RiYL

Matt greets me at the door of the duo’s spacious Brooklyn home. We walk past a fireplace mantel showcasing multiple MTV Moon Men. We chat for a bit about social media, and he shows me snippets of the Matt and Kim Vlog — short videos from the road, designed to connect with the group’s very loyal fanbase. We meet Kim upstairs in a room they’ve converted into a recording studio. Kim wonders half-jokingly whether she’s going to “drag [her] lazy ass out of bed” in the morning for an exercise class (she will), and as gesture to a toy piano in the corner, Matt taps out the melody of “Daylight.” Kim and Matt are beaming and joking — precisely the what you’d expect from the pair after listening to their records for a dozen years. But the current state of affairs belies the struggle that underpins much of their most recent record, Almost Everyday. The album was written during Kim’s recovery process, after the drummer injured her ACL on-stage in Mexico. 2017 was a year filled with recuperation and bouts of depression. But both insist they came out the side better for it — and at the very least, having recorded their most introspective work to date.

Reagan Youth only released a single album during its first incarnation, but the group of anarcho-punks from Queens had a profound impact on the New York hardcore scene. The band called it quits in 1989, as their primary inspiration, Ronald Reagan finally left office. Founding members Dave Rubinstein and Paul Bakija would go onto form House of God with drummer Javier Madriaga. The psychedelic rock band was ultimately short lived, due, in part to Rubinstein’s drug problems. Ultimately, the band left only an unmixed seven-song demo behind. Rubinstein’s death by suicide in 1993, seemingly closed the book on both bands forever. In 2006, however, the band reformed the band with a new vocalist for a one-off show that eventually became something more permanent. Bakija’ plans for the band include a concept album dedicated to his to Rubenstein, his childhood classmate and a metal record, both bearing the Reagan Youth name. He joins us to discuss how the musical project has soldiered on, after the death of its driving force.

“I think there’s something radical, defiant and necessary about continuing to tell the truth in a very compassionate way in a world that is screaming and yelling talking points at each other,” Kevin Allison explains. “To me it just seems important right now.” The week we record this conversion, news breaks about child detention centers at US/Mexico border. Even in one of the roughest years in recent memory, things are staring to look especially bleak. But the former member of The State turned podcast host finds some hope in interactions with a diverse group of listeners. The extreme and embarrassing nature of Risk’s stories have helped engender a surprising sense of empathy amongst listeners of different backgrounds. “People will write in and say, ‘I never thought I’d listen to a show about a man eating another man’s shit and feel moved,” he says with a laugh. The show, which is just shy of ten-years-old also recently landed Allison a book deal. Risk: True Stories People Never Thought They'd Dare to Share is out now, featuring a number of essays adapted from the live show by storytellers including past RiYL guests Marc Maron and Jesse Thorn.

In the early 90s, Allen Ravenstine quit music. Just like that, to hear him tell it. The founding keyboardist for pioneering art-punk legends Pere Ubu was finished with the industry, opting to fly gliders and ultimately work his way up to commercial airline pilot. 2014’s modular synthesizer documentary I Dream of Wires changed things, however. A jam session with his Ubu replaement Robert Wheeler found him fiddling with synthesizers yet again.The music switch flipped on just as easily it had turned off, more than a decade prior. Waiting for Bomb finds is the result of hours of experimentation, distilled into 18 tracks that capture the energy of those early days. “I lose myself [making music],” he says as we sit down for an interview in Manhattan. “It’s a very peaceful place to be. I’m living in the moment, and that’s a rare feeling, to be untroubled by the past or future”

“I’m pulled in a million different directions,” says Ian Parton. The musician is describing the inspiration that led to the creation of the Go! Team in the lobby of La Poisson Rouge in Manhattan. It’s the final night of the tour, and he believes the band is really just starting to hit its stride. But two weeks is about all Parton can take, with two kids at home in the U.K. Parton describes the band’s vibe as a kind of cross between his love of noise music and obsession with melody. “I like forcing things. I like the idea of worlds colliding,” he explains., “I think of myself in the hook business […] No one’s really cracked it. It’s still as elusive to Paul McCartney as it is to me.”The band’s latest, Semicircle is as loud and about as good as anything the band has produced in its nearly 20-year-long existence. It’s a raucous cacophony of sounds and influences, featuring a wide range of collaborators, including the Detroit Youth Choir.

In 2012, Sylvia drew to a close. For the first time in more than 20 years, Nicole Hollander found herself without a daily comic. But the lifelong Chicagoan wasn’t done with cartooning just yet. Released earlier this year, We Ate Wonder Bread marks a distinct change for Hollander, moving from strips to long form. The book, which was inspired by a storytelling course and a trip to her old neighborhood via Google Street View, finds the artist exploring tales of her youth. I paid a visit to Hollander’s Chicago apartment during a recent visit to the city. We discussed the beginnings of her career as a cartoonist and what it was like regularly being the only woman in the room. 

Launching a media property is never easy, but from the outside, at least, the story of Pineapple Street’s early days certainly seem charmed. The network counted among its earliest hosts then-presidential candidate Hillary Clinton. There aren’t too many people in the world who bring more star power to the table. The network has launched numerous high profile shows since With Her, including Lena Dunham’s Women of the Hour podcast and the surprise runaway hit, Missing Richard Simmons. Jenna Weiss-Berman cofounded the company in 2016, leaving a cushy gig at Buzzfeed to enter the uncertain world of startups. “I always wanted to work in either homeless services or make podcast,” she explains during our chat at the OnAir Fest in Brooklyn. “I want to do things that feel like they’re making a difference.”  

