7 things that turned me out, like Charly Bliss and a dead penguin
What I've been watching, reading, and listening to in August
It’s the end of the month, which means it’s time for rapid-fire recommendations. It means that because I like too many things.
Here’s what turned me out in August.
‘Forever’ by Charly Bliss
If pop-rock band Charly Bliss’ debut LP, “Guppy,” was a “Reality Bites”-flavored soundtrack for mall vagrancy, and 2019’s “Young Enough” was an exercise in stadium-ready polish, then new album “Forever” is a sweet synthesis of the two. It came out Aug. 16, and it rips.
I find it hard to describe singer Eva Hendricks’ vocals without immediately qualifying what I said. In a 2019 review, I wrote that her high pitch and sour-candy tone made me think of a “peregrine falcon achieving and maintaining cruising speed.” But not literally! In a very good way! Hendricks’ tone is as punk as it is pop. When listening to a song by the Brooklyn band, it feels like the whole thing would crash into a pile of Jenga blocks if you took that singular voice out. That’s branding, babe.
The band top-loads “Forever” with its signature tunes — bubbly, catchy and raucous, like cotton candy spewing out of a firehose. Rocksteady opener “Tragic” is a sine wave of moods, shifting up and down from minimalist digital moments to thrumming surges of guitar. On “Calling You Out,” Hendricks skips-to-her-lou through summery shit talk about her own paranoia:
“Every time I swear the worst is over now/ You just say one thing and I find a way to turn it around/ I wanna be the one to love you not calling you out”
Throughout, the album finds the band cracking open their spiral notebooks for confessional quiet time. (Well, quieter time.) Some songs are downright strummy, like “In Your Bed,” which evokes the most intimate Muna tracks. On “Easy to Love You,” Hendricks sings of “coming alive in a cheap old bed” over a melody that sounds like a Jenny Lewis deep cut.
This is an album about soft underbellies, and the lyrics chart self-loathing, jealousy, and exuberant confessions of love. Every line is deliciously specific, too. “Let’s fight like Italians,” Hendricks sings on closer “Last First Kiss.”
“If I'm a rock star, I'm not doing it right,” Hendricks incorrectly claims on the song “I’m Not Dead.” I mean, did she even listen to “Forever”?
‘str8_summer’ by Mike Taveira
The irresistible, intrusive aroma of Axe Body Spray. A chain tangled in chest hair. The inherent sluttiness of basketball shorts. These are the siren songs of the straight bro, as well as the moodboard for Mike Taveira’s new EP.
The indie singer was a pandemic discovery for me (specifically “Faces”). “Str8_summer” deepens his catalogue of queer earworms. Queerworms.
Taveira’s Instagram posts leading up to the release were a masterclass in curating a vibe. When he dropped single “Want It Serious,” he divulged the inspiration: “stories about closeted dudes i unintentionally came across this summer.”
The whole EP is sultry and shimmery. For fans of Troye Sivan who just don’t trust twinks.
‘Sing Sing,’ directed by Greg Kwedar
I’ve heard people say the trailer for “Sing Sing” makes it look like a sappy, inspo-porn prison movie. That makes me flap my arms and sputter. Actually, it’s great because it rebukes the impulse to be that movie at every turn.
Austin filmmaker Greg Kwedar’s film is near and dear to my heart. I was lucky to introduce its U.S. premiere at South by Southwest Film & TV Festival in March and then moderate the post-show Q&A. And earlier this month, I hosted an opening weekend conversation with Kwedar and producer Monique Walton at Alamo Drafthouse South Lamar. Every time I’ve seen this film, I’ve cried.
“Sing Sing” is based on a real prison theater program and the actors who found power in it. But crucially, almost every actor save star Colman Domingo is a formerly incarcerated person playing themselves. You can gather, then, that honesty pulses through the film.
During the conversation at Drafthouse earlier this month, I told the filmmakers how refreshing it is to see such emotionally healthy male dynamics portrayed on screen. Kwedar said that the cast’s real-life bonds directly informed the shoot, with some scenes drawn from IRL moments on set.
Domingo is predictably tremendous in the lead role. We must get the man his Oscar. And while co-star Clarence Maclin has deservedly received effusive critical praise for playing himself, I’ll shout out supporting player Sean “Dino” Johnson, too. Another actor channeling his own experience, Johnson delivers one of the most powerful monologues in the film. Kwedar said he recently picked up an agent, which is great news for us.
“Sing Sing” is in theaters now.
