Ty Wilson’s day begins when he straps on his $50,000 left leg.
It’s an Ottobock C-Leg, one of the most advanced prosthetics available. A carbon fiber leg socket fashioned after a human thigh, it tapers down into a microprocessor-controlled knee, which is Bluetooth-calibrated to the length, speed and frequency of Wilson’s footsteps.
You can call Josh Tillman — better known as Father John Misty — a lot of things on his new album, “I Love You, Honeybear”: snide, condescending, arrogant, even downright angry. But don’t you dare call him lazy.
There’s something about raw, unadulterated pain that inspires the greatest art. It’s no secret that countless songs have been inspired by breakups, and often go on to become some of the artists’ biggest hits. It almost seems unfair — and maybe even voyeuristic — that we, anonymous listeners, could have such a personal glimpse into their personal lives. But if the process is cathartic and they’re willing to share these songs, we might as well enjoy. And somedays, we may be the ones who need them.
What’s the deal with labels? It seems like people can’t enjoy a piece of music until they’ve micro-analyzed and compartmentalized it. This makes it all the more satisfying when an artist comes along and completely defies all conventional genres.
Texas Independence Fest took up residency at the Empire Control Room & Garage this weekend, boasting an impressive lineup of metal bands that ran the gamut from thrash legends Death Angel to modern deathcore forerunners like Oceano and Whitechapel.
Bands are like supernovas. They swell, they explode, and just like that, they’re over. As ludicrous as it may sound, a group of people that we don’t know personally deciding to part ways can have a profound effect on us.
“Dude, I swear they were better live.” We’ve all given that excuse before, in an effort to defend the bands whose brilliance we’ve seen firsthand, but who failed to deliver when confined to a studio.
Yes, it’s over. It’s been over for a while now. We’re talking about South By Southwest, and we totally feel your withdrawal symptoms. Real life doesn’t seem quite as fun. At the very least, the weeklong festival left us with some fantastic new musical discoveries, and they’ll make the perfect soundtrack to our rainy afternoons spent brooding and planning for next year’s festivities.
Call it “The Great South By Southwest Paradox.” A festival initially founded to shed light on local artists has slowly become overrun with superstars and big-budget sponsors. Its current form is unrecognizable from its humble beginnings. It was bound to happen, but don’t let that dissuade you from taking a chance on some of this city’s finest homegrown talent. Sometimes it pays to skip the three-hour lines, stop refreshing Drake’s Twitter and mosey into the charming dive bar you’ve been meaning to go to. You might find that your new favorite artist comes from your own city.
Troy, Ohio’s metalcore quintet Miss May I's version of “growing up” involves support slots on high-profile European metal tours, massive festival gigs in both America and Japan and an album that was just one spot shy of cracking the Billboard Top 20 last year.
