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Bridgeport's Soundside Music Festival announces 2025 lineup

Bridgeport's Soundside Music Festival announces 2025 lineup

Yahoo31-03-2025

BRIDGEPORT, Conn. (WTNH) — Bridgeport's Soundside Music Festival lineup is out, and it features Grammy-nominated artists like The Killers and Hozier.
The two-day festival will be at Seaside Park on Saturday, Sept. 27, and Sunday, Sept. 28.
Community gathers for 'Pysanka' workshop in New Haven
The lineup includes:
Saturday
The Killers
Weezer
Djo
Japanese Breakfast
The Last Dinner Party
Inhaler
Rachel Chinouriri
Wild Rivers
Hollow Coves
Dipsea Flower
Sunday:
Hozier
Vampire Weekend
The Backseat Lovers
Remi Wolf
Chelsea Cutler
Alex Warren
Gigi Perez
Brenn!
Vundabar
Happy Landing
Fans can sign up for presale on April 3 between 10 a.m. and 11 a.m. Tickets will increase on Thursday at 11 a.m., when the public sale begins. All ticket types offer 1-Day and 2-Day options.
For more information, visit Soundside Music Festival.
Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

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Kaytranada: Waves of Rhythm
Kaytranada: Waves of Rhythm

Hypebeast

time28 minutes ago

  • Hypebeast

Kaytranada: Waves of Rhythm

This article originally appeared in Hypebeast Magazine Issue 35: The Wavelength Issue. Whether we inspect the behavioral mechanisms that propel the cosmological motions of the universe or the spiritual shifts within us, the wave is nature's most fundamental rhythm. One either learns the power of its force—or drowns beneath it. For the two-time Grammy-winning artist KAYTRANADA, success—as producer, DJ, and now singer—has been predicated on a profound understanding and manipulation of how the waves flow. This mastery has been both self-evident and continuously evolving throughout his career, as reflected through his production's maturation. Sonic alchemy appears on the track 'Feel a Way,' from 2024's TIMELESS , where his adroit ears transmute the quotidian into gold. It is a seemingly effortless feat in chopping samples to fit his swinging grooves. Here, he takes an innocuous sound, a drag-of-a-joint, from an obscure Jack Margolis record and transforms it into a slinking percussive loop. This is the kind of aural latticing that might be lost on casual listeners, but in perceiving its sonic nature, one realizes how each part of the whole is important—where, in this instance, the sample texturally accentuates the song's salient and hazy ambiance. Throughout KAYTRANADA's process, sounds are expertly flipped, stretched, and run through an effect bus, ultimately becoming his LPs or loosies. Those recordings are then tightly curated onto unassuming flash drives. Tracks are spun on CDJs from a sleek, lectern-like station; his DJ sets become gatherings where the 32-year-old, Port-au-Prince-born artist can commune with the energy his music stirs in the crowd. His sets unfold as an emotionally-pendulous journey. Bodies in the crowd ripple in waves and screams as his careful choreography guides every listener's pulse to his whim. 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KAYTRANADA, or the public-facing persona many know, is informed by Louis Kevin Celestin, the person. And artistry is nothing without introspection. In conversation, KAYTRANADA describes TIMELESS as one of his most expressive and unencumbered projects to date, explaining that achieving solidity as an artist required an evaluation of his ongoing relationship with existentialism. And through this reflection, KAYTRANADA learned to embrace what we can't control—that we must surrender to the flow of uncertainty. HYPEBEAST: First off, congrats on the three latest Grammy nods. You've been nominated eight times now. How do you mentally process that? What's changed since your first nominations? KAYTRANADA: I feel good. I'm not putting all my attention on it, though, because it'll be disappointing if I lose. I'm nominated alongside some heavy hitters, and it's a toss-up. But they're all amazing peers. Whoever wins, it'll make sense. So yeah, I'm not trying to put my heart into it. 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I'm in an acceptance mood, taking things for how they are. That's connected to a quote from you about how it was hard to be yourself in your salad days while still innovating. What parts of your earlier self did you hold onto, and what did you let go of to embrace this evolution? Like I said, I had a lot of controlling thoughts—overthinking and comparing myself to my peers. That kind of thinking kills creativity: How can I be better than everybody else? That felt ridiculous, but you see how a generation was influenced by people like Kanye saying he and his music are better than everyone else. It led people to believe they needed to think the same. I realized that was a manipulation tactic: Why do I need to be better? Therapy showed me a lot: self-discovery, self-love. I always loved myself, but I never knew it was so important to care for yourself in that explicit way. That wasn't taught to me. After winning a Grammy in 2021, I went through things I didn't comprehend until therapy. I just had to go through a lot of old traumas. I get it, especially in a Black family. The idea is to be great first, then worry about trauma later—or not at all. Perfectionism creeps in. Eventually, we realize we can't keep measuring ourselves against everyone else. We need our own standard, our own lane. Yeah. Growing up Haitian, my mom was always like, 'You can do better than that. I was top of the class, so you can be too.' But I had trouble in school—bad grades, shy, found it boring. No matter how hard I tried, getting an A was tough. My mom would say, 'Why can't you get an A-plus? Why come back with a C-minus or B-plus?' It was always, You can do better. That bled into my music. I had to break myself from