Billie Eilish's Albums Are Flying High — All Of Them
All three of Billie Eilish's albums appear on at least four U.K. charts this week, with Hit Me Hard ... More and Soft returning to the top 10 on multiple rankings. LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA - NOVEMBER 04: Billie Eilish, wearing Gucci, attends the 2023 LACMA Art+Film Gala, Presented By Gucci at Los Angeles County Museum of Art on November 04, 2023 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo byfor LACMA)
Billie Eilish's albums typically perform well simultaneously, and it's a rare week when all three of her full-lengths don't appear not only on the main list of the most-consumed projects in the United Kingdom, but also among the most-streamed and bestselling.
She's only released three complete projects in her career, but even years after their debuts, they all remain hugely successful. This week, When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?, Happier Than Ever and Hit Me Hard and Soft each appear on at least four tallies apiece in the U.K. In each instance, they're growing by leaps and bounds — some surging dozens of spots from one frame to the next. This period has turned out to be a very lucrative one for the singer-songwriter, as interest in her catalog is apparently up significantly from just a few days ago.
Unsurprisingly, Hit Me Hard and Soft, Eilish's latest full-length, is her top performer. The title returns to the top 10 on both the Official Albums and the Official Albums Streaming charts. It also lifts at least 20 spaces on two purchase-only rankings. Hit Me Hard and Soft is the only one of Eilish's collections to currently appear on five rosters in the U.K., as the set also manages to reenter the Official Vinyl Albums Chart at No. 29.
The album is performing so well largely based off of the continued popularity of the single 'Birds of a Feather,' which remains a top 40 smash on two of the three tallies where it makes a home.
Eilish's successes rank from newest to oldest this week, with Happier Than Ever, her sophomore effort, serving as her second-best-performing studio LP. While it doesn't break into the top 10, Happier Than Ever does grow by the greatest number of spaces on at least one roster. The hit-packed set jumps almost 40 spots on both the Official Albums Sales and Official Physical Albums charts. It also grows by a huge number of spaces on both the main consumption ranking and the streaming-only list.
When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? introduced Eilish to a massive worldwide audience half a decade ago, and it's still a chart win, which is a major accomplishment for a years-old pop/rock set. After sitting in the third-to-last position on the Official Albums Sales and Official Physical Albums charts last week, the debut full-length rockets more than 30 spots on the list of the top-selling releases on any physical format and grows by more than 25 on the general Official Albums Sales tally.
At the same time, it celebrates 250 weeks on the Official Albums chart and five full years as one of the most-streamed sets in the country.
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Forbes
37 minutes ago
- Forbes
At Gearbox Records The Sound Quality Remains First
Darrel Sheinman, the man behind jazz label Gearbox. In an era defined by digital speed, algorithmic curation, and disposable listening, Gearbox Records has carved out a defiant space for intentionality, sonic depth, and analog fidelity. Founded by Darrel Sheinman in London, the boutique label has become a cult favorite among audiophiles, crate diggers, and adventurous jazz heads alike—known for producing genre-defying jazz, folk, and ambient records, many of which are cut directly from tape to vinyl. Unlike many indie labels that choose between nostalgia and innovation, Gearbox does both. Its catalog spans an impressive spectrum of artists and styles: from the kinetic energy of free jazz duo Binker and Moses Boyd to the timeless elegance of legendary trumpeter Charles Tolliver, whose 2020 release Connect was recorded entirely to tape at RAK Studios. Gearbox has also unearthed and reissued long-lost gems from jazz giants like Thelonious Monk, Dexter Gordon, and Abdullah Ibrahim—bringing rare archival recordings back to life for a new generation of listeners. On the experimental end, the label isn't afraid to push boundaries, as evidenced by Magnificent Little Dudes, a captivating collaboration between Japanese ambient artist Chihei Hatakeyama and jazz drummer Shun Ishiwaka. But Gearbox's mission goes beyond preservation. At a time when vinyl has re-emerged as a symbol of permanence, the label is boldly integrating cutting-edge technology with its analog roots. Through a pioneering Web3 initiative, Gearbox is reshaping how fans experience physical music—offering digital tokens alongside vinyl purchases to unlock exclusive content, event access, and even artist interactions. 'We're trying to do it differently,' Sheinman explains. 