Archives (page 2 of 22)

Not Spotify Wrapped 2025: A Scaffolding Year

“Scaffolding year” is the phrase that followed me as I put this together. 2025 has been about re-architecting my life professionally, creatively, emotionally, and spiritually. While I was learning to live more openly, intentionally, and courageously, the music I returned to again and again acted as support beams. Hip-hop drove my sense of agency. Soul music helped me sort through the interior renovations, while Jazz guided me through the always-chaotic, often-awful state of the world to more stable ground. And the score and soundtrack from Sinners framed the whole thing in cinematic relief.

Last year, I was an open wound: Love Heart Cheat Codes for West Coast Heads Having a Shitty Year.

This year, I’m on the mend:
Black-Cosmopolitan Groove Therapy for Sinners Rebuilding Their Life in Public. 

Hip-Hop: The Foundation

Three men posing together, wearing hoodies and stylish accessories, displaying various tattoos.

About 38% of everything I played this year was hip-hop. No other genre came close. I started 2025 still living inside the great albums of 2024 (GNX, Chromakopia, GLORIOUS, Alligator Bites Never Heal), and they never really left rotation.

Summer ‘25 brought Clipse’s Let God Sort Em Out, and the gravity of that album shifted everything. Griselda and their extended family—Benny the Butcher, Westside Gunn, Conway the Machine, Stove God Cooks, Boldy James, Jay Worthy—kept feeding the momentum.

I embraced rappers who make albums, not trend-chasing content. I connected with artists who commit to atmosphere and let the world-building unfurl over a full-length. The Alchemist was often the patron saint of that kind of sonic architecture this year.

Hip-hop was the skeleton of my year. Headnodders and that ol’ boom bap motivated me through workouts, got me hyped on game days, and steadied my resolve in the mornings. Rap music provided the soundtrack for moments of levity and grit.  For years, I worried that I had aged out of the genre. Turns out, it has been maturing as well, and I just needed to be patient. The old heads and old souls were always going to be right on time. 

Recommended Reading: The Chronicles of DOOM: Unraveling Rap’s Masked Iconoclast

R&B/Soul: The Regulator

A stylish individual wearing black sunglasses and a fitted black corset top, striking a confident pose while holding their hands near their face.

If hip-hop kept me moving, R&B kept me whole.

One in five listens belonged to voices that know how to soothe, testify, and gently pull a truth out of hiding. Established faves like Beyoncé, SZA, Hiatus Kaiyote, Cleo Sol, and Erykah Badu were joined in regular rotation by Lalah Hathaway, Alex Isley, and Yaya Bey.

I took some archival detours, too: Teena Marie (inspired by a One Song episode), Amerie (rewarding on every revisit), and the epic works of D’Angelo after his untimely passing.

Generally, though, this soundscape was introspective. I leaned into R&B music that was intimate and sometimes devotional (despite my well-documented apathy towards organized religion). These were the sounds that kept the structure intact. When I needed to soften or steady myself, this was home base.

Watch: Alex Isley’s Tiny Desk Concert and Erykah Badu’s NYT performance.

Jazz: The Structural Counterweight

A woman with curly hair wearing a green top and necklace stands confidently beside a harp, against a backdrop of floral-patterned wallpaper.

For most of my life, Jazz was familiar but distant. It’s my father’s language, not mine. Of course, now that he’s passed, I’ve found my way to an active relationship with the music he so loved and loved to make. 

We’ll save the psychoanalysis of that for another time.

Writing about the art form for DC Jazz Fest helped me build fluency, and by October, the genre had quietly climbed into my #2 slot, surpassing R&B/Soul.

Brandee Younger was the first revelation: my favorite discovery of this year across all genres. Terri Lyne Carrington’s thematic releases inspired me with their cognitive depth, emotional nuance, and the conversations they have with both the issues of the day and the releases of the past.

While I appreciate the greats, if I’m going to listen to the standards, I’d prefer the women to take the lead. What I enjoyed most in 2025 was modern soul-jazz, often delivered by artists forged here in Los Angeles or across the pond. 

Jazz is where I turned when I wanted to make sense of a chaotic world. It’s the music that challenges me. It’s what I listen to when I want to get comfortable with complexity. It is not an escape. I don’t listen to float away. Instead, these songs and artists encourage me to get beyond the algorithmic doomscroll. Jazz was my antidote to brain-rot culture.

