends showed off a new belt from the store Hot Topic, a mecca for generations of the pop-punk/emo set. Campbell tapped the belt’s metallic studs and then turned, incredulous, toward the rest of the band: “Plastic!” she exclaimed. “Hot Topic is using plastic these days!”“I feel like normies have changed the meaning,” she theorized, back at home, “because they don’t know what it is. Pop-punk didn’t go away. I think the mainstream just stopped paying attention.” Johnson agreed. “There is still a scene,” she said. “There will always be a scene.”Amid all the talk of M.M.A.T.A. as the saviors of pop-punk, there was significantly less discussion of them as purists of the form. They have a very specific goal, which became clearer as our conversation continued: They want to bring 2008 back. Someone my age might wince at this, but Campbell and Johnson stressed the simplicity of this aim. There were more guitars on the radio back then. M.M.A.T.A. want pop-punk to have another mainstream moment.They also know that to make that happen, they’ll need to pull from all their creative influences: Johnson’s soaring gospel impulses, Juarez’s affection for bands like Linkin Park and Korn, Campbell’s impeccable ear for pop. Johnson’s melodies, in particular, make you reach for the repeat button; the choruses arrive like sugar and sit long enough before dissolving that you develop a craving for the next one. Earlier in life, she could have sung anything — gospel, R.&B., folk — but she chose to sing pop-punk and infuse every other influence into the way she did it.At the house, Campbell was talking about “Model Citizen,” the EP the band was preparing to release on its new label. At the time, the record was in a place many artists know well: finished but not yet headed to the public. This left time for the band to get existential about the EP’s thematic concerns. “I think it tells the story,” Campbell said, “of realizing that, like, you’re not really OK.”The music finds the band expanding but keeping its sonic impulses close, growing new branches from a familiar tree. But there is something viscerally interior about the songs — a kind of curiosity, a surgical and sometimes comical analysis of what can and cannot be felt. So many of this genre’s songs insist on turning up the volume at the edges of feeling, but M.M.A.T.A. seem obsessed with analyzing the absence of feeling, or the awareness that feeling something important might require not feeling good. The record’s first single, “Feel a Thing,” is resigned but playful, a smirking tune about floating between youth and something that is no longer youth, aimless but with big aims. The second, “Brighter Days (Are Before Us),” has an almost evangelical groove, with the band members promising that they have seen the future and it ain’t all bad — they just need to get there, together.What fascinates most about “Model Citizen” is the way the band seems happy to examine inner terrors and turmoils for its own sake, with anyone listening just along for the ride. As much as coverage of M.M.A.T.A focuses on the members’ youth, they aren’t exactly kids anymore, and they’re not in a position most people who think of themselves as kids are in. They dreamed the impossible and then stepped into it as the world around them was falling into social, political and medical upheaval. It makes sense that “Model Citizen” is taking a magnifying glass to the question of what it means to grow older, and then what it means to grow up.The members of M.M.A.T.A. may not have time to be as in awe of themselves as others are. The band’s tour schedule, starting in late August, is a sprawling sprint, with 45 shows in less than three months, supporting Coheed and Cambria and the Used’s tour together and then All Time Low’s U.S. and U.K. tour dates.I soon noticed the clock pushing well past 10 p.m., the time I was told I would be exiled from the neighborhood. On my way out, though, I found myself compelled to ask the broad and boring question: What comes after all the hype? The band members are young, with seemingly endless potential and cultural good will at their disposal. What can be made of it?At Local 506 in Chapel Hill, N.C.Leigh Ann RodgersThey all chimed in. “I want us to be a household name,” Juarez said.“Like Green Day type [stuff],” Johnson added.“I want people’s kids to know that they have someone like us to look up to,” Juarez said.Campbell, who had been nodding along, paused before adding a finer point.“We want to be the biggest band in the world,” she began. “Not for the fame or the money or any other [expletive], because that doesn’t matter. But for the sole purpose of being able to have a bigger platform so more people can discover us and realize, ‘I have someone who looks like me in this band that I have never seen before.’ That’s all we can ask for at the end of the day, because I’m not getting existential, we’re all going to die one day and what we leave behind is what matters, and if our music and just our existence as a band can change someone’s life … we just want to pave the way for other bands, so that this is normal.”With any other band, I might have been cynical about this idea of selfless success that echoes outward. But everything else this band has manifested for itself, and for the world around it, has come true. It makes them easy to believe, and to believe in.Hanif Abdurraqib is a poet, an essayist and a cultural critic from Columbus, Ohio. He last wrote about the band the Black Keys. More