'We want to tie digital assets—tokenization—to real-world products. So we're not creating some random token or digital image that spikes and crashes. Instead, when someone buys a record, they also get a token.' This blending of tactile listening and digital innovation mirrors the label's deeper ethos: respecting legacy while embracing evolution. (Sage Bava) Steve Baltin: It's interesting—over the years, I spoke with a lot of people, including Eddie Van Halen and Daniel Lanois, about the importance of analog. They worked almost exclusively with it. Do you find that certain musicians and producers are drawn to the fact that you primarily use analog? So many are meticulous about it—I remember Eddie saying he had two-inch tape reels all over his house. Darrel Sheinman: Yeah, so that was the thing—it was all about the analog sound. For me, there was a richness, and it's engaging. Obviously, it's a little bit cliché to say now, but there's a ritualistic approach to putting on vinyl, reel-to-reel, or tape cassettes, you know, which never went away for me. And I can tell you—even my kids like it now. My 16-year-old—he's got Tyler, the Creator—and he puts it on my record player and loves it, because he's so attuned to digital listening. And now, this is theatrical, it's fun, it's different. So yeah, there's definitely something about analog. And we've adhered to it at Gearbox religiously. We do digital mastering, but for third parties—and also because we've got to make money. We put out all formats for our artists, obviously. It sounds classified, but—and it's convenient—I'm not going to knock digital. It's convenient. But if you want to sit down, listen, and get involved—with the inmates, and like search through records and chat about stuff—vinyl kicks ass every time. Baltin: Well, it's funny—I think about that great scene in Almost Famous, where Patrick Fugit is sitting down with the records. No one has ever, in the history of cinema, filmed someone sitting down and putting on digital. Sheinman: Right. There's nothing visual about that. No, that's quite interesting. Yeah, I mean, probably not. I mean, Quentin Tarantino's into analog, and he's invested in a few cinemas that play analog film because it's his big thing, isn't it? Sage Bava: Wow, what an amazing story. As a jazz and analog fanatic myself, thank you for doing the important work of preserving this music. It's fascinating—you're working on both edges of the sword: honoring legacy music while also creating and releasing work with new artists. How has curating both the old and the new shaped the way you view jazz and music as a whole? Sheinman: That's a good question. I think—so one of the pieces of rigor that we use, and stick to as much as we can, is not just being analog at the mastering end of the chain, but also at the recording and mixing ends of the chain. Sometimes we have to dip into digital for editing—for example, in the mix—because, to be honest, there just aren't that many mix engineers around now who know how to edit tape, who know how to cut two-inch tape. So we have that. And that's really informed my whole approach—that you have to be rigorous from the beginning. With the archive stuff you're talking about, I'm often presented with a finished master tape, because it was done in an era where it was only tape. And that's easy for us—we clean it up and cut it straight from the tape onto our cutting blades to produce vinyl. From that, we'll also produce the digital version off the tape, by the way. So even the stuff people hear on Spotify—it comes off the tape. We're nutters. But how it's developed now for contemporary artists is that a lot of them know us for this sort of production technique. So I'll go to the studio and they're actually up for recording to tape, which is great. Binker and Moses Boyd—that's a duo we work with—they've stuck quite religiously to tape when recording with us. Charles Tolliver—we did a record for him, Connect, a few years ago at RAK Studios—and that was all analog, all tape. So I think artists are really starting to appreciate it. And if there's a production house that can do it, they're now migrating to that. And it's great to be able to say, 'It's all analog,' you know? Bava: I really appreciate the inclusivity in the music. Jazz is clearly the focus, but there's a real spread of genres among the artists you work with. One of my favorite conversations was with Herbie Hancock—I asked him, 'What is jazz?' We were talking about festivals that feature artists you wouldn't necessarily label as traditional jazz, and Herbie said, 'Jazz is spirit.' So I'm curious—how do you define jazz? And how do you curate such a wide range of sounds while still keeping the core of the label rooted in jazz? Sheinman: Yeah, what is jazz? It's been somewhat bastardized. A lot of people think it has to be this narrow thing. We released something with Chihei Hatakeyama—he's a Japanese ambient artist. We have a Japanese office, and he teamed up with a really well-known jazz drummer in Japan, Shun Ishiwaka. They made a record called Magnificent Little Dudes—best title ever—and we've done volumes one and two. It's free jazz drumming behind ambient music. It's actually one of my favorite things we've released because it brings together two very different genres: electronic ambient and jazz. Very pure. Very raw. Some wouldn't call it jazz—but to me, that is jazz. Jazz is about improvisation. It's creativity without limits. That's probably how it