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    16 Songs to Soundtrack Your Fourth of July Barbecue

    Listen to a genre-crossing hourlong summer playlist featuring Lana Del Rey, Funkadelic and Tom Petty.Tom Petty says take it easy, baby.Gus Stewart/Getty ImagesDear listeners,At last, the season of late sunsets, languid beach days and endless barbecues is upon us. This calls for a playlist.Today’s genre-crossing collection could definitely work as a soundtrack to your upcoming Fourth of July party, and there are a few references to Independence Day sprinkled here and there. But for the most part, I wanted to avoid the glaringly obvious and create a fun, breezy playlist that can be enjoyed all summer long.Appropriately for a Fourth of July gathering, all of the artists featured here are American. Well, except one: I forgot that the ’90s one-hit wonders Len were actually Canadian, but I wasn’t about to remove “Steal My Sunshine” from a summer playlist.This is a long one, because the best and most characteristic part of a summer day is the feeling of suspended time, the sense of a Saturday that may go on forever. Here’s to an endless-seeming summer, and to no one stealing your sunshine.Also: We won’t be sending out a new Amplifier on the Fourth, because I wouldn’t want to compel you to check your email on a holiday. We’ll resume our regular schedule next Friday. Til then!Listen along on Spotify as you read.1. Lana Del Rey: “Doin’ Time”When I first saw this cover on the track list of her 2019 opus “Norman _____ Rockwell,” I had my doubts, but now I must agree with all the people in the dance: Lana Del Rey is indeed well qualified to represent the L.B.C. (Listen on YouTube)2. Sublime: “Badfish”It’s poor form to mention Sublime at a barbecue without then playing one of its songs, so here’s my all-time favorite, the wrenching but always buoyant “Badfish.” (Listen on YouTube)3. Solange: “Binz”Slightly under two minutes of immaculate vibes from Solange’s sonically fluid 2019 album, “When I Get Home.” (Listen on YouTube)4. Mariah Carey: “Honey”A sun-kissed summer jam from the elusive chanteuse. “Honey,” from Carey’s 1997 album “Butterfly,” famously found her embracing a more hip-hop-indebted sound. (Listen on YouTube)5. Len: “Steal My Sunshine”Centered around a clever sample of Andrea True Connection’s “More, More, More,” the ubiquitous “Steal My Sunshine” made Len one of the ’90s’ most memorable one-hit wonders. Warning: May cause spontaneous singalongs. (Listen on YouTube)6. The Breeders: “Saints”Kim Deal conjures the tactile pleasures of a day at the carnival in this blazing little ditty from the Breeders’ classic 1993 album “Last Splash,” before growling that memorable refrain, “Summer is ready when you are.” (Listen on YouTube)7. Eleanor Friedberger: “Roosevelt Island”This ode to a leisurely day on New York City’s most underrated island, by the Fiery Furnaces frontwoman Eleanor Friedberger, would almost sound like a spoken-word poem were it not for that deliciously funky keyboard lick. (Listen on YouTube)8. A Tribe Called Quest: “Can I Kick It?”A pitch-perfect soundtrack to, well … just kicking it. Phife Dawg forever and ever. (Listen on YouTube)9. Erykah Badu: “Cel U Lar Device”Badu reworks Drake’s “Hotline Bling” to fit her own singular personality on this centerpiece from her 2015 mixtape “But You Caint Use My Phone.” The voice mail menu instructions toward the end of the track never fail to crack me up. (Listen on YouTube)10. Funkadelic: “Can You Get to That”One nation, under a groove. (Yes, I know that album came out years after “Maggot Brain.” The sentiment remains!) (Listen on YouTube)11. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers: “American Girl”Fun fact: Not only was “American Girl” recorded on the Fourth of July, it was recorded on the Bicentennial. Petty manages to imbue this perfect song with enough specificity and antic poignancy that it still, after all these years, feels more personal than anthemic. (Listen on YouTube)12. Bruce Springsteen: “Darlington County”Because the title track of “Born in the U.S.A.” would have been a little too obvious, and anyway, this one’s just as fun to sing along to. Sha la la, sha la la la la-la. (Listen on YouTube)13. Luke Combs: “Fast Car”Speaking of singalongs, this current hit and surprise contender for song of the summer is sure to unite multiple generations of barbecue-goers who know all the words by heart — some to Tracy Chapman’s peerless original, and some to the country star Combs’s reverent homage. (Listen on YouTube)14. Beyoncé: “Plastic Off the Sofa”The most laid-back and sumptuous moment on Beyoncé’s 2022 dance-floor odyssey “Renaissance” is an invitation for a moment of summertime relaxation. (Listen on YouTube)15. De La Soul: “Me, Myself and I”Rejoice: It’s the first Fourth of July when De La Soul’s discography is on streaming services! (Listen on YouTube)16. Miley Cyrus: “Party in the U.S.A.”Just try not to put your hands up. I dare you. (Listen on YouTube)Summer is ready when you are,LindsayThe Amplifier PlaylistListen on Spotify. We update this playlist with each new newsletter.