70.......Pom Pom Squad: How Mia Berrin Uses Feminine Archetypes to Express Her Rage
18.......10 Queer Operas to Warm Your Gay Little Heart
22.......Marian Carmel: Rollar Skating Concerts, Lyric Zines & Queer Joy
26.......Turn it Up: Rico Nasty
30.......Photos Around the Globe
50.......Dancing in the Dark: Reyna Tropical’s Latest ‘Malegría en la Oscuridad’ is an Homage to Queer Sensuality
74.......Queer Time and the “Late Start”
76.......Are They Just Words? Conversations and Observations with My Friend My Urn
82.......Mini Song Reviews
84.......glitch & glamour: on Alice Longyu
Gao’s “Gnarly”
88.......Vol 4. Mixtape
90.......Contributor Bios
Dearest readers,
Yesterday I woke up to some cute news. I found out that a track I recorded synth on back in 2019—”Heartbeats Dancing” with Laura Palmer’s Death Parade—is being used on the soundtrack for a Queer Sundance film called The Wedding Banquet which came out this north-equator spring (I’m currently south of the equator and spring is fall here.) To be featured in a Queer rom-com, of all things! But this also got me thinking about our Vol. 4 theme On the Pulse— not just as a literal “heartbeat” but about these little victories. It can feel so daunting and difficult to feel heard as a musician these days, and something like this feels truly monumental. With the rise of AI and the hopeful fall of spotify* (burn, baby, burn) things do seem a little bleak out there. The CEO of suno—a platform for creating AI music en masse—recently claimed that “It’s not really enjoyable to make music now;” a truly asinine take. In the wake of late stage capitalism, people still struggle and suffer in order to pursue their passion of musical creation. If anything, it’s only getting harder to be seen in the sludge of online slop amid the advent of such soulless mechanical clutter. There are still so many communities, publications, and active movements to keep human-made music alive—Noise Made By included. I truly believe that no matter how dystopian and automatized things feel, there will always be a strive for personal and authentic connection through all art forms. This issue is a testament to the beautiful works being created by Queer artists on the rise, showcasing scenes across the globe; and not just musicians! Music doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It moves and breathes in communal space, exploring various forms of artistic creation through music video production teams, photographers, and live event staff. As heavy as it can be to bear the burden of this robotic wasteland, there is still hope out there. You are here. We are showing up. Right here, right now, let’s celebrate.
*NoiseMadeBy will be moving away from spotify for future playlists.
band) and for Matheus Who’s upcoming video for the song “histórias sobre ele” (directed by João Klimeck).
So far, everything we’ve done is indie. We actually shot everything on Matheus’ phone. A huge part of our process is collaborating with friends, relying on our “mutuals,” and of course, improvising. My friendship with Matheus has been really prolific, I feel very lucky to be close to him. We’re always at someone’s show, meeting other artists, and constantly exchanging ideas.
HELENA BOHN
(Curitiba, Brazil)
I’m sending over some behind the scenes photos I took during “histórias sobre ele” and a few stills from “Lua Marinha.”
Direction and Editing: Matheus Who
Art Direction: Helena Bohn
Costume Design: Laura Bortolozzo
VHS Post-Processing: Gibaaa
Lyrics/Composition: Juia
Music Production: Dengocore
Mix/Master: Dengocore
Song: “Lua Marinha” by Helena Bohn
Noise Made By
Viagra Boys SPRINTS
HAIM
Haley Blais
PinkPantheress
Portraits of Tracy Billie Marten Florist
Kittie Mimi Barks
MARINA girli
Chelsea Wolfe
Faetooth
COBRAH Lemon
GloRilla
Kari Faux
Lola Young Peaches
Bad Bunny Caleb Calloway
SZA
Adi Oasis
Turnstile
Bad Waitress Indigo De Souza Boyish
photos by Emily Eizen
Emily Eizen is a multimedia artist, creative director, and photographer with over 8 years of experience in photography, art direction, and trend forecasting. Producing engaging content, Emily’s work has spanned multiple industries including pop culture, beauty, CPGs, music, and editorial publications. Experienced in editorial, lifestyle, and live music photography. Photography placements in Rolling Stone, Recording Academy, Office Magazine, Forbes, Inked, Insider, AdWeek, LA Times, Playboy, Vice + more.
Remi Wolf
at OUTLOUD Music Festival
Pabllo Vittar
at OUTLOUD Music Festival
Kim Petras
at OUTLOUD Music Festival
Cynthia Erivo
WORDS BY EDEN APHRODITE
Uspiky debut, Um Comma Jennifer Question Mark, is an offering to the vengeful, mercurial mommy-goddess, Jennifer, that the band is named in honor of. It’s available on vinyl for all the physical media freaks (me), thanks to a partnership between the their label, Final Girls Records, and the Trans Music Archive— an organization co-founded by Ariel Loh, who produced much of the album—that seeks to
cap and megaphone at will, seemingly out of thin air. Eli even grew dog ears and a tail for the “Glamour Girl” video, to say nothing of the duo’s transformation into Fish Boy and Fish Girl for the filming of “Fishy” at NYC’s Cubbyhole. These antics have produced a mythology and a cast of recurring characters that, while deeply unserious, are playfully earnest.
Which came first though, Jennifer, or Um, Jennifer? I probed the band about Jennifer’s origins and whether the mythos surrounding her was something they found themselves drawing from, or if it was something they built out with each new creation:
Well, maybe their reality is a different one from ours, because I could’ve sworn that the bridge on “Car Wash” went “Cus if you were a color you’d be blue / And if you were Shakira, you’d be a screw.” Which meant nothing to me,
but also somehow made sense; I asked if they could explain what it meant to
God, I wish that was the actual line. It’s been too long since someone name dropped Shakira in a pop song. The actual line is “if you were secure, you’d be a screw.” Which is kind of like “if grandma had wheels she’d be a bike.”
If you were different, then you’d be a different thing, you’d
The thing is, they totally
horror auteur Ari Aster’s surname with “disaster” and “plaster.”
“Daddy’s Girl,” an aptly named song about a nepo baby, begins with a locker-room taunt about her “mythological mouth.” Just as their lyrics are raunchy, twisted, and tongue-insomebody-else’scheek, they are
whimsical, lovely, and honest. You’re liable to catch Fig and Eli getting “a little real over coffee and a smoke,” between the witticisms. Nothing is sacred to them, but they do venerate Queer, and dare I say T4T, romance throughout the album, especially on songs like “Went on T” and “Girl Class.” Sensing a chance to pivot away from the misheard lyric debacle, I asked whether this was a conscious choice, or more so the natural result of being Queer people making art:
FIG: I write songs about where I’m at mentally. The origin for “Girl Class” came out of me being two years into my transition and still having no idea what I was or what I looked like to anyone else. I need a girl class.
ELI: Sometimes I write songs that I need to hear myself, songs that will comfort me. So I guess it’s a result of being a Queer person making art, but always with the intention that I want to give people the catharsis, comfort, or joy that I think they deserve.
A glass shattered against the floor during the second of two opening sets that night at GoldDiggers. As concertgoers dutifully kicked the glass into a pile for the bartender to sweep up, I couldn’t help but notice, “It’s a good thing we’re all wearing doc martens.” Which is to say that you can reasonably assume the people you stand shoulder to shoulder with at a concert are there for the same reason you are. But community is more than shared interests. Fig and Eli took the stage not from some secluded back room, but from the audience. In spite of flying across the country to play the show, they too were among friends, swaying and jumping.
10 queer operas to warm your gay little heart
words by timothy arliss obrien
Opera is sometimes considered a lost art form. This is due in part to the prevailing genres of music being pop, country, and hip-hop, which favor immediacy, brevity, and viral hooks over three-hour melodramas sung in Italian about people dying of love. But buried inside of opera’s powdered wigs, high notes, and high drama there is a rich collection of Queer storytelling, Queer desire, and Queer lives that speak directly to the experience of LGBTQ+ artists like ourselves. I’ve compiled a few of my favorites here for your perusal.
1. Fire ShutUpin MyBones
by Terence Blanchard (2021)
THIS OPERA FOLLOWS A BLACK MAN’S JOURNEY THROUGH TRAUMA, IDENTITY, AND A COMPLICATED COMING-OF-AGE.
Based on Charles M. Blow’s memoir of the same title, this opera broke ground as the first opera by a Black composer ever performed at the Metropolitan Opera. It broke on the scene exploring themes of childhood sexual abuse, rage, love, and Queer longing. Blanchard’s score blends jazz, gospel, and classical music, while the libretto (by Kasi Lemmons) gives poetic weight to a boy growing into a man who’s haunted by, and wrestling with, his truth.