started. Johnny Griffin said jazz was music made to lift people up despite their circumstances. That's true too. So even though we also release a bit of folk, ambient, and electronic music, it all carries that same jazz spirit Herbie talked about. I agree with him completely. I mean, how can you not agree with Herbie Hancock? Yeah, I think that's absolutely right. And that's exactly how you stay on the path—as a samurai would say. You can't have a path if you're not actively moving. You've got to drive it. On the business side, we're now pivoting into the Web3 space. I know it's gotten a bit scammy with NFTs and such, but we're trying to do it differently. We want to tie digital assets—tokenization—to real-world products. So we're not creating some random token or digital image that spikes and crashes. Instead, when someone buys a record, they also get a token. We've built a platform that can hold those tokens—even for people who don't fully understand the tech. To them, it's just buying vinyl. But the token can do things: if the record performs well, you can get a discount on future Gearbox releases, or a payout, or access to other things—discounted tickets, maybe meet the artist. We're also integrating some 3D digital art under the NFT umbrella. So suddenly, buying a record gives you more—it gives you this living connection. That's our pivot right now. It's about using Web3 to deepen how artists connect with fans. Baltin: I think what you're doing is really interesting. Music has changed so much in the 21st century. I'm not even saying it's better or worse—it's just different. But one thing is clear: fans are now deeply invested in an artist's career. They want to feel involved. And sometimes, they're only invested in one artist—it's like that person is their person. For me—someone who grew up in the '70s, when rock still had mystique—I remember getting a Facebook recommendation once that said, 'You should be friends with Robert Plant.' And I thought, I don't want to think of Robert Plant being on Facebook. That's depressing as hell. Sheinman: Yes, that's interesting. But I do think pushing yourself out of your comfort zone is critical to success. You've got to be willing to fail. New ideas don't always work—but if you're okay saying, 'I might screw this up,' and then learn from it, that's how you grow. Try again. Keep moving. Bava: It's such an exciting perspective. I love how you're treating jazz as a malleable force—rooted in legacy, but also alive in these young, experimental scenes. Steve and I often talk about where music comes from. I don't know much about martial arts or being a samurai, but it feels like there's a similar energy—a deeper current you tap into. Musicians channel that in their own way. How are you bringing that energy into Gearbox? And what's coming up that you're excited about? Sheinman: Well, Web3 is definitely exciting, no doubt. But I'm also really interested in how people are receiving music again. We're seeing more clubs and bars—maybe this is happening in the States too—where people go just to listen. Hi-fi setups, vinyl, incredible sound systems. There's one in Brooklyn—Public Records, I think—it's got an amazing speaker system. There are similar spots in L.A., modeled after Japanese jazz listening rooms. We have a couple in London too. It's this idea of communal listening—in a space with proper sonic quality. You walk in, and the sound just hits you. It's immersive. It's as close to live performance as you can get without being on stage. That excites me. I'd love to open a review room. That was actually part of the original vision for Gearbox—something like a cinema for music. Like when people review rushes for a film before release. Why not do that for records? Have a dedicated room with Western Electric speakers, amazing acoustics, and people gather just to listen—together. That's the future I want to see. That's how I think people should receive music. Baltin: Isn't it funny how we all start off loving a certain kind of music—and naturally, as kids, we rebel? It's part of finding your own sound. But then, as you get older, you start to circle back to what your parents were listening to—what you were raised on. It happens all the time. Do you guys feel that too? Every artist I speak with says the same thing. It's like a full-circle moment. Sheinman: Yeah, I think that's a really good point. A lot of times, you're rebelling against something you don't even fully understand yet. You just know you have to break away. You're looking for something—trying to figure out who you are. And to really do that, you've got to push against your parents. You can't fully follow their path and still find your own identity. Baltin: That's a beautiful observation, actually. I completely agree. And now I finally understand why my— Anyway! (laughs) But yeah—I've talked about this with everyone from Patti Smith to Shaquille O'Neal. It doesn't matter who you are or who your friends are—to your kids, you're never cool. And if you are? Then you're probably doing something wrong. (laughs) Sheinman: That's so true. I was sent off to a British private school, and I was in a punk band there. They used to let the bands play in different houses. I remember one show—at the