Music Review: Miley Cyrus – Younger Now

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Miley Cyrus

Younger Now

[RCA; 2017]

Rating: 1.5/5

“NOBODY’S PERFECT”

Younger Now, the sixth studio release from Miley Cyrus, is a remarkably joyless affair for a country-pop record released in 2017. To be sure and fair, hints of heats haunt the steamrolled seams: past lives and loves swamping together on the title track, some charcoal smoke from the extinguished bad mood fire of “Love Someone,” and an inching biographic ache whittling vocal folds on “Week Without You.” But no song lingers long on listening ears when unobtrusion is the studio mandate. Younger Now, apology-pop polished to the point of septic sheen, is an impression of a projection. Tragically and damningly, Younger Now is boring.

Younger Now, the sound of the Pinocchio artifact come to life intent and immediately consumed with selling itself for firewood slavery, reboots the Miley Cyrus mythology into the near and non-existent past, self-revision to the point of denying an existence ever happened. It’s a record of retro-retroism, wanting a never-happened thing. Younger Now is a 42-minute revision to what Miley Cyrus might mean to you and me and whoever’s buying, an appeal to every minivan or polo shirt that might have felt unappealed and appalled at the tongue-out career twerk swerve of the artist formerly never Miley Cyrus. There’s that charcoal voice, that almost Hannah Montana twinned thing promising “Feels like I just woke up/ Like all this time I’ve been asleep,” effectively reducing every past urge to an Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland dismissal before immediately maintaining, “Even though it’s not who I am/ I’m not afraid of who I used to be.” Self-denying reparation and unapologetic platitude, coupled in the same moment as steeping newspeak, smack of nostalgia for no-thing, real-time revision. As marketing rollout as record producer, the new neon bible to swear by, Younger Now is a hookless, joyless, profitable success, the plod of…

“YOU LIVE AND YOU LEARN IT”

…“She’s Not Him,” where the singer reduces her (still and always, admittedly) moving quake of a voice to a shake and a quiver, an admission of, “I just can’t fall in love with you” to a former girlfriend “’cause you’re not him.” It’s phrased like a lament, a wish for requiting, but the song is quick to point out how legitimate the romance was (“You changed my life/ You’ve been my world”) and quicker still to mandate that it must be biologically impossible: “And maybe it’s beyond my control/ Some sort of chemical reaction.” Mid-song, it’s evident that the sweeping saccharine strings are there to mask the fact that “She’s Not Him” is like the musical equivalent of “it’s just a phase,” the cultural artifact chasing purity, depositing toxins as sugar pills in our radio landscape.

The songs on Younger Now do not entertain engagement as a viable way forward. Younger Now has no viable plan for the future. There’s the insta-tepid microwaved-Nashville fart-breeze “Malibu,” Miley realizing the wrongs her strong wills have urged her to (“Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning/ And you’re there to save me”) and returning to her estranged (heterosexual) betrothed, re-avowwing normative systems and obedient reason in the locked-room G-rating of a Malibu mansion, “Free as birds catching the wind.” It’s a listless impression of 1970s country-pop, unseasoned electric guitar flat on pacifying handclap. It’s nostalgia formally, adult contemporary that can’t bear to be in the present moment or do anything but look back to oblivion. Damnably, it’s nostalgia psychologically, too, for an innocence and staidness absent from the Miley mythology until now. Rendered as maximally low stakes, nostalgia hijacks songs, as bad memories reconstruct rather than realize: “Change is a thing you can count on/ I feel so much younger now.

Younger Now stings because it’s an unmoved object acting on behalf of oppressive forces, like adherence to and conserving personal capital, VMAs reparations and personality recall rendered in the plodding time of bad ballads like “I Would Die For You,” which is sucked clear of Prince kiss, a slick promise of self-annihilation for the profit of an unseen romantic partner, and “Inspired,” a paean to empty environmental woes and changes in platitudes, “Starting with the bees/ Or else they’re gonna die” and lifting up Papa Bear Billy Ray himself (“He somehow has a way of knowing what to say/ So when I’m feeling sad, he makes me feel inspired.”) Younger Now stings because it makes you feel sorry and a little ashamed for ever being a little too drunk on dirty-tap Bass in a New Brunswick bar and rapidly falling into desperate, sweaty connection with the stupid slam of “I never hit so haaard in love” because…