Although this opera doesn’t offer easy-to-digest subject matter, it dares to show Queerness not as a footnote or plot twist but as an aching part of someone’s full, complex identity. It’s an opera about pain, but also about survival, transformation, and even forgiveness.
2. I Have MissedYou Forever
by Lisenka Heijboer Castañón, Manoj Kamps, and Collective (2022)
AN OPERA CONTAINING A KALEIDOSCOPE OF VOICES, I HAVE MISSED YOU FOREVER CONTAINS MULTIPLE IDENTITIES AND RITUALS WOVEN INTO A COLLECTIVE OPERA EXPERIENCE. The first performance premiered at the Opera Forward Festival by Dutch National Opera after this boundary-pushing work was created by a diverse collective of performers, writers, and composers.
The opera unfolds as a memorial service where each attendee recalls the deceased differently, revealing multiple lives and unseen histories. Voices of those once rejected or forgotten rise, forming a vibrant procession of stories, music, and movement.
Imagine an opera where the audience is enveloped by the story from multiple performers, rituals of mourning and joy, and even a symbolic dog acting as guide and connector. It’s like attending a funeral directed by a Queer, avant-garde theater troupe with costumes that splash vivid colors all over the topic of grief and music that defies categorization.
This opera exemplifies inclusivity and collective creation, breaking traditional hierarchies. It embraces fragmented narratives and diverse expressions, offering a space where Queer stories and identities are not just represented but celebrated in all their complexity.
3. Four Saints inThreeActs
by Virgil Thomson and Gertrude Stein (1934)
WRITTEN BY OUT LESBIAN AVANTE-GARDE WRITER GERTRUDE STEIN AND CLOSETED GAY COMPOSER VIRGIL THOMSON, THIS OPERA IS ABSURD, DREAMY, AND UNAPOLOGETICALLY ODD. The libretto defies traditional narrative (much like Queer love often has to) and features Queer spiritual intimacy and surreal affection. Its poetic repetitions, strange juxtapositions, and refusal to make linear sense invite the audience into a world of mystery, play, and sacred nonsense. It was the first major opera with an all-Black cast on Broadway, staged in 1934. This was a radical move that challenged both racial and artistic norms of its time. The production’s blending of experimental form, Queer-coded collaboration, and groundbreaking casting made it a quiet revolutionary moment in American opera history.
4. As One
by Laura Kaminsky, Mark Campbell & Kimberly Reed (2014)
THIS CHAMBER OPERA TELLS THE COMING-OF-AGE STORY OF HANNAH, A TRANSGENDER WOMAN. Two singers portray Hannah: one baritone (pre-transition), one mezzo-soprano (post-transition) exploring gender identity, love, and self-acceptance with emotional depth and clarity.
It’s one of the most frequently produced contemporary operas in the U.S., proving Queer stories can have a beautiful staying power in our communities.
5. Brokeback Mountain
by Charles Wuorinen (2014)
ADAPTED FROM ANNIE’S PROULX’S SHORT STORY (AND LATER THE FILM), THIS OPERA CENTERS ON THE TRAGIC LOVE BETWEEN TWO COWBOYS, ENNIS AND JACK. The music is modern and dissonant, mirroring the emotional repression and heartbreak of the story. This story is a benchmark of so many of our Queer awakenings; to have it in a new medium such as opera feels so fitting to the lush dramatics of the love in the film.
6. Hadrian
by
Rufus Wainwright (2018)
THIS HISTORICAL GAY LOVE STORY, WRITTEN BY A GAY COMPOSER, TELLS THE LOVE STORY OF ROMAN EMPEROR HADRIAN AND HIS DEIFIED MALE LOVER, ANTINOUS. Wainwright, an openly Gay pop and classical composer, pulls no punches, keeping the romance epic, operatic, and unapologetically Gay. It features steamy duets, political betrayal, and a full-on Queer imperial tragedy. Finally, an opera where two men get a love duet and one of them gets turned into a god.
7. The Invention ofMorel
by Stewart Copeland (2017)
THIS OPERA CONTAINTS QUEER-CODED THEMES OF OBSESSION AND ISOLATION THAT STRETCHES THE INSPIRING NOVEL TO A FANTASTICAL PLACE.
While not overtly labeled as an LGBTQ+ opera, this adaptation of Adolfo Bioy Casares’ sci-fi novel of the same title has been lauded and read as a Queer allegory across decades, centering on a man obsessed with an unattainable figure he can never touch. Stewart Copeland (yes, from The Police) brings a surrealist, introspective vibe that resonates with Queer themes of longing, isolation, and identity. Co-librettist Jonathan Moore, an LGBTQ+ artist, infuses the story with touching longing and the relatable heartsickness that we so often experience in the Queer community. It’s like EternalSunshineoftheQueerMind, but with more harpsichord.
Stonewall
by Iain Bell (2019)
NOTHING IS BETTER THAN AN OPERA THAT HAS LITERALLY EVERYTHING YOU WOULD WANT TO SEE AT PRIDE.
Commissioned by New York City Opera to mark the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall is the first mainstream opera to dramatize this pivotal moment in Queer history. It features a diverse cast of characters: a Transgender woman, a Lesbian teacher, a drag queen, and a closeted soldier. All converging at the Stonewall Inn on the night the heels came off and the bricks came out.
Imagine explaining to your great-aunt that there’s now a full-length opera where a drag queen sings a tenor aria right before a riot breaks out in a gay bar. It’s like La , but gayer and angrier.
The opera includes many Queer anthems and ends not with the typical operatic
WHO DOESN’T WANT AN OPERA WRITTEN BY A GAY COMPOSER is a gritty, emotionally raw chamber opera set in a seedy northern English Gay nightclub toilet. (Yes, really.) The story revolves around a toilet attendant, who holds space for the explores the intersection of shame, Queerness, and longing in a way that’s both starkly modern and timelessly operatic. It gives space to those feelings we have in the Queer community, no matter how complex, and provides something still
AND FINALLY THIS BRILLIANT OPERA IS BASED ON THOMAS MALLON’S NOVEL OF THE SAME NAME FOLLOWING A ROMANCE DURING THE 1950S MCCARTHY-ERA LAVENDAR SCARE, WHEN HOMOSEXUALITY WAS SEEN
The opera fuses minimalist music with , but gayer and with better lighting.
It’s not just a love story, it’s a tragedy about internalized homophobia, fear, and betrayal at both the personal and political levels. And yet it’s tender, beautifully
Rollerskating concerts, lyric zines & Queer joy
words by Paige Sheffield
The first time Marian Carmel went to Hi Roller Indoor Skating Rink in Singapore, her immediate thought was, “Someone needs to do a show here.” As time went on and no one did, she decided she would be the one to do it.
In September 2024, on the same day her latest EP what if nobody kisses me? came out, Marian celebrated its release with a self-organized concert at the skating rink. Though she tells me that putting everything together ended up being “quite a challenge” because she had to “wear two different hats,” she still describes the show as “really memorable and so special.”
It’s not the first time the singersongwriter has found creative ways to promote her work and extend her storytelling. Marian—who was born in the Philippines and is now based in Singapore—is an indie pop artist who has dabbled in various genres and frequently collaborates with other artists. She is also a visual artist, and sees content as a way to enhance the stories she tells through her music. Four years ago, Marian started a series on YouTube called “Crying and Crafting.” In each video, she would craft a zine based on each one of her songs, then describe the story behind the song as she made it.
Marian created her own artwork for her previous album. “I made mixed media cover arts and also the canvas [for spotify], so I would animate eight-second loops using mixed media frame by frame, scanning and animating it like the oldfashioned way,” she explains. “It’s really fun because there’s something to do with my hands. I feel like visuals are always an extension of the story, because when you hear music, sometimes it might be hard to imagine the universe that it’s in. But when you see the visual, you’re like, ‘Ooooh, OK.’”
In the future, she’d like to experiment with different art forms like photography and videography. At the time of our conversation, she had also just learned to juggle and was starting to get back into pole dancing. “I just love things,” she says. “I just love doing things.”
One of the many things she loves doing is collaborating with other artists, as she thinks “it’s really fun to put on different hats, work with other people, and see different perspectives. ”When she works with other artists, she ends up creating music that she wouldn’t have made on her own, whether it’s because it allows her to explore genres she “wouldn’t usually delve into, like retro R&B, [and] kind of disco-y stuff,” or because working with other songwriters means “there’s kind of a filtering process happening.”