end of the set, I jumped up, kicked over my drum kit, and stormed off. I had a spray-dyed Mohican and the full look. They hated it—almost shut the whole concert program down. I had to apologize just so we could keep playing. But it was all about seeing how far I could push it—especially in a stuffy environment like that. It kind of worked. But I figured out where the line was. Baltin: Hey, at least now you know—your kids will probably do the same. Since you were a punk drummer, they'll probably rebel by getting into classical or polka. Then eventually, they'll come around to jazz. Sheinman: Yes, probably. In fact, I'm already leaning into classical myself as I get older. I've started listening to a lot more modern classical composers. It's fascinating stuff. Bava: I'd love to touch briefly on the archival recordings. Sheinman: It was so cool to talk about how we source and revitalize these recordings, but some of the most exciting moments come from the discoveries. I remember when I was starting out—sitting in the British Library listening booths, going through old recordings. You'd hear something and think, 'This is great. Why has no one ever put this out?' That kind of discovery—music no one's heard in decades—it's magic. I wasn't only listening to jazz. There was this great basement jazz thing from Glastonbury, and I thought, 'This has to be released.' Same with a live concert by a band called Athlete—an indie rock group. And of course, loads of jazz tapes. Eventually, we started getting the rights. At first, no one knew who I was—I'd come into music from other industries, so people were hesitant to give me the rights. But the jazz musicians didn't mind, because at the time, no one was really buying their records. So when I said we'd put it on vinyl, they said, 'Yeah, let's do it.' Tubby Hayes' son was one of the first—he just said, 'Go for it.' That moment was huge. It felt like I'd found a goldmine—not in terms of money, but in terms of musical discovery. New old music. From there, we built a reputation. Eventually, we secured rights to bigger names—Dexter Gordon, for example. I got to know Maxine Gordon, spoke with Gail Munker... we started connecting with the right people. That built momentum. And now—who knows? Maybe we'll find the next Miles Davis. Everyone's looking. There is one thing coming, though: on Record Store Day, a 1960 recording of Miles Davis with Coltrane guesting. That should be really special.
Gizmodo
an hour ago
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30 Years Later, the Terrors of ‘Safe' Are Just as Alarming
Todd Haynes' exploration of ecological and existential horrors features a stellar early-career performance by Julianne Moore. The eco-horror genre can often take a high-energy, high-action approach. We've seen animals and/or insects transformed by an environmental shift that makes them want to attack every human in their midst. We've seen nature twisted into spawning vicious monsters both giant and microscopic. We've also seen the weather go haywire and spiral into an ice age in act three after ripping Los Angeles with tornados in act one. But not every eco-horror film speaks in such a loud voice. In 2011, Jeff Nichols' Take Shelter explored the fragmenting domestic life of a construction worker whose apocalyptic visions soon become an obsession; as he prepares for doom, his increasingly exasperated loved ones assume he's completely nuts. In 2021, Ben Wheatley's In the Earth investigated a story obliquely about the covid-19 pandemic, set in a forest where the plants have launched an offensive against all human invaders. Even earlier, Todd Haynes' Safe—released in theaters 30 years ago this month after debuting at the 1995 Sundance Film Festival—dug into maybe the eeriest sort of eco-horror of all. You can't see it, hear it, or even feel it, unless you're Safe's main character: Carol White, a housewife played by then-emerging star Julianne Moore. Safe takes place in 1987 in the suburbs of Los Angeles, where Carol, clad in pastels and pearls, spends her days running errands, ordering her housekeeper around, and attending aerobics classes. It's a comfortable yet dull life; what passes for drama is a new couch being delivered in the wrong color, or a friend suggesting they try out a faddish all-fruit diet. Carol doesn't smoke or drink—she describes herself as a 'milkaholic'—and her personality is quite passive. She doesn't seem to have much of an interior life. Her lack of expressiveness matches perfectly with the style Haynes uses to tell his story: it's very reserved, almost to the point of feeling airless and sterile. We're peering in on Carol almost like she's a figure in a diorama that tells her story. But if Carol seems like someone who must have a rebellion bubbling within, Safe–released at the height of the AIDS epidemic, a crisis it references both overtly and symbolically—turns that idea on its head. While in some senses it is a feminist comment on how stifling gender roles can be, Safe is also a movie about a woman whose body begins to break down in response to her otherwise unremarkable environment, imperiling both her physical and mental health. If you watch Safe already knowing where Carol is headed, it's easy to pick out