Latest news with #Khruangbin
The Guardian
24-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Khruangbin, again? I quit Spotify for a month to escape samey algorithms – this is what I learned
If you use music to set or fix your mood, Spotify is a tantalising tool. Feeling sad? Cry to your personalised 'Depress Sesh Mix'. In a romantic crisis? Stew in your own 'Situationship Mix'. As I write this, I'm listening to Spotify's Daylist, a mix that refreshes every few hours based on my own listening habits. Today's vibe is 'funky beats roller skating tuesday early morning mix'. At 120bpm, the algorithm knows I need some energetic house to roll from my bed to my desk. The problem with this listening experience isn't just the creepy AI-driven intimacy of it all, more that the same songs are recycled in a predictable loop. Spotify's algorithm has anaesthetised artists I once enjoyed. Every time I hear the slippery psychedelic bass of Khruangbin slinking into one of my playlists, or flow in seamlessly from another artist's radio, I violently hit skip. A decade ago, Spotify favoured human-curated playlists made by artists, celebrities and music aficionados. But in 2021 the streaming company pivoted towards machine learning, feeding 'nearly half a trillion events' into computer models every day. Now, user data – chiefly our listening history, interactions with Spotify's user interface and the time of day – is packaged into a mixtape for every micro-occasion. Advocates argue this is a chance to democratise music promotion, neatly matching artists with their audiences. Critics suggest this ultra-subjective experience limits musical discovery to the already familiar – and the less it's challenged, the more my music taste narrows. So as a test, I quit Spotify for a month, to bring some soul back into the way I find music. First, I consulted people who had never used streaming services, like my dad, who grew up in 1970s London in the heyday of punk and glam rock. Hunched in a booth in his local record shop, he would listen to a sample and take a punt on what vinyl to buy. Some albums apparently missed the mark, and others, like Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, transported him to a different universe. He insisted I start with my favourite artists and listen to every album front to back, as if reading a story. Sign up for the fun stuff with our rundown of must-reads, pop culture and tips for the weekend, every Saturday morning Inspired, I bought a $30 record player in an op-shop and hunted for vinyls. Late to the record renaissance, it was slim pickings – Australian pub classics, Christian country or Christmas hits. But when a friend pointed out my new turntable was missing a needle, it became a dusty but decorative addition to my living room. My 20-year-old neighbour had another suggestion: a diamante-encrusted iPod, which she produced in a ziplock bag like a hallowed artefact. Found for $200 on Facebook Marketplace, plugging in wired earplugs and hitting shuffle was a nostalgic throwback. But this romance was short-lived: the iPod was incompatible with my Bluetooth speaker and demanded hours of admin to upload music. The biggest challenge came when driving my old silver Subaru, as I was stranded with only a single CD, a flimsy aux cord and my thoughts. Stuck with silence, I wondered what the new grinding noise was – until I discovered my local community broadcaster, Vox FM 106.9. More than 5 million Australians listen to community radio every week, for 17 hours on average – and now, I can see why. The station prides itself on 'real music' and even has the tagline 'You never know what you like until you try it'. Just what I needed! And it's true, I had forgotten how good it feels to wind down the windows and blast Push the Button by the Sugababes, and then to roll them up again when a classical German song, a mystery even to Shazam, comes on. Sign up to Saved for Later Catch up on the fun stuff with Guardian Australia's culture and lifestyle rundown of pop culture, trends and tips after newsletter promotion I contacted Justin Moon, who runs a popular underground radio station and record shop in Newcastle. He sources music from record fairs, friends and Bandcamp – distributing interesting sounds as a conduit, or Hermes figure, to lay (or lazy) people like me. Moon is noticing that his customers are searching for a more 'active' listening experience. 'It's not this kind of passive wash-over-you rubbish that you make your two-minute noodles to and forget all about 10 seconds later,' he says. Music – like film, TV, and food – is now served to us effortlessly, instantly. But this has caused the way we consume music to be more siloed. Spending a month hunting for new music myself, rather than relying on an algorithm, made me feel more connected to my parents, friends, radio presenters and even complete strangers. Their recommendations – whether to my taste or not – came with a part of themselves, a memory or a shared interest. After my month's Spotify hiatus, my algorithm hasn't been cleansed. Over the course of writing this piece, my daylist has evolved into 'french indietronica swimming pool tuesday afternoon', whatever that means. There are two Khruangbin songs on there. It's safe to say I would rather play roulette with the radio.