The country star said he hoped to resume his tour by the end of the year, if he could do so safely.The country superstar Garth Brooks has canceled his next five stadium tour dates, the latest and biggest concerts to be pulled as the touring industry scrambles in response to rising coronavirus infection rates.“In July, I sincerely thought the pandemic was falling behind us,” Brooks said in a statement on Wednesday, four days after performing for about 90,000 fans in Lincoln, Neb. “Now, watching this new wave, I realize we are still in the fight and I must do my part.”The tour, which had already played five cities over the last month, is canceling dates in Cincinnati, which had been scheduled for Sept. 18; Charlotte, N.C., on Sept. 25; Baltimore, on Oct. 2; Foxborough, Mass., on Oct. 9; and one makeup date for a rained-out show in Nashville that had not been scheduled yet. Tickets will be refunded automatically, according to the statement.Brooks’s announcement came after a slew of cancellations by artists including Stevie Nicks, Limp Bizkit, Korn and Lynyrd Skynyrd; the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, planned for October, was also shut down. The Detroit Jazz Festival, planned as an in-person event from Sept. 3 to 6, announced this week that it would “pivot to a virtual format” of livestreams.For now, much of the concert industry is keeping its touring plans intact, and setting a variety of safety protocols for attendees as well as for the workers who run concert venues and manage touring productions. Live Nation and AEG Presents, the two corporations that dominate most of the touring and festival business, have each announced that their venues will require proof of vaccination or a negative test for attendees and staff, although that still leaves uncertainty about much of the business beyond their control.Los Angeles County will require masks at large outdoor concerts and sporting events that attract more than 10,000 people starting Thursday.Among the big American festivals still planned for the coming weeks are Bonnaroo, in Manchester, Tenn. (Sept. 2-5); Jay-Z’s Made in America, in Philadelphia (Sept. 4-5); Governors Ball, in New York (Sept. 24-26); Austin City Limits, in Austin, Texas (Oct. 1-3 and 8-10); and Outside Lands, in San Francisco (Oct. 29-31).In his announcement, Brooks told his fans that he hoped to resume his tour by the end of the year, as long as he can make sure that “the environment these people are trading their time and money to put themselves into is not only the best experience ever, but also the safest one we can provide.” More

Tally Abecassis and Phyllis Fletcher and Jay-Z at his studio in Manhattan in 2003.Chester Higgins Jr./The New York TimesIn 2003, Jay-Z announced he was retiring at 33 years old. He had several platinum records under his belt and a budding relationship with Beyoncé. Then, he released the album intended to be his last: “The Black Album.”Reggie Ugwu, a Culture reporter for The New York Times, was a senior in high school when “The Black Album” came out, and it became the soundtrack of his life. He loved not just the music, but the message: that being indisputably excellent was the only way to make it.But after the summer of 2020, as a global Black Lives Matter movement took off in response to the police killings of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, Reggie started to revisit the lessons of the album.“There was something that was missing from my understanding of how the world worked and my place in it,” Reggie said in this episode.Nearly 18 years later, Reggie reflects on “The Black Album” with Dodai Stewart, a deputy editor. Listen to their conversation.In this podcast episode:Dodai Stewart, a deputy editor for Narrative Projects at The New York Times.Reggie Ugwu, a pop culture reporter for The Times. More

