The Year of Magical Listening

Willie Costello

5.0 (3)
Music Commentary
Updated Monthly

Reflections on the joys of discovering new music

Jun 30

057 :: DRAKE

FEATURING ICEMAN by Drake, released by OVO in 2026. Listen "Make Them Pay" "Firm Friends" "Janice STFU" TRANSCRIPT There are many things not to like about Drake. He is, for instance, not a particularly good rapper. His singing, if you can call it that, is even less remarkable. Lyrically, his songs express a monotonous solipsism and casual misogyny that is tiresome at best and disgusting at worst. And yet, Drake is also kind of perfect. He may just be the epitome of rap. I will explain what I mean by this in due course, but first, let us take a beat to just appreciate how nice it is to hear Drake rapping like this again – no hook, no chorus, not even any particular rhyme scheme, just Drake with his signature pseudo-stream-of-consciousness flow, uninterrupted for four minutes straight. If he were actually freestyling it'd be transcendent. But this is not an ad lib, it's a heavily authored verse. And yes, it has its moments of brilliance – like the line we just heard, "I faced the way they paint me, but it hurts just like the Philly Eagles", which is a riff on both the characteristic face paint of Eagles quarterback Jalen Hurts and on the criticism Hurts frequently receives for being a quarterback that can both run and pass, which mirrors Drake's own criticism for being a rapper that can both rap and sing – all that, in a single line. It also has moments of bracing honesty, like when Drake interjects, "Well, maybe I'm best as the villain". But it is also full of moments of "why did he leave that in there?", mostly in the form of questionable similes, from the faux clever (e.g., "they envy me like Nevada"), to the dumb (e.g., "flippin' dough like Little Caesars"), to the cringe (e.g., "I'm greater than everybody like some shredded cheese"). But it's this "warts and all" quality that actually clinches it for me. Because what it shows us is that we're not getting any sugarcoating: what we're getting is just Drake. There is no artifice to his artistry; he is just authentically himself. And in my mind, it's this inimitable authenticity that has always set Drake apart. Because hip-hop isn't like other forms of popular music. It's not so much about connecting with your audience as it is about impressing them. It's not so much about giving voice to some universal human experience as it is about presenting yourself, the MC, in all your individuality. But there's a contradiction at the heart of the genre, because the way you're supposed to express that individuality is through a form of linguistic acrobatics unlike how anyone actually ever expresses themselves. Which is to say: For an art form that's all about authenticity, the medium is fundamentally inauthentic. The more a rapper dazzles us with their dexterous flow, the farther away we seem from who they actually are. All too often, hip-hop presents us with a persona, not a person. And so I love these moments when Drake's lines don't quite land, because they feel so real, like he's leaving everything in there and showing us his true self, in all its inconsistency and goofiness and banality. Drake is not the greatest rapper because he is the best at rapping (clearly). It's not even because he is the most popular or the most successful. He's the greatest because his greatness does not depend on anything other than himself: he's the greatest because he's Drake, and because that's what he always gives us. Of course, the wonderful irony about all this is that Drake is, by all appearances, sorta boring as a person. But that's kind of to the point of what I've been saying: it's the authenticity itself that matters, not what that authenticity reveals. We're not being treated to genius; we're being treated to transparency, to an elision of any distinction between music and musician, between author and text. Drake's verses are generally not virtuosic or enlightening, but they can still be intoxicating in their own distinct way. Often, and especially in stripped-down tracks like these, Drake's flow has this almost levitational quality, like it's unconstrained by the strictures of language. For Drake, any word can be made to rhyme with any other word, in the same way that, for Coltrane, any note can be made to sound in key. (A short list of rhymes from the song we just heard could include: Wilhelmina, really evil, Middle Eastern, and Village People.) But Drake's flow is always in the service of getting himself down on the page. Other MCs take the paper of language and turn it into origami. Drake takes the piece of paper and shows us that it's Drake. I'm tempted to say that the artistic quality on display here is a certain sprezzatura, a studied carelessness or graceful nonchalance, an ability of the artist to conceal all artistry from their art. But – and I don't know if this is just me falling for the bit – but in my mind, Drake's carelessness isn't studied. It's just Drake. And that's what I love about it. And that brings me to another point, which is this sense I've always had that Drake is most himself not when he's rapping, but when he's singing, or whatever you call what he's doing right now. As confessional as his solo verses can be, it's songs like this that, in my view, bring us closest to the real Drake, who's just a guy who loves a good jam. And you got to give it to him: this is a good jam. If I close my eyes I can see Drake bobbing his head with that pleasurable grimace he gets on his face – because it's what I'm doing too. And now is as good a time as any to give credit to the production on these tracks, which is consistently unreal, serving up beats that are original, innovative, and daring, and yet still so dope and somehow immediately recognizable as Drake. And sure, Drake didn't make these beats, but he sure knows how to choose a producer. Sometimes I feel like what we get with Drake is the experience of someone who just knows how to appreciate a good groove, who's enjoying his own music as much as we are. And often, it defies all sense. I can't believe that one of the bona fide songs of the summer has a chorus that includes the line "beep-beep, baby" – but here we are. I'm tempted to say that Drake is tapping into something reptilian in our brains, making music that speaks to us at a pre-rational, or pre-verbal even, level. Which is an astonishing thing to say about a form of music that gives such prominence to its lyrics. But why should music be subordinate to language and meaning? Maybe it's a fallacy to think that in order for music to speak to us the artist must have something to say. Because surely, what's most essential to music is the way it makes us feel, and again and again, Drake finds a way to make music that punches us right in the gut. And if anything, it's more impressive that Drake is able to do this without or despite of any content in what he's saying. After all, what sort of rapper needs words? It's words that need a rapper. And more than any other rapper out there, Drake makes words hit despite themselves, simply because he wants them to. Is it brilliant or idiotic? I still can't decide. But it is always remarkable and I can't look away. Alright, like Drake, I've been droning on for a while now. Like Drake, I should've perhaps edited some of this down. But if Drake has taught me anything, it's to always put it all out there, leave it all in, just be yourself, and say what you have to say.
May 29

