Before the curtain rises, there is already a contract in place. The room has paid for magic, the performer has learned how to make exhaustion look like sparkle, and every seat carries its own appetite. The front row is the most dangerous place in that exchange because it mistakes closeness for knowledge. It sees the shine on the costume, the mouth forming a smile, the...

Some records politely ask for your attention; the "Moss E.P" from MOSS just sets a small, contained fire on your coffee table and waits for you to feel the heat. It is an immediate and strangely familiar atmosphere, like a half-remembered David Lynch dream scored with the staticky pulse of 90s trip-hop. Bee Davison's voice cuts through this hypnotic haze, not as a lament,...