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(10/21/24 2:00pm)
In the muggy, un-air-conditioned closeness of a DIY venue in Atlanta, me, my friends, and roughly 20 other people who were about to become my friends, had the distinct and revelatory privilege of experiencing Ozello as they transformed us into a swarm of joyful dancers. With lyrics like theirs, that might come as a shock to you, but the rapturous noise produced by Ozello has a way of swaddling even the sharpest lyrics in the safety of their warm, vibrant instrumentals. My expectations for this random $5 show were surpassed in ways I didn’t even have the vocabulary for at the time- stuttering out something that vaguely sounded like “please… come to WUSC” to a sweaty Garam as we perched on the curb outside the venue. I’m beyond grateful they were able to translate my awe-struck gibberish because Ozello delivered the snuggest, most verbose Tiny Couch I’ve ever had the pleasure of facilitating. In the interim between its filming this past Sunday, and its eventual release sometime before winter break, I’m using this interview, conducted immediately after the recording of their 30-minute set, to take the edge off. With all the warmth, candor, and genuine good-heartedness of a worthwhile southern band, Ozello walks us through unexpected talents, musical convergences, and dealing with the fallout of COVID as artists. A huge, gratuitous, joyful “Thank You” to Ozello, for making time in their schedules to work with 5 grimy college kids. If you enjoy music with unequivocal sincerity, unmatched frankness, and decidedly jovial violin melodies, I’d encourage you to keep your eyes on their Instagram and Bandcamp. For our Pride Spotlight this year, I’m pleased to introduce Ozello. Take it away!
(09/22/24 11:10pm)
After being led up the stairs at Music Farm by their tour manager, Bree, Aubrey and I stepped into a frigid green room and laid eyes on Babe Haven. Having been freakishly devoted to them since last year’s release of Uppercut, we spent the whole two hour drive to Charleston with the windows down, listening to their “inspiration” playlist on Spotify- only turning the music down to turn and ask each other “is there a bad song on this playlist???”. We were running ever so slightly behind, thanks to my class schedule, and we tumbled out of my car on unsteady, fishnet clad legs to conduct our first ever interview together. I don’t wanna pat us on the back too early, (mostly because Babe Haven made it engaging and enjoyable by virtue of their personality and expertise) but I think we’re basically professionals now. Driven, passionate, and bewitching, Babe Haven walked us through everything from cucumber farming to the uniting powers of Kittie. We’re beyond thankful we were welcomed into their space and given an opportunity to talk to Lillie, Julia, Naomi and Brendan between their soundcheck and what I can honestly say was one of the most joyful concerts of my life. If you take anything away from this article, let it be this: BABE HAVEN IS NOT TO BE MISSED.
(02/16/23 10:39pm)
Welcome to what was supposed to have been volume one! In my typical fashion, though, I got way ahead of myself when I was drafting, and the piece was much longer, generally dissatisfying, and close to incomprehensible. So, instead, I bring you a second installment! Cue the confetti. If you’ve not read the first volume and are interested in some background information and long-winded sappiness, you can find it here! In the meantime, I bring you a culmination of interviews, resources, and qualitative data that would make Paul Farmer weep. Enjoy :-)
(02/14/23 10:05pm)
WUSC DJs come together to bring you different musical takes on the holiday.
(10/23/22 11:16pm)
Happy Diwali, Columbia!
(01/30/23 4:16pm)
Y’all- I love live music. This is by no means a controversial opinion, but my scene back in Atlanta is a thriving, diverse collection of folks and their clashing musical politics, and I miss it like a tooth. My first ever house show was seeing Pinkest open for Lowertown, and that was the gateway to find the kind of shows I really liked. My friend Addie and I were basically FBI interrogating the poor folks of this backyard venue, showing up an hour early like the sweet youths we were, and through that Pinkest show (lowertown never got to play, the cops got called) I had the genuine privilege of discovering our punk scene. Finding the alternative underground in Atlanta was the best thing that could have possibly happened to me. At 16, I was a loud mouthed, musical know it all. Prince was the peak of any artist, ever. My clothes consisted exclusively of Kohl's concert tees and Goodwill jeans. My experience with concerts thus far (excluding the Pinkest show) was confined to a John Denver Tribute at the Chattahoochee Nature Center. No, really. So when I was getting ready for my first punk show, I was practically vibrating from anticipation. I had my finest (only) Black Flag shirt on, and some dollar store eyeliner, and as ready as I felt, nothing could have prepared me for my first ever punk show. Every molecule in my 16 year old self was enraptured- loud clothes, louder music, a drink in every hand, a too big grin on every face. The constant press of sound- and elbows, actually. I didn’t start out moshing but the evening certainly ended there- was intoxicating. I was ecstatic, like, the jumping-up-and-down, embarrassing squealing noises kind of happy. It could be time and tenderness have worn this memory into something more comfortable, but looking back, it’s no wonder that this show, that these shows, would become my life. 2 years later, my “know-it-all”-ness has certainly vanished. There’s nothing like punk to humble you. If you read this and think it's pretentious, that’s your right, but I’m perfectly earnest.