Pop as Palate Cleanser

March sent me tumbling into a K-pop side quest thanks to LISA, The White Lotus, and her solo album press tour. June brought the 20th anniversary of The Emancipation of Mimi, which once again owned my entire life, as if it were still 2005. And in November, ROSALÍA’s LUX became the latest entry in my “artists whose entire catalog must be consumed front-to-back” collection.

These were the releases that got me to color outside the lines and explore beyond my tendencies.

Sinners

My album of the year is from Clipse, but the cultural moment of the year is Sinners.

Ludwig Göransson may have edged out Nicholas Britell for my personal composer crown. The soundtrack introduced Miles Caton and revived artists I’d drifted from, like Alice Smith and Brittany Howard.

Sinners got me to explore Blues, Folk, and other music in the American Roots tradition seriously for the first time in my life, from Geeshie Wiley to Lead Belly to Woody Guthrie, and many underappreciated artists on the margins.

Shout-out to the fictional Delta Slim and the very real Buddy Guy.

So, yeah, a scaffolding year. In 2025, the music kept pace with my growing honesty, porosity, and resilience. Press play and the blueprint unfurls. The vision is right there, if you listen closely.

Sometimes I Be Extrovert

We drove the backroads from Burbank to Hollywood, reminiscing about a time when our nights out felt more random: talking with strangers at the bar, late-night vittles, bad ideas powered by bartenders with heavy pours and better stories. Back in my day, we didn’t trade friction for convenience. Back in my day, we were outside.

What a bunch of middle-aged bullshit.

As I surveyed the near-capacity crowd at the Hollywood Palladium on a Tuesday night, I realized the city hasn’t stopped moving. I might just be comforting myself with old stories instead of paying attention. Folks still pack into venues, still dance and sweat and sing along. They’re still out on the sidewalk buying bacon-wrapped hot dogs. Randos still ask odd questions.

And I still have feet and hips that work.

Despite our comfortable balcony seats, I got up and danced for most of Little Simz’s final stop on her North American tour. Midway through her nearly two-hour set, Simz brought out her DJ kit and cranked the energy up another level. Even the usher paused her aisle-policing to break it down for a minute. I took that as my cue to see if I still had a little step-ball-change in me.

I do.

After the dance party, Simz shifted gears to talk about the creative process behind Lotus, her latest album. She called it “muddy waters.” She wasn’t feeling inspired. She didn’t trust her ear. There was self-doubt. But she kept showing up. She kept working. Eventually, she found her way through and made one of her most personal and mature records—raw, intentional, and honest.

On “Free,” she raps, “Love is every time I put pen to the page.” Hearing that live hit me harder than I expected.

I’ve been wading through my own swamp—circling ideas, hesitating, telling myself I’m waiting for inspiration while ignoring the truth: creatives create. A writer writes.

Before getting back to rocking the mic, Simz dropped one more gem: “It’s easy to get started. It’s much harder to finish.”

Whew.

It was a fantastic show.

When I complain things have changed, maybe I’m the one choosing comfort over friction. Am I becoming the curmudgeon wistful for the way things used to be? Or am I still the person willing to adapt, stay open, and lean in when things get difficult?

Because surprise, delight, and joy still show up for the people who put in the work.

And on a night when I said yes and stepped out with a friend for an adventure in Hollywood, the city rewarded me.

Sometimes I be extrovert.

Shake what your mama gave ya

As we tumbled out of BB King’s on Beale Street after a night of celebration, a family friend said, “This may be the drinks talking, but I never saw you dance with your mother.”

I had danced with her—there’s photographic proof—but she wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t danced much that night.

There was a time when I was always the first on the dance floor. My mother tried to awaken that version of me when Bell Biv DeVoe’s “Poison” came on.

But the dancing machine would not be roused.

I could offer excuses: my age, my weight, the era of constant surveillance and online judgment. But the truth is more straightforward, and harder.

I’ve struggled to find unabashed joy these past few years. And dancing, sweaty, silly, all-in dancing, has always been my most authentic expression of that relentless, unyielding, undeniable pleasure.