those chains. I feel that. My mom used to say, 'This is an A household.' I think sometimes our close collaborators can become a chosen family. That can bring 'family-like' clashes. TIMELESS has a lot of collaborators—a broad spectrum of voices. Despite that, it's cohesive. How did you maintain harmony while navigating creative disagreements? That definitely happened. Early on, I struggled to give feedback to artists. I wasn't great at saying, 'Hey, try this.' Sometimes I didn't trust my ideas, or I wasn't sure I had the idea. So I'd let them do their thing while I made the music. It still felt collaborative, but I got a bit more comfortable speaking up by the end of creating the album. I'm shy, and sometimes I feel my ideas aren't the best. Maybe I'm still healing from past trauma where collaborators told me my ideas sucked. That shattered me and made me not want to speak up. But sometimes their ideas are better—so it's about merging ideas. I never want it 100% me or them. I'd rather have a 50/50 approach to show it's truly collaborative. From a listener's perspective, it's hard to imagine you struggling with that, especially with the album's cohesive flow. And it also marks the return of your brother Lou Phelps as a featured artist. Family can be comforting but also tricky. How did that relationship influence you two musically this time around? It's been a journey. There were moments when we disagreed. As The Celestics, our second project was Supreme Laziness . Around that time, I was blowing up with my electronic stuff, but Lou was still trying to 'make it.' In a family, there can be entitlement. He assumed it would be easy— just drop an album, it'll go fine. But headlines made it seem like 'it was just KAYTRANADA and his brother.' That bothered him—and me. I wanted him to have his own shine. Early on, it was easy to give him my opinions, but he'd shut them down, wanting to prove himself. So I'd think, Never mind, do you. Even if I said, 'I'd change this idea,' he'd get defensive. That was something we had to go through. During the pandemic, he had an epiphany: 'Damn, man, all this time you were trying to help me be better.' Subconsciously, I agreed. He wasn't on my previous albums either, though he wanted to be, which was a scandal for my mom. She asked, 'Why not put your brother on?' But it didn't feel right until now. Lou was ready, and 'Call You Up' was just a demo of his that I grabbed for the album. This journey took understanding, communicating better, and maturity. We still collaborate. The Celestics haven't broken up. Lou's always been around. In both of your growth processes, you saw that family is family, and we just need to let them have space to be them. Exactly. Lots of patience and maturity. There's a vulnerability in that which extends to TIMELESS and its danceability. I told a homie some tracks feel like 'crying while dancing on the dance floor.' How'd you balance emotional weight while giving people something to move to? Life experiences, plus my favorite disco and boogie songs are often heartbreak anthems that are still upbeat. 'You broke my heart, but I'm going to be okay,' type songs. Think heavy instrumentation, bass, strings, drums — like seven or eight minutes, giving you a breakdown that feels so emotional. That's what inspired me. That was always my type of music. I've always loved danceable sad songs, with big chords and heavy drums but also a vulnerable message. Also, on TIMELESS , I explored more R&B, so some songs lean purely that way. That emotion also comes through on 'Stepped On,' where you follow in the footsteps of J Dilla and Madlib's Quasimoto by putting your voice on the track. What made you express yourself that way — where you're even more vulnerable than being behind the track? Pure self-expression. Nobody else has the melodies or ideas I have for my music, except maybe my brother. My beats are upbeat, but I don't always want house-style vocals. Sometimes I want it off-grid, like Raekwon or Q-Tip. In today's industry, people are often on the beat or even ahead of it, so I decided to do it myself. 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It's purely self-expression, often dark, nighttime vibes. I found a link to some sub-genres of hip-hop—Dilla, Black Milk, Madlib—because they'd sample synthy new wave tracks, making them sound funky, electronic, but still hip-hop. When I started searching for those samples, I really listened and realized, They're just expressing themselves with synths and drum machines. They're not trying to stand out by doing something over-the-top or calling in extra producers. They're just being themselves. That was inspiring. I wanted that formula for my vocals: no rigid approach, just expression. Right, it's about letting go of those boundaries. In a way, you're paying homage to new wave/noise's ethos: Get on a track, say what you need to say, and move on. Exactly. TIMELESS is like a time capsule. Listening to those '80s and '90s artists, they'd just make an album—12 songs, here's how I feel. It could be their best album, their worst, or mid. Who cares? It's how they express themselves. I want my future albums to be that way, too. Not, 'Oh my God, gotta create the biggest album and do the biggest rollout.' No, just express yourself. Don't overthink it. Frankie Knuckles once quoted Robert Owens, saying, 'Give me roses while they're dead because I can't use them when I lay.' As an artist whose evolution has been visible, do you think you're getting the recognition you deserve, or is it too early to call? I'm still learning. I also feel not everyone hears what I'm doing—listeners can be lazy, skimming tracks too fast, creating quick judgments. So a part of me feels I have something to prove, but at the same time, I don't. Music is self-expression. I do it for myself and the people who are waiting for more—not for those who don't like it.