He brought a range of musical influences to bear on the tracks he helped create for Mary J. Blige, the Notorious B.I.G. and many others.“My mind is always on ‘Record,’” the producer Chucky Thompson once told an interviewer, explaining how he was able to bring such a wide range of musical influences to the hits he helped create for Mary J. Blige, the Notorious B.I.G., Nas and other stars.For any particular track, he might draw on the soul records his parents used to play, or his time as a conga player in Chuck Brown’s go-go band, or some other style in his mental archive, as he sought to realize the vision the performer was after, or perhaps take him or her in a whole different direction.Mr. Thompson helped forge the hip-hop and R&B sound of the 1990s while in his mid-20s. He showed his versatility with his work on Ms. Blige’s second album, “My Life,” and the Notorious B.I.G.’s debut, “Ready to Die,” both released in 1994. The next year he was a producer on almost all the tracks on Faith Evans’s debut, “Faith,” another hit.In this period he was working for Bad Boy Entertainment, the influential label Sean “Diddy” Combs founded in 1993, as part of the producing team known as the Hitmen. But he continued to produce for a range of artists after the Hitmen dissolved later in the 1990s. If he — unlike some other producers in those years — defied categorization, that was deliberate.“In my brain, as a producer, I never wanted a sound,” he said in a 2013 video interview with Rahaman Kilpatrick. “That’s why you hear me on so many different records.”Mr. Thompson died on Aug. 9 in a hospital in the Los Angeles area. He was 53.His publicist, Tamar Juda, said the cause was Covid-19.Mr. Thompson was different from many of his contemporaries in that he was a multi-instrumentalist, often contributing guitar, piano, trombone or other flourishes to the tracks he produced. To get a particular effect for the 2002 Nas track “One Mic,” he flipped a guitar over and banged on the back of it.“He’s a true musician and doesn’t like to program heavily — just like me,” Mr. Combs told Billboard in 1995, when that publication included Mr. Thompson in an article on “the next crop of hotshot producers.” “Chucky has so many melodies in his head and produces from the heart.”Carl Edward Thompson Jr. was born on July 12, 1968, in Washington to Carl and Charlotte Thompson. In the 2013 interview, he said that his mother recognized his innate musical ability early.“She used to sit me in the kitchen and — you know how kids would just be banging and making noise? I was actually on beat with it,” he said. “She knew from there that something was different.”At 16 he was touring with Mr. Brown and his band, the Soul Searchers, playing the funk variant known as go-go, which was popular in and around Washington. It was a time when traditional live performances by bands were losing ground to D.J.s, who could keep the music constant rather than breaking between songs and thus keep people on the dance floor. Mr. Brown had his young conga player try to compensate.“He decided, ‘I’ll put a percussion break in between songs,’” Mr. Thompson told Rolling Stone in June. “So we would finish a song, then I’d do a percussion break, and I’d do a call and response — ask the crowd, ‘Y’all tired yet?’”The year 1994 was a big one for Mr. Thompson. Among the albums he worked on that year was the Notorious B.I.G.’s debut, “Ready to Die.”Bad Boy AristaThat same year, he co-produced much of Mary J. Blige’s “My Life,” the Grammy-nominated follow-up to her successful debut, “What’s the 4-1-1?,” with Ms. Blige and Sean Combs.Uptown RecordsBy the early 1990s he was in New York trying to market himself as a producer, and Mr. Combs and Ms. Blige were looking for material for the follow-up to her successful first album, “What’s the 4-1-1?” (1992).“She picked my song out of a ton of tracks from new and previous producers,” Mr. Thompson said in an interview with the website StupidDope.com in June. “I was truly honored. That track was ‘Be With You,’ and at that time it was very different for her and her sound. I felt at that moment we were onto something that would be special.”He ended up co-producing much of the album with Ms. Blige and Mr. Combs. Ms. Blige had a tough hip-hop image that defied female-singer stereotypes, and some people didn’t care for it. Mr. Thompson took that reaction into account as he helped her create the songs for her second album.“I didn’t like people throwing stones at something they didn’t understand,” he told Rolling Stone. “So I was like, on this record, people are gonna know you’re a singer. You’re the real deal.”“My Life,” full of confessional songs exploring Ms. Blige’s personal struggles, received a Grammy nomination for best R&B album and helped establish her as a star. In June, Amazon Prime unveiled a documentary about her career and the record, “Mary J. Blige’s My Life.”Over the years Mr. Thompson also produced for Usher, Raheem DeVaughn, Total and many others. He produced some of the final tracks for his early mentor, Mr. Brown, who died in 2012 at 75.Mr. Thompson’s survivors include five children, Ashley, Emille, Myles, Quincey and Trey Thompson. More