“The Ultimate Fourth of July BBQ Soundtrack” track listTrack 1: Lana Del Rey, “Doin’ Time”Track 2: Sublime, “Badfish”Track 3: Solange, “Binz”Track 4: Mariah Carey, “Honey”Track 5: Len, “Steal My Sunshine”Track 6: The Breeders, “Saints”Track 7: Eleanor Friedberger, “Roosevelt Island”Track 8: A Tribe Called Quest, “Can I Kick It?”Track 9: Erykah Badu, “Cel U Lar Device”Track 10: Funkadelic, “Can You Get to That”Track 11: Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, “American Girl”Track 12: Bruce Springsteen, “Darlington County”Track 13: Luke Combs, “Fast Car”Track 14: Beyoncé, “Plastic off the Sofa”Track 15: De La Soul, “Me, Myself and I”Track 16: Miley Cyrus, “Party in the U.S.A.”Bonus tracksWhat I learned from writing Tuesday’s newsletter, about musical odes to Ohio is that The Amplifier is blessed with a very strong contingent of readers from the Buckeye State. Quite a few of you wrote in with your own favorite Ohio tunes, but the most requested by far was the Pretenders’ “My City Was Gone.” Akron’s own Chrissy Hynde beautifully and elegiacally captures the feelings of disillusionment that arise when you go home and — no thanks to industrialization and overdevelopment — don’t recognize your old stomping ground. Consider this one added to the Ohio playlist.Also, for a new column called The Answer, the good folks at The New York Times’s Wirecutter came by my apartment to interview me about my turntable, my vinyl setup and my preferred gear for listening to records. As someone used to doing the interviewing, it felt very strange to be the one answering the questions and even stranger to be the subject of a photo shoot in my apartment. (My neighbors had no idea why I was suddenly so important.) But check out the article to see my suggestions for setting up a relatively inexpensive stereo system, along with my (currently quite depressed) collection of New York Mets bobbleheads. Wirecutter has a daily newsletter full of independent product reviews that you can sign up for, too.Plus, it was a big week for new music: The Playlist features the triumphant returns of both Olivia Rodrigo and Sampha, along with 10 other fresh tracks. I also listened to Fall Out Boy’s updated version of “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” so you don’t have to. (Seriously, don’t.) More

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    De La Soul’s Dave Jolicoeur, a.k.a. Trugoy the Dove, Dies at 54

    The trio expanded the stylistic vocabulary of hip-hop in the 1980s and ’90s, but its early experiments with sampling led to legal troubles, and the group’s longtime exclusion from streaming.David Jolicoeur of De La Soul, the rap trio that expanded the stylistic vocabulary of hip-hop in the late 1980s and early ’90s with eclectic samples and offbeat humor, becoming MTV staples and cult heroes of the genre, died on Sunday. He was 54.His death was confirmed by the group’s publicist, Tony Ferguson, who did not specify a cause or say where Mr. Jolicoeur was when he died. In recent years, Mr. Jolicoeur has openly discussed a struggle with congestive heart failure, including in a music video for the group’s song “Royalty Capes.”De La Soul arrived with the album “3 Feet High and Rising” in 1989, a time when hip-hop was still relatively new to the mainstream. The genre’s public face was often confrontational, with groups like Public Enemy and N.W.A speaking out about the racism, police violence and neglect faced by Black communities in America.By contrast, De La Soul — three middle-class young men from Long Island — presented themselves with hippie floral designs and a music video set in a high school for their song “Me Myself and I.” The group wore baggy, brightly colored clothes, to the sneers and side-eyeing of their classmates in gold chains, black shades and matching B-boy outfits.Mr. Jolicoeur — whose original stage name in the group was Trugoy the Dove, though he was also known as Plug Two, Dove and later, just