“AGAIN AND AGAIN…”

…there are stories in the symbols of our pop music, meaning for our lives in the moving bones of our kaleidoscopic national icons. Miley Cyrus apparated into our national dreamscape as the squeaked-clean product, at the whim of gargantuan paternities, fathers both biological and Disney-brand that seemed to only want to convert the kid with natural star-stuff to moral profit. In an obsessively scrutinized turn of pop events (similar to the trajectory inflected on Britney and Mariah and every other American historical symbology), Miley Cyrus rejected the sheen of clean and profited from and by masters and brand keepers. Young, dumb, and ugly, she set out on a numbskull odyssey, tongue-out arms-out happy hippie charity shit-talking and taking it back, taking it forward. Not every song banged on Bangerz, and plenty of that glimmer was put on ungold, but some of those glitzed neons asserted existence and joy in the face of profit-seeking and the unfeeling things that seem to run our worlds. Set fire to your circulation royalties because “Money ain’t nothing but money,” croak-crooned that Appalachian-smoke voice, dismissing capital for what it is and asserting home by way of wildernesses traversed (country music) and the way forward via plastic existence (pop music). In the hotdog hallucinations and so-dumb day-glo psychosillyness of Miley Cyrus & Her Dead Pets, the icon found music for no ears in something like the illegibility of culture. If reality moved on you devoid of your whim, shout and celebrate. “If love be rough with you, be rough with love.” All I wanted was to break your walls.

Younger Now arrives in a historical moment where realities swerve faster and capping non-pasts are sold harder and more desperately than ever before. It is a country-pop record unfortunately uninterested in being a country-pop record when country and pop, in 2017 and before, are two of our best imagined (but not unreal) solutions to the real problems in the sway and wave of history. Country is nomad circuital, leaving homes and wombs only to return a little transformed /a>. Pop is the promise of plasticity, a relentless way forward, moving together with other bodies. Younger Now also arrives in a historical moment when the rhizomes of popular music keep colliding with Harvests and Manchesters and Bataclans and Harvests. Now, in a now, we look to every voice for a way forward because staying here is inches of suicide.

The singer’s voice on Younger Now is a supple kind of smoke, a thing coming down the mountains into the towns where we make our lives. In this instance, on these songs, it misguides itself and we lose the strain it once sangNobody’s perfect/ You live and you learn it/ And if I mess it up sometimes…” The ellipsis plots a way past now. Younger Now, for all its failings, isn’t the definitive statement from Miley Cyrus, because it won’t be the last; as a collection of country-pop songs, it presents a moment of reflection, our history remembering forward, what matters to us and what we take from and into this world. Without the country and the pop and the voices, we wouldn’t dance, wouldn’t kiss, wouldn’t listen. Any way forward isn’t shrinking retreat. Nobody’s perfect, wrecking balls all. “Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.” It’s our house. We can love who we want to. We just have to want to.

Music Review: Grizzly Bear – Painted Ruins

This post was originally published on this site

Grizzly Bear

Painted Ruins

[RCA; 2017]

Rating: 2/5

For the past decade and a half, Grizzly Bear have been working to establish a lingua franca between the historically uncool prog rock and the sporadically trendy indie rock. This idiom the group has created often combines protean song structures with affecting first-person lyricism in order to defy the capricious gauges of hipness to which so many indie acts submit themselves. It also abides the occasional pop concession that demands a more conspicuous mix of Ed Droste’s vocals amid the erudite, imperious instrumentation by the rest of the group. Consequently, Grizzly Bear’s conception of rock music is one of inclusive open-mindedness and generic metamorphosis, allowing for frequent experimentation while still leaving the band’s identity and accessibility intact. Yet here, on Painted Ruins, sonic exploration causes the album’s atmosphere to rise to salience and all but divest its songs of distinctiveness and viscera.