“What I love about making music is the fact that you can write about the same thing in very, very different ways,” she says.
photo by Natalie Ng
photos by Farzanah Hussein
This summer, she played several shows in Singapore and the Philippines with two other artists from Southeast Asia, RENE and barb. The tour came together because Marian and RENE heard barb.’s music, loved it, and eventually reached out to say, “Hey, would you want to go on tour with us?”
“We’ve maybe met once [at that point], so this is like just a shot in the dark,” Marian recalls. “But they were thankfully down for it. And then the day we picked them up at the airport [before the first show on the tour] was the second day we [met].”
As they prepared to go on tour, they realized they didn’t have a name or any kind of “cohesive theme” for it, so they “worked backwards.” They decided to work on a new song together, titled “Parachuting Off The Moon,” and named their tour after the song.
Previously, Marian also collaborated with RENE to release “we’re gonna die anyway!!!” The song is featured on Marian’s most recent EP. In it, they sing, “So let’s hold hands on the train / They’re gonna stare anyway / Hеad on my shoulder / Love how I hold her / I’d do this any day.”
Thinking back to their writing process, Marian explains, “We were like, ‘What are we thinking of right now?’ RENE was thinking about the climate crisis, and I was thinking about not being able to buy a house with my partner because we’re Gay, so we put it together, and it was the optimistic nihilism of, ‘The world’s gonna burn down, [so] who cares? We’re gonna hold hands even if people disapprove or give us dirty looks. It makes us happy and that’s a form of resistance in itself.’”
Queer joy feels especially important to her because “in this part of the world, Queer representation is still not very common, especially Queer representation in a good light.” She adds, “We still have a long way to go in terms of being able to be accepted or to even express ourselves… I think it’s important to be able to still go past that, show up, and be with the community and help it grow in a way.”
Now, after years of releasing music, Marian has realized she doesn’t “have to be for everyone.” She says it’s “a hard lesson to have learned as a recovering people pleaser.” This realization has given her space to write without worrying about how “palatable” her music is. “I think this year I’m really starting to find the kind of relationship that I want with music and also where I am,” she asserts. “I think growing up in Asia especially, we’re taught to be quiet and also not rock the boat so much. But as someone who is a minority and is Queer, I’ve experienced many things in my life that not a lot of people who are privileged might have experienced, and I write songs about that. So, for the longest time, I’ve tried to write it in a way that’s palatable or in a way that hopefully people won’t get mad at me. I realize that that is kind of invalidating to myself.”
Her most recent release, “Parallel Lines,” reflects this shift. Marian describes it as “a song that will not make everybody happy.” She adds, “It’s about apathy in politics and how that affects the people we love around us.”
For those who have never listened to Marian’s music, she also recommends listening to “Wanted You,” her first bilingual song and “the most representative of who (she is) right now.”
Written by Casper Orr
Music Video still from “Turn it UP” by
Rico Nasty
PHOTOS AROUND
GLOBE THE
Featuring
Photographers from South Africa, Vietnam, The United States, Wales, Spain, and France. Photographer bios are the end of the collection.
Photo of Cumgirl8
Matihldeuh
Photo
Indiana, United States
Top and Bottom: Photo of Omar Apollo
Malik Davis
Middle and Bottom: Photos of Chelsea Wolf
Photo of LustSickPuppy
Photo of Dakota North
Photo of Jay Bella Banks
Dick Appointment party based out of New York
Lyte Hill
Photo of Ruinosaylas Strippers
Raül Santin
Photo of Unknown
Photo of Ruinosa
Barcelona, Spain
Gretchen
Rudolf
California, United States
Photo of Morning Forever
Photo of Morning Forever
Photo of Morning Forever
Photo of Morning Forever
Photo of Unknown Troye Alexander Johannesburg, South Africa
Photo
Photo of Lefo Kolodi
Photo of colossal squid
Blue Marsh Aberystwyth, Wales
Photo of Red Red Red
Photo of crowd at Red Red Red show
Photo of Sen Riot
Photo of GenderFunk
Photo of Unknown
Saigon, Vietnam
Photo of Xanti Xavier Gonzalez and Mini Kunty
BIOS
Matilduh (France)
Matihldeuh is a photographer who shoots everything from concerts and performances to experimental shoots and more. Through her play with colors, Matihldeuh’s work aims at throwing you into a dreamlike and colorful world. Moreover, her beliefs and the way she portrays them has always been an huge part of her work
Malik Davis (Indiana, USA)
Malik Davis (he/him) is a dynamic photographer and visual storyteller based in Indiana, known for capturing bold, expressive imagery across sports, music, and cultural events. With over five years of experience, Malik has worked with local artists in Indy and in Bloomington to well known acts such as Janelle Monet, Omar Apollo, LANY, and Daniel Caesar. His photography celebrates energy, emotion, and authenticity that blends technical precision with creative vision. He’s passionate about documenting authentic moments, and brings a sharp eye and collaborative spirit to every project.
Anjali Shenoy (Georgia, USA)
Anjali Shenoy (they/them) is a photographer based in Atlanta, United States with over 13 years of experience creating stories through images. They work in digital, film, fashion, editorial, and landscape photography. For the past three years, they’ve focussed on live music photography, currently shooting shows at The Masquerade. Their true passion lies in portraiture and crafting imagery for album covers.
Lyte Hill (Georgia, USA)
Lyte (she/her) is a 24 year old drag performer, local party doll but photographer first, based out of Atlanta, United States with an emphasis in the celebration of queer nightlife! She captures her community in candid with a harsh flash and deep contrast to the dimly lit scene. Her inspiration comes from the fast pace glitz and glam of southern queerness and its liberation on the dance floor immortalizing moments that will live on. IG: @Lytehill
Raül Santin (Spain)
Raül (he/him) is a photographer and audiovisual artist, currently based in Barcelona. His work centers around shape, color, shadows, and lights. He uses those elements to exploit the intrinsecal beauty in all that might seem conventional at first. Raül’s passion for photography started during his studies at ESDAPC (Barcelona); and later, through friends, he found a love for portraits and fashion.
Gretchen Rudolf (California, USA)
Gretchen Rudolph (she/her) is a Los Angeles, United States based photographer and filmmaker, originally from Portland, Oregon. Her personal work explores the relationship between industry and nature, capturing landscapes in transition where human structures are gradually reclaimed by time. Outside of her creative practice, she can often be found birdwatching or catching a movie with friends.
Troye Alexander (South Africa)
Troye Alexander primarily uses various forms of film photography and an expanse of techniques that he is able to apply to his work through this medium. Having grown up in a radicalised conservative community for most of his life, his view on the world was formed toward a more traditional conservative norm. Through photography, he is able to rebuild a sense of community and create a sincere visibility for a community he values, also making sure it looks sick.
Blue Marsh (Wales)
Blue Marsh (they/them) is a Wales photographer and amateur music-filmmaker, known for their passion for art from an early age. They studied at Shrewsbury college of art and design from 2018-2022 in multiple artistic studies. They began their professional photography career for shrewsburys’LOOPFEST and soon after established themself as a freelance artist.
In addition to being a photographer, Blue has created music videos for well known and loved Aberystwyth bands Misha and the Kings and The Red Bastards In 2024,they featured in Star-Zine, Gutterzine, Intertwined zines and The Mouth of Ystwyth working with upcoming and well established zines and magazines to support every creator they can.
Linh Thân (Vietnam)
Linh Thân (she/they) is a photographer and filmmaker living in Saigon, Vietnam. Linh also writes for, organizes and facilitates Tắm Đêm (@tamdem_nightswim), a collaborative poetry project that blends wordcraft with sound, performance, and visual arts. Their pictures and poetry both tend towards obscured faces and the color blue.
Dancing in the Dark
Reyna Tropical’s Latest Malegría en la Oscuridad is an Homage to Queer Sensuality
words by Starly Lou Riggs
photo by Devyn Galindo
n a busy world full of noise pollution, there can be great power in silence. Particularly, the silence that comes from the tranquility of nature, with enough quiet to hear yourself think. It’s in this space that Fabi Reyna—guitarist, singer, songwriter, and producer of tropical electronic moniker Reyna Tropical—finds room to improvise, explore, and create their own sound.
Reyna Tropical started in 2016 as a duo. Fabi and Nectali “Sumohair” Díaz released their self-titled EP in 2018, lighting the brilliant spark to an eventual bonfire of sound. The two went into the project with little expectation, creating solely for the sake of passion. However, the world started to take notice, and it wasn’t long before they were out on tour. Following Nectali’s unexpected passing in 2022, Fabi continued as Reyna Tropical, bringing together the nuances and very human desires to express both grief and joy.
