Hey everyone.

It’s Friday, and it’s been a long couple of weeks. If you’re feeling like me, you’re beat down and exhausted. You’re irate. You’re peeved.

In times like these, I do what I need to do to get through that final push. To cut through the bullshit. To keep moving.

I drink a jar of coffee, I might take some of these, and I get totally wired.

Let’s finish out the week by getting weird and wired.

Look, I know the standard demographic for Rage fans is Monster-Energy-Drink-Swilling, Confederate-Flag-Waving Truckbro — at least, that was the demographic in my hometown — but seriously, those idiots never got the message that Rage was sending. Rage exists to critique those morons, while energizing and galvanizing those of us who are outraged by every single old, selfish white man in power who would stop at nothing to strip you of your rights and agency if it meant more profit for them.

If you, like me, abhor the turn our country has taken, don’t let these corrupt, self-serving, sexual-abuse-enabling pieces of…

Look, recommending a dancy hot bop like “Summertime Magic” feels weird to me right now, given the way things are rapidly accelerating into a regressed hellscape of backwards-ass hate-fueled thinking. It almost feels irresponsible to listen to lighter, poppier fare, and, as such, I’ve been skewing more toward angry, searing, political music. Doing so has made me even more grim than usual, though, (and I’m typically like Jon-Snow-staring-out-at-the-harsh-wilds-north-of-The-Wall levels of grim, so like, pretty fucking grim) and I think it’s starting to take its toll.

It’s important, for mental health reasons, to take breaks from the unending onslaught of 1984-esque…


When I was in high school there was a really cool, super smart, indie music-loving girl that I was crushing on in a bad way. I wanted nothing more than to take her out on a sweet date to Starbucks (lol), but there was a problem: she was wayyyy cooler than me. She had a downright intimidating knowledge of music. I needed to get up to her level. I needed to impress her by showing her that we liked the same bands. …

Today is Tuesday.

That means I’m wearing all black.

You might be wondering why I wear all black on Tuesdays.

Well, it has to do with the oath I swore on November 8, 2016 to wear black every Tuesday until Trump is out of office.

The day of the election, I wore black in anticipation of what I figured was probably coming. I held a shred of hope that things wouldn’t go the way they did, but I was almost expecting it. The rise of the Tea Party, the never-ending racist personal attacks on Obama, the fact that Trump managed…

he is my favorite german vaudevillian retro love robot

When I first discovered Klaus Nomi in my early 20s (via his associations with Bowie) he blew my mind wide-fucking open. I hadn’t heard anything quite like him. Vaudeville meets Metropolis meets goth dance party? And holy shit, that voice — was that actually his real voice?? Un-fucking-real!

Klaus Nomi rules.

Come. Get vintage-future-gothic with me and the homey Klaus Nomi. Let his countertenor trill send chills down your spine, my dudes.

When I was growing up, more often than not the people you went to school with only listened to one genre of music. The kids my age had very specific tastes, and they were passionate about them; so passionate that it was rare for people to cross over into other genres. The kids stuck to their music, and defined themselves by social group according to genre.

In defiance of this siloed approach to social structure, however, there was one band whose sound served as a great unifier throughout not only my schools, but throughout all of southern California:



Kevin D. Woodall

Calgary-based Californian expatriate. Professional hermit. He is one of the co-editors of Memoir Mixtapes.

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