The order comes as the spread of the Delta variant has driven up caseloads.Facing a continuing increase in coronavirus cases, Los Angeles County said Tuesday that it would require masks be worn at large outdoor concerts and sporting events that attract more than 10,000 people.The new regulation, which takes effect at 11:59 p.m. on Thursday, means that people attending the Hollywood Bowl and Dodger Stadium, as well as outdoor music festivals and what the county describes as “mega events,” will now have to wear masks. The rule will apply to people regardless of their vaccination status.People will be allowed to slip off their masks when eating and drinking, but only briefly.The order came as cities around the nation have taken steps to try to curb the spread of the coronavirus. Chicago joined Los Angeles County, Washington, D.C., San Francisco and other areas to require masks in public indoor places. New York City is requiring proof of vaccination for dining and entertainment activities indoors; Broadway is requiring proof of vaccination and masks as it reopens.The new rules requiring masks at large outdoor events in Los Angeles came as the county reported that cases, hospitalizations and positivity rates have increased markedly. Los Angeles County has been averaging 3,361 new cases a day, an 18 percent increase over its average two weeks ago, according to data collected by The New York Times.Los Angeles County has been aggressive in instituting masks requirements in the face of evidence that the Delta variant of the virus has been spreading. It required people to wear masks in indoor public spaces last month, again regardless of vaccination status.Covid policies at the Hollywood Bowl have shifted repeatedly during the year as the Los Angeles Philharmonic, which runs the Bowl, has sought to follow changing county regulations. It has drawn big crowds over the past six weeks. With few exceptions, people in the audience have been maskless, as had been permitted under county rules. But they have tended to put on their masks as they join the crush of people moving down the crowded walkways after the show. More

The prolific 29-year-old rapper, singer and producer returned this month with “Gumbo’!,” a hat tip to the soulful Southern rap that inspired him.In 2018, Livingston Matthews landed in New York for a series of gigs and was low on money after having to unexpectedly check a bag on his flight. So he hopped a subway turnstile, only to be detained by a police officer who wanted to put him in his place.“He was just O.D. extra, bruh,” Matthews said in a relaxed Southern drawl between bites of cinnamon-sprinkled oatmeal in a Brooklyn cafe recently, visiting from Baltimore. “He was like, ‘You’re dead meat, I can do anything I want with you.’” The incident led him to write “Deadmeat,” the fiercest track from his 2020 album, “Negro,” which scolded racism and police brutality through an aggressive mix of rap, punk and free jazz.The album arrived just as Covid-19 cases surged globally and a month before protests arose following the police killings of Breonna Taylor and George Floyd. For Matthews, a 29-year-old rapper, singer and producer who records under several names, mainly Pink Siifu, “Negro” was the most fearless album in his vast catalog of equally experimental music. It was also the most intense.“That record? It was Allah and my ancestors,” he said. “I was damn near crying after each track.”His most recent album, “Gumbo’!,” came out at the top of this month and flashes back to an even earlier musical moment: the trunk-rattling bass and downtempo Southern rap that Atlanta’s Dungeon Family crafted in the 1990s.“Their records sounded like everything,” Matthews said of the cornerstone collective that has counted Outkast and Goodie Mob as members.The poet Ruben Bailey, known as Big Rube, a Dungeon Family member who appears on “Gumbo’!,” said he hears the group’s influence in Matthews’s sound. “He’s got a Southern type of style, but at the same he’s lyrical,” Bailey said in a phone interview. “When I first saw his name, that tripped me out because it sounded like he was really creative, and it turned out he was.”Wearing a white sweatshirt, denim coveralls, glitter-gold-painted fingernails, beaded braids and a white durag beneath a brimmed leather kufi hat, Matthews looked like his influences all at once: Sly Stone, Andre 3000, Sun Ra. He spoke with the same laid-back cadence that he employs in his music, and he lit up when talking about his upbringing.He’s not always so chill, though: His live shows are filled with perpetual movement. Sometimes he’ll hop on speakers, and at other moments he’ll walk in a nonstop loop onstage or occasionally through the crowd. It’s as if all the music he has taken in over the years were trying to come through concurrently.Matthews grew up between Birmingham, Ala., and Cincinnati in a family that exposed him to all kinds of music. His mother loved ’90s R&B, and his father, a saxophonist, played old records by Charlie Parker. He got into rap through his older brother, Hardy, who liked the New Orleans-based Cash Money Records — Lil Wayne, especially — and decided to follow suit.“I always wanted to be like my brother, so I was like, ‘Wayne’s my favorite rapper, too,’” Matthews said.