The Guardian
24-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Khruangbin, again? I quit Spotify for a month to escape samey algorithms – this is what I learned
If you use music to set or fix your mood, Spotify is a tantalising tool. Feeling sad? Cry to your personalised 'Depress Sesh Mix'. In a romantic crisis? Stew in your own 'Situationship Mix'. As I write this, I'm listening to Spotify's Daylist, a mix that refreshes every few hours based on my own listening habits. Today's vibe is 'funky beats roller skating tuesday early morning mix'. At 120bpm, the algorithm knows I need some energetic house to roll from my bed to my desk. The problem with this listening experience isn't just the creepy AI-driven intimacy of it all, more that the same songs are recycled in a predictable loop. Spotify's algorithm has anaesthetised artists I once enjoyed. Every time I hear the slippery psychedelic bass of Khruangbin slinking into one of my playlists, or flow in seamlessly from another artist's radio, I violently hit skip. A decade ago, Spotify favoured human-curated playlists made by artists, celebrities and music aficionados. But in 2021, the streaming company pivoted towards machine learning, feeding 'nearly half a trillion events' into computer models every day. Now, user data – chiefly our listening history, interactions with Spotify's user interface and the time of day – is packaged into a mixtape for every micro-occasion. Advocates argue this is a chance to democratise music promotion, neatly matching artists with their audiences. Critics suggest this ultra-subjective experience limits musical discovery to the already familiar – and the less it's challenged, the more my music taste narrows. So as a test, I quit Spotify for a month, to bring some soul back into the way I find music. First, I consulted people who had never used streaming services, like my dad, who grew up in 1970s London in the heyday of punk and glam rock. Hunched in a booth in his local record shop, he would listen to a sample and take a punt on what vinyl to buy – A-side or B-side. Some albums apparently missed the mark, and others, like Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, transported him to a different universe. He insisted I start with my favourite artists, and listen to every album front to back, as if reading a story. Sign up for the fun stuff with our rundown of must-reads, pop culture and tips for the weekend, every Saturday morning Inspired, I bought a $30 record player in an op-shop and hunted for vinyls. Late to the record renaissance, it was slim pickings – Australian pub classics, Christian country or Christmas hits. But when a friend pointed out my new turntable was missing a needle, it became a dusty but decorative addition to my living room. My 20-year-old neighbour had another suggestion: a diamante-encrusted iPod, which she produced in a ziplock bag like a hallowed artefact. Found for $200 on Facebook Marketplace, plugging in wired earplugs and hitting shuffle was a nostalgic throwback. But this romance was short-lived: the iPod was incompatible with my Bluetooth speaker and demanded hours of admin to upload music. The biggest challenge came when driving my old silver Subaru, as I was stranded with only a single CD, a flimsy aux cord and my thoughts. Stuck with silence, I wondered what the new grinding noise was – until I discovered my local community broadcaster, Vox FM 106.9. More than 5 million Australians listen to community radio every week, for 17 hours on average – and now, I can see why. The station prides itself on 'real music' and even has the tagline 'You never know what you like until you try it'. Just what I needed! And it's true, I had forgotten how good it feels to wind down the windows and blast Push the Button by the Sugababes, and then to roll them up again when a classical German song, a mystery even to Shazam, comes on. Sign up to Saved for Later Catch up on the fun stuff with Guardian Australia's culture and lifestyle rundown of pop culture, trends and tips after newsletter promotion I contacted Justin Moon, who runs a popular underground radio station and record shop in Newcastle. He sources music from record fairs, friends, and Bandcamp – distributing interesting sounds as a conduit, or Hermes figure, to lay (or lazy) people like me. Moon is noticing that his customers are searching for a more 'active' listening experience. 'It's not this kind of passive wash-over-you rubbish that you make your two-minute noodles to and forget all about 10 seconds later,' he says. Music – like film, TV, and food – is now served to us effortlessly, instantly. But this has caused the way we consume music to be more siloed. Spending a month hunting for new music myself, rather than relying on an algorithm, made me feel more connected to my parents, friends, radio presenters and even complete strangers. Their recommendations – whether to my taste or not – came with a part of themselves, a memory, or a shared interest. After my month's Spotify hiatus, my algorithm hasn't been cleansed. Over the course of writing this piece, my daylist has evolved into 'french indietronica swimming pool tuesday afternoon', whatever that means. There are two Khruangbin songs on there. It's safe to say I would rather play roulette with the radio.