Dana Buoy’s two LPs feel like the work of two different bands. The first is a clear successor to front man Dana Janssen’s work in the beloved freak folk outfit, Akron/Family. This year’s Ice Glitter Gold, on the other hand, is a late-night dance record, driven by Janssen’s 4-on-the-floor drumming. A lot has happened since the band released their 2012 debut. Life intervened, and the record didn’t perform as well as expected. Janssen and bandmate Justin Miller also relocated to Portland from New York, as the kids all seem to be doing these days. Fresh off a red eye from a whirlwind visit to their former home, the pair sat down to discuss the stress of city living, dealing with disappointment and the pluses and minuses of reinvention.

“Music doesn’t happen when you try really hard,” Royston Langdon explains, toward the tail end of our conversation. “Keith Richards didn’t write the riff for ‘Satisfaction’ while he was concentrating.” Everything’s Dandy, his debut record under the moniker Leeds, finds the former Spacehog frontman in a more reflective space. He’s mellowed, it seems, since those heady days of mid-90s New York City. He got married, had a kid, the band broke up a couple of times in the interim. And while songwriting has been a kind of constant in his life since the age of 12, Langdon explains that art isn’t something you can force. It’s a kind of quiet acceptance of all that life has thrown at him — for better and worse — that has informed both his music and general state of mind.

You would be hard-pressed to find an artist as passionate — or joyful — about their art than Fatoumata Diawara. It’s catharsis and happiness and medicine, all rolled into one, with songs that explore some of the darkest moments of the human experience inspired by the confessional style of the American blues, set to joyful rhythms emanating from West Africa. “When you stop crying, you decide two things: to kill yourself, or to survive,” the Malian musician explains, during our conversation. “And when you decide to survive, you must find things to help you survive. Music was mine.” Diawara is extremely candid during our half-hour-long chat, discussing her own hardships and those others have a tendency to confess to her. But she’s ever hopeful, for having discovered her reason for being put on this earth: bringing joy to others through the music making process.

She’s a comedian, a radio host and a writer, but above all, Ophira Eisenberg is a storytelling. That much is immediately clear a few minutes into a conversation. When she’s not hosting NPR’s popular quiz show, Ask Me Another, Eisenberg is discovering different outlets, from her early days as a New York standup, to storytelling gigs with The Moth. In 2013, she released her debut memoir, the hilarious confessional, Screw Everyone: Sleeping My Way to Monogamy. These days, she’s moved on the scars as a storytelling device, as she explores those moments that have defined her throughout her life. In this wide-ranging and fast-moving conversation, we discuss the importance of confessional storytelling, and whether becoming well-adjusted really does get easier as you mature.

For 42 years, Eugene Chadbourne has been wonderfully, definitely and sometimes frustratingly independent. A one-man journey into avant-garde folk and jazz, his work has touched several generations of independent musicians, from collaborations with college rockers Camper Van Beethoven, to a Sun Ra tribute where he played his own musical concoction, built with an electric guitar pick up and a garden rake.Earlier this decade, the journeyman musician released Dreamory, a massive, 1,000+ page tome that flips between memoir and dream logic, telling of his entry into music as a Beatles obsessed youth.After a reading in Brooklyn, Chadbourne and I sat down at a Williamsburg diner to discuss his career and the state of the industry, with a special cameo from collaborator and lifelong fan, Jim McHugh.

By the time their self-title debut dropped last month, Goat Girl was already a buzz band. The South London quartet had signed to Rough Trade two years prior, drawing the industry’s attention with their energetic live show. The band’s music is both playful and political, building up a following of fans disillusioned by the likes of Brexit and Trump. Fresh off a triumphant appearance at SXSW, the entire band — Clottie Cream, Rosy Bones, Naima Jelly and L.E.D. — shared a mic on a subterranean office couch to inspiration, friendship and why modern guitar rock is so boring.

“The rewards of being a successful cartoonist would not be enough to make for a happy life,” says Adrian Tomine. It’s something that’s changed as he’s grown older, gotten married, had kids. He adds that he’s grateful for the readers and the recognition — that plenty of people still read everything he does. But priorities change. as we get older. Where critical acclaim for a new work would have been more than enough to keep him going, the Brooklyn-based artists is more focused these days on his wife and two daughters — factors that have impacted both the way he works and what he produces. The short stories in his latest, Killing and Dying (now out in paperback), while not connected in term of subject matter, all contain elements of a creator steeped in parenting. And while being home during the day to care for two young kids hasn’t made him the most productive he’s been in his career, it’s compelled him to take risks, like optioning a comic to filmmakers for the first time in his long career. In this wide ranging and honest conversation, we discuss the pitfalls of perfection, the influence of growing up in Northern California and inhabiting the shoes of a broad ranging cast of characters.

  Valentine’s Day casts a slight pall on the conversation, as we sit down just ahead of Titus Andronicus’ latest record, A Productive Cough. There’s a lot of talk about art and punk and life, and how long one can sustain a rock and roll career without reaching the jet setting heights of a Led Zeppelin or U2. It’s a conversation Patrick Stickles has always been open about. The band’s driving force and sole consistent member has often openly wondered whether each album might be its last, but has continued to release new records on a regular schedule. The band’s latest is a stylistic departure from the group’s earlier work, with “no punk bangers,” as he puts it during our conversation, followed up by a stripped down, nearly acoustic tour. “Pushing yourself out of your comfort zone is how you grow,” he says. But Stickles and band maintain the ethos on which the project was founded, seeking to find a personal connection with its loyal fanbase, continuing to evolve nearly a decade and a half into the group’s existence.