Reyna Tropical’s debut album, Malegría, is the amalgamation of Spanish words “mal” meaning “bad” and “alegría” signifying joy. May of this year saw a return to the sentiment with Malegría en la Oscuridad, bringing this emotional duality to the dancefloor. Malegría en la Oscuridad is a celebration. Pulling six tracks off the Malegría, Fabi reached out to a handful of other musicians (featuring artists like Sofia Kourtesis and Sylvan Esso) to produce their own thoughtful remix. In an effort of collaboration—honoring Fabi’s affinity for movement—MalegríaenlaOscuridad is a beautiful monument to Queer sensuality and joy.
Noise Made By had the pleasure of asking Fabi Reyna a few questions:
I really loved Malegría both in concept and sound. I was excited to see an “in the dark version” of this with the remixes. How did you choose the tracks you wanted to remix from Malegría?
I already kind of knew what I wanted some tracks to be. I had people in mind and I reached out. I learned a lot about myself from the voguing scene in Portland, and I [was influenced] by Gay Men of Color up here who raised me. Really, my alter ego is a Twink. I wanted for that to come through.
Sofia Kourtesis—her music [touches] on the other aspects of what I love: empowering Femme producers from Central and South America. [There’s a] more techno song in the remixes, “La Mamá” by Simón Mejía from Bomba Estéreo. Bomba Estéreo raised me— the fusion of all these Latin and AfroIndigenous sounds in the club from their first album.
We could go track by track, but in general I just reached out to some of my favorites and whoever said yes was like, “Let’s go!”
Do you vogue?
Oh my god, I can barely dance, to be honest! I can dance my own style of dancing and I have a lot of rhythm, but I’m kind of one of those stone cold Lesbians and that’s definitely who came through in the club at an early age. So my answer is no, but I praise the girls. I’m there to be the daddy for the girls as much as I can be.
Something else that really draws me to your music is how it’s centered around community and of grief and joy. What role do both grief and joy have in your life and in your music?
I am very much in my Gemini moon. I feel like I have many spirits and I’m constantly reacting, sort of walking with multiplicities [all] at once. I think in anything I do, I’m very aware that it’s not just coming from joy. It holds these two dualities, or these two possibilities at least.
While I’m making music that makes people happy and dance, I’m really expressing a lot of pain and grief and
longing. If you were to just listen to my lyrics on acoustic guitar, you’d think, “This is a sad fucking song,” but paired with the music, it’s different. I think that’s my purpose through the music, through the spaces, in any event that I hold—to just accept the duality of what we carry; that joy and grief are more powerful together than they are alone.
You use a lot of different musical influences. What music did you grow up listening to? What inspires you today?
I didn’t necessarily come from a family that came together to listen to music. Mostly, the music that I grew up with was from the radio, on a bus, or on the street. A lot of those were cumbias, norteñas, rancheras, música tropicales, Mexican music—but I couldn’t necessarily tell you the band name or the song name. I think the one artist that was present for me was Prince, because my aunt loved him— which is also probably why I’m the way that I am—I’m a flamboyant Gay man, but like, a masculine Femme.
I also mostly [grew] up inspired and influenced by all of that silence and being in my head a lot. Songs of the street, sounds of nature, observing, thinking I’m talking to god, but really it’s me.
Inspiration can come from all around. It doesn’t just come from music or art, and there’s all kinds of stuff that lives inside of us. You use a lot of imagery about nature and this connection to Earth in your music. Is that because you draw inspiration from these places?
I think the water, bird sounds, and bird melodies are a huge part of my style, singing, and making music—the kind of call and response that you hear with birds. Honestly, I feel really aligned with [what] I learned from popular Peruvian music. That helped me connect [and] put words to what I was doing. In general, I’m inspired and driven by [the] melodies or rhythms rain makes when it hits different objects. I’ll walk out of my door—cause I live in Portland, and so it rains a lot—and just be like, “What is that dope drum pattern right now?” I’ll record it, and it turns into a song.
What is your song writing process like?
I’m someone who’s in a lot of movement all the time. I have been since I was born. In my writing and recording process, I carry my essentials: my interface, microphone, guitar, and a little keyboard—and I’ll just set up anywhere. For Malegría, there were times where I slept in a hammock in front of the beach. I was in the middle of a lot of adventure and would just set up and start recording. What you [would] hear in Malegría—in a lot of those recordings—if you were to silence the vocal track, you’d hear the noises of where I’m at. I’m also a guitar looper, so my writing process is to loop and layer.
I think that’s my purpose through the music, through the spaces, in any event that I hold—to just accept the duality of what we carry; that joy and grief are more powerful together than they are alone. — FR
Malegría
Malegría en la Oscuridad
photo by Devyn Galindo
There’s so many ways to write music. I first hear about I first heard about you through She Shreds Magazine [now She Shreds Media] a long time ago, and I thought it was really nice for you to open this space up for fem people to explore in a safe place. I think your writing process speaks to the same thing—you can record anywhere, you can do it improvisationally, it doesn’t have to be strictly one thing.
Yeah, there’s so many ways. I always tell people, you don’t need much. I actually think the best songs come with restrictions and when you don’t have a lot to work with, your creativity will find its way.
The way you’re describing your identity made me think of the Conocerla music video and the outfit you were wearing. How did that video come together and how did you come to collaborate with this director?
Devyn Galindo is the director for “Conocerla.” Devyn and I met [in] February 2022, when we were both in a big transition phase. Devyn is Transmasc and I’m Nonbinary. From the range of our experiences, we wanted to create something. We’re both Mexican and come from the diaspora of not knowing a lot of our ancestors or family lineages. Both of us have also found a lot of sanctuary in Queer community spaces, and we wanted to create something that was a love story, kind of a sense of sensuality and pleasure for that Mexican diaspora—Queer community of all shapes, sizes, identities that could see themselves and be like “I’m so hot and I feel so hot!”
Devyn and I wanted to create imagery and sounds for the Trans, Nonbinary, Lesbian, Two-Spirit community that is centered around joy and pleasure. We have seen so much that’s centered around our traumas. We know how to come together around our traumas. We’re just like… we’re over that. We want to come together [in] our pleasure. That’s how “Conocerla” came to be.
I feel like you collaborate with lots of cool people. Did you know the artists featured on your EP? Or were those connections you made just reaching out, musician to musician?
Most of it was reaching out as a fan. The only person I really know from the remix EP is Lido Pimienta. It’s surprisingly the first time we collaborated, and I’ve been wanting to do something with her. But everyone else, I didn’t know until then.
You have been playing a lot of shows—a tour in September, and you were touring a lot last year. You said traveling comes naturally to you. Are there any daily routines that you have that keep you grounded as you’re moving around?
I have definitely been someone who functions [in] as much chaos as possible. I enjoy creating that for myself. What keeps me sane is boxing and making sure that I have a workout routine. And making herbal remedies and teas.
On tour, I will say this: every time we went to any city, we always stopped by a body of water. We would harvest whatever was growing abundantly in different cities and whether [it was] the same night or the day after, we always found a body of water to offer the plants to. That was always really rooting and grounding.
That sounds routine-like!
I’m giving it a try!
I saw on your instagram that you’re hosting a boxing event! And there’s a DJ element. How did this come together?
Boxing saved my life in a big way. I started to box when I was 13. I wanted to do a nightclub. Let’s do DJ nights to really bring to life these remixes! And then I was thinking, “I don’t really want to perpetuate drinking right this second.” I thought, “I think it’d be really cool to give it another element of who I am,” bring some strength and self defense to the girls, the BIPOC folks, and the Trans community too. I personally always want to hear cumbias and music that’s more my vibe at boxing clubs, and I never get to. This is the first time I’m teaching, so I’m really excited.
Do you have any new releases planned to come out soon?
I’m going to be releasing quite a few things this year. I’m really excited about them. There’s a lot to look forward to! I’m fully ready to release new music.
Lastly, what advice do you have for young Queer people who want to make music today?
I feel like Queer artists have the best ideas, even if they [feel] wrong or different. I just think we have to believe in ourselves. Even—or maybe especially—when people are saying no. We’re literally the world’s hope for redirecting everyone. So just go make it happen!
