ALBUM REVIEWS
“Thank you Kim Gordon,” one caption put it, “putting out bangers in ur 70s, now I’m not scared to grow old.” The former Sonic Youth singer and bassist has become an unlikely TikTok smash thanks to her dissonant recent single ‘BYE BYE’, a punishing blast of blown-out bass and ice-cold trap beats. Battered by the noise, Gordon sounds unmoved as she coolly recounts the shit that needs to get done: “Buy suitcase, pants to the cleaner… Call the vet, call the groomer / Call the dog sit-terrr.”
It’s a thrillingly avant-grade performance that’s also pretty accessible and catchy, a trick repeated throughout her second solo album, ‘The Collective’, on which it appears. Here the 70-year-old balances her less than commercial sensibilities with crunchily on-trend production and relatable lyrics about rotten capitalism and fragile masculinity – if these sound like themes she explored during Sonic Youth’s ‘90s heyday, it only goes to show how little has changed.
The bracing production comes courtesy of Justin Raisen, who helmed the album’s predecessor, ‘No Home Record’, and has helped to steer the likes of Lil Yachty into unchartered territory. Gordon’s latest vision is crystallised on ‘I Don’t Miss My Mind’, which pairs a muscular beat with insidious synth as she half-raps about “crying on the subway” and “drywall for days”; vignettes of everyday life broken up like jagged shards of glass.
Not all of these experiments quite come off: the industrial clang of ‘It’s Dark Inside’, on which she drawls, “they don’t teach clit in school / Like do Lit”, veers close to ‘Yeezus’ parody. It’s notable, though, how contemporary her distorted art-punk sounds, given the ongoing grunge resurgence and the fact that Olivia Rodrigo’s taking The Breeders on tour this year. Despite her new album’s title, here is an icon who’s spent more than four decades making truly individual art.
ALBUM REVIEWS
The leather jackets and skinny jeans worn by Noah Dillon and Chandler Ransom Lucy have become something of a signature, and the pair have hovered around the edges of the pop worlds in New York and Los Angeles for quite some time. First highlighted by NME during the Dimes Square resurgence in 2023, The Hellp have gradually stepped away from their earlier indie-sleaze imitation and leaned into something far more thoughtful. Their wild, neon-tinged party vibe has been traded for a more cinematic electronic approach that still holds onto a confident, self-aware attitude.
Dillon and Lucy started releasing music as The Hellp in 2016, with early mixtapes rooted in the chaotic nights and carefree behaviour once associated with NYC’s indie-sleaze staples like LCD Soundsystem and Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Over time, though, they’ve earned a steadily growing respect from critics. That rise has come through both their underground gigs, which have included a show at London’s Corsica Studios with Fakemink as support, and through Dillon’s expanding visual work that recently reached Rosalía’s ‘LUX’ album and a pair of music videos for 2hollis.
As ‘Riviera’ approached release, the duo shared: “We knew our next project would need to be a bit more mature… we refuse to become stagnant. ‘Riviera’ is more solemn, restrained and impassioned than anything we’ve done before.” The finished album feels like Dillon and Lucy carefully balancing identity and openness, theatricality and direct emotion.
The lead release, ‘Country Road’, carries a late-night heaviness, the kind of confession you would quietly tell a friend in a club’s smoking area. Its lonely tone is surrounded by glitching electronics and a rising bridge that points to the exhaustion that follows endless nights out. Tracks like ‘New Wave America’ and ‘Cortt’ deepen what the duo mention in their liner notes as a “desperate story of the disparate Americana.” Both pieces broaden the album’s emotional landscape and offer clear-eyed commentary on reluctantly stepping into adulthood.
When ‘Riviera’ shifts into ‘Doppler’, the tone brightens for a moment as hopeful synths lift Dillon’s words about yearning and heartbreak into an emotional peak. And in the final moments of the record, The Hellp land on something instantly familiar to anyone who has drifted away from the club scene. The Kavinsky-like opening of ‘Here I Am’ nods to their early inspirations, while the closing track ‘Live Forever’ arrives with a slow, grounded maturity, built around Dillon repeating the line: “I don’t want to live forever.”
‘Riviera’ holds far less disorder than The Hellp’s earlier releases. This turn inward marks an important risk for a duo once fuelled by the momentum of a downtown New York comeback. By easing off the frenzy, The Hellp have stepped out of the party’s lingering haze and returned with a style that feels more refined and more aware of itself than anything they have created before.