One of my mantras this year is get over yourself.

Another: don’t let these motherfuckers steal your sunshine.

When I don’t dance, especially with the people I love most, I’m not honoring the goals and values I’ve set for myself.

Worse, I’m not being true to who I am.

And worst of all, I’m letting the onslaught of negativity win.

No, ma’am.

I recently caught a clip from The Grits & Eggs Podcast about the power of Black joy: how it remains both antidote and anathema to the race-based authoritarianism rising around us.

It felt like a challenge.

So with two months left in the year, let’s shake what our mamas gave us.

Halloween 2025 and the Spirits of Los Angeles

As we got closer to Halloween, social media was filled with creators, influencers, and regular folks dressed to surprise, scare, or delight. The holiday has become a showcase for imagination, titillation, and referential humor, with little connection to the pagan or Christian rituals at its roots.

I sometimes lament not feeling as compelled to dress up as I once was. That won’t change, though. As I get older, I’m less interested in wearing a costume to amuse colleagues and friends. There’s nothing wrong with that. I love a good Halloween meme. Someone came to the office party dressed as a Labubu, and it was terrific.

But these days, I’m drawn to something else: remembrance. Why ignore, mock, or ward off the spirit world when the evils of our time don’t come from beyond? They are right here in human form, adorned in the clothing of authorities.

This Halloween, Tiffany and I took the Metro downtown for a night at the Mark Taper Forum to see Jaja’s African Hair Braiding. The show was her idea—a last-minute addition to our social calendar—but it turned out to be precisely what I needed. We arrived early and wandered through Grand Park, where the annual Día de los Muertos installation had transformed the plaza into a celebration of color, reverence, and resistance.

After my dad’s passing last year, I began reading about Día de los Muertos and the significance of the ofrenda, the altars families build to honor and invite departed loved ones back into their lives.

One of the exhibits invited visitors to write a message to someone who had passed. On a small index card, I wrote:

Dad (KT),

Dominique is getting married soon. Your presence is requested!

You are missed and loved.

—JT

It was the first time I’d written directly to him rather than about him. Usually, when I write or speak for the dead, it’s for myself or others. A way for us to process loss. But this felt like a conversation, a hope he might hear, and that with open invitation, he might make his presence known, especially at such a momentous occasion. This spirituality is so unlike me, but I meant every word. I hope he joins us.

The Grand Park installation also honored the living, especially those in Los Angeles whose lives are made precarious by our country’s immigration enforcement policies. With City Hall glowing behind it, the exhibit called out the trauma caused by ICE raids and border policies that tear families apart. Surrounded by marigolds and the righteous indignation of our Chicano brethren and sistren, I was reminded why I love this city. Los Angeles isn’t perfect, but it shows up. We fight for one another. We build community from loss and struggle.

And that spirit carried into the theater.

Los Angeles is the final stop for Jaja’s African Hair Braiding’s initial touring company and likely the last time so many members of the original ensemble will perform together. To do so here feels right. As playwright Jocelyn Bioh said, “to culminate in such a special city that understands the power of community and coming together, that doesn’t feel like an accident.”

Set in a Harlem salon where a group of West African women—many working under tenuous visa conditions—build a makeshift family, the show is sharp, funny, and profoundly human. It captures what it means to chase the American Dream while being told you don’t belong.

By the time the curtain fell, I felt grateful. For the play, for this city, for the way art challenges me to stay open and engaged in my community: to remember, to listen, to love.

To fight.

I love L.A.

At Braze Forge 2025, AI Isn’t Magic. It’s Infrastructure.

At this year’s Braze Forge conference, AI was more about practical applications than a magic show. The product launches were the most advanced tools imaginable but presented as part of the natural evolution of computational power: exponential, yes, but familiar.

In the AI Decisioning Masterclass, the presenters drew throughlines from the space race of the 1950s and 60s—when calculations were done by hand on chalkboards because the computers couldn’t handle the math—to today, when we carry supercomputers in our pockets. Hidden Figures scenes ran through my head as my definition of Artificial Intelligence both expanded and became more grounded.

Throughout the sessions I attended, the focus was on the practical integration of AI in consumer marketing systems, rather than the more sensational text- and image-generation. This shift in emphasis prompted me to seek examples of what’s possible for a Fortune 500 enterprise compared to a mid-size company or startup.