I feel like Queer artists have the best ideas, even if they [feel] wrong or different. I just think we have to believe in ourselves. — FR
Queer Beat 2025 Queer the Beat 2025
words by Casper Orr
Since 2006, taco bell has been funding the creative ventures of artists including Charli XCX, The Neighbourhood, Beach Bunny, and over 2,000 more musicians. “Feed the Beat” was relatively out of the spotlight until recent years when magazines such as Alternative Press began documenting the 100 artists supported every year by the program, otherwise referred to as “classes.” “Feed the Beat” supports the arts by providing $500 gift cards for taco bell to assist with food costs while touring, as well as creating a platform for select artists by featuring their music in commercials and acquiring stage space at concerts and festivals.
The Class of 2025 was announced in late April, highlighting 100 rising artists and bands across genres. As I was going through the list, I recognized several artist and band names—Queer artists and bands—and began to wonder how many of this year’s selected artists were openly Queer. Don’t worry, I did all the research and math for you: nearly one-third of this year’s class either openly identifies as Queer, or are a band with an openly Queer-identifying member. If you’re looking for new Queer music, the search ends here. Welcome to the Queer Class of 2025!
Genre: Folk/Pop Song: “For Sale Sign (feat. Lizzy McAlpine)” (2024)
Trousdale (Los Angeles, CA)
Genre: Americana folk/Pop Song: “Bad Blood” (2023)
Um, Jennifer? (NYC)
Genre: Indie rock/Punk Song: “Keep It Tight” (2025)
Water From Your Eyes (NYC)
Genre: Experimental rock/Electronic pop Song: “Out There” (2023)
Carina Allen (Brooklyn,
NY)
Music Video Feature
Carina Allen: My name is Carina Allen and I’m known to wear many hats, including as a photographer, director, and as a music artist myself. I’ve spent years in NYC shooting with musicians and artists to capture album artwork, press images, music videos, visualizers, live shows, BTS, and more. I love working with other artists and seeing all aspects of the creative process when it comes to music and visuals.
“Hypnotic Love” by Zoe on Venus
Starring: Zoe on Venus & Victoria Spallone
Produced by Hot Creative Production
Directed and Edited by: Carina Allen
Director of Photography: Kris Khunachak
Colorist: Jake White at Company 3
Grip & Gaff: Jake Feldman
Audio Recording: Carleigh Guarino
Assistant Director & On-Set Photos: Katie Harless
Lead Makeup: Mollie Gloss
Lead Hair: Nicolette Romer
Lead Wardrobe Stylist: Samantha Coughlan
Production Assistant: Natty Majka
PA/Intern: Parmida Ansaripour
Cast:
Hair Stylist: Samantha Herbert
Shopper: Camille Vitello
Drag Queens:
Lexa Con Milani
Miss Blake Harley
Lexi Pro Hellen Waite
Special thanks to: Willow & Jade Hair Salon, Nikki Grebel & Kelley Cover, Pearl St. Consignment, Emily Natale, Isabella Locurto, and Jennifer Locurto.
Bijoux Cone
An interview with words by Starly Lou Riggs photos by Ana Vohs
Amannequin brought Bijoux and I together. Back in 2018, I had just started art school and was looking to add one to my collection of random junk to experiment with, so when I saw that she was selling a spray-painted red mannequin with a cone and spiral etched into it, I sent her a message.
Bijoux Cone is an artist. Encapsulating more than just sound, Bijoux creates an expressive space that is both colorful and raw. Inspired by Dada, experimental cinema, and punk, she has sat on cakes onstage and performed Yoko Ono tracks in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs. A multi-instrumentalist, she alternates between poppy synth leads and gritty guitar, with the voice of an angel in an agonizing state of perpetual longing. Bijoux has toured the world, playing live with renowned pop outfit Gossip, making regular trips to Brazil and Mexico, and playing keys with The Mommys while back home in Portland.
I had the pleasure to connect with Bijoux for Noise Made By, to get to the heart of her music, inspiration, and sound.
Your music is for the heartbroken and the bleeding hearts. It’s a beautiful sound for people who are hurting in one way or another, from songs like “Temporary Love” to having an entire album—entitled LoveisTrash. I’m curious what sort of references you draw on—not just musically, but artistically and in life?
My favorite visual artists are Yayoi Kusama, Maya Deren, Genesis P Orridge, Yoko Ono, Jean Cocteau, Grace Jones, every sad doowop song, Madonna, and all the pop icons—especially the girls— Diamanda Galas, Pierre Shaffer, Cocteau Twins, Nico & The Velvet Underground, Pipilotti Rist, did I say Yoko Ono? I love the factory drama as much as the catharsis. I like insanity and absurdity, I love fashion and body art, and I think everything is an opportunity to be creative. I also love noise and garbage and failure. I am emotional, so I relate to emotional things.
Something else I love in your work is symbolism. What do some of these symbols mean to you (the cone, the spiral)?
I started making art using the cone shape while I was in grad school for art because I needed an outlet for making things that I didn’t need to have an explanation or serious statement for. I just wanted something random to make things with and not know why. It kinda caught on. People started giving me cones and saying the word “cone” to me or making cone art and dedicating it to me. I decided
to make it my last name to try to make it into a legacy. But in a way it does have meaning, because it’s a demonstration of indifference and absurdist art. It’s my Dada.
You’ve been in all kinds of projects with different sounds, styles, genres, but it seems you’re always pushing the limit and creatively expanding, both in sound and performance. Can you talk a little bit about your experience getting into music? What is your production process like?
When I was a little kid I was kinda homeless among my family and nobody wanted to keep me around for more than a year or two, so I moved from family member to family member home. However, I returned to my grandmother several times throughout my early years, and she was a piano teacher. I started learning piano when I was in kindergarten.
My production process is a lot of me tinkering with tape players and echo and machines and synths, around bass hooks. I love writing songs on bass and then decorating the tracks with effects and keyboards. Sometimes I’m more traditional but it’s almost always just me tinkering.
What is your relationship to love? How do you define love? And what is the “color of love” to you?
Love is a mania. It’s inspiration. It paints life happy or sad. When it hurts, it hurts
worse than death. They say grief is the price you pay for love. It’s not really possible to define it. At least, I don’t define it. It’s abstract, which means it can be felt and understood—experienced—but it doesn’t fit in a sentence or a paragraph. It doesn’t have a shape. It’s an echo. It’s a premonition. It’s a hope or investment or a sacrifice or a moment you want to last forever. It’s beyond feelings or acts or words or intentions. It’s a visceral and quantifiable madness. It’s euphoria and fantasy. “Color of Love” is translucent. The song is about crying. The color of love is the color of your tears. I wear black eyeliner pretty often, so my color of love is usually black.
When was the last time you cried?
Today. Actually, like, 25 minutes ago. Honestly I have been laying in bed crying and watching movies and eating for days because I keep getting dumped over and over and the news is full of anti-trans hate and I’m tired and my heart is broken.
Your songs that aren’t explicitly about love, yet still speak a lot of other kinds of hurt. Like in “Don’t”: Don’t make me one-dimensional / Don’t make me your ritual / I’m tired of everything / I’m tired of me / I’m tired of you and “Mind’s Eye”: You keep me outside / Out of sight / I pray to god I still exist touch on how other people see and treat you. Your songs have a message that can be read universally, but they are also very specific to you and your experiences. Your music is also beautifully melancholic, both dancy and tragic. What role does heartbreak play in your life and sound?
It plays a big role. Those songs aren’t about heartbreak. They’re anthems to say I’m here as a Trans person and I exist and I won’t compromise that for anyone else’s comfort.
You’ve been traveling the world, both in Gossip and with your own project— Bijoux Cone has played in Argentina, Brazil, and Mexico a number of times. How has that experience been, compared to touring and playing in the U.S.? What is harder, and what’s been easier? Do you have a favorite place to play?
Tough question, honestly. I tend to search for the Queers and punks everywhere I go. I have experienced transphobia all over the world, but it usually challenges me the most in the places where people claim to be the most progressive. It’s relative though. The world is actively attempting to criminalize the existence of Trans people and it’s hard not to feel scared
and sad about it all the time. But I think our joy keeps us powerful. So, I hope to celebrate Queerness, even celebrate our limitations and pain, because we can make it belong to us and make it not control us. By far, Brazil is the place I feel most safe, and I love it with all my heart.
Your latest release Love is Trash features a lot of references to Brazil, and I know you have created a lot of art in Brazil. Can you speak a little bit about what it means to you?
Brazil embraced me. I had all of my Trans affirming surgeries in Brazil, and those changed my life. The process changed my life. The people treat me with openness and love. It’s very soulful and beautiful and important to me. Also, of course Brazilian music is full of beautiful chords, and I love beautiful chords in music.
Has your music changed over time?