Dave — had the first lines of the track, riffing on a fairy tale. “Mirror mirror on the wall/Tell me mirror, what is wrong?” he rapped. “Can it be my De La clothes/Or is it just my De La song?”That album, with singles also including “Say No Go” and “Eye Know,” reached only as high as No. 24 on the Billboard 200 chart, but it was an instant classic that pointed to new directions in hip-hop. Later albums included “De La Soul Is Dead” (1991), “Buhloone Mindstate” (1993) and “Stakes Is High” (1996).With its producer, Prince Paul, the group developed an idiosyncratic and freewheeling style of sampling that brought new textures to hip-hop. “3 Feet High” contained pieces of more than 60 other recordings, including not only Funkadelic and Ohio Players grooves — de rigueur in 1980s rap — but also oddities like sounds from old TV shows and recordings of French language lessons.But legal problems related to its samples became the bane of the group. One sample, of the Turtles’ organ-driven psychedelic pop track “You Showed Me” (1968), had not been cleared properly, and the Turtles sued; the case was settled out of court.Ongoing legal problems with sample clearances prevented the group from releasing its music in digital form, which effectively blocked the trio from music’s most important marketplace in the 21st century. Recently, the group finally cleared those samples and was gearing up to release its music in digital form in March.The group’s lighthearted style — whimsical in-jokes, and lyrics that could be irreverent or earnest — delighted fans and captivated critics. It was one of the first in hip-hop to cross over to the collegiate crowd, and took on the reputation of “thinking-person’s hip-hoppers,” as the critic Greg Tate put it in a review of “Buhloone Mindstate” in The New York Times.“With irreverence and imagination,” Mr. Tate wrote, “De La Soul has dared to go where few hip-hop acts would follow, rejecting Five Percenter polemics and gangster rap for reflections on an array of topics: ecology, crack-addicted infants, Black suburbia, roller-skating, harassment by fans, male sexual anxiety and even gardening as a hip-hop metaphor.”Mr. Jolicoeur distilled the group’s worldview into a few lines in “Me Myself and I”: Write is wrong when hype is writtenOn the Soul, De La that isStyle is surely our own thingNot the false disguise of showbizDavid Jolicoeur was born on Sept. 21, 1968, in Brooklyn and moved to Long Island with his family as a child.In Amityville, N.Y., Mr. Jolicoeur joined with high school friends Kelvin Mercer, known as Posdnuos, and Vincent Mason, or Maseo, to form De La Soul. The group’s demo for “Plug Tunin’,” which later appeared remixed on “3 Feet High and Rising,” caught the attention of Prince Paul, the D.J. of the group Stetsasonic, who was then quickly establishing himself as one of the most gifted producers in rap. Their collaboration introduced the abstract, alternative hip-hop it would become known for.“Every last poem is recited at noon,” Mr. Jolicoeur rapped as Trugoy — yogurt backward, for a preferred food. “Focus is set, let your Polaroids click/As they capture the essence of a naughty noise called/Plug Tunin’.”The trio honed its sound and comedic stage presence at school concerts and parties at a space it called “the dugout,” on Dixon Avenue in Amityville. Proudly repping “Strong Island,” De La Soul noted that its proximity to New York City allowed it to keep an eye on the hip-hop stronghold, while the suburbs gave it space to grow and learn.“The island has given us the opportunity to see more things,” Mr. Jolicoeur told The New York Times in 2000. “It broadened our horizons.” He added, “We had the opportunity to soak in a lot more. And that’s why we are who we are today.”De La Soul went on to lead what was known as the Native Tongues, a loose collective of outsider hip-hop groups like A Tribe Called Quest and the Jungle Brothers, which influenced artists like Mos Def and Common.In addition to sampling, De La Soul was formative in the incorporation of skits — spoken dialogue between tracks — on its albums. In a live review from 1989, the Times critic Peter Watrous wrote that the group “seemed on the verge of inventing a new type of performance — part talk show, part rap concert — where their funny conversations and routines were as important as their raps, even if the funniest lines were accusations about Trugoy’s status as a virgin.”The group’s absence from digital services kept it from reaching new audiences for years.