For nimble corporations, the conversation has already shifted from efficiency to effectiveness: moving from “try AI” to ROI-based experiments tied to real-world operations.

For smaller teams, the challenge is time and capacity, making it even more essential to anchor every experiment to meaningful growth targets and assess whether the benefits outweigh the costs.

You can’t take advantage of these tools if you haven’t tied them to real business goals. And you’ll fail if you don’t empower people—real, live humans—to do the thoughtful, complex groundwork: implementing, monitoring, and adapting as the machines learn. This human touch is integral to the success of AI implementation.

AI isn’t a wand you wave and presto-chango.

It’s the newest and possibly the fanciest tool in the box, but still, just a tool.

The WNBA is for EVERYBODY

After the epic Game Five between the Aces and the Fever, I stopped for dinner and a drink at a gastropub inside Mandalay Bay. Vegas fans were still buzzing in the casino walkway. Inside, I was chatting with the bartender about how packed the Michelob Ultra Arena had been.

That’s when the woman sitting next to me chimed in:

“That’s all because of Caitlin Clark.”

I couldn’t let that pass.

“Well, no, the Aces were selling out long before Caitlin.”

She went quiet for a beat. Then she opened up.

“You know this was my first sporting event ever, and we came here just for this. I used to make fun of the boys for loving sports, but now I get it.”

From there, the script melted away. The Indiana Fever fan lit up about Vegas’s Chelsea Gray and A’ja Wilson. She loved watching the coaches prowl the sidelines, their passion and bluster on full display. She and her husband told me they were from near Fresno and were thinking about attending games in the state. The Valkyries were closer, obviously, but they had Southern California roots and might want to spend more time with my beloved Sparks.

“I’m 70 years old and I’m having so much fun,” she said.

Of course, she was having a great time. Despite her opening salvo, she respected the players, the atmosphere, and the community. That Fox-News-crafted passive-aggressive comment was a line that could have ended the conversation before it began if I’d let it.

The reality? You don’t spend time and money on the WNBA because of one player. You stay because the league is joyful, inclusive, and impossible not to love once you’re inside it.

So I offered a light corrective, not an attack. Just enough space for this new fan to reveal those true feelings. And once she did, we kept talking until the restaurant lights came on—about basketball, about California, even about AI.

I began this season worried that the newcomers were barbarians at the gate, eager to transform the vibes and culture of this league into something I wouldn’t recognize. By the end of my last game of the year, I’d found common ground with folks who, on the surface, embodied exactly what I feared.

Instead of us playing to type, though, we found shared joy because if you love this game, you love this game. You might be able to connect with your tribe online by celebrating Caitlin Clark and no one else, but after cheering in person with thousands of other fans, you’ll come to realize that this is your real community, and it’s better over here.

And if we get into conversation, I’ll politely remind you that the WNBA is for everybody.

Labor Day Reflections: Returning to Work in a Changing World

Two weeks ago, I resumed a familiar commute. Catch the bus on Ventura Boulevard (or Riverside Drive) and head to The Pointe in Burbank. The only change was that at the split elevator banks, I turned left instead of right and took the lift to The CW, where I now lead digital research and insights for its free streaming platform.

Although LA is a sprawling metropolis, it’s striking how Hollywood feels like a small town.

When a friend responded to my news of a new job with exuberance, I reined in her enthusiasm. Unless I’m at a stadium watching my favorite teams compete, I find little to cheer about these days. I’m grateful to be employed, but I’m not popping champagne. My reaction to my change in employment status is more like Venus Williams playing tennis in 2025: I’m just happy to have subsidized healthcare. That people want to pay me a living wage and value my skillset, experience, and mind in today’s economy is almost gravy.

Labor Day is a holiday that began when the federal government sent the National Guard to Chicago to suppress a labor strike and boycott that disrupted railroad service across more than half the country. Federal troops shot and killed over two dozen people.

Americans tend to repeat history.

Workers of the Pullman Palace Car Company were striking over layoffs and a reduction in wages (but not with an equivalent decrease in the cost of living). Americans were generally more sympathetic to the cause of the ordinary person at that time. Today, we’re living in a time when people tend to side with business billionaires over the working class. This country has long held the belief that, politically,  “corporations are people.” More recently, however, we have culturally leaned into the idea that individuals are corporations and have begun acting accordingly. That is to say, soulless.