As the title suggests, Painted Ruins features Droste examining the past — more specifically, his personal history — but while the album’s use of the modifier “Painted” intimates a kind of revisionism or whitewashing, its lyrics depict an unflinching appraisal of the singer’s previous missteps and transgressions. At turns, Droste plays the defeatist, conceding his wrongheadedness while acknowledging the incorrigibility of his actions, like on “Mourning Sounds:” “I made a mistake/ I should have never tried.” Elsewhere, he promotes an occlusion from the past, as on “Aquarian,” in which Droste advises an “astral actor” to “lay [his/her] body on the burning ground/ That separates this mind from all that’s passed.” Ultimately, though, Droste and co. learn to accept the past as inextricable from the present (and future). The band uses epiphany as a pathway to atonement, as evidenced by “Sky Took Hold,” in which a world-weary Droste reconsiders his identity (“Who I am beneath the surface/ Hiding out so long inside my mind”) and, upon confronting the facet of himself he’d so tirelessly worked to hide, finally gives it the attention it deserves: “I’ve grown to accept it, let it take the stage.”

Unfortunately, these metaphysical abstractions are buttressed by an underwhelming, contemplative instrumentation befitting such intellectual ideas. Whether the group are aping Low-era Bowie (“Wasted Acres”), playacting as a heavily-sedated Steely Dan (“Glass Hillside”), or adopting the pale aloofness that marred Franz Ferdinand’s Tonight (“Cut-Out”), Grizzly Bear match the ruminative nature of their introspective lyrics with equally subdued music. The tracks often drift into one large ether of synth sounds bereft of any virility. Not even the 6/8 time signature of “Three Rings,” for example, can engender enough vim to redeem the song’s slow-burning dynamics and nebulous vocals. Painted Ruins, however, isn’t without its excitations; boasting the album’s most developed melody and undergirded by Christopher Bear’s no-frills drumming, “Mourning Sound” finds Grizzly Bear at their zenith on the album, pairing dreamy synth-rock with a near-earworm chorus. Likewise, the commanding yet androgynous vocals of “Systole” complement the song’s warm, florid instrumentation, rendering it evocative of the rush of blood to which the song title refers. Through the synthetic miasma of Painted Ruins, there shines the scant beacon.

Grizzly Bear have never been a group to temper their idiosyncratic proclivities in the name of commercialism; their liberal approach to song structure and production has effectively stymied their commercial success (excepting Shields and Veckatimest), yet it’s also afforded them unwavering indie-kid adoration. But as we see fellow alternative rock compatriots Animal Collective and Arcade Fire shooting themselves in the foot by making safe, benign music of late, it bears repeating that experimentation in rock & roll simply can’t sustain itself. This writing is carved on the walls of the indelibly scarred psyches of Brian Wilson, Roky Erickson, and Jeff Mangum. So on the new album, The Grizzlies obfuscate their own future by indulging in retrospection and trudging ahead with the electronic sound that allotted them their initial success. But with nary an aural step forward from their hitherto records, Painted Ruins ends much in the same way it begins, not with a bang, but with a drone.

Taylor Swift announces her next massively successful album Reputation…oh look, it’s already reached two million in sales

This post was originally published on this site

Now, when Taylor Swift began tweeting out the first in a series of snake videos a few days ago, I thought nothing of it. After all, who among us hasn’t done the very same in the past? Snakes are cool and deserve to be celebrated on a daily basis! Well, as it turns out, those snake videos may have actually been a part of a — get this! — VIRAL MARKETING CAMPAIGN for her forthcoming SIXTH album Reputation. Viral marketing campaign? On social media?? Whoever heard of such a thing!?

Reputation is out November 10, and it comes three years after 1989, an album so massively successful that even your uncle — the one who swore off listening to new music after Duane Allman died — has heard it. Judging by the album’s title and its album cover, depicting Swift’s name written over-and-over again in the style of old timey newspaper-type it looks like…I’m sorry, but it looks like Taylor Swift saw those mean things you said about her on Twitter, and is finally going to take you to task for it.

Check out the album’s official announcement below, along with the reveal that a new single will be coming out “tomorrow night” (sorry, looks like you’re working late, Choco). Will the single be about snakes, and how some of them are able to poop at-will, using their disgusting odors to help discourage predators? Only time will tell; though I do have a hunch that the whole snake thing may have been a metaphor for how she’s going to “bite back” with “venom” at everyone who’s upset, or talked down on her in the last three years. Just a hunch though, no prior work of hers to base that assumption on…

Taylor Swift announces her next massively successful album Reputation…oh look, it’s already reached two million in sales

This post was originally published on this site

Now, when Taylor Swift began tweeting out the first in a series of snake videos a few days ago, I thought nothing of it. After all, who among us hasn’t done the very same in the past? Snakes are cool and deserve to be celebrated on a daily basis! Well, as it turns out, those snake videos may have actually been a part of a — get this! — VIRAL MARKETING CAMPAIGN for her forthcoming SIXTH album Reputation. Viral marketing campaign? On social media?? Whoever heard of such a thing!?