“We’re in the Library of Congress, but we’re not on iTunes,” Mr. Mercer told The Times in 2016. Two years earlier, in frustration, the group gave away virtually all of its work, releasing it online to fans at no charge. Its 2016 album, “And the Anonymous Nobody,” was financed by a Kickstarter campaign that raised over $600,000. The album was largely sample-free.Still, the group retained a strong following among fans and fellow artists. In 2005, De La Soul was featured on “Feel Good Inc.,” a hit by Gorillaz, the multimedia project created by the British singer-songwriter Damon Albarn and the visual artist Jamie Hewlett. Mr. Jolicoeur co-wrote the song with Mr. Albarn. The song went to No. 2 in Britain and No. 14 in the United States.In the group’s interview with The Times in 2016, Mr. Jolicoeur spoke about the urgency the trio felt about getting its older work back before the public.“This music has to be addressed and released,” he said. “It has to. When? We’ll see. But somewhere it’s going to happen.”Joe Coscarelli contributed reporting. More

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    Trugoy the Dove of De La Soul’s 10 Essential Songs

    The Long Island rapper David Jolicoeur, known for his freewheeling rhyme style, has died at 54, just weeks before his trio’s catalog arrives on streaming services.David Jolicoeur, best known as the rapper Trugoy the Dove of the climate-shifting rap group De La Soul, weathered decades of industry shifts with acerbic wit, oblique rhyme styles and intense bouts of self-reflection that flew in the face of hip-hop’s boast-centric bottom line.Jolicoeur, also known as “Plug Two” in the Long Island trio he helped found in 1988 with Kelvin Mercer (Posdnuos) and Vincent Mason (P.A. Pasemaster Mase) died on Sunday at 54, just weeks before the group’s songs, long absent from streaming services, will finally arrive on digital platforms.De La Soul’s debut album, “3 Feet High and Rising,” from 1989, was nothing short of a sea change moment in the genre’s sound, fashion, attitude and aesthetic. As leading lights of the Native Tongues collective — a loose crew of fellow travelers that included Jungle Brothers, A Tribe Called Quest, Queen Latifah and Monie Love — De La’s baggy bohemian look would replace rap’s thick gold chains and sweatsuits with Afrocentric leather medallions and vintage patterns. It was Jolicoeur’s innovation to raid their dads’ closets for bell bottoms and straighten the legs, not to mention stylizing their asymmetrical haircuts.De La Soul broke the Top 40 that year with the pop splash “Me, Myself and I” — for years the trio would reliably add “We hate this song!” when performing it live — but went on to become hip-hop royalty thanks to the emotional depth plumbed in tunes like “Tread Water” and “I Am I Be.”Quirky production, introspective lyrics and its unorthodox look had De La Soul dubbed “alternative hip-hop,” a feel that would rapidly spawn similar-minded artists like the Pharcyde, Digable Planets, P.M. Dawn, Arrested Development and Dream Warriors. But over time, its legacy became less a recognizable “sound” and more a model for any rap act open to aesthetics and ideas that cut against the hardcore grain, like the Roots, the Fugees, Common, Black Star and eventually world-conquering artists like Kanye West and the Black Eyed Peas.Here are 10 essential verses from an artist whose “Delacratic” attitude toward self-expression helped rewire hip-hop’s DNA.De La Soul, “Plug Tunin’” (1988)On its debut single, De La Soul introduced an abstract “new style of speak” that landed in the middle of the hard-edge Def Jam era like a prismatic fracturing of hip-hop, beat poetry and alien transmissions. On the first song the trio did as a group, Jolicoeur coolly raps like a Slinky tumbling down stairs, “Dazed at the sight of a method/Dive beneath the depth of a never-ending verse/Gasping and swallowing every last letter/Vocalized liquid holds the quench of your thirst.” As he told the author Brian Coleman of their lyrics at that time, “Maybe it was our warped character, but we didn’t really want people to understand it at all. Sometimes we were trying to make it difficult, because it would make people always want to know more.”De La Soul, “Me, Myself and I” (1989)De La Soul’s biggest hit was also De La Soul’s biggest albatross: The Day-Glo visuals around its single and video promptly burdened the group with the label “hip-hop hippies.” In a sad irony, Jolicoeur’s verses on “Me, Myself and I” were specifically about not being judged by his unconventional fashion choices. Borrowing the rhyme flow from “Black Is Black” by the Jungle Brothers, another Native Tongues crew, Jolicoeur opens the trio’s first and only Top 40 pop hit with a radical mix of exhaustion and self-questioning: “Mirror mirror on the wall/Tell me mirror, what is wrong?