I thought about this a lot during my job search, when I was inundated with advice about building my brand. In all honesty, that’s the last thing I want to do. What I lamented more than anything was not having spent the last decade cultivating and maintaining relationships with colleagues from past work lives that I truly enjoyed. Reaching out via LinkedIn during my time of need, but not before, felt like the lamest thing in the world. I don’t even have you in my phone? What kind of desperate ghoul am I?

No personal brand building was as effective as interacting with real people. My work experience was a key factor when my résumé successfully navigated its way through the algorithmic automation of the modern career portal and landed in the inbox of a recruiter or hiring manager. Lunches with friends, former colleagues, and acquaintances motivated, inspired, and fortified my resolve when disappointments and doubt threatened to win the day.

I took the most common advice from those interactions and started writing more frequently. I’m getting paid to do that on occasion now and being solicited to do more. I joined the board of a non-profit. I consult and provide advice on various projects when requested.

And now, I’m working full-time again. No balloon and fireworks emojis, please. No missives about our mission and my lofty goals as we take over the world. This is not that. It’s a good job and that’s enough.

I missed being part of a team. I enjoy thinking strategically, creating, learning, and handling the very human frictions of returning to the office.

What’s more, we can pay our mortgage without tapping our savings and don’t fear a medical bill that could bankrupt us.

Happy Labor Day! Let’s not forget what we’re really celebrating: the dignity of work and the protection of those who do it.

The Podcast that is Keeping Me Sane Online

It’s the phones,” Brittany Luse lamented on a recent episode of It’s Been A Minute. She wasn’t wrong. Lately, I’ve been losing hours to the endless loop: Threads, Instagram, Facebook, Bluesky, LinkedIn—rinse, repeat, regret. That conversation with her guests pushed me to act. I hid the worst offenders behind Face ID so I’d have to want them to open. Now, if I switch away mid-scroll, I have to go through the process again. It’s only been a few days, but I’m already feeling a sense of relief from the digital noise, with more time for things I enjoy.

This isn’t the first time Brittany Luse has helped me navigate my life online. I used to be pretty savvy about digital culture, ahead of the curve on the viral thing friends dropped in the group chat. But since quitting TikTok back in January (when it looked like it might vanish from the U.S.), I’m often late. TikTok had become my first-stop newswire for internet nonsense. Leaving it showed me just how addictive it was, and how much I’d relied on it to feel “in the know.”

These days, I’m less interested in being first to a meme or scandal. I want to understand what’s happening, decide whether it matters, and think about it without rotting my brain. It’s Been A Minute has become my best shortcut, at a time when, despite the cultural capital we’ve placed on hot takes, real understanding is more valuable than being the first to know and react.

Take the Coldplay Kiss Cam. The clip gave me the ick, and Luse’s conversation with Kate Wagner mirrored the exact dinner-table debate we’d just had at home. Or when my For You feeds started to flood with references and clips to the business of Christian music, Luse’s timely episode grounded me in the basics of a pop culture space I barely knew.

I look forward to listening to her recent shows on Hasan Piker and Jubilee, as they cover topics I have only a passing interest in, but want thoughtful frameworks for understanding.

I wouldn’t call myself a “podcast person.” If your show is over 30 minutes, rambles without purpose, or isn’t hosted by journalists, I’m out. But for this moment in my digital life—where I want less noise and more clarity—the format works. I still prefer audio over the pivot to video, and Luse’s twenty-minute doses feel like the right size to get informed and move on.

It’s Been A Minute isn’t alone—The Journal explained Labubus, and On the Media poured cold water on AI hype—but Luse has been the most consistent lately at picking stories I wouldn’t bother untangling myself, and helping me think about them in ways that stick.

If you want to give less of your attention to the churn of online life without feeling completely lost, give a minute to my current favorite podcast.

WNBA All-Star 2025 Merch FOMO

I’m missing WNBA All-Star this year for the first time in forever. One of the things I didn’t expect to miss, but that I now realize has become a massive part of the experience, is the merchandise released in the host city at the team shops and the fan expo. I’m sure many of the items from the collections and brands that were in Indiana this weekend will become available online early next week, but, for those of us watching at home with an itchy spending finger, these are my faves that you can buy online right now.