“You can lump me in with anybody you want to, but my music is everything,” Matthews said. Schaun Champion for The New York TimesHe took up the trumpet, then the drums, and he played in marching bands from fifth grade through high school. (The cover art for “Gumbo’!” is a caricature drawing of Matthews in a marching band uniform.) He didn’t get serious about music until he got to college where, as a theater major at Wright State University in Dayton, Ohio, he started performing poetry while quietly honing his image as a Cash Money acolyte who sang like the R&B vocalist Macy Gray — “I really want to work with her,” he said — but also admired the balladry of conscious rap.“I heard what they were saying, and I thought, ‘They’re just rapping poems!’” Matthews said. “Then I was like, ‘Oh nah, I can rap my poems.’”Featuring a who’s who of experimental musicians, including the soul vocalists Liv.e, Georgia Anne Muldrow and Nick Hakim, “Gumbo’!” is a comedown from the raw emotion of last year’s LP, designed to showcase the full breadth of Matthews’ artistry. The sound is bigger and more bass-heavy, but the focus remains his deep admiration for family and the companionship of friends, full of voice mail messages from relatives and recorded conversations with pals. On a run of tracks near the end of the album, songs like “Living Proof” and “Smile (Wit Yo Gold)” slow the tempo to a stroll that feels like summertime barbecues when the sun starts to dip and the temperature cools to perfection.“I didn’t want people to box me in,” Matthews said. “I was trying to make something that reminded me of those drives from Birmingham to Cincinnati.”His overall goal is to keep working to try to reach the heights of two of his idols: Prince and George Clinton. “You can lump me in with anybody you want to, but my music is everything,” he said. “It’s a slow meal. You at grandma’s house, you ain’t gotta rush.” More

“It’s Never Too Late” is a new series that tells the stories of people who decide to pursue their dreams on their own terms.One day a couple years back, the woman who has long cleaned Russ Ellis’s house in Berkeley, Calif., showed up with a new helper. Mr. Ellis did not think to ask her name.Perhaps he forgot. Or maybe the recovering academic — a celebrated architecture professor at the University of California, Berkeley, later a vice chancellor — had other things on his mind. Whatever the case, the lapse rattled him.“Russell Ellis, your father’s mother was born into slavery,” he said to himself. “You have the right to invisibilize no one.”He not only learned the woman’s name then and there — Eliza — but pledged to sing it next time she came by. With that pledge, something strange shook loose in him.“A song walked right in. Eliiiiiza. Eliiiiiiiiiza. And then the urge kept coming.”Calling on experienced musician friends to help, Mr. Ellis spent the following year recording “Songs from My Garden,” his first-ever album. He was 85. (He turned 86 in June.) It consists of 11 original songs, released online with an extremely local label, in a variety of genres.The experience delighted him at a new level — he got to explore all new terrain, with a creative abandon he’d never known. Then, with that, he was delighted to conclude his brief recording career. (The following interview has been edited and condensed.)Aubrey Trinnaman for The New York TimesQ: Tell me about your life before the “Eliza” moment.A: I never bit down on any one thing. Over the years I’ve been an athlete, a parent, a friend, a lover. “In the golden sandbox” — that’s how I think of my life in California. As a kid growing up in the working-class Black world, you wanted a secure job at the post office or teaching school. But doing new things has always been part of my life.After retiring, I got into stone carving, then modeling clay, then steel work and painting. Sometimes I’d see former colleagues from Berkeley and they were still kind of wearing the clothes of the old office. I couldn’t have been happier to let go of all that.How hard was it to start writing music for the first time?Not hard at all. The songs just started coming, easily and naturally. I have always been a laborer, but I suddenly had the experience of a muse saying, “I gotcha, I’m taking over.”What did it feel like, doing this entirely new thing?Having that muse — it’s like I was accompanied by another self, more sophisticated and supple than I was. I’m an empiricist. But if I had to romanticize, I’d say it was a spirit that came to visit. It was one of the best experiences of my life. What a joy to have stuff flow like that.One side effect: You know how you get a song in your head sometimes? I now get whole orchestrated movements. New doors still open as you age. Along with creaky limbs, interesting things happen, too.Mr. Ellis at his home in Berkeley, Calif. “I think doing the album made me a kinder person,” he said. Aubrey Trinnaman for The New York TimesHow did you learn about recording and songwriting?I’m kind of connected to the musical world through my children and their friends. I exploited any contacts I had: Would you mind helping me with this for free? Everyone was very generous.Were you nervous, taking the first steps