/Can it be my De La clothes/Or is it just my De La song?” “If some think that we have a hippie style and a hippie sound, that’s just fine,” Jolicoeur told Melody Maker in 1989. “But we’d be offended if it was said that we wanted to be hippies. We don’t. We just want to be ourselves.”De La Soul, “Pass the Plugs” (1991)The second De La album — sardonically titled “De La Soul Is Dead” — pushed back on the daisies and fluorescents with a sound that was a little more disillusioned and dark but still breezy. Taking the second verse of “Pass the Plugs,” Jolicoeur bemoans the industry panopticon of radio programmers, promoters and a record label that wanted more hit singles.De La Soul, “Millie Pulled a Pistol on Santa” (1991)The most lyrically and thematically intense song of De La Soul’s career, “Millie Pulled a Pistol on Santa” tells the story of a Brooklyn girl abused by her father — by the song’s end, she takes her revenge with the titular weapon as he works as a department store Kris Kringle. The story is narrated mainly by Mercer, who was channeling real-life emotions after finding out a friend was a survivor. However, in a masterful storytelling technique, Jolicoeur takes two verses as the doubting acquaintance who doesn’t believe the girl’s accusations.Teenage Fanclub and De La Soul, “Fallin’” (1993)Treating an entire song like one of its famous skits, De La play washed-up, once-successful rappers on this collaboration with the Scottish jangle-rock band Teenage Fanclub for the “Judgment Night” soundtrack — a weirdly prescient rock-meets-rap experiment. “We wouldn’t play ourselves to do something that was wack, but the way the concept plays itself out, it’s supposed to be wack,” Jolicoeur told Vibe in 1993. “The track is supposed to sound wack.” Instead, the group’s look at the other side of fame produced some of the most poignant verses of its career. Raps Jolicoeur, “I knew I blew the whole fandango/When the drum programmer wore a Kangol.”De La Soul, “Ego Trippin’ (Part Two)” (1993)On this single from De La Soul’s jazz-flecked third album, “Buhloone Mindstate,” Jolicoeur draws a sarcastic line between his group and contemporary hip-hop machismo and bragadoccio. “I change my pitch up, smack my bitch up, I never did it,” he raps, flipping a classic line from New York’s Ultramagnetic MC’s. “The flavor’s bein’ bought, but brothers ain’t gettin’ it.”De La Soul, “Stakes Is High” (1996)“Stakes Is High” was not just the evocative title to De La Soul’s fourth album. As Mason told Okayplayer, “I mean the whole energy around developing that record, it was a crucial place of not knowing if we was going to continue or we going to be forced to go get regular jobs and become common folk.” For the lead single and title track — produced by the emerging beatmaker Jay Dee, later known as J Dilla — Jolicoeur unleashes a torrential downpour of criticism deriding the state of mainstream hip-hop: “Sick of swole-head rappers with their sickenin’ raps/Clappers of gats, makin’ the whole sick world collapse.”De La Soul, “Itzsoweezee (Hot)” (1996)The last track recorded for “Stakes Is High,” though it ultimately became the album’s second single, was a rare solo turn for Jolicoeur. As Mafioso imagery began taking over hardcore New York rap, Jolicoeur popped the bubble with lines like “Why you acting all spicy and shiesty?/The only Italians you knew was Icees.”Prince Paul featuring De La Soul, “More Than U Know” (1999)Another prime example of Jolicoeur and Mercer’s storytelling abilities is this song from the producer Prince Paul’s wildly ambitious concept opera “A Prince Among Thieves.” Playing the role of a crack addict, Jolicoeur pulls the extended metaphor trick, rhyming about the drug as if it were a love interest: “I can’t refuse her, my denial’s a wish/Fell into her arm when I gave her a kiss.”Gorillaz featuring De La Soul, “Feel Good Inc.” (2005)This alterna-pop gem from Damon Albarn’s virtual cartoon crew ultimately became the biggest success story of De La Soul’s career, garnering the group its first and only Grammy. Known for a usually mellower delivery, Jolicoeur instead unleashes a barrage of high-octane bars: “Laughing gas these hazmats, fast cats/Lining ’em up like ass cracks/Play these ponies at the track.” More