The Shoe

Side view of the Nike Sabrina 3 basketball shoes featuring a vibrant design with orange, yellow, and black colors.

Nike released colorways for the A’One and DBook, but for my money, it’s the Sabrina 3 “Bring the Heat”. I like that the black is limited to the Swoosh, although I’d consider swapping out the orange shoestrings for a black set. I also appreciate the overall design of her kicks.

The Shirts

Black t-shirt featuring the text 'Pay Us What You Owe Us' in white font, with the WNBPA logo at the bottom.

The most essential tee of the weekend, if you’ve long bet on women, is the one that the players wore during warmups. Collective Bargaining negotiations have been contentious, but our faves remain union strong and unified.

Black t-shirt featuring an image of a basketball player in action, with the text 'CAN'T BLOCK MY SHINE.' prominently displayed.

I’m digging the launch of “The Floor is Ours” campaign, and A’ja Wilson gets the best motto: You Can’t Block My Shine.

A person wearing a navy t-shirt featuring a graphic illustration of a young individual with short blonde hair and blue eyes, complemented by a white long-sleeve shirt underneath. The shirt prominently displays the phrases 'ON' and '#$%' alongside logos of the WNBA and Playa Society against a light blue backdrop.

The stars of the weekend have been Courtney Williams and Natisha Hiedemann, aka the StudBudz. If you’ve become a new fan of their shenanigans, this Playa Society tee is the one for you, even though it’s not officially an All-Star drop.

Orange t-shirt featuring the slogan 'EVERYONE WATCHES THE WNBA' on the front and a logo on the back.

Also of interest is the WNBA x Togethxr collaboration, which I have not yet seen worn in Crypto.com Arena. I may have to get this one.

Sorry, She’s an All-Star.

The Hats

I didn’t love the joints from Lids and Fanatics this year, but New Era came through. All of their WNBA collection is great, but these two would’ve made it into my luggage this year if I were there.

A white and orange trucker hat featuring a WNBA All-Star logo and a star graphic on the front.
Black cap with orange flame design and an embroidered star logo featuring a basketball player.

The Collectibles

The Fever aren’t my team, so I’m mostly avoiding things that scream Indiana colors or affinity, but this Serigraph is worthy of hanging on any basketball fan’s wall.

A stylized poster for the WNBA All-Star Game featuring a girl in an orange hoodie playing with a basketball, set against a backdrop of a city skyline and a basketball hoop.

What are you copping?

2025 in Music (So Far): A Soundtrack for Grief, Joy, and the Battle for Los Angeles

The day before this country celebrated its 249th year of independence, a neighbor was kidnapped from the streets by a federal agency. Four days later, she recuperated in an area hospital while our government played bizarre patriot games in MacArthur Park. Over 100 people are dead from a flood in Texas, while wildfires once again scar California’s geography. It’s 10 p.m., and I’m in front of my laptop trying to figure out what music to play when the dark soul of your nation removes its mask. 

2025 told us early on that this year would be a battle for Los Angeles. The Palisades and Altadena fires burned while Top Dawg Entertainment disciples and homegrown hip-hop heroes dominated my headphones with full-throated representations of our spirit. Kendrick Lamar’s “Dodger Blue” is a tour of the city, focusing on its black and brown parts, in particular. He and SZA would sell out stadiums throughout North America later in the year, bringing LA sensibilities to the rest of the country and beyond. 

Self-expression, self-confidence, introspection, and, ultimately, togetherness across color lines is the “California Dream” of Ab-Soul’s Soul Burger and Tyler, the Creator’s Chromakopia. We love our home and the people in it. We’ve got our problems, but they are ours to fix, and they aren’t solved by militarized theater and separating families. 

In February, a friend died. Through shock and tears, I yearned for the kinetic spirit of Sharon Jones and Hepcat’s Right on Time, specifically “Together Someday.” In my grief, the flirtatious refrain transformed into a spiritual declaration: “I know that we’ll be together someday…” Shannon, Dad, and all those I’ve loved who have passed. I don’t worry myself with the unknowable, like the afterlife or what happens when we die, but the certainty of that “I know” brings me comfort. 