056 :: LYF

FEATURING A Wave That Will Never Break by WU LYF, released by LYF Recordings in 2026. Listen / Buy direct "Letting Go" "Love Your Fate" TRANSCRIPT It's impossible for me to hear this music without being brought back, fifteen years into the past, to when I first heard this band, and when they released their last record. The band has been virtually silent since then, and partly because of that, they've remained like a time capsule in my mind: a relic of a distant age, a reminder of years gone by, a flame that burned so brightly that it extinguished itself as quickly as it appeared. Yet now, against all my expectations, that fire has rekindled. To listen to this music is, for me, to experience a flood of memories rushing back all at once, a Proustian madeleine on my palate setting my senses ablaze. But the more I listen to this new album, the more I think that it isn't just me. Even if you've never heard this band before, their music has the aesthetic quality of a comeback, resounding with youthful exuberance and wistful yearning. And maybe this is what I loved about their last album, too: this music has always brought me back to an earlier time, even the very first time I heard it. No other music has ever made me feel so free. And there's an irony here – or is it a poignancy? – that, for a band that in my mind is so synonymous with youth, their music only gets more potent with age. To make music that sounds like this, in 2026, feels iconoclastic, an insurgency against the prevailing winds of our time – when really what it is is a resurgence, or reawakening, of a band that's lain dormant for over a decade and now just wants to keep making the same music they've always made. And when you're making music like this, I get it. This is all I want them to do, too. And it's fitting, that such liberating music should be so liberated itself, from trends and genre, from norms and expectations, from anything other than the drive to make this music exist. The lyrics couldn't be more explicit: this is music about letting go. And listening to this music, I need no further instruction. I am immediately released – freed from all else – carried by these waves – weightlessly floating on this endless sea. So what is it about this music? I've just spent five minutes describing how this music makes me feel, but how does it do it? I guess we need to start with the voice: a double-tracked snarl, awash in reverb, quietly screaming. It's the sound of a voice singing with all the urgency of the moment, the sound of a voice singing with all their heart. But what I'm struck most by is that, for all its gravelly roughness, this voice is surprisingly tender and vulnerable. If it sounds like it's in extremis, that's only because it's on the verge of breaking. But this music isn't just about the voice. I've also got to talk about the guitars. Just listen to this tone, so subtly and perfectly overdriven, a voice unto itself. And the bass, too, when you can hear it, is off singing its own song. And I know, these are some of the most basic pleasures of rock music – the rapturous electricity of these analog sounds. But it's refreshing to hear a band that understands these pleasures so well, and can deliver them to us in full force. It's also refreshing to hear a band that's unafraid to get a bit schmaltzy, as it leans into its chorus and its guitars give way to big chords on the piano and soaring synths in the background. Because really, this is music about big feelings, in all their rawness and enormity, and it needs a sound to match – even if, or especially if, that sound veers into the cinematic – because with some feelings, that's exactly what you need to express them. But the song has one last surprise for us: an instrumental breakdown, of the kind you just never hear anymore, one last opportunity for these musicians to revel in the pure joy of their instruments and just play, and dance, before burning it all to the ground. But this band is at its best when it's burning, a roaring fire of sound and fury, engulfing us in its flames and setting us alight.
Apr 27