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    Selena Gomez’s Boldly Revealing Ballad, and 9 More New Songs

    Hear tracks by Yves Tumor, Yo La Tengo, Sipho and others.Every Friday, pop critics for The New York Times weigh in on the week’s most notable new songs and videos. Just want the music? Listen to the Playlist on Spotify here (or find our profile: nytimes). Like what you hear? Let us know at theplaylist@nytimes.com and sign up for our Louder newsletter, a once-a-week blast of our pop music coverage.Selena Gomez, ‘My Mind & Me’Selena Gomez has spoken openly of her mental-health struggles — bipolar disorder, depression, psychosis — in recent years. Her new song, “My Mind & Me,” arrives as the title track of a documentary that reveals some of her low points. The music moves from fragility to determination, from lone, echoey piano notes to a supportive march and a mission statement, as she sings, “All of the crashing and burning and breaking I know now/If somebody sees me like this then they won’t feel alone.” It’s self-exposure in service of empathy, and it tapers back to the hesitant solitude of those piano notes. But the video squanders some of its good will by ending with a product endorsement. JON PARELESLucius, ‘Muse’“Muse,” a one-off single from the indie-pop group Lucius, pairs a cool, clarion arrangement with Jess Wolfe and Holly Laessig’s impassioned vocals — a tension of opposites that gives the song its spark. “I’m calling out your name, a desert that needs the rain,” they sing together on the chorus, a kind of prayer for divine inspiration and, as they put it, “the wild and holy window to the truth.” LINDSAY ZOLADZTiësto featuring Tate McRae, ‘10:35’On the sleek “10:35,” the rising Canadian pop star Tate McRae teams up with longtime EDM mainstay Tiësto (the D.J. whose remix of Calum Scott’s “Dancing on My Own” cover has turned into the Philadelphia Phillies’ victory anthem). McRae’s crystalline vocals are a fitting match for Tiësto’s gleaming, synthesized production, and the song is propelled by an effective push and pull between the anxieties of daily life and the blissful comforts of love. “The TV make you think the whole world’s about to end,” McRae sighs, before a lover’s embrace causes time to stop: “All I know, it’s 10:35 and I can feel your arms around me.” ZOLADZIbrahim Maalouf featuring De La Soul: ‘Quiet Culture’Ibrahim Maalouf, a Lebanese-French trumpeter, composer and producer, surrounds himself with guests — the Cuban musician Cimafunk, the New Orleans band Tank and the Bangas, the jazz singer Gregory Porter — on his new album, “Capacity to Love.” De La Soul makes its latest reappearance on “Quiet Culture,” counseling perseverance and relief from noise: “The quieter we become, the more that we can hear.” Maalouf’s track eases between a jazz ballad and unhurried funk, framing and counterpointing the rhymes with his Arab-inflected melodies. PARELESYves Tumor, ‘God Is a Circle’“Sometimes it feels like there’s places in my mind that I can’t go,” Sean Bowie, who records as the gothic glam-rocker Yves Tumor, begins on the haunting single “God Is a Circle.” Rhythmic, shallow breathing provides the percussive backbone of the track and adds a visceral chill to its nightmarish atmospherics. The song suddenly turns revealing, though, when it dredges up memories of a repressive past: “My mama said that God sees everything/My daddy always taught me to say ‘thank you,’ ‘yes ma’am,’ ’no, sir,’ ‘yes, please.’” The whole thing sounds like an exorcism, or maybe the antic, demonic moment just before one is deemed necessary. ZOLADZAlgiers featuring Zack de la Rocha, ‘Irreversible Damage’Irreversible Damage” is an exercise in seething, sputtering tension from the Atlanta-based rock-hip-hop-electro group Algiers. With a nagging electric guitar loop, a pullulating electronic bass, ominous synthesizer chords and programmed drums that keep disrupting their own beat, the song is an onslaught of abstract lyrics — “No rehab for my jihad/A rapture in a grief storm,” Zack de la Rocha (from Rage Against the Machine) raps — hurtling toward some dire but unknown outcome. When the words are done, the song shifts into a six-beat furor that feels both tribal and apocalyptic. PARELESYo La Tengo, ‘Fallout’In February, the New Jersey indie-rock legends Yo La Tengo will release their 16th album, “This Stupid World,” a place from which the calming, immersive first single “Fallout” offers a brief escape. “I wanna fall out of time,” Ira Kaplan sings on the chorus. “Reach back, unwind.” The band self-produced “This Stupid World” and