into this new world?There are benefits to age. Not a lot, but some. I’m too old to get nervous. And nothing was riding on this.What kinds of challenges did you encounter at the beginning?The hardest thing was the blues. Recording my song “Night Driver (The Next-to-Last Old-Ass Black Man’s Bragging Blues)” was intimidating. Singing the blues ain’t just something you stand up and do. You have to be in it, you have to mean it, you have to deliver it in a way that people get into it themselves.How did this album change you?A big surprise to me about aging is that you do keep changing. I think doing the album made me a kinder person. Having my kids’ clear respect and support with it — it helped me feel better about myself, and when you feel better about yourself, you feel better about other people.In one of his many pursuits, Russ Ellis was a U.C.L.A. track star. In 1956, Mr. Ellis, second from left, ran in the 400-meter heats of the U.S. Olympic trials in Los Angeles.Hy Peskin, via Getty ImagesAlso, I was onstage for a living, teaching classes for 150 students, then representing the university in my administrative role. Before that I was a track star at U.C.L.A., from ’54 to ’58. If I ran a good race, my stroll across campus was an act of celebrity.All that stage time was not good for me. I felt somewhat unreal. I realized, when I finished this album, that was my last expression of my desire for it. I have been happy to get offstage.What’s next for you?My wife is suffering some significant health problems. It’s normal trouble, as they say — but it’s not trivial. Right now my life is about caregiving.What would you tell someone who’s feeling stuck in their life?Do something that involves other people. Even one other person. Getting out of a groove — sometimes you just need company.There’s this fantasy that creativity is something you do alone, by candlelight. No! Do something with other people who are as genuinely interested as you are.Was Mr. Ellis nervous about his album? “There are benefits to age. Not a lot, but some,” he said. “I’m too old to get nervous.”Aubrey Trinnaman for The New York TimesWhat do you wish you’d known about life when you were younger?That doesn’t involve sex?Life is shorter than you think and longer than you think. My two best friends are also Black men in their 80s. We marvel about our actuarial improbability. I’m happy to have used my time in so many different ways — ways that connected me to the world, to people.Were there experiences before the album that helped prepare you for it?Over the last 10 years I’ve actually had a bit of an art career. In the process I discovered that I wasn’t as vulnerable as I thought. At one point I had a piece in a group show, at a gallery. I walked by it just as a guy was saying, “this painting sucks.” And I didn’t die! I actually went over and, without telling him I was the artist, asked why he said that. Turned out he was a painter, and he told me his reasons. I learned a whole bunch.Any other lessons you can pass on?Take note of what’s interesting in your life. Don’t keep every little scrap of paper. But take note.We’re looking for people who decide that it’s never too late to switch gears, change their life and pursue dreams. Should we talk to you or someone you know? Share your story here. More

After months of couples postponing and paring down their wedding plans, the season of celebrating nuptials is finally in full swing again and D.J.s are in high demand and in short supply.With more than 20 D.J.s on his roster at any given moment, Gary Hoffmann, who runs a D.J. company, cannot recall a single time he has had to turn an engaged couple away.“I’ve never done that,” said Mr. Hoffmann, the founder of Brooklyn-based 74 Events who has also been a D.J. himself since 2001. “I’ve never — in my 17 and a half years of being in business — had to tell anybody that we don’t have anyone.”That all changed this year, as the tsunami of postponed 2020 weddings came crashing down onto Mr. Hoffmann’s calendar. He has had to deal with many postponements because of the coronavirus pandemic. “I stopped counting around 400,” he said. “The reality was a lot of couples early on in the pandemic were conservative or delusional about how bad it was going to be for how long. I’ve had multiple couples postpone their date two, three — and in some unique cases — four times.”Right now, he has a handful of dates that are especially popular. And it’s putting him in a tough and unfamiliar situation. “I’ll use a specific example: Sept. 18,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “I have four or five different emails sitting in a folder where I told the couple, ‘Hey, I’m so sorry, I’m booked solid. But I’ll save this email and if something changes, I’ll let you know.’”Jason Alexander Rubio and Diana Anzaldua, the husband and wife team behind Austin’s Best D.J.s, based in Austin, Texas, have also struggled to manage an influx of postponed weddings now happening all at once. “We’ve seen a 300 percent increase in clients calling and emailing, and booking in the last month or so,” Mr. Rubio said. “We’re doing our best to meet demand: hiring more staff and passing events we cannot do to other D.J.s who may not be as busy as we are.”Further complicating the process is identifying a D.J. who complements a couple’s vision. “Finding the right fit based on style, experience and professionalism could be tricky nowadays because they might be all booked up,” said Vel Menash, the founder of TablePop, a platform for planning event experiences and an event concierge based in Burlington, N.J. “A multicultural couple I know needed help finding a D.J. that would be great for their cross-cultural wedding, which included Afrobeats and Indi-pop.”