055 :: BOUND

FEATURING Cruel Joke by Ken Pomeroy, released by Rounder Records in 2025. Listen / Buy direct "Days Getting Darker" "Bound to Rain" TRANSCRIPT Some pieces of music are so simple and pure that it's difficult to pin down just what's so remarkable about them. With this piece of music, I guess it's, first and foremost, the voice: so dulcet, expressive, and down to earth. But the instrumental accompaniment is also perfect in its own, understated way, from the sparsely strummed guitars to the quietly plucked mandolin to those long swelling tones that fill in the spaces between. It's melodically indelible, and lyrically evocative, without ever being obvious or quite what you'd expect. It just comes in and hits you with lines like this: "The devil's hiding in the Bible Belt". Which is maybe just a roundabout way of saying that what's remarkable about this music is not so much that it's doing anything new, as that it's just doing everything right. And maybe there's a lesson here, about the particular type of music this is. Because whatever you want to call it, be it Americana or roots or country or folk, this is clearly music that is steeped in tradition, that moves forward by looking back and finds new expression in old forms. And part of what this music makes me feel is a kind of gratitude and admiration, that a young musician can still find such relevance and vitality in this timeworn form, and can still find ways to make it their own. But there's something else I love about this music, and that's a certain ambivalence that runs throughout its lyrics, a darkness mixed with the light, a strident honesty about life in all its ugliness and its beauty. And I can't even say how it does it; as many times as I've listened to this song, its lyrics still strike me as impressionistic, like little snapshots of the world gone by. But the impression they leave is one of a world where the everyday always contains a hint of menace – where rainclouds stand magnificent in the distance and it's bound to rain. And maybe again there's a lesson here, about the type of music this is. Because whatever you want to call it, be it Americana or roots or country or folk, this is music which, by its very name, bears the weight of a nation and its people on its shoulders. And the only way it can properly do that is by showing the nation for what it is, in all its colors and contradictions. But that's what this type of music, in its best instances, has always done. This music doesn't make me nostalgic for my country. But it does weirdly feel like home – that uncomfortable familiarity of a place you know too well, a place you're always trying to get away from, a place that always keeps pulling you back, a place that never changes and always seems to sound the same.
Mar 23