recorded much of it while jamming together live; as a result, “Fallout” sounds as sumptuously shaggy and comfortingly loose as a favorite autumn sweater. This is the sort of timeless Yo La Tengo song that could have reasonably appeared on any of their albums across the last three decades, but something about its combination of prickly frustration and hard-won serenity feels especially appropriate right now. ZOLADZSipho, ‘Arms’The English songwriter and producer Sipho Ndhlovu revels in drama and desperation, with a voice that regularly leaps between grainy declamation and a tearful falsetto. “Arms” is one long crescendo of regrets overwhelmed by desire. He admits to being “led astray” and implores, “Can’t we share the blame?,” but by the end he’s unconditionally enthralled, brought to his knees by lust. Nearly the entire song uses just two chords but brings in massive reinforcements: strings, drums, voices, electronics and an arena-rock lead guitar, all pushing him closer to the brink. PARELESquinnie, ‘Itch’The 21-year-old songwriter Quinn Barnitt, who records as quinnie, has picked up the mixture of tentativeness and bold declaration, bedroom-pop intimacy and multitrack craftsmanship, that has paid off for Clairo and Olivia Rodrigo. In “Itch,” she juggles desire and fidelity, wondering, “What if I never scratched another itch for the rest of my life?/Would I die satisfied, knowing it can always get better than this?” The production often harks back to Simon and Garfunkel’s pristine guitars and the Beatles’ string ensembles, but her frank self-questioning is new. PARELESOld Fire featuring Bill Callahan, ‘Corpus’John Mark Lapham, a composer from Texas who records as Old Fire, called his 2016 album “Songs From the Haunted South,” a succinct self-description for his suspended-time blends of electronics and roots-rock instruments; his new album is “Voids.” On “Corpus.” he has the songwriter Bill Callahan, whose own extensive catalog is generally much folkier, intoning a few enigmatic lines — “I’ve got a child in Corpus/Hey Mac, can you bring that boat back” — in his somber baritone. Instruments and electronic tones gather around him like darkening storm clouds, and there’s no deliverance. PARELES More

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    A Record Store Obsession That's Adventurous and Soothing

    ‘The trick to crate digging is to simply go at it: Dive into the sections, flip through the jackets and trust your gut.’I was stuck trying to write in my Brooklyn apartment, overthinking a sentence as usual.In these moments I turn to my records.For inspiration, I tend to need music from some faraway place and time. Perhaps an underground spiritual jazz reissue from 1974 or an Afro-disco record from ’80. Something with noticeable ringwear and audible crackles. Maybe even a pop or two. I’ve learned that this is the music that people come back to decades later. These are the songs you hear in a bar or a film and try to Shazam before the final note fades.On this day I also needed some air, so that meant walking 15 minutes to Head Sounds Records in Fort Greene to plow through the stacks. I went right for the jazz section, and that’s when I saw it: Pharoah Sanders, “Live at the East,” released on Impulse! Records in 1972 — nine years before I was born. I had to snatch it before some other crate digger scooped it up.Pharoah did the trick. The hypnotic swing of the opening track, “Healing Song,” was the meditative balm I needed to quell my writer’s block.But it’s not just the music that heals; the practice of discovering it to begin with, especially when it’s on vinyl, works wonders, too. Whenever life gets heavy, I go to the record store.The fact that shops like Head Sounds and Academy Records Annex in Greenpoint have survived the pandemic and, in some cases, are even thriving, speaks to the heart of New York City, a place that accepted me with no strings attached.