Atlantic
15-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
Is Culture Really Dead?
The Day the Music Died In the June issue, Spencer Kornhaber considered whether popular culture is really in terminal decline. Spencer Kornhaber perfectly articulates the ersatz nature of pop culture today. Something I think he missed about modern pop music, though, is the relatively infrequent use of instruments. The listener can feel the emotion of a song created using actual instruments. It's the difference between fast food and a home-cooked meal. I think this helps explain the moment country music is having; listen to country, and you'll hear a real guitar or violin. It makes me wonder if music can survive otherwise. I was delighted to see my local radio station, KMUN, mentioned in Spencer Kornhaber's article. A community-supported station in a rural area of the Pacific Northwest, KMUN is itself an institution fighting against the decline of popular culture. The station has a small staff, and many programs are provided by volunteers. There's lots of folk music, yet each show has distinct music and artists. The same is true of the station's classical programs. A few shows frequently have musicians in the studio performing on air. Local residents discuss current events and issues and can even propose their own programs to present, after taking a class in radio technology. Kornhaber's article focuses on cultural conformity, and yet here's good old KMUN doing radio with variety, purpose, eccentricity, and community. I hope The Atlantic 's readers will give it a listen! Astoria, Ore. I'm sincerely thankful to Spencer Kornhaber for talking with Ted Gioia. I know the headline of Kornhaber's article calls to mind the year 1971, but the great fragmentation of our culture dates even further back. Early-20th-century philosophers warned that the 'mechanization of culture' would undermine the meaning and purpose of life. ChatGPT and other AI technologies seem to be the culmination of that trend. David Thomas Rockville, Md. As I reviewed the list of the artists mentioned in Spencer Kornhaber's article, I wasn't surprised that so many people think contemporary music is in decline. To those people I say: Cécile McLorin Salvant, Waxahatchee, Black Pumas, St. Paul & the Broken Bones, boygenius and its individual members, Lianne La Havas, Samara Joy, Wet Leg, Indigo Sparks, Joan Shelley, Lake Street Dive, Lucius, Sierra Ferrell, Dana Gavanski, Khruangbin, Leon Bridges (or Khruangbin and Leon Bridges), Bahamas, Amyl and the Sniffers, Nels Cline, I'm With Her, Rufus Wainwright, Laura Marling, Molly Tuttle, Billy Strings, and, and, and … Anyone who thinks that the world is not awash in great music is simply not looking in the right places. William Rogers Washington, D.C. Spencer Kornhaber replies: William Rogers points out a reassuring fact: If you look for it, you can still find most anything you seek in culture—including rock and folk musicians who faithfully adhere to 20th-century standards for excellence. But I want to push back against the notion, embedded in the other letters, that maintaining cultural health is mostly a matter of preservation. We should of course champion skilled instrumentalists and scrappy radio stations, and we should think critically about what's gained and lost in every technological transition. It is as important, and harder, to nurture greatness that's flourishing in new forms, using new techniques. We need maximalist, forward-charging art that can compete with, not simply provide refuge from, the attention-scrambling modern forces that might otherwise drive us into a dark age. What Is Classical Music? The term is applied to radically different compositions across more than 1,000 years of history, Matthew Aucoin wrote in the May issue. We need a better definition. In his article about what he calls 'written music,' Matthew Aucoin rightly laments the inability of cash-strapped public schools to teach musical literacy. Not so long ago, urban public schools were at times sites of world-class music education. Aucoin mentions Miles Davis in his article, so it's worth remembering that Davis often heaped praise in interviews on his first trumpet teacher, Elwood Buchanan, who worked for the public schools of his hometown, East St. Louis, Illinois. It was Mr. Buchanan, Davis said, who encouraged him to play light, fast, and without vibrato—three things that would soon become synonymous with the Miles Davis style. Elvin Jones, one of the most influential drummers in jazz history, had only a ninth-grade education but credited his musical development to his middle-school music teacher in Pontiac, Michigan. Meanwhile, in Chicago, a succession of jazz greats—Nat King Cole, Dinah Washington, and Gene Ammons, to name just a few—studied under the same inspiring teacher, Walter Dyett, who ran the music program at DuSable High School. A similar testimony appears in the biography of the legendary multi-instrumentalist Eric Dolphy. This legacy of musical education reminds us of the power of public schools to nurture the next generation of talent. As Aucoin suggests, making sure those programs are fully funded today is a solid investment in the future of written music in this country. Bravo to Matthew Aucoin for his wonderfully insightful and enlightening article. I am a specialist in the field of musical notation, with the bulk of my career behind me. I was, as Aucoin puts