the clues. The first thing we hear from her is a sneeze—a gentle harbinger of the coughing fits, vomiting, nosebleeds, hyperventilation, skin eruptions, and seizures that eventually come along. Her McMansion existence, untaxing as it seems, is full of toxic triggers and pollutants: wall-to-wall carpet that's constantly being vacuumed, kitchen cabinets that must be re-varnished, car exhaust from LA's perpetual traffic jams, planes flying overhead, humming appliances, phones ringing, TVs and radios blaring, and looming electrical towers. We see Carol visit the dry cleaner on multiple occasions, including a disastrous attempt to pick up clothes while the place is being fumigated, and at one point she decides to add a perm and a manicure to her beauty salon routine. But everyone else in her life who dwells in this San Fernando Valley bubble is seemingly fine. It's just Carol who starts having violent reactions, and the initial response—particularly from her husband, who's continuously disbelieving though he does become somewhat more supportive—is that it's all in her head. She's just 'overexerted.' 'A little run down.' 'I really don't see anything wrong with you,' her regular physician scolds, while advising her to stay off dairy and forget the fruit diet, too. A litany of allergy tests prove inconclusive. A psychiatrist, perched behind a massive desk, looks at her quizzically, asking 'What's going on in you?' As Carol downshifts from delicate to fragile to frail, her illness becomes her entire identity, and she finally finds—not answers, but a community of people suffering from similar symptoms. (She finds them through a flyer posted on her health club's bulletin board that very pointedly asks: 'Are you allergic to the 20th century?') Treatment requires moving to a communal-living retreat in the desert, which takes Carol away from a life it seems she'll hardly miss, despite at least one emotional outburst as she's settling in. Exactly how Carol has fallen victim to this debilitating condition is something we never learn. The way Haynes frames her weakening existence is extremely effective, implying that it's an ambient ailment that could seep into anyone, anywhere, even in cushy surroundings. Safe is also remarkable in the way that it takes Carol's illness very seriously—the audience believes her, even if other characters don't—while also satirizing a New Age industry eagerly profiting off its patients. Carol and her fellow residents are wealthy enough to pay out of pocket for residential treatment, but naive enough not to question why the program's founder lives in a mansion that looms over the property. The most chilling part of Safe, though, is its ambiguous ending. Even amid her new home's isolated location, where everyone observes rules about chemicals, eats organic food, and undergoes regular therapy, Carol doesn't recover. Eventually she moves from a rustic cabin to an igloo-like structure that completely encloses a 'safe room,' free from contaminants as long as Carol is the only one who goes inside. Even then, and despite continuing to insist that she's feeling so much better, Carol is clearly deteriorating. Steadily. As Safe concludes, the audience is openly invited to wonder if she will ever get better—and if the choice she's made, to live in isolation in a place completely structured around environmental illness, was even worth it. After 30 years, the answers still don't come easily. Most haunting of all, environmental illnesses still lurk among us—as quietly insidious, inviting of skepticism, and enigmatic as ever.
Elle
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Dakota Johnson Just Solved Your Summer Dressing Dilemma With One Chic Outfit
Every item on this page was chosen by an ELLE editor. We may earn commission on some of the items you choose to buy. While most of us are still trying to figure out how to look cute without overheating, Dakota Johnson stepped out in New York City looking like the patron saint of easy elegance, serving us a fashion thesis on how to dress for scorching summer temperatures. The ensemble? Peak understated luxury, with a touch of 'Don't talk to me, I'm on my way to read Joan Didion in a sun-drenched café.' A flowy mocha mousse skirt—Pantone's Color of the Year—anchored her outfit, while a breezy, whisper-weight ivory blouse kept things balanced. But the accessories are where the fashion fluency really kicks in. Tucked under one arm: Gucci's oversized Giglio tote, a scene-stealer from the house's latest Cruise collection that proves big bags are back—a major win for all the laptop-carrying girlies like me. The unmistakable GG monogram is also a signal that a splash of loud luxury is officially back. Notice I said just a splash, because on her feet, Johnson rounded out the look with The Row's Sharp slingback flats—a staple of the downtown minimalist set and a subtle flex for those who know. And let's not overlook the Janessa Leone floppy sun hat: droopy in shape but firm in attitude. Altogether, this look is an editorial answer to the question: What do you wear when the temperature climbs but your sartorial standards never drop? Johnson, once again, has the range—and the covetable designer essentials—to show us how it's done.