Duh. Thank god. Who wants to be the same forever? Not me! I hope I keep changing. Although I think it’s evolving, not changing.
As an internationally touring artist, you receive a lot of visibility in many different places with a variety of crowds. Visibility can be really important—you’ve expressed particularly how Trans audience members have come to you to express how important it is to see you play. What does it mean to be seen in this way?
I think visibility is important. I hope I can be a person who other people see and think, “It’s ok to be who I want.” It works. It adds to your value, to be free. When I was young, I wish I [had seen] more representation of Trans women that weren’t just criminals or scary or poor or ill. That’s not who we are as a people. It’s not fair that we were used that way in pop culture. I know there’s a lot more Trans representation now, but it’s still hard for most people to think of ten famous Trans artists. I mean famous, not just underground popular... but for most people, even that’s hard. We still don’t occupy a lot of space.
You collaborate with many artists, both musically and visually.w Who are some people you’ve really enjoyed collaborating with?
Keeks!
Can we expect any new Bijoux Cone releases soon?
Yes, very soon.
on Aesthetics, Cheerleading, and Rage
Words by Paige Sheffield
When Pom Pom Squad’s Mia Berrin released Death of a Cheerleader in 2021, her nods to the cheerleader archetype were quite apparent. “Head Cheerleader” opens with the lyrics, “You said open up your mouth and tell me what you mean / I said I’m gonna marry the scariest girl on the cheerleading team.” Mia tells me she started dressing like a cheerleader on stage because she “needed to see it.” Over time, she said she “realized that other people needed to see it too.”
“As a Woman of Color and as a Queer woman, so much of our experiences are still widely under-
represented,” Mia explains.
But as she embraced the cheerleader imagery, she found that it also influenced the way people perceived her.
“When I was nineteen dressing as a cheerleader and playing punk shows, I felt like the opposite [of] everything the archetypical cheerleader embodied. But as I kept playing with that iconography, people started to actually see me and respond to me very differently,” she recalls.
There were times people would approach her at shows and make comments like, “I thought your music was gonna be cutesy but it’s actually pretty hard” or “I thought you were gonna be a bitch but you’re actually really nice!”
To Mia, comments like these made it clear that people were “contending with their own prejudices and preconceptions in real time.”
Mia also sees exploring these different aesthetics as a way to “deepen the storytelling” for each Pom Pom Squad project. Now, on the heels of the release of an album that was, in Mia’s words, “written during a more somber time,” Mia says she has moved away from the cheerleading imagery on some level because “it just didn’t feel right for this album.”
Still, as she promoted her Mirror Ball Tour in February 2025, she urged fans to dress up for themed nights in different cities. One of these themes was, unsurprisingly, Head Cheerleader. “Fashion has always been one of my favorite forms of self-expression,” she notes. “I’ve used styling as a way to define the different aesthetics of each PPS project and deepen the storytelling, so doing theme nights felt like a fun way to pay homage to that.”
Beyond imagery, Mia’s latest album, MirrorStartsMovingWithout Me, feels different. It’s introspective, vulnerable, and full of rage embodied in different ways. On “Villain,” it’s obvious and unflinching as she sings, “You should see what I’m like when I’m angry / Yeah, I’m the villain.” In one instance, her anger does take the form of a cheerleading reference: “You couldn’t hear me? What if I cheerlead? / M-E-S-S-Y / You’re messy.”
Then on “Doll Song,” the rage is more subdued and unyielding, with lyrics like, “Won’t fold up and make myself small anymore / I don’t know how you made a doll out of me” and “At least when I’m lonely I know I’m the only one pulling my strings.”
For Mia, the fact that the album felt so personal made touring this year extra special. “Everything I write is ultimately for myself, but it’s so gratifying to see people make these songs their own,” she says. “I really love Pom Pom Squad fans and I feel so seen by them. I’m always surprised by the depths of generosity, love, and kindness they show me.”
THE Queer Time and
Late Start
Iwas first introduced to Carol Ades the week after my 23rd birthday. I was living in my small Indiana hometown after graduating college with two arts degrees and zero prospects. I spent my days obsessively applying to any big-city job I seemed vaguely qualified for, waiting tables, and stalking Queer microcelebrities on social media. I was trying to live vicariously through all the hot, twenty-something Dykes I longed to be yet felt so incredibly distant from. One of my favorites was Ava Capri—an actress and model with that androgynous edge I tried for a while and ultimately gave up on, but still admire. In the spring of 2024, she and her then girlfriend—Lesbian YouTube forefather Alexis G. Zall—were constantly posting photos and videos of the two of them with a brunette woman in matching catholic school-type uniforms. Confused and intrigued, I did some snooping and found out that these posts were promotion shots for the brunette girl’s music. Having no social life and an incredible thirst for Queerness in any form, I naturally tuned in.
This was right around the time Ades released the song “Dreams,” which is now her most streamed piece. The song—the third single off Ades’ debut album Late Start and my most played song of 2024—was classically poppy and made me want to move in an era of my life where that was not always an easy feat. It felt like summer to me. And it was
words by Katie Lauck
all about my favorite activity: longing. “Dreams” opens with Ades coyly singing “You look so pretty right now / All I wanna do is cry,” to an unknown lover, before she eventually admits “I close my eyes and push you up against the wall / But only in my dreams.” As someone who used to race through spelling tests so I’d have a few spare minutes to daydream about my future love life, this sentiment felt quite familiar.
At some point in my teens, I started keeping a journal full of romantic daydreams. I meticulously planned how my first kiss would happen, the dates I’d go on, even my wedding vows. I always wrote these scenarios about my imaginary boyfriend Holden—who ironically had a twin sister named Meg. I always imagined being very close with her. I imagined Holden for these scenarios because I never really had crushes I could picture myself with. There were one or two boys throughout my youth that I was close with and decided to have crushes on, but I think it was the idea of being in love that I really had feelings for. It was the idea that my daydreams could come to life. “Dreams” felt like a callback to this uninhibited, youthful, hopelessly romantic view of love—the first kind of love I had ever believed in, and one I had lost touch with after years of watching people around me fall in and out of relationships while I stayed put.
After “Dreams,” I was pretty instantly hooked. Ades, who was 28 at the time I found her, didn’t have much out at the start of 2024. The 15 or so songs out at the time consisted of singles and EPs put out at odd intervals over the years. I listened to them all obsessively. After a top eight finish on The Voice under the name Caroline Pennell at 17, Ades had an up-and-down career. She was featured on cover albums, released a few short EPs, and opened for other musicians. Yet, until the past two years or so, she still hadn’t
been widely recognized as a singer in her own right. Instead, she spent most of her career in the music world writing songs for other pop names including Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato, and Ava Max. It was only in 2021, nearly ten years after her debut on The Voice, that her first original songs under the name Carol Ades came out. And it wasn’t until 2023, when she toured with Lizzy McAlpine, that she started gaining more noticeable traction. When I think about Carol Ades— her music, her career, her aesthetic, her voice—I think about Queer Time. I was first introduced to this concept when I was 21. I was working on my senior creative writing project—a series of essays about growing up as a Queer and religious girl in the Midwest—when my professor asked if I was familiar with the concept. Though I wasn’t familiar with it by name, it turned out I had been writing about it all year. Queer Time posits that, as Queer people, our lives don’t fit the traditionally accepted timelines set out by heteronormative culture. One reddit user on the r/asktransgender page described it in a way I especially like. When asked how they experienced Queer Time, user operation-casserole said
“as a late bloomer transfem my experience has been when I was 5 I was 5, when I was 12 I was 14, when I was 17 I was 20, and now that I’m 23 I feel like a 14 year old. I imagine when I am 25 I’ll feel 18, 27 maybe 23 or 24. By 30 I bet it’ll all start catching up and I’ll be 30 at 30 and 40 at 40.”
As Queer people, we often don’t get the luxury of experiencing life at the same pace as our peers. This fear of being behind has plagued me for years. I’ve spent countless hours wondering why I seemed to stand still while everyone around me moved ahead. I have long had a sneaking suspicion that people see me as an inexperienced, childish girl who can never be their equal because I will always be five steps behind. The year my childhood best friend got engaged was also the year I kissed a girl for the first time—the second kiss of my life. While my
best friend was committing to a serious, long-term love, I was trying to figure out the age-old question of what to do with your hands when somebody kisses you.
Not unlike my own life, Carol Ades’ career is one marked by false starts, reroutes, and promises that don’t quite come through. Looking at her now, I see a woman really starting to take off at an age that many people would, horrifically, consider far too old for a pop star’s rise to begin. This is Queer Time. It is growing and changing at her own speed, whether or not the speed is what she intended or hoped for, and trusting it is right nonetheless. This summer, as Ades sets out to play two major festivals (All Things Go and Lollapalooza) for the first time, I both hope and expect to hear her name a lot more.