Perhaps it’s my Hayward friend’s influence that’s nudged me north musically as this year has gone on. E-40, Souls of Mischief, and, more recently, Ruby Ibarra have inspired and ignited. After the tears, we dance. 

By March, Poptimism arrived in the form of Blackpink solo albums from Lisa’s Alter Ego to Jennie’s Ruby. With so much heaviness, I craved escapism. Forgive me if I’m dreaming about the resort life at The White Lotus or the ideal Coachella Weekend. I watch from the comfort of my couch now, but memories of those desert festival days still reside in my bones. Let me have a renaissance with Beyoncé’s Renaissance. I’ll be over here consuming Sabrina Carpenter’s Short ‘n Sweet (Deluxe) like the confection it is. GloRilla’s GLORIOUS takes me on imaginary flights to Memphis. I’m revisiting Amy Winehouse’s discography and imagining smoky clubs and late nights in London. I love LA, but I’m longing to be anywhere but here.

Scenes like those in MacArthur Park or outside Glendale Hospital—where local officials are trying to stand up for us against the dim-witted cruelty of this administration—pull me back to reality. I’ve got the blues. The kind of blues that runs through the film and music of Ryan Coogler’s Sinners. The score and soundtrack are easily my albums of the year thus far. Alice Smith’s rendition of “Last Time (I Seen The Sun)” is my song of the year. My heart and head have been living in the same liminal space between hope and despair that defines the composition and the genre. 

I don’t like feeling this way, but I’m grateful for the opportunity it gave me to explore a style I’d previously ignored. Ludwig Göransson has long been a composer particularly adept at crafting the right musical textures for films that explore the Black experience. He and his contemporary, Nicholas Britell, have soundtracked the movies and shows that have had the most impact on me over the last decade.

The city seems quieter, but I’m unsure if this is a seasonal pattern or a survival strategy. Bounty hunters and emboldened immigration agents roam our communities in masks with weapons and zip ties, while our beaches still fill with sunbathers, our local teams try to win games, and movie premieres go on. You’re never truly able to get a pulse on this city. LA is too big, too diverse, too vibrant to be any one thing. But you can pick up the vibes. There’s something about the energy when we remember to fight for each other. 

That was on display when the city’s hip-hop community came together in the spring to support Altadena resident, Madvillain

Magic happens here. I’m not thinking about our soundstages—many of which are unused while Hollywood transforms. I mean the magic that hides in the open if you’re only willing to get out of your car and explore. That’s where the happy accidents happen, like discovering Brandee Younger inside an Alice Coltrane exhibit at The Hammer Museum. Magic is in a sorcerer like Terrace Martin, the prolific LA native, who releases music constantly while producing and appearing on many of the best records this city has made over the past twenty years.

Even in the chaos, magic is what we do.

Ice Cube said, “Mix them and cook them in a pot like gumbo,” on N.W.A.’s “Straight Outta Compton” some 35 years ago. LA is like that seafood stew, blending cultures into something surprising, delightful, and uniquely ours. LA is Korean BBQ tacos and elote pizza. LA is donuts in pink boxes served with horchata, boba, or Thai iced tea. That spirit will survive this battle for Los Angeles. It is our greatest strength.

The music I’ve spun so frequently this year isn’t for a nation’s wayward heart. Instead, it’s the soundtrack of resilience and rebellion. I’m spinning records for people who believe, who beat the odds, and who stand up for one another.

The best music of the year represents the spirit of this city I call home, even if the songs and artists didn’t originate here or now.

Albums

  • Sinners (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) – Sinners Movie
  • Sinners (Original Motion Picture Score) – Ludwig Göransson
  • GNX – Kendrick Lamar
  • Right on Time – Hepcat
  • Somewhere Different – Brandee Younger

Artists

  • Kendrick Lamar
  • Ludwig Göransson
  • Terrace Martin
  • Tyler, The Creator
  • Brandee Younger

Songs

  • Last Time (I Seen the Sun) – Alice Smith
  • Love & Struggle – Brandee Younger
  • Dodger Blue – Kendrick Lamar
  • Heavy, California – Jungle
  • I Lied to You – Miles Caton