Then it floats back down and alights on these days, the great borderless period of time in which we find ourselves. The lineвЂ™s path is dizzying, catching an updraft on falling apart, that feeling of rust as our sweatpants become thinner with wear. ItвЂ™s more than just the chorus lyric of вЂњcircle the drain,вЂќ the lead single from AllisonвЂ™s synesthetic indie rock album Color Theory itвЂ™s how she sings it. Sophia Allison of Soccer Mommy nailed our constant recursion, atrophy, isolation, gall, and grief back in the early spring. With a bit more prodding to open up, maybe youвЂ™d land on: IвЂ™ve been falling apart these days. If asked to pinpoint the primary emotional experience of quarantine, you might go with listlessness, or fatigue. The real magic is the winking humility of the image in the mirror: a woman criticized endlessly for being too rich and too gauche who knows that living well is still the best revenge.

With the intrigue of a story song and the intimacy of a biography, Swift delves into socialite anthropology and returns with an epitaph for a woman sheвЂ™ll never meet. But even Taylor Swift-sized drama doesnвЂ™t seem so juicy compared to вЂњthe last great american dynasty,вЂќ a highlight from her summer quarantine album folklore that traces the glamorous, troubled life of 20th-century heiress Rebekah Harkness, who married into Standard Oil money and-here comes the big reveal-lived in that very same enormous hilltop mansion. Taylor SwiftвЂ™s Rhode Island estate was already notorious-for those spectacular Fourth of July parties, for the Tom Hiddleston photos, for costing so much money ($17.75 million, in cash) that it inspired the governor to propose a new tax on second homes. Taylor Swift: вЂњthe last great american dynastyвЂќ When it finally detonates and a seeming cast of thousands join in to shout вЂњThe end is here!вЂќ we come to understand her apocalypse as one frightening and cathartic in equal measure. As the song builds, despair is tempered by a burst of energy that hints at survival. She has a rare ability to connect the fragmented images passing by the window to what she feels inside: She shows us funnel clouds dropping from the sky, a slaughterhouse, and a shopping mall, and turns each into a signpost for her own confusion. ItвЂ™s something like Phoebe BridgersвЂ™ version of Neil YoungвЂ™s вЂњAfter the Gold Rush,вЂќ in which fear and bombed-out desolation are buoyed by an undercurrent of defiance. One moment the Punisher closer is a hushed acoustic ballad, the next itвЂ™s a swelling mid-tempo strummer, and then it explodes into an orchestral fanfare, and each section has its own emotional arc. вЂњI Know the EndвЂќ packs an albumвЂ™s worth of ideas into five minutes and 45 seconds. Take direction at your own risk, but nobody can doubt their commitment. El-PвЂ™s production reins in his usual glitchy energy of a in favor of near-military restraint as he memorializes Eric Garner, and Killer Mike casually advocates for the murder of our corporate overlords. Enter Pharrell, reciting a mantra about the circular clutches of modern capitalism in the laconic tone he once used to brag about his Gandalf hat enter Zack de la Rocha, erstwhile Rage Against the Machine frontman, incendiary and conspiratorial about wanting to rip those systems apart. As with all must-see serialized dramas, the guest stars are just as impressive as the main cast. Like any superhero team-up or buddy comedy, the formula for an RTJ song is carved in stone by now: Killer Mike the swaggering priest and El-P sardonic philosopher, threatening R-rated violence and revolutionary action over sounds rescued from hip-hopвЂ™s golden era and retrofitted for pre-pandemic festival stages.

But in a year like this one, it breaks your heart. Heard at any time in the four decades since its making, вЂњEchosвЂќ would be touching. Listening to вЂњEchosвЂќ is as poignant as stumbling upon a roadside shrine of flowers, candles, and photos, but Ferreyra goes beyond creating a memorial to Mercedes: She defies death itself and resurrects her niece as an aural apparition. At other points, the melted murmurs and shimmered syllables feel soothing and psalm-like, as though the girlвЂ™s ghost is mourning herself. In places, the young womanвЂ™s voice flickers and trembles with playful delight, sounding impossibly alive. Recorded in 1978 but released for the first time this year, the piece is woven entirely from the voice of FerreyraвЂ™s niece Mercedes Cornu, who died in a car accident prior to its composition. Argentine composer Beatriz Ferreyra is renowned for the disorienting spatiality and shape-shifting abstraction of her electronic and tape-based work, but itвЂ™s the human scale and raw intimacy of вЂњEchosвЂќ that startle.

Walk the moon album download