If you look closely at the video of her headlining performance at The Larimer Lounge in December 2024, you can see me jumping and screaming in the front row of the maybe 150 person crowd. That concert took place about two months after Late Start was released and four months after I finally started my coveted big-city job halfway across the country from my hometown. It was incredible. I remember thinking she was hilarious, personable, and magnetic. I think I cried twice. Ades doesn’t just represent Queer Time in her career—it’s all over her music too. As I stood there, surrounded by Queer people in my brand new city, listening to a 28-year-old woman sing so earnestly about rearranging her furniture to feel like she has some sense of power and the slow, boring, agonizing, exhilarating journey of coming to terms with your sexuality, I felt like somebody was finally telling me it was okay to breathe. Ades once described this album as “a coming of age soundtrack to the incredibly confusing and magical journey of trying to figure out who I am.” I’d been listening and crying to this album for months as I mapped out my new independent life, and being in that room felt like a celebration of all the things I’d made it through. At that moment, I didn’t feel behind, or, at least if I did, I didn’t feel bad about it. I felt like somebody who was a part of something that was going to be really good. I felt like when Ades sang “Baby the best part’s only around the corner,” I might finally be able to see it coming.
Written by FOSTER HILDING
Photos from My Friend
My Urn’s Bands in Town
ARE THEY JUST
WORDS?
CONVERSATIONS & OBSERVATIONS WITH MY FRIEND MY URN
I board my plane with a tired sickness in my stomach, halfdelirious, watching the shadows and dim light of dusk crawl across the cabin and overhead carriages. I fall into Phil Elverum’s guitar and his affinity for -ly adverbs and acoustic guitars as the floor shakes in a subtle, grinding, constant tremor. I stop to listen for a while, buying a 6AM whiskey and cola to wash down the 4:30AM energy drink. And in that time, I hear a baby, maybe enraptured by the sound of her own voice as she coos in harmony with the whistling body of the plane, her fragile notes just minor seconds away–as if she just wanted to hear the warm vibration of the two tones’ waves rubbing against one another in their formless space.
I’m in the Portland international airport. It’s 9:45AM on June 21st. Journal and My Friend My Urn have been touring the West Coast for a little over a week alongside legendary band, …and its name was epyon, among many others. Tomorrow is the last show of their tour.
Here are the main players: there’s Ezra (our gracious host from the band Rhododendron), hyper and stylish and almost always wearing a beanie. There’s Sterling (My Friend My Urn), cheeks rising against his eyes as he smiles, constantly scheming on new projects–Aidan (My Friend My Urn), tall in a stoic way and longfaced in a welcoming one–Berta (My Friend My Urn), quiet and eyes sparkling against their outgrown hair. Then there’s Zander (My Friend My Urn + Journal), burly and cheerful in a refreshing sort of way– Love (Journal), sullen and jumpy and asleep–or sick–for the whole weekend. Finally, there’s Jack (Journal), thin and solitary on his morning walks to a nearby cafe. Try to remember them. We stay in Ezra’s basement on a collage of sleeping pads and pillows like tired, restless squatters. Before long we pass around a magic 8 ball that hardly ever says yes to anything, talking shit, calling
names, and taking turns showering in the humid, sopping bathroom. Aidan and I talk on Ezra’s bed–or more accurately, I spring an interview on him between discussions on Spongebob’s newly canon asexuality, among other stupid things:
I feel like here in Portland, everyone is so much more about the music and you can just tell from the crowd. Everyone was asking about CDs and [vinyl], while every other place we went to they were asking for shirts. Everyone [here] is into the music. Everyone is there. They’re watching, they’re attentive, and they’re a part of it, all crowded around super close like that.
I feel biased because I only really know people [in Arizona] that are really about the music, but watching how everyone interacts with the bands and each other, there’s this thing in the air [there]. Just being like, “Hey I’m going to a show,” and posting about it. There were no phones out during that whole Portland set. Everyone was there and they were locked in to what you were playing.
[If] you’re in Arizona, it’s a bunch of kids obviously, and they
can be excited about it as much as they want and in whatever way, but
I feel like there’s a significant lack of attention to the music itself. It can be kind of surface level in some way. A surface-level attention.
The talk of the whole day is Dot’s, an urban legend on concrete, drowning in PNW pretension with a splash of welcoming warmth and cheap drinks to top it off. Ezra says that Elliott Smith wrote songs in the corner of the bar. It makes going there feel like retracing our musical ancestors’ steps.
I’m in the backseat of Aidan’s Toyota. It’s 10AM on June 22nd. I’m stuffed between legs and hardshell guitar cases, computer and camera in my lap with some wild expectation I could get some work done. Zander and Love are horribly sick and considering canceling tonight’s show. We are driving to Seattle for the end of the tour.
Berta plays a mix of sprawling screamo and split-neck punk on the ride. The whole ordeal, this piece itself, the ride, and the weekend, feel like opening the time capsule as we close it. The same battles in a new time, and while the music sounds a little different, it really hasn’t changed at all.
home. I set up my 40 pounds of equipment to film and record the show. Everytime I look over my shoulder, the crowd grows. I’m not even sure doors are open yet, but I move my hands faster to prepare.
My Friend My Urn plays a song I haven’t heard before, a long and sprawling piece in many phases. The audience is hypnotized, eyes swirling with every riff, every swell and crescendo. Berta’s voice pierces the steel of their feathered strings and Zander sits, perched like a hawk at the ready for every cue.
It feels like more than music. I watch them through the viewport on my old camera and the overhead light engulfs them like the wings of an angel. Their hearts touch the hands of all who are listening there. If it sounds biblical, that’s because it’s not too far off.
The Vera Project is a brutalist, concrete building in downtown Seattle. Rough and cold on its exterior, the interior feels like
I’m saying my goodbyes on the venue’s wide concrete steps. It’s 11:30PM on June 22nd and I think I know more about myself, and about this hardcore bullshit. And My Friend My Urn is still my favorite band.
There is not a single other band to which I could compare them–blistering, wrenching, yet steadfast and singular. They play a long-winded screamo, aching with a post-rock sensibility and a voice to be shared by everyone. I watch them thinking, these kids have no idea how lucky they are to be here, how lucky anyone is to see the spark that ignites the flame, to be the chimney walls on which the future history of sound will be written upon.
I’m going to leave this final sentiment to them, as they put it better than I ever could. In the liner notes of My Friend My Urn’s limited demo tape is this:
The first song on this demo is about abortion and the depravity of the U.S. Republican administration. 800 women a day die from preventable causes without access to abortion and general healthcare. We will forever stand against the fascist ideologies and anti-human lawmaking of the U.S. administration.
Through unity we are strong, we are not free until we are all free.
In Song 1 Berta asks us whether this–fighting for whatever we’re fighting for or against–is really life or death to us, or whether it’s all just words. They live their words.
By Casper Orr and Kayla Thompson
REVIEWS
“Honeycrash” by SASAMI (March 07, 2025)
“Orlando in Love” by Japanese Breakfast (March 21, 2025)
HONEY I CRASHed out after listening to this. Unbelievably good and perfect for a real yearning summer.
Inspired by canonical Queer literature and written for melancholy brunettes and sad women. What more can you ask for in a song?
“Turn” by Sorry, Mom (June 20, 2025)
This is what Midwest Emo wishes it was. It opens up a wound inside of you when you listen to it. Because not every kind of death ends in dying. Sometimes death is the same shitty situation you stay suffocating in. Sometimes it’s a centipede.
“Nosebleeds” by Doechii (February 03, 2025)
Dropping this song after winning your first Grammy in a historic victory? Iconic.
DEAD TO ME! By Witch Fever (June 11, 2025)
Three years after the release of “Congregation”, Witch Fever is finally crashing back into the scene with two vibrant and vicious singles, “DEAD TO ME!” being the most recent. But this isn’t the same Witch Fever from “Congregation”; there’s a new complexity to their sound and style. They are still a hardcore band, but the stark contrast between the melodic quality of “THE GARDEN” with the much heavier elements that they play with in “DEAD TO ME!” excites me at the prospects of their forthcoming album.
glitch & glamour: on Alice Longyu Gao’s “Gnarly”
glitch & glamour: on Alice Longyu Gao’s “Gnarly”
I. opening thoughts words by Sissi Ho
In its traditional form, pop music speaks the language of love, dreams, and escapist landscapes. Trade two-and-a-half minutes of your life to imagine yourself in a music video somewhere, a self-insert spectacle served through the mellow static of a car radio, fantasies coated in sugar and sunsets—Hollywood vibes surgically optimized for your leisure.