it, the 'modern-day equivalent of medieval monks laboriously copying out illuminated manuscripts.' It's true—I spent several years in apprenticeship under a professional copyist and then went on to prepare music for Broadway shows, films, symphony orchestras, operas, nightclub acts, commercials. All with pen and ink. In part for this reason, I think it's worth writing an addendum to Aucoin's proposed description of classical music. His article deals mostly with music as an expression of the artist. I submit, however, that the need for music-notation literacy includes the world of commercial music, too. This would extend the benefits of musical literacy beyond the concert hall and into the general public; perhaps it could even make school music programs more relevant and less susceptible to budget cuts. Just as architects need construction workers to realize their expressive concepts, composers and songwriters need arrangers, orchestrators, and copyists. As someone who has no musical aptitude but appreciates those who do, I enjoyed Matthew Aucoin's 'What Is Classical Music?' But I have to disagree with his statement that 'the written word is as prevalent today as it ever was.' Northwestern's Medill School reports that in the past 20 years, the United States has lost more than one-third of its print newspapers. As a former president of my local library's board of trustees, I saw CDs, DVDs, artwork, and maker spaces take over floor areas that previously had been filled with books. For many, the increase in time spent on social media and watching streaming entertainment correlates with a decline in time spent reading. Aucoin rightfully wishes that we Americans would spend more time listening. But we also need to spend more time reading. Jay Fisher Lisle, Ill. Behind the Cover This issue features a collection of stories marking 80 years of life in the Atomic Age. Among these are Ross Andersen's reporting from South Korea and Japan, two countries that may pursue nuclear weapons; Tom Nichols's analysis of America's system of command and control; and Noah Hawley's essay on Kurt Vonnegut and the bomb. For our cover image, we selected a photograph of a 1954 bomb test at Bikini Atoll. The image was found in a government archive by the photographer Michael Light. The so-called Yankee test released an explosive yield equivalent to 13.5 million tons of TNT, about 900 times that of Little Boy. — Lucy Murray Willis, Photo Editor
Yahoo
27-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
'We make our music in nature': Meet Khruangbin, the Texas band that records in a barn
It's hard to pin down who Khruangbin are. That's partly due to their sound — wide-ranging, incorporating everything from 1960s Thai funk to surf, soul, psychedelia and rock. It's also partly due to the fact that two of its members — Mark Speer and Laura Lee Ochoa — wear wigs on stage and in any kind of public appearance. 'It's pretty obvious that me and LL, with the hairstyle, it's meant to create anonymity,' Speer, the band's guitarist, tells me. They're wearing them as we chat; Speer's comes down over his eyes and makes him look like a 1970s hippy. Mystique is their stock in trade; that, combined with their electrifying live performances, has combined to send Khruangbin's reputation stratospheric. Despite never having a single in the Top 20, they've been nominated for a Grammy (ironically, for Best New Artist this year), sold out international tours and been streamed over 1.2 billion times on Spotify. They're the ultimate cult band, who just happen to be loved by everybody in the know. And despite being Texas born and bred, they're Londoners too. 'We're very familiar with flats in London,' Speer tells me wryly when I apologise for the clutter visible behind me. 'We broke in London.' 'I lived in London for a good while,' Ochoa, who plays bass, chimes in. 'In Hackney. Khruangbin got started in London because I was there... our first shows ever as a more established band happened in the UK. It's like a kind of second home. It feels really cosy to me. I just love it.' That's good, because they're here a lot. The trio — completed by drummer Donald 'DJ' Johnson — was last here for a two-night stay in Hammersmith late in 2024, which earned them rave reviews and ended up being one of the season's hottest tickets. This year, they will be taking to Gunnersbury Park in August for the latest stop in their world tour. 'I wanted to start a band, and I asked them' Laura Lee Ochoa Formed in Houston in the early 2010s, the band has proudly proclaimed its Texan identity since the very first days it started playing music. Their origin story has taken on the feel of myth. Speer and Johnson, both formidable musicians, came together through playing in the gospel band at St John's Methodist Church (incidentally, the same one Beyoncé Knowles attended as a child) in downtown Houston. They were joined in 2007 by Ochoa. 'Mark and DJ would share a meal after their rehearsals. And I crashed one Tuesday, and I never left for three years,' she laughs. 