054 :: JESSICA

FEATURING Jessica Pratt by Asher White, released by Joyful Noise Recordings in 2026, a reimagining of Jessica Pratt by Jessica Pratt, released by Birth Records in 2012. Listen (Asher White / Jessica Pratt) / Buy direct (Asher White / Jessica Pratt) "Night Faces" (Asher White / Jessica Pratt) "Casper" (Asher White / Jessica Pratt) TRANSCRIPT How soon is too soon for hagiography? How soon is too soon to pay homage to a living artist? How long must one wait before an album can be considered enough of a classic that you would be justified to re-record the whole thing and put your own spin on it? I hadn't pondered these questions before hearing this album, but if you had asked me, I probably would've said longer than fourteen years. But here we are, in 2026, listening to a reimagining of an album from 2012, the original by an artist who is still alive and still releasing new music, and this version by an artist who is new on the scene and only thirteen years their junior. On paper it seems like it should be a fool's errand. But in fact, it's an astounding success, and achieves this remarkable thing: showcasing the original as the masterpiece it always was, while at the same time transforming it into something radically new. Which is to say, it's doing what any good cover song should do. And since it's not really possible to fully appreciate a cover without also knowing the song being covered, let us take a moment to switch over to the source. Immediately it's like I'm hearing this music anew. As many times as I've listened to this album before, it's as if I'd never heard it for what it was. The songs themselves are so potent that it's easy to forget just how stripped bare they really are. In juxtaposition to the version we were just hearing, the original now seems like a ghost, a pale shade, a wispy specter whistling in the wind. But no, this is the genuine article; this is the music in its original form. This is all that the younger artist had to go off of and take inspiration from. But it's easy to see why they would be so inspired. With its wobbly, double-tracked vocals and delicate fingerpicked guitar, it's like this music is conjuring a spell, speaking to the spirit world, or perhaps speaking from it, and making everything feel like a dream. And this version is like that same dream made vivid, buzzing with the same magic, but channelling it in new directions, like it's letting its spirit loose on the full spectrum of sound. But this new version isn't just about putting a maximalist spin on some acoustic folk ballads. It's also happy to shift into its own moments of stillness and delicacy. And truly, what I love most about it is that you really have no idea where it's going to take things, or what new sounds it's going to bring in. Sometimes it's as simple as the original: just a voice and an arpeggiated accompaniment. Sometimes its additions are subtle: a click or a single sustained tone. And sometimes it swells into this warm, lush arrangement that just feels like the natural embodiment of the song's ghostly essence. And sometimes it leans in to the song's inherent hypnotism, as these little bells quiver, jangle, and reverberate. And sometimes it decides to blow the whole thing apart. I'm not even sure I like this turn to noise. But I appreciate how it recognizes a capacity within the original to contain such wreckage – how it sees that behind its muted performance there is an uncanny power – a power that can be unleashed. It's not showing us how the original was always meant to be. It's showing us how it could've been. It's showing us that it was always a thing of wild energy – that it's always been electrifying, even if it wasn't electrified itself. It all leaves me with an even greater appreciation for just how elusive these songs really are. They've always struck me as lyrically enigmatic, but really they're just generally enigmatic, shifting shape as you try to pin them down, and going out of focus as soon as you get them in view. And maybe it's no coincidence that the lyrics so often dwell on dreams and the midnight hours, because that in the end is how I've come to think of these songs: as hazy, late-night dreams, floating mystically from one artist's imagination, now through another's, and finally to our own.
Feb 26

053 :: GIVE

FEATURING "Give-upping" by Disiniblud, from Disiniblud, released by Smugglers Way in 2025. Listen / Buy direct TRANSCRIPT What am I hearing? That is, perhaps, the fundamental question I hope any new piece of music I come across will pose. What I am constantly seeking is music that throws me into a state of bewilderment and also wonder. And this music, in all its shimmering brilliance, is a perfect example: so clearly a thing of beauty, but such a baffling collage, of countless voices layered one on top of the other, chopped, cut short, sometimes glitching out, as the surrounding air buzzes with an anxious rattle and melts into a warm harmony, enveloping itself as it envelops us. But what really strikes me about this music is its eschewal of form. It's not following any standard structure or compositional pattern. It's more like it's following individual sounds and ideas, seeing where they lead, letting them blossom and multiply, and pulling every other imaginable sound in with them. It's like music is not so much the intention but rather an emergent phenomenon of the controlled chaos these musicians have stirred into existence. And it's remarkable, to encounter music like this. It never seems like it should be possible, and you never know which way it's gonna go. And I know, this is not the first music to ever sound like this. I guess it's what is typically called "post-rock", but even that designation seems too specific. It's more like post-everything, post-post, postcore, post as an aesthetic unto itself. So, of course, this music must push itself to the limit – must nearly rend itself apart – must take in everything in order to show that it can transcend anything, even its own being. And I still don't know what I'm hearing. Fragments of voices, disappearing before completing their thought. A throbbing bass, pounding like a headache or a heart attack. A keyboard so overdriven that it might be a guitar. Drums whose rhythm is like a perpetual crash. A wall of barely distinguishable sounds. Yet somehow, from this maelstrom, what we hear is music, bursting forth from these millions of sound waves colliding, a new form of energy released out into the world, a little miracle of physics – a bewildering wonder ringing between our ears.
Jan 30

