Data may be outdated
Last updated: 1 month ago — Click refresh to get the latest statistics.
Explosions and sirens boomed and whined in the distance. We were listening to Devon Welsh's new album, Come With Me If You Want To Live. Against all odds, Welsh's career had gradually given him pop stardom—the kind that would have once accommodated perfume brands in your name, or let your hologram play festivals after you died. But as his star rose, so did his infamy. Welsh had called the record a revolt against the state of music. We were on the run because the government classified his album as a threat.
The music was poppy but stark, built around dark, quick, synthetic beats, piercing instrumental melodies that often receded into the shadows of choruses, and the occasional double-tracked vocal or acoustic guitar strum. It barely passed the automated musical censors. The lyrics subtly excoriated societal systems, magnified close relationships, reckoned with the costs of fame, and generally said what people were thinking but afraid to say. “Best Laid Plans” and “Twenty Seven,” I observed, contained poignant allusions to Welsh's earlier career (a charge Welsh nonetheless denied, moving his body from side to side as if to shake his head, a movement he struggled to execute, so big were his traps).
I found comfort in its austerity. With such high stakes and so few critics left alive, it was fitting. Welsh gave me his veinous, ultra-muscular hand, just as he had when we’d met for our interview earlier that afternoon: What are you waiting for? No time. Get in. Trust me.
The music was poppy but stark, built around dark, quick, synthetic beats, piercing instrumental melodies that often receded into the shadows of choruses, and the occasional double-tracked vocal or acoustic guitar strum. It barely passed the automated musical censors. The lyrics subtly excoriated societal systems, magnified close relationships, reckoned with the costs of fame, and generally said what people were thinking but afraid to say. “Best Laid Plans” and “Twenty Seven,” I observed, contained poignant allusions to Welsh's earlier career (a charge Welsh nonetheless denied, moving his body from side to side as if to shake his head, a movement he struggled to execute, so big were his traps).
I found comfort in its austerity. With such high stakes and so few critics left alive, it was fitting. Welsh gave me his veinous, ultra-muscular hand, just as he had when we’d met for our interview earlier that afternoon: What are you waiting for? No time. Get in. Trust me.
Monthly Listeners
997
Monthly Listeners History
Track the evolution of monthly listeners over the last 28 days.
Followers
4,621
Followers History
Track the evolution of followers over the last 28 days.
Top Cities
32 listeners
22 listeners
22 listeners
22 listeners
20 listeners
Related Artists
Fair Mothers
Joyero
Zoos Of Berlin
Laucan
Kristín Anna
Cloud Castle Lake
The Building
Rainstorm Brother
Seagull
Hether Fortune
THOMAS JOSEPH MEALEY
Loners
Minor Pieces
Iven