Reputation is out November 10, and it comes three years after 1989, an album so massively successful that even your uncle — the one who swore off listening to new music after Duane Allman died — has heard it. Judging by the album’s title and its album cover, depicting Swift’s name written over-and-over again in the style of old timey newspaper-type it looks like…I’m sorry, but it looks like Taylor Swift saw those mean things you said about her on Twitter, and is finally going to take you to task for it.

Check out the album’s official announcement below, along with the reveal that a new single will be coming out “tomorrow night” (sorry, looks like you’re working late, Choco). Will the single be about snakes, and how some of them are able to poop at-will, using their disgusting odors to help discourage predators? Only time will tell; though I do have a hunch that the whole snake thing may have been a metaphor for how she’s going to “bite back” with “venom” at everyone who’s upset, or talked down on her in the last three years. Just a hunch though, no prior work of hers to base that assumption on…

Music Review: Kesha – Rainbow

This post was originally published on this site

Kesha

Rainbow

[RCA; 2017]

Rating: 4/5

“If there’s a God or whatever, something, somewhere, why have I been abandoned by everyone and everything I’ve ever known, I’ve ever loved? Stranded, what is the lesson? What is the point? God, give me a sign or I have to give up. I can’t do this anymore. Please just let me die. Being alive hurts too much.”

What ever? Spiritual paths can be roughly divided into the transcendent and the immanent. The transcendent path proposes that the conditions of the lived world — sex, money, work, our bodies, every aspect of daily Being — need to be transcended for something separate, higher, more true, more pure, more real. The immanent path, more congenial to modern-day Western spiritual practitioners, sees the Divine in all of these things. There is no profane, and impure energies are to be used as fuel for the journey. As Kesha puts it, “I know that I’m perfect, even though I’m fucked up.”

Her comeback album, after the abuse and mire she’s been dragged through, is both Kesha’s rainbow bridge to transcendence and a proud declaration that although the immanent may be scarred, she refuses to see it as marred — right here is where pleasure is to be found. “Defiant” may be a term too often misused in an age of empowerment feminism, but it’s absolutely fitting for this album.

Transcendence achieved, then, is the “what.” God doesn’t exist in a hymnless world — or at least not as a separate entity — but can yet be called upon. “Praying” is a gospel number overcoming personal demons and wishing well to the abuser, while “Hymn” transmutes a community of “sinners,” of “kids with no religion,” into a congregation. Even the cover art has something of the Tantric in its mystic symbolism and its erotics.

Rainbow is also a transmutation of Kesha’s own persona — the dollar sign now revealed for the profanity it always was. We began to see this Kesha, a lady of sorrow and of joy, on the gorgeous, show-stopping, melancholy “It Ain’t Me Babe” at the Billboard Music Awards — 2016’s song most likely to make you weep. But in the days of “Tik Tok” Kesha, along with Rihanna and less-remembered figures like Kiely Williams, had been the flagbearer of a particular genre of self-objectifying female-fronted pop, the contemporary counterpart to perennial male pop creeperness. Kesha-with-a-dollar-sign seemed like a joke, and a pernicious one at that (we didn’t know that, behind the scenes, the objectification was utterly real, and Dr Luke was laughing all the way to the bank). It was a self-abasement, a female chauvinist piggery. But on Rainbow Kesha’s telling us she’s seen the light. And we should all yell back “Hallelujah!” as loud as we motherfuckin’ can.

What, or who, are we praising? In the New Age, self-affirmation takes the place of God — a spiritual narcissism, the icon as selfie (there’s a reason why “icon” refers to both the religious image and the celebrity). To ask whether that’s happening here, though, seems churlish (as does giving the album a score at all): it isn’t quite the point, because there’s something more important going on. As Taylor Swift’s court case shows (as if we hadn’t just finished hearing about The Runaways), celebrity is no shield from abuse.

But, if we who will not judge lest we be judged judge yet, we can say: Kesha’s pop chops are sharp and true. For the most part, the pop songs work better than the mid-tempo numbers. They’re more spirited, but less moving. “Praying,” for example, is better as catharsis than as an earworm, but it’s no less powerful for that.