052 :: HOW

FEATURING How You Been by SML, released by International Anthem in 2025. Listen / Buy direct "Daves" "Chicago Three" TRANSCRIPT Jazz wasn't meant to be like this. And I'm not talking about this music's sound or arrangement or atonality. In all those respects, this is exactly how jazz should be: exploratory, experimental, playful, and free. No, I'm talking about something much more basic: the fact that we are listening to a piece of recorded music, whereas jazz is meant to be experienced in the moment of its performance. So how, then, does this recording manage to sound so spontaneous and alive? More than any other jazz record I can think of, I feel like I'm hearing the music come together in real time, every player improvising wildly and continuously finding new directions to move in. Obviously there's the sax out in front, vigorously pushing everything forward. But I also love what the guitar is doing, syncopating with this piercing two-note riff. The drums are, frankly, out of control, and the bass is on a whole other wavelength, holding it down in its own time and feel. And lower in the mix, there's a rolling boil of synth sounds that I can only think to describe as aquatic mallet percussion. Yet somehow, somehow, it all works. And not just works: it grooves, it excites, it cooks, it kills. And as many times as I listen to this recording over and over again, it surprises. What's not so surprising is that this music originates from live recordings of improvised performances. Its raw musical material was created on the spot. But for this recording, that raw material has been processed and refined, manipulated in post-production into whole new forms. It's like the band took their live performances and distilled what was most vital in them, reconstructing their various bits and bytes into something that's even more live than live. Which is, really, what any good recording should do: to present a rarefied version of what the music, in its original conception, was. But I don't want you to get too hung up on this music's backstory. It's not so important to know how this music came to be; what's important is to hear this music for what it is – to feel the wild energy coursing through its veins – and to marvel that a piece of recorded music could ever sound so extemporaneous and yet also, so intricately arranged. And what's really remarkable is that this music has these same qualities even when it slows things down, even when it's not playing at full tilt, when it trades free jazz for smooth jazz and veers into something more plainly melodic and mellifluous. Even if it doesn't have quite the same energy, it retains the same spirit: of playfulness, creativity, originality, synergy – a commitment to discover new forms of expression in its motley ensemble of sounds. You can hear this even at the level of the individual parts, the way each instrument is subtly twisted and transformed, unravelling in new and unexpected directions. And some of it is just that these musicians clearly have a predilection for the goofy and the weird: the springy synth, the quacky guitar, the squawky sax. Where others might shy away from these sounds, they lean in, exploring their full sonic possibilities and proving that maybe they're not so goofy after all – that they can be hip or heady or high-minded or hard-nosed or even, in a way, beautiful. Listening to this music, I get the feeling that everything is fair game, and the point is to show us what we've been missing, to make every moment be full of surprise and delight, brimming with the unexpected and unconventional. And so we hear something like paper fluttering, a sax phasing in and out, crunchy static marching forward – an improbable symphony – the shape of jazz to come.
12/26/2025