'I wanted to start a band, and I asked them. I wasn't knocking at the door waiting for them to let me in.' Speer taught Ochoa the ropes on the bass; almost immediately, she was hired to tour (alongside Speer) with electronic rocker Yppah, who opened for English musician Bonobo on his world tour. It incentivised Ochoa and Speer to start making music more seriously, and helped kick-start Khruangbin, whose first track appeared soon after on Bonobo's Late Night Tales compilation album. Titled A Calf Born in Winter, it became of the album's most popular tracks, paving the way for their debut EP, and then their own album, The Universe Smiles Upon You, in 2015: an airy, dreamy collection filled with sounds that have become classic Khruangbin. That is, Johnson's impeccable timing, Ochoa's bass and Speer noodling above both, in a sort of easy, three-way conversation. 'I wouldn't necessarily call us retro or anything, or trying to rehash nostalgia' Mark Speer Khruangbin's music, which is often wordless, has a lovely clarity to it, but one thing is clear: they're not a heritage act. 'I wouldn't necessarily call us retro or anything, or trying to rehash nostalgia, but there is an element of simplicity in what we do by design,' Speer says. 'In our particular case, we play the instruments we play, and we try to see what we can do with us as three people, which is limiting, and that's kind of nice.' That applies to their live music, too: the trio make a point of not recording any music that cannot be recreated perfectly at a gig. 'I think another aspect of most of our music is that it's been recorded in nature,' Ochoa adds. 'And the barn we record in is not isolated from any element — rain, wind, insects, birds, cows. They're all in the conversation when we make music. There's a sort of, allowing nature to speak for itself, which is lost, I think, in a lot of music.' Ah yes, the barn: all but one of the trio's albums have been recorded in a small barn in the countryside between Austin and Houston. Made from corrugated iron and surrounded by cows, it's as rustic as it sounds. In addition to the birds, bees and wind, there is also the aforementioned herd of cows, all of which have made their way into Khruangbin's unique sound. Though, in the case of the cows, they're polite. 'I have personally never heard them moo right in a moment where there's a breath of music,' Speers adds. That sense of authenticity, as well as their hefty, wide-ranging musical chops, has helped Khruangbin carve out a niche in an increasingly crowded musical market. But as befits a band who like to keep things simple, they're not in it for the fame. 'If nobody could see me, but just hear me, that'd be awesome' Donald 'DJ' Johnson 'I like staying in the shadows,' Johnson says. 'If I could play a show under the stage, I would. If nobody could see me, but just hear me, that'd be awesome. But, you know, it comes with the territory, and you deal with it as best as you can.' 'We're all nerds,' Ochoa chimes in, and Speer agrees. 'I really, really want to spend my time making art,' he continues, and gestures to the wig he's wearing. 'It's odd how much this can change my appearance. If I take this off and go walk around in my regular clothes, no one is going to recognise me, which is really nice. I think that helps keep my perspective on quote-unquote fame.' That element of privacy applies to their online presence, too. 'I'm trying more and more to disconnect from the social aspect of the internet,' Speer says. 'It can really suck your time. It is made to be addicting, and as someone who is expected to spit out really amazing music on a constant basis, I need to be inspired. And very little in the social media realm is inspiring to me.' His words feel especially interesting given Khruangbin's various influences, many of which (such as Afghan music) Speer discovered down various rabbit holes back at the start of the internet era, which he still talks fondly about now. 'I care more about what feels real and honest than I ever have before' Laura Lee Ochoa In addition to social media, things have changed since they started. Ochoa has become a mother, which she says has given her 'more conviction than I ever have … because I'm not just setting an example for myself, I'm setting an example for her. 'I care more about what feels real and honest than I ever have before. And certainly, in terms of inspiration, it's coming from different places,' she says wryly. 'There's an infinite request for The Wheels on the Bus in the back seat of the car.' And of course, there's the current state of politics. For a band who draw such inspiration from the place they grew up, it must be hard to avoid the impact that the current administration is having on the entirety of the country — especially the Deep South, where many of Trump's voters live. The band bristle slightly when I bring up the issue; Speers lets out a loud groan. 'I'm from the state. I'm from the land, I'm not from one person or multiple persons,' Ochoa says carefully. 'I'm from the place and the school and my friends, and that's how I think about Texas.' 'It's funny, because I'm pretty sure all the cities in Texas would be considered blue, but the state legislature is considered red,' Speer adds. 'So how can you have real representation, if the representative of your state doesn't really represent the cities where all the people live?' Rather than chat politics, they're focusing on touring. And on speaking about Texas in the way they know best: through music. 'Texas wouldn't be what it is without all the laws that exist there. But that's not what I think defines where I'm from,' Ochoa says. 'Those records are — they have Texas all over them. Truly. And it might be subtle, and you might not be able to explain it in words, but it's there.'