The country influence shines in Kesha’s voice when unadorned on tracks like gauntlet-throwing opener “Bastard” and rollicking highlight “Hunt You Down.” Dolly Parton guests — on country classic “Old Flames (Can’t Hold A Candle to You),” written by Kesha’s mother in a double tribute to the power of the maternal lineage — to greater effect than the Eagles of Death Metal, though “Boogie Feet” is hella catchy. “Woman” roars louder than Katy Perry.

On an album like Rainbow, the ramshackle, squee-inducing kawaii of “Godzilla” doesn’t seem any more out of place than the unnamed kaiju in Nacho Vigalondo’s “Colossal” — which seems an appropriate parallel in its tale of abuse, of unbearable real monsters and adorable fantasy monsters and the way in which, somewhere between the two, we do the messy work of recuperation.

And then, on “Spaceship,” to the earthy sound of banjos, we transcend with Kesha, beyond death, beyond earthly hurt, knowing our bodies as stardust, experiencing freedom. The occupants of the interplanetary craft have been called, and they are observing her rebirth… baby.

Music Review: Kesha – Rainbow

This post was originally published on this site

Kesha

Rainbow

[RCA; 2017]

Rating: 4/5

“If there’s a God or whatever, something, somewhere, why have I been abandoned by everyone and everything I’ve ever known, I’ve ever loved? Stranded, what is the lesson? What is the point? God, give me a sign or I have to give up. I can’t do this anymore. Please just let me die. Being alive hurts too much.”

What ever? Spiritual paths can be roughly divided into the transcendent and the immanent. The transcendent path proposes that the conditions of the lived world — sex, money, work, our bodies, every aspect of daily Being — need to be transcended for something separate, higher, more true, more pure, more real. The immanent path, more congenial to modern-day Western spiritual practitioners, sees the Divine in all of these things. There is no profane, and impure energies are to be used as fuel for the journey. As Kesha puts it, “I know that I’m perfect, even though I’m fucked up.”

Her comeback album, after the abuse and mire she’s been dragged through, is both Kesha’s rainbow bridge to transcendence and a proud declaration that although the immanent may be scarred, she refuses to see it as marred — right here is where pleasure is to be found. “Defiant” may be a term too often misused in an age of empowerment feminism, but it’s absolutely fitting for this album.

Transcendence achieved, then, is the “what.” God doesn’t exist in a hymnless world — or at least not as a separate entity — but can yet be called upon. “Praying” is a gospel number overcoming personal demons and wishing well to the abuser, while “Hymn” transmutes a community of “sinners,” of “kids with no religion,” into a congregation. Even the cover art has something of the Tantric in its mystic symbolism and its erotics.

Rainbow is also a transmutation of Kesha’s own persona — the dollar sign now revealed for the profanity it always was. We began to see this Kesha, a lady of sorrow and of joy, on the gorgeous, show-stopping, melancholy “It Ain’t Me Babe” at the Billboard Music Awards — 2016’s song most likely to make you weep. But in the days of “Tik Tok” Kesha, along with Rihanna and less-remembered figures like Kiely Williams, had been the flagbearer of a particular genre of self-objectifying female-fronted pop, the contemporary counterpart to perennial male pop creeperness. Kesha-with-a-dollar-sign seemed like a joke, and a pernicious one at that (we didn’t know that, behind the scenes, the objectification was utterly real, and Dr Luke was laughing all the way to the bank). It was a self-abasement, a female chauvinist piggery. But on Rainbow Kesha’s telling us she’s seen the light. And we should all yell back “Hallelujah!” as loud as we motherfuckin’ can.

What, or who, are we praising? In the New Age, self-affirmation takes the place of God — a spiritual narcissism, the icon as selfie (there’s a reason why “icon” refers to both the religious image and the celebrity). To ask whether that’s happening here, though, seems churlish (as does giving the album a score at all): it isn’t quite the point, because there’s something more important going on. As Taylor Swift’s court case shows (as if we hadn’t just finished hearing about The Runaways), celebrity is no shield from abuse.

But, if we who will not judge lest we be judged judge yet, we can say: Kesha’s pop chops are sharp and true. For the most part, the pop songs work better than the mid-tempo numbers. They’re more spirited, but less moving. “Praying,” for example, is better as catharsis than as an earworm, but it’s no less powerful for that.