051 :: MAGIC

FEATURING s h i n e by Tobias Jesso Jr., released by R&R in 2025. Listen "Everything May Soon Be Gone" "Black Magic" TRANSCRIPT Most of the album is like this: quiet and delicate, just a piano man at his piano, recorded so closely that you can hear the air in the room, the creaks of the chair, the rise and fall of the piano's pedals. It's an intimate affair. Yet as much as I love this, I actually want to talk about the one song on this record that's not this way, that's loud and energetic and a brisk two minutes, so I better talk fast. This song hooks me from its very first notes. And it never lets up – with each passing measure I feel myself falling deeper into its spell. And it couldn't be simpler: it's still just a piano man at his piano. But the production this time is almost claustrophobic, as if the musician's been shut up in a too small room, where every burst of volume reverberates and ricochets off the walls, like they're trying to break free. The whole song has this propulsive energy, as it builds and builds up to its inevitable eruption: a yawping chorus, set over new and thunderous chords – and then, it all dissipates, as quickly as it appeared. And then, like any good pop song, we now do the whole thing over again: one more time through the verse and the chorus and then a final post-chorus and then we're done. It's like a distillation of pop songwriting, and part of what I love about it is that potency, how it manages to squeeze so much into such a small space, just like the production makes the song sound. But it also does this other thing that never gets old: it's describing a feeling that the music itself creates in the listener. Because when I hear this song, I'm hypnotized, and I know exactly what the singer means.
11/27/2025

050 :: NEXUS

FEATURING Nexus by Mohammad Reza Mortazavi, released by Latency in 2025. Listen / Buy direct "Particle" "Swamp" TRANSCRIPT The first thing I hear is time: the time that has passed since I first heard this artist and since I decided to feature them on the very first episode of this show. Now, five years later and fifty episodes in, the artist is back and I have returned to the place where it all began. And how appropriate, on this occasion, which like any anniversary was bound to make me reflect on the passage of time – how appropriate that this would be the music to ring it in, as this music is effectively about the passage of time: this is what it seems designed to make us hear. And nowhere is this more true than in this song, which is just a pulse, tapped out on a drum, not quite as regular as a metronome but just as unrelenting. And in a way that this artist's music always does for me, I feel like I am hearing simultaneously time moving forward, but also standing still. Paradoxically, in this music that is nothing but rhythm, that is nothing but marked time, I feel that I have been lifted out of time – that past, present, and future have collapsed – that I have been transported to the eternal now – and that maybe the passage of time is an illusion, a shadow play on the screen of our consciousness, and somehow this hypnotic thrum has lifted the veil on the whole charade. Or maybe it's just that this anniversary has got me in a contemplative mood. Because as much as this music reminds me that five years have passed, it also makes me feel like no time has passed at all. I'm still here, listening closely, feeling just as affected by this artist's music as I was then, so much so that I am compelled to write about it, to let others know about it, so that they might feel it too. I can't hear this music without feeling like nothing has changed. But that's not true, of course. So much is different; so much is new. Which is remarkable, that even for an artist limited to a single, percussive instrument, they are still finding new forms of expression, new arrangements of sound, new ways of surprising and delighting our ears. I honestly have no idea how this sound is even produced, what strange mix of movements is being used to make this drum come alive. It gives the impression of a thousand hands, all converging, fingers rapping, knuckles cracking, fervently tapping and scratching out a beat. And below it all, a steady and heavy thumping, anchoring everything in place – except it's not actually steady at all, being ever so subtly off-kilter, such that just when you think you've internalized its pulse, it hiccups and skips a fraction of a beat, shifting the song's center of gravity just an inch but transforming its orbital motions entirely. This music has always had for me this mesmerizing, trance-like quality, no doubt brought on by its seemingly infinite but never quite identical loop, an all-too-human conjuring of an unending spell. But really, in a way, this is what all music does for me, even music that is much more varied and dynamic: again and again, I find myself bewitched, suspended in time as the music moves around me. This is, I suppose, why I listen to music, and, I suppose, why I am inspired to make this show. I am always chasing this feeling, and when I find it I just want to stay there and hold everything else still, to marvel at the music and preserve it in amber for everyone to see. I still don't understand why music does this for me like no other medium can. But I am grateful that it does, and just like this music, I hope it never stops.

5

out of 5

3 Ratings

Reflections on the joys of discovering new music

Creator

Willie Costello
Years Active

2020 - 2026
Episodes

57
Rating

Explicit
Copyright

© Copyright Willie Costello
Show Website

The Year of Magical Listening