Reflect on the meaning of virality. Songs engineered to be top hits need to please algorithms and ride trends to make the final cut. Producing music made to top the charts is often less about artistic creativity, but calibration. In a market as massively competitive as the status quo, in the place of the liberty to express is an obligation to dilute. Mainstream pop only does as well as its ability to be vaguely relatable and pleasing on the ears.
There’s nothing wrong with this. Music is meant to be consumed—but art is meant to challenge.
II. glitch: on Gao
Meet Alice Longyu Gao: Queer DJ and subversive songwriter, icon of experimental pop, glitch, and grime. Her songs are known for their unfiltered, provocative lyrics and distorted, crunchy instrumentals, everything then wrapped together with neon aesthetics and bold performance. While I’m dismayed that “Dumb Bitch Juice” and “Lesbians <3” will probably never get played on the radio, that’s precisely the point; Gao isn’t scared of being too much. Their art specializes in the unhinged, closely tied to the grit, ugliness, and noise that pop music is terrified of—that’s what truly breathes life into xyr’s artistic persona.
Being based in Los Angeles and New York City, Gao’s dig at posh big-city aesthetics fits her track record like a glove. Last month, she wrote the single “Gnarly” for K-pop global girl group KATSEYE, serving as a sarcastic, campy critique on microtrends, influencers, and their grip on LA. Here’s its deadpan roll call for everything that could be “gnarly” or “cool” in 2025:
boba tea (gnarly) tesla (gnarly) fried chicken (gnarly) party on the Hollywood Hills (uh)
Taken with the rest of Gao’s discography, there’s no doubt this would have landed perfectly as a tongue-in-cheek parody. It captures everything they stand for, a distilled fragment of their own identity: chaos, rebellion, and a challenge to the mainstream.
Maybe that’s where the discourse begins—the fact that “Gnarly” is so distinctively a reflection of the artist, Alice Longyu Gao. Gao is the antithesis of mainstream pop. K-pop, however, is the epitome of it.
III. glamour: on KATSEYE
When KATSEYE made their first comeback with “Gnarly” at the very end of April, it received incredibly mixed reviews. Some praised the song for being fun and experimental, especially hailing from a K-pop label. Many were confused by the lyrics and didn’t pick up on the intended irony, and others found the style too jarring and critiqued it for being too weird. I also felt a little conflicted—while Gao had released a teaser of “Gnarly” back in 2023, the sociocultural commentary of “Gnarly” coming from KATSEYE indeed felt out of the blue.
It comes down to identity. If pop aims for polish, K-pop strives for absolute perfection. It does this in one way by implementing a strict trainee system designed to round out up-and-coming artists to dance, sing, and rap at a strict quality standard, effectively transforming them from regular performers to “idols” upon their debut. Rather than being artists, idols are better classified as muses; they exist as vessels that a larger company management team will bring to life, giving them songs, choreography, concepts, and branding which come together to portray them as the ultimate life-sized dolls for which fans will buy merchandise of and develop a strong affinity towards.
I say this not to undermine the phenomenal talent and spectacular work that K-pop puts together, but to draw awareness to the prevention of artistic input from idols themselves, inherently baked into this system. While some groups, such as i-dle and BTS, have idols that actively produce and write music themselves, this isn’t the industry standard. K-pop is made possible by corporations that aim to maximize the market value of idol entertainment, leaving little space for liberties and authorship on the part of artists. Fundamentally, K-pop cannot be separated from virality and the mainstream.
While KATSEYE may be seen as comparatively subversive because of their group diversity and California-based location, they’re still a far cry from the type of subversion that Gao engages in. When they call boba tea and fried chicken gnarly, I’m not sure whether they genuinely believe it or state it in a sarcastic fashion because K-pop leans into popular culture far more than it avoids it. The irony isn’t clarified because there isn’t appropriate context for it. Another example of a line feeling out of place:
Hottie hottie, like a bag of takis I’m the shit, I’m the shit
This line screams Gao in the best way possible: absurd, in-your-face, and dripping with sarcasm. It’s unexpected but fitting of the kind of shock that xe tends to incorporate in xyr work.
In the filtered, perfected dreamscape that K-pop tries to achieve however, it feels like a mismatched block placed by Gao’s hand. The cacophonic crunches dispersed throughout the track face a similar obstacle.
IV. final thoughts
While it does leave a lot to be desired, I’ll argue that “Gnarly” is ultimately still an eccentric, catchy song that pushes KATSEYE in an exciting conceptual direction. I’m hesitant to say that Gao’s collaboration with HYBE was a failure because the release of “Gnarly” did, in fact, spark great shock and debate through the K-pop community, one outcome I imagine Gao would have been happy about considering her own artistic outspokenness. Nonetheless, “Gnarly” can be viewed as a lesson about music, perception, and identity—how a rebellious voice gets lost in translation when processed by a system built to smooth out its edges, then filter the noise.
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song 1 by My Friend, My Urn
GRAVE by Rico Nasty
Keep It Tight by Um Jennifer?
Street Fighter by Pom Pom Squad
Conocerla by Reyna Tropical
Dumb Bitch Juice by Alice Longyu Gao
Lesbians <3 by Alice Longyu Gao
Late Start by Carol Ades
we’re gonna die anyway!!! by Marian Carmal, RENE
turn by Sorry, Mom
White Noise by Faetooth
Love is Trash by Bijoux Cone
Lua Marinha by juia
Starly Lou Riggs | Editor in Chief
Starly Lou Riggs [xe/they/elu] is a musician and mulifaceted artist based in Brazil. Xe is a Senior Editor at Fruitslice and can be found screaming into the void as musical moniker and mythical creature Starly Kind. ig: @get.filthy
CONTRIBUTOR BIOS
Casper Orr | Managing Editor
Casper Orr (he/him) is a Trans Disabled writer with opinions (shocker). IG: @casper.orr
Eden Aphrodite | Contributor
Eden Aphrodite (she/her) likes good music. She won’t shut up about it. Previous attempts to shut her up have resulted in mass casualties, immaculate conceptions, and articles published by WERS 88.9 and Fruitslice. IG: @edenaphrodite
Foster Hilding | Contributor
Foster Hilding (he/him) is a musician and aspiring writer with a bachelor’s degree in English from Northern Arizona University. Outside of his work co-managing the music collective, Dead Mothers Collective, he runs Mouths Made Wordless, an independent music blog. He has been published in the National Library of Poetry’s 2021 compilation, Expressions, as well as in Flagstaff, Arizona’s Youth Poetry Council’s zine, Adulescens.
Timothy Arliss Obrien | Contributor
Timothy Arliss OBrien (he/they) is a classical music composer and poetry publisher. He hosts and manages the podcast and small press publisher The Poet Heroic along with its metaphysics imprint, the spell crafting and tarot publishing Healers Coven, and on occasion becomes the psychedelic drag queen Tabitha Acidz. Check out more at his website: www.timothyarlissobrien.com
Sissi Ho | Contributor
BIOS
Sissi Ho (she/her) is a student and writer interested in media, noise, and the performing arts. She lives in Los Angeles with her ikea blåhaj shark.
Paige Sheffield | Contributor
Paige (she/her) is a writer from Michigan. Her work often focuses on music or mental health. When she’s not writing, she can be found spending time with her cat and searching for new music.
Kayla Thompson | Contributor
Kayla Thompson (she/her) is a writer living in Brooklyn, NY. She is the Senior Editor, Poetry at Fruitslice. ig: @kaylamarie_99
Katie Lauck | Contributor
Katie Lauck (she/her) is a writer, theatre maker, and arts educator living in Denver, Colorado. In both her written and performed work, Katie focuses on the beautiful and challenging experience of growing up as a queer girl in the Midwest. She loves to teach, and is especially fond of middle schoolers, who she firmly believes are Actually Very Cool and Usually Not That Scary. She can almost always be found staring longingly at a body of water or trying to convince herself that
Melanie Zhgenti | Layout Design
Melanie Zhgenti (she/her) is a graphic designer based in Seattle, WA. When she is not designing, Melanie is a big fan of puzzles, sunbathing, and reading celebrity memoirs. IG: @ladycmyk
McKenna Gray | Layout Design
McKenna Gray (they/them) is a Washington based graphic designer and musician. IG: @mckennagraymusic