“A turntable is there for you to sample the work,” Mr. Moore writes. “But the trick to crate digging is to simply go at it.”Laila Stevens for The New York TimesI’m from Landover, Md., a small town outside Washington, which also counts the comedian Martin Lawrence, the boxing legend “Sugar” Ray Leonard and the basketball great Len Bias as natives. I grew up in a musical family with a mother who played all kinds of pop, funk and soul around the house; a grandmother who loved traditional gospel; and aunts, siblings and cousins who embraced everything: a homegrown strain of funk called go-go, rap groups that were new at the time like De La Soul and N.W.A., R&B luminaries like Al Green and Marvin Gaye, and pop superstars like Madonna and David Bowie.My cousin Eric, a D.J., had an ear for buzzing underground musicians. In the late 1980s, fresh off a trip to California, he told us about a guy named MC Hammer who was making noise in the Bay Area. Around 1994, he popped in a cassette of this rapper from Chicago named Common Sense. By the time he had shortened his name to Common, his star was rising in underground hip-hop.Indirectly, Eric and the rest of my family were teaching me the concept of crate digging. While it was fine to like what I heard on the radio, there was less-heralded talent that deserved the same attention. I walked that perspective through high school and into my career as a music journalist, author, editor and curator.Long before I moved here in 2016, I’d hop buses to New York City to dig for records. It seemed there weren’t that many shops to choose from. It was the mid-2000s, music streaming was starting its domination of the industry, and many mom-and-pops were being forced to close.“Record stores as we know them are dying,” Josh Madell, co-owner of Other Music in Downtown Manhattan, told The New York Times in 2008. “On the other hand, there is still a space in the culture for what a record store does, being a hub of the music community and a place to find out about new music.”Mr. Madell, whose store eventually closed in 2016, was onto something. Just as record stores were failing, vinyl also started to make a curious comeback. The Recording Industry Association of America found that the shipment of LPs jumped more than 36 percent between 2006 and 2007. There was no clear-cut answer for the resurgence. Fellow heads will tell you there’s nothing like analog sound. While digital music sounds cleaner, vinyl sounds warmer and fills the room. There’s also nothing like poring over the album jacket and diving into the liner notes. It’s a time capsule.When New York City became the epicenter of the coronavirus outbreak in 2020, local record store owners found themselves in familiar territory: Even though vinyl sales had surpassed CD sales last year for the first time since the ’80s, would the record shops, along with many of the city’s other indie storefronts, survive? Turntable Lab, a niche record shop in Manhattan’s East Village, closed its doors that year to focus on online sales. Other stores like Academy and Limited to One, also in the East Village, managed to keep their leases, but pivoted to online sales to make ends meet.Nowadays, crate digging is done as much online as it is off. A stroll through the virtual music emporium Bandcamp can unearth everything from South African boogie to forgotten ambient. But clicking around doesn’t replace the act of visiting your favorite record store and discovering a rare find that either you’d been looking for, or didn’t know you needed until you saw the cover. Every place is different: Where Head Sounds is in the back of a barber shop, Academy is a vast spot with a bit more dust on the album jackets.A new shop, Legacy Records, just opened on Water Street in Dumbo. I visited a few weeks back and landed an original copy of the Fugees’ 1996 album “The Score.”Store employees tend to let you do your thing. A turntable is there for you to sample the work, and of course they’re around to answer whatever questions arise. But the trick to crate digging is to simply go at it: Dive into the sections, flip through the jackets and trust your gut. More often than not, you can judge the music by its cover (if a band from the ’70s had the word “Ensemble” in its name, the album is probably great).In a time where we’re all trying to navigate space and distance (or just being in public again), the idea is to foster community around music, even if the spirit of competition is still there. I wanted to get the Pharoah album before anyone else got it. That I could be the one talking about it was an incentive.For me, crate digging is preservation. It takes me back to my childhood in Landover, to playing my cousin’s EPMD albums when he wasn’t looking, and dropping the needle on De La’s “3 Feet High and Rising” at my aunt’s house when heads were still trying to fathom the group’s psychedelic blend of hip-hop (they’re also the subject of my next book). Buying records to share with the world is what I’m supposed to do. I’m just paying it forward like my family taught me.Marcus J. Moore is the author of “The Butterfly Effect: How Kendrick Lamar Ignited the Soul of Black America.” More