[Sign up for Love Letter and always get the latest in Modern Love, weddings, and relationships in the news by email.]Booking a D.J.As with any major wedding decision, research is essential. Decide on a budget for the D.J. and entertainment. Mr. Rubio recommends allocating 8 to 10 percent of your total wedding budget. Then, check out wedding websites and make a list of your top five D.J.s.“Do a little online stalking, and check out their social media and other reviews,” Mr. Rubio said. “Figure out which D.J. is best able to fulfill your overall wedding day vision and understand your vibe. See what other options the D.J. has — you may be able to book more services and not have to worry about paying too many vendors.”If Your D.J. CancelsIf you have a signed contract, review it carefully to see if there’s a section that discusses cancellations and how you’re covered.“Good, reputable D.J. companies will have a policy in place that doesn’t allow this to happen,” Mr. Rubio said. “If a D.J. is unable to make it, the company should have a backup D.J. who can easily cover. This is one advantage of booking a D.J. company over a solo D.J.”If You Can’t Find a D.J.Hitting dead end after dead end? Think about other places you may not have looked. According to Mr. Rubio, some D.J.s don’t advertise on the major wedding websites because of the cost. And many others may not have websites and rely exclusively on social media to attract potential clients. Search Facebook and Instagram by typing in “wedding D.J.” and the name of your destination.“There’s some decent D.J.s on Instagram and Twitch,” said Schquita Goodwin, a D.J. based in Washington, D.C. “But your most trusted source would probably be by asking around: alumni networks, co-workers, kickball team. The vast majority of my business is recommendations from previous clients.”What About Prerecorded Sets?While couples may encounter this option, Mr. Hoffmann cautions against it. Without a live D.J. to improvise and riff off guests and their energy, a prerecorded set could run the risk of not matching the atmosphere of the event as it unfolds in real-time.“It’s not really an ideal situation and I wouldn’t recommend it,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “Save your money for the honeymoon or mortgage. Just set up your own playlists for great background music, and don’t worry about the dance part.”Alternative Music SourcesConsider live musicians. Quartets, guitarists, and other performers may be contracted through freelancer sites like Fiverr and Upwork.“I would even consider scouting local spots that have live music, like a church or bookstore,” Ms. Goodwin said. “However, the absolute, most cost-effective method would be to rent a speaker from a local audio visual equipment rental service. Then, get your family and friends involved.”Get acquainted with your venue’s sound system and ask about audio connectivity so you can plug in your own device and equipment, if necessary. Once these capabilities are confirmed, start curating on your preferred streaming service. Earlier this month, Tidal, a streaming music service, launched a Wedding Hub, a one-stop source for soundtracking all wedding-themed events, like the processional and the first dance.Spotify tends to be the most popular. Don’t forget to sign up for a premium account to avoid awkward interruptions from ads during cocktail hour and dinner.Hiring a FriendAsking friends to flex their amateur spinning skills may be a suitable alternative, especially if the dance party is an absolute must-have. They should have “a basic instinct” for selecting music that’s fun for everybody, Mr. Hoffmann said. But even if they manage to get the party started, they might struggle to rein in over-enthused — and intoxicated — guests.“This is a serious gamble,” Ms. Goodwin said. “If you trust your friend, yes. If you don’t trust your friend, listen to their samples. If they can’t curate six hours of music, then no.”One major con: turning friends into vendors. Even if they insist, it may not be worth the hassle.“If your friend is already a D.J., then sure,” Mr. Rubio said. “If not, this isn’t the best idea. Plus, you want your friend to be there to celebrate and enjoy the special day with you, and not work.” More