Another unknown outfit, Primitive Radio Gods, had notched a sample-based hit the previous year. Today you could compare it to early Belle and Sebastian, but back then not many people had heard Belle and Sebastian yet. The world was as confused about Women in Technology as I remain, all these years later. By the numbers, it was a shocking triumph.
A month after release, the album had sold more than , copies in the United States alone. In the mids, wide-eyed indie bands like Arcade Fire, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, and the Boy Least Likely To could spring up from relative obscurity, along with one-person twee pop factories like Jens Lekman or the Honeydrips , abetted by blogs and webzines.
August 16 April 11 From M. October 2 We present the Year in News, a roundup of music-related triumph, tragedy, and kookery from the pages of Pitchforkmedia.
December 8 October 22 Second installment of a two-part feature recapping the Pitchfork Music Festival in artist interviews and more than photos.
August 3 July 25 What more do you want? A smooth-as-ever Usher salvages the remix from transient houseguests Ludacris and Snoop Dogg, adding lived-in harmonies to an already suave song. Yet something tells me that when fall breezes start drifting in, this song will be among the few that evoke memories of a uniquely carefree, social season filled with gratitude for life, fun, and touch. Like the best fruits, neither summer nor love seems to last long enough to really savor. For the third year in a row, Megan Thee Stallion has put forward an unimpeachable contender for song of the summer.
Longtime collaborator LilJuMadeDaBeat offers a propulsive siren of a beat, and Meg laces it with her unwavering commandments for a season of aspirational post-pandemic debauchery.
But on TikTok, where past singles found robust success as trending dances, an equally political, tongue-in-cheek trend has emerged. General strike summer? Yes, please. So after I made my own little mixes, one song at a time, I connected the MiniDisc player to a cassette adapter and was soon flipping through tracks with the press of a button.
And unlike a portable CD player, this thing did not skip, no matter the size of the pothole. It was like sorcery. At that moment, I felt invincible. When I arrived in my driveway, I noticed flashing red-and-blue lights behind me, and a Suffolk County police officer walking up to my car window. He asked if I had been drinking.
Then he drove away. At the turn of the millennium, during the decline of the CD player and the rise of the iPod, HitClips had their brief but impactful moment. Marketed towards elementary school kids, these tiny portable music players were shaped like miniature boomboxes , cat heads , and, for some reason, pens. There was usually one headphone with a comically short cord that emitted the kind of fuzzy sound you get between radio stations.
Most of mine had significant water damage because I used them nonstop during all my daily activities, including brushing my teeth and showering, so my listening experience was often extra chaotic and glitchy. HitClips are often described as toys, but to 7-year-old me, they were legitimate listening devices—perhaps even the only listening devices that had cultural cache. Ever since my freshman year of college, in , I have owned two ugly, gray, decidedly non-audiophile RadioShack computer speakers.
I still remember blasting newly acquired MP3s, via Winamp software , again and again over those dumb speakers in my dorm room.
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