The queens of collaboration in Lucius are finding themselves again musically
The queens of collaboration in Lucius are finding themselves again musically

San Francisco Chronicle​

time2 hours ago

  • San Francisco Chronicle​

The queens of collaboration in Lucius are finding themselves again musically

NEW YORK (AP) — The magic created by the vocal blend of Holly Laessig and Jess Wolfe, collectively known as Lucius, has opened many doors for them in the music industry. Sometimes quite literally — like when they arrived at the home of Joni Mitchell, invited by Brandi Carlile to sing at one of her 'Joni Jams,' and Paul McCartney answered their knock. It's a heady experience, singing at Mitchell's house. Tipped in advance that McCartney might be there, Laessig and Wolfe rehearsed a version of 'Goodbye,' a song he wrote that was a hit for Mary Hopkin in 1969. They sensed the moment he recognized it — hey, that's my song! The women have collaborated with many artists through the years, among them Carlile, Sheryl Crow, Harry Styles, Roger Waters, Jeff Tweedy, the Killers, War on Drugs and Mumford & Sons. This year, they're concentrating on their own music with Lucius, a rock band that also includes Dan Molad and Peter Lalish. They've released a self-produced disc that reflects their experiences settling in Los Angeles and starting families, titling it simply 'Lucius' even though it's their fourth album. An album that felt like coming home 'It felt like a coming home to ourselves,' Wolfe said. 'There wasn't really a question, actually, whether the record would be titled something else. It just felt like it was us, and let's give it our name.' Laessig and Wolfe met and quickly bonded two decades ago as students at the Berklee College of Music in Boston. They first sang together as part of a school project to remake the Beatles' White Album — their version of 'Happiness is a Warm Gun' will never see the light of day — that was abandoned because they began writing their own music. 'We were always inspired by Phil Spector and Elliot Smith and people who used double vocals as an interesting textural thing,' Wolfe said. 'And we thought, well, we could actually do this live. We both wanted to be lead singers, but together.' 'Unison singing,' notes Laessig, 'is not for the faint of heart.' Check out the heartbreaker ' The Man I'll Never Find' — particularly the stripped-down, piano-led version — for a spellbinding example of their work. Many have wrongly assumed they were sisters. They look a little alike, and play up this image of two who have become one by frequently dressing alike onstage. Even offstage: they arrived at The Associated Press for an interview in nearly matching, all-red outfits with identical makeup. They are disciplined in alternating who answers questions. It can be, let's be honest here, a little creepy. 'We're dressing the sound,' Wolfe explained. 'I grew up in the theater. Being able to escape and feeling like, you know, you can put on your costume, put on your uniform and become something else for a moment in time. Even though it feels honest and real and close to the heart, there's something magical about it.' 'When you look at us, we wanted you to see one,' she said. 'We didn't want you to see two.' The gimmick served them well as they sought to make a name for themselves, Laessig said. 'We were touring in the van and doing festivals and nobody had a clue who we were, but we walked around in matching outfits. People were like, 'What is this about?' Oh, come see us. We're playing at this stage at 3 p.m.' Their collaborative nature is a strength they have brought to working on projects with other musicians. 'People who bring us in know that they're going to have something that's solid between the two of us,' she said. 'We just speak each other's language. And we like building worlds within worlds. Luckily we've been given the freedom in all of these different projects to be us.' Sharing looks, sharing styles and now, sharing a nanny Real life brings its parallels, too. They live in homes minutes from each other and, within the past year or so, both gave birth to babies. Collaborating with others has its strengths, and Lucius brought in Madison Cunningham and The War on Drugs to work with them on two songs on the new album. But becoming known for their work with others comes with a risk attached, that they lose sight of themselves in the process. 'We like exploring different worlds and seeing how it takes shape and how we can get lost in it,' Wolfe said. 'There's something really enchanting and magical about that. And, yes, sometimes after you explore that world, it doesn't necessarily feel like you.' To that end, the 'Lucius' album is in one sense a reaction against the dance-oriented production hand that Carlile and Dave Cobb brought for the 2022 album 'Second Nature.' The more rock-based new disc sounds like the musicians are more comfortable. It 'feels honest and real because we wrote about things that were just happening in our lives,' Wolfe said. They're looking forward to a busy summer of playing that music on tour, and sharing the experience with their young families. 'We get to do it together and see the world together and our kids are going to know different places and cultures and foods and things, more than I had as a kid,' Wolfe said. 'As tough as it can be with the nap times and sleep schedules, it's a beautiful thing.' ___

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