Boston Globe
25-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Boston Globe
Khruangbin hone their identity with a blur of global influences
Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up So do a lot of people, including the folks who'll gather to see the band perform at Advertisement Fueled in part by the song 'Maria También' appearing in the most recent season of 'The White Lotus,' the band's 2018 album 'Con Todo El Mundo' has amassed hundreds of millions of streams. Collaborations with modern soul singer Advertisement Such collaborations helped point the way to Khruangbin's fifth album, last year's 'A La Sala.' The band formed as a three-piece in Houston (Johnson is still there, while guitarist Mark Speer and bassist Laura Lee Ochoa currently live on opposite coasts), yet 'A La Sala' manages to be their first record without any outside musicians. The drummer sees the album as a reset following their recent work with Bridges, Touré, and various remixers. 'When it came around to getting ready to record 'A La Sala,' we were all kind of longing to get back to working with just the three of us,' Johnson said. 'There's always just three people on stage. And [making 'A La Sala'] was, in a sense, us getting back in a room together, writing and sharing ideas and just kind of doing it in an insular fashion.' But insular doesn't mean that Khruangbin's ears aren't open. If an Uber driver is listening to music, Johnson said he always asks what it is. 'Maybe you can put me on to something that I haven't heard,' he often says. Drawing on music that nobody in Khruangbin has direct cultural connections to potentially opens the band up to accusations of appropriation (the band's name is even the Thai word for 'airplane'). To that, Johnson demurred, 'we always try to give honor and respect to all of the music and artists that we listen to and we highlight them.' What's more, he feels that the time is right for Khruangbin's pan-global gumbo. 'I think the Western music palate is really expanding,' he said. 'You're seeing it in the rise of these bands that are coming out of Korea, like BTS and Blackpink. These bands have huge followings, not just in Asia but in America.' Advertisement He also points to the belated success of Nigerian artist Steve Monite's 1984 electrofunk track 'Only You,' recently heard in an American Express commercial. The song shows clear echoes of the clipped, reverbed sonics and arm's-length vocals that Khruangbin occasionally plays with. Those vocals mean that Khruangbin isn't, strictly speaking, an instrumental band, but the way voices are used and produced – low and distant, like a mirage that merely signifies the notion of vocals – make the distinction functionally irrelevant. 'No one in the band really is self-professed as a singer, so to speak,' said Johnson. 'So when we do sing, we sing together, because we like the sound of a group vocal. But the drums, bass, guitar — that always comes first. And when we get to the end of the process and it feels like we need something else or something's missing, then vocals are usually a nice texture to play with. It's a fourth instrument.' Accordingly, the band tends to invite listeners to glean whatever meaning they want out of their lyrics and titles. When confronted with a list of songs that suggest a thematic interest in the calendar and the passage of time – 'August 10,' 'Friday Morning,' 'May Ninth,' 'August Twelve,' possibly 'Fifteen Fifty-Three' – Johnson declined to elaborate, explain, or even agree. 'They all mean different things at different times,' he said. 'It depends on where we are in life when these songs get their titles. It's not really anything we try to give away.' Advertisement But the drummer admits to having seen memes involving dates memorialized in Khruangbin titles. 'Maybe also that could attribute to the success of 'Con Todo El Mundo,' because a lot of people were born on August 10,' he said, referencing the track from their 2018 album. 'I don't know, or 'Friday Morning.'' KHRUANGBIN With John Carroll Kirby. At The Stage at Suffolk Downs, 525 William F. McClellan Highway, Boston, Friday, June 27, 7 p.m. Tickets $84-$167. Marc Hirsh can be reached at or on Bluesky @