That gay penguin
The Australians Old Yeller’d a gay penguin. This New York Times story by Isabella Kwan duly eulogizes Sphen, a male gentoo penguin who lived in a Sydney aquarium with his longtime companion, Magic, until he went off to that great black-tie affair in the sky.
The story is sweet:
“The penguin keepers embraced their partnership and gave them a dummy egg to foster. They were later given a real egg after a heterosexual penguin couple appeared to be neglecting their parenting duties. Sphen and Magic, who had achieved relative stability with their big nest, diligently nurtured their bundle of joy, swapping shifts to incubate the egg and keep it warm.”
It’s also sternum-crackingly depressing. Look how they massacred my boy:
“The penguin died earlier this month after his health deteriorated, the Sea Life Sydney Aquarium team said in an email. The aquarium did not give additional information on his ailment but said that it made the difficult decision to euthanize Sphen, ‘easing him of any pain or discomfort.’”
Putting a gay Australian penguin to death does feel like a “last omen before apocalyptic horrors untold” situation.
‘Soup’ by Remi Wolf
Remi Wolf’s colorful infusions of funk into the pop-o-sphere, like “Photo ID” and “Monte Carlo,” set her apart on any playlist. Her new single, “Soup,” sounds startlingly conventional — in an ’80s-throwback way — but it still retains all that personality. Off-kilter lyrics like, “You're so patient with the animals too/ If you give me your keys, I'll go and pick up the soup,” as roared in Wolf’s foghorn tones, probably have something to do with that.
When ol’ Remington Wolf hits, she hits. This is music’s greatest ode to broth-based food since Chic’s “Soup for One.” (There’s a great new Song Exploder episode about “Soup,” too.)
‘Alien: Romulus,’ directed by Fede Álvarez
I watched the 1979 “Alien” for the first time on a snowy pandemic day. Ideal atmosphere, what with the grim, cold confinement. While the rest of the franchise is still in my watchlist, I did see “Alien: Romulus” the other weekend. I can’t fathom what more someone could want from a sci-fi blockbuster.
Cailee Spaeny and David Jonsson lead a young new ensemble of space rats. It looks like “Weyland-Yutani: The High School Years” in there. And is it still called retrofuturism if the vision of tomorrow borrows from the 1970s instead of the ’50s? “Romulus” sucks you right into its airlock with big, glowing buttons, pixelated screens, and, of course, grungy pipe-filled corridors that coil as dangerously as a xenomorph’s tail.
Álvarez goes economical when introducing the characters, their dynamics, and their personal stakes. He cuts straight to the face-hugging quicker than you can scream. Which, I’ve been told, no one can hear.
The filmmaker structures “Romulus” as a classic hero’s journey mixed with a little Nintendo gameplay. Spaeny and Jonsson navigate a never-ending gauntlet of H.R. Giger-fied obstacles. My favorite: a tunnel of floating acid-blood. It all culminates in a final boss battle that sees your “WT” and raises it an “F”
A few reviews focused on the apparently abundant fan service in “Romulus.” Aside from a couple zeitgeisty moments, I wouldn’t know. (The film does ghoulishly resurrect one late actor using animatronics, CGI, AI, and the work of a new performer, which is a whole ’nother ball of ironic wax.)
But to me, unburdened by what has been, the most exciting parts are the leads. Both have excited me in earlier breakouts — Spaeny in “Priscilla” and Jonsson in “Rye Lane.” Seems to me that if you’re going to revive a 45-year-old property, it helps if you actually want to see the protagonists in a sequel.
‘Quantum Baby’ by Tinashe
The rise of “Nasty” on TikTok marked a moral victory. Despite steaming up the joint with hot songs like “2 On” and “All Hands on Deck” throughout the 2010s, Tinashe’s career remains the “27 Dresses” of R&B. She’s just never quiiite ascended to the throne. Hopefully the “Nasty” bump helps her new album, “Quantum Baby.” It delivers the goods, yet again. The song “No Broke Boys,” with its chanted chorus, would make TLC proud.
This week’s outbound message
One of my reliable pitch engines is asking myself, “What if I write about a thing I already like, but someone pays me to do so”? Earlier this month, Eater published my appreciation of Wheatsville Co-op’s popcorn tofu, the vegetarian snack that built Austin.
Get me one of those “Dune” sandworm popcorn buckets, and fill ’er up.
My latest on this self-imposed beat: an appreciation for Taco Cabana’s flour tortillas. I wrote it for the launch of The Barbed Wire, a Texas news and culture outlet. The headline was actually my pitch: “Bury me in a Taco Cabana tortilla when I die.”
And I mean it.