The country influence shines in Kesha’s voice when unadorned on tracks like gauntlet-throwing opener “Bastard” and rollicking highlight “Hunt You Down.” Dolly Parton guests — on country classic “Old Flames (Can’t Hold A Candle to You),” written by Kesha’s mother in a double tribute to the power of the maternal lineage — to greater effect than the Eagles of Death Metal, though “Boogie Feet” is hella catchy. “Woman” roars louder than Katy Perry.

On an album like Rainbow, the ramshackle, squee-inducing kawaii of “Godzilla” doesn’t seem any more out of place than the unnamed kaiju in Nacho Vigalondo’s “Colossal” — which seems an appropriate parallel in its tale of abuse, of unbearable real monsters and adorable fantasy monsters and the way in which, somewhere between the two, we do the messy work of recuperation.

And then, on “Spaceship,” to the earthy sound of banjos, we transcend with Kesha, beyond death, beyond earthly hurt, knowing our bodies as stardust, experiencing freedom. The occupants of the interplanetary craft have been called, and they are observing her rebirth… baby.

Cousin Stizz announces “One Night Only” tour, despite the tour taking place across several nights

This post was originally published on this site

If you were to somehow grab hold of a time-traveling DeLorean and travel aaaaaaaaaaaall the way back to 2013 to ask a four-years-younger Cousin Stizz if he could see himself signing a contract with one of the big three record labels (I’m considering RCA’s progenitor in this case) less than a year after releasing his second mixtape, I’m guessing he’d probably tell you…”fuck the Lakers!” Or, on second thought, he’d probably at least say something like: “Noooooo way! I guess I’d better keep up the rapping, then and take every opportunity that comes! But still, Kobe is overrated!” Etc.

And while that reaction is pretty in-line with his being a passionate native of Boston’s Dorchester neighborhood, it also squares pretty well with the dude’s seemingly unwavering sense of humility — a trait he may well have picked up while navigating the dichotomy of growing up in the self-described “hood” while attending high school in the wealthy suburbs — coupled with the kind of widescreen-dreaming open-mindedness that has landed him where he’s at today.

So, where is he at today, anyway? Let’s see: the essentially brand new One Night Only mixtape — his first release under an RCA backdrop — just came out a few months back, and it represents Stizz’s first tangible foray into a grandiose music world. And the first verse on the track “Jealous” attests to a full embrace. “It’s your time,” he’s telling himself in his head. Then a label exec actually busts in the room and repeats that line with a slight addendum: “It’s your time…to go on tour!”

So…uh, logically, he’s just announced…a, um, North American headlining tour.

Sorry if that seems a bit on-the-nose…but if it helps, the tour is pretty stacked, and it begins in October in Philly and lasts all the way til’ turkey time — which, probably not-coincidentally, is just about the time when the NBA season really starts cooking.

10.11.17 – Philadelphia, PA – Coda
10.13.17 – Cleveland, OH – Grog
10.14.17 – Ann Arbor, MI – Bling Pig
10.15.17 – Toronto, ON – Mod Club
10.18.17 – Madison, WI – High Noon Saloon
10.19.17 – Chicago, IL – Reggie’s
10.22.17 – Denver, CO – Cervantes Other Side
10.23.17 – Salt Lake City, UT – Kilby Court Gallery
10.27.17 – Seattle, WA – Barboza
10.28.17 – Portland, OR – Hawthorne
10.30.17 – Oakland, CA – Brick + Mortar
10.31.17 – Los Angeles, CA – The Roxy
11.01.17 – Santa Ana, CA – The Observatory (Constellation Room)
11.02.17 – San Diego, CA – The House of Blues (Voodoo Room)
11.03.17 – Phoenix, AZ – Crescent Ballroom
11.04.17 – Albuquerque, NM – Launchpad
11.06.17 – Houston, TX – Warehouse Live-Studio
11.97.17 – Austin, TX – Come and Take It Live
11.08.17 – Dallas TX – Club Dada
11.11.17 – New Orleans, LA – Parish
11.12.17 – Atlanta, GA – Masquerade
11.13.17 – Washington, DC – U Street Music Hall
11.14.17 – Carrboro, NC – Cat’s Cradle
11.16.17 – New York, NY – SOBs
11.17.17 – Pawtucket, RI – The Met
11.24.17 – Boston, MA – The House of Blues