Mask appropriate

Halloween dance party is right for the times

Among the many entertainments challenged by the pandemic, EDM — electronic dance music — faced a unique hurdle. A lively audience is integral to the experience, almost as important as the DJ throwing beats. Manchester DJ Omari Nkosi summed up the problem succinctly.

“It’s not that easy to keep people six feet apart on a dance floor,” he said recently by telephone. “You run into issues.”

Nkosi and his promotion company Pangea have weathered Covid-19’s choppy waters since lockdown was lifted to stage a number of events. They did it by presenting clear screening, masking and distancing rules for shows at hometown spots like Jewel Music Venue and Whiskey’s 20.

The upcoming Covenant Halloween Vampire’s Ball at Whiskey’s 20 will offer one less difficulty, because everyone will gladly wear a mask.

“That’s the beauty of it,” Nkosi said. “Having a costume party just kind of makes it a lot easier.”

DJs appearing at the event include Nkosi, Trippa, Wiggles and Midas.

Midas — real name John Manning — will be spinning in Manchester for the first time since lockdown began. His one post-quarantine show happened in Providence, Rhode Island, an early October event he described as “straight out of a Stanley Kubrick movie” in a recent phone interview.

“Each section had like five people and you were in your own little plastic case,” he said. “It was so surreal.”

Working in front of a crowd that night, however, provided a familiar rush.

“It filled my soul,” Midas said. “I needed that. It’s like I forgot that I needed it, like a plant needs sunlight. I forgot that I need to do gigs and be able to play and see people and actually be able to send energy back and forth. Now that being said, everyone’s dancing in their own section with their five friends and it’s back to the Kubrick movie.”

Midas is a veteran of the city’s dance scene as well as the radio host of Late Night Delight every Saturday on WMNH 95.3. The latter is an alter ego experience, he said.

“I love the station; everybody there is awesome and it’s its own living breathing part of Manchester,” he said. “I love all kinds of music, and my show is an opportunity for me to not play for a dance floor … it’s listening music. If I want to just do some ambient type of stuff or play five different styles or a tribute, I can and often do. I really try to reinvent the wheel every week.”

Though his radio sets often lean to classic artists like The Beatles, Midas’s touch isn’t old-school.

“The digital age is great for a DJ, because I can have all my music at my fingertips,” he said. “I love it, I embrace it, I can’t wait to see what’s next. Things just keep getting crazier and crazier.”

His appearance at Whiskey’s 20 will lock into a club groove.

“I’m going to try all kinds of surprises,” Midas said. “Things that make you go, ‘Hell, yeah, I can’t believe I’m hearing this right now!’ It’s an electronic music event, so I’m going to stay within the realm of that and party with everybody. I also want it to be dirty and scary at times. So I’ll walk the line between a few different feelings that will definitely be fun. Lots of remixes, because it seems like that’s the kind of thing you want to hear — a bunch of awesome remixes.”

Nkosi looks forward to sparking a creative vibe at the upcoming party.

“Halloween tends to bring out the wild side of people,” he said, recalling a performance at the now-closed Red Door in Portsmouth a few years back. “I was playing techno at 100 to 124 BPM. … Now, I’m a 128 to 130 guy. I like to rock straight techno, but people were just eating it up. Halloween definitely makes you do a lot of things that you normally wouldn’t be able to do.”

Covenant Halloween Vampire’s Ball
Tuesday, Oct. 27, 8 p.m.
Where: Whiskey’s 20, 20 Old Granite St., Manchester
Tickets: $10 at the door

Featured photo: Midas. Courtesy photo.

The Music Roundup 20/10/22

Local music news & events

Maine man: The tourists have mostly left for the season, but Bob Marley should offer plenty to laugh about this strange summer, as the Upta Camp comic commences a three-day, multi-show run of socially distanced standup comedy. Thursday, Oct. 22, through Saturday, Oct. 24, 7:30 p.m., Amato Center for the Performing Arts, 56 Mont Vernon St., Milford. Tickets $34.50 at

Sweet release: A run of good news for singer-songwriter April Cushman includes the release of a new single and a slot opening for LoCash on Oct. 30 at Swanzey Drive-In, her second time supporting a big name at the venue this month. The new song, “Once Upon a Time,” is a sort of anti-Disney take on fairytale romance sung with characteristic verve by Cushman. Friday, Oct. 23, 5 p.m., Backyard Brewery & Kitchen, 1211 S. Mammoth Road, Manchester,

Sibling singing: Duos like the Louvin Brothers specialized in blood harmony, but Town Meeting has three brothers who meld vocally in an elemental way, Luke, Russ and Brendan “Babe” Condon. Like the Louvins, they have a penchant for dark themes — “Time” is a true story about witnessing a fatal hit-and-run accident. Fittingly, it appeared on an album called If I Die. Saturday, Oct. 24, 7:30 p.m., Rex Theatre, 23 Amherst St., Manchester. Tickets are $29 at

Tuna wrap: A happy note in the disrupted 2020 live entertainment scene was the weather; only one outdoor show was postponed at Tupelo. Jorma Kaukonen wraps up the music season — a finale benefit auction happens on Nov. 1. The Hot Tuna front man is a popular attraction at the indoor venue as well, which will open again in early December at half capacity. Sunday, Oct. 25, noon and 3 p.m., Tupelo Drive-In, 10 A St., Londonderry. Tickets are $75 per car and $25 per person at

At the Sofaplex 20/10/22

*Totally Under Control

There are no explosive revelations but plenty of infuriating details in this documentary about the U.S. response to the coronavirus. The movie gives most of its attention to the early days of the pandemic, January through March, arguing that a series of missteps and bad choices made a bad situation so much worse (specifically, so much worse than in places like South Korea, which the movie often uses as an example of different roads taken and the better outcomes). This isn’t some both-sides-y tale; this is solidly an indictment of the Trump administration’s handling of the spread of the illness in the U.S. and the ways in which the administration undermined the federal government’s own pandemic-fighting abilities. Listening to interviews with public health experts discuss early successes and failures in understanding the illness and trying to figure out how to approach it (and a discussion of Obama-era epidemics, how they were handled and what was learned from those successes and failures) is a nice reminder of the abilities of a large, resource-filled organization. The movie is at its most pointed when it shows how that basic competence was undercut for some perceived political gain and the dire consequences of those decisions. A Available to rent and on Hulu.

Kajillionaire (R)

Evan Rachel Wood, Gina Rodriguez.

Robert (Richard Jenkins) and Theresa (Debra Winger) are grifters, people who, as Robert explains, pride themselves on being outside a system that wants them following the rules and striving to be “kajillionaires” and instead they skim. Their daughter, named Old Dolio (Wood) as part of a previous, unsuccessful con, helps them in their scams. She’s the one, for example, who uses her keys to a post office box to steal from surrounding boxes, thanks to good timing and long arms. But she clearly longs for more traditional parenting, at least in the emotional sense, and is jealous of the niceness (fake though it is) in her parents dealings with Melanie (Rodriguez), a woman they meet on an airplane during a scam involving travelers insurance. Melanie seems fascinated by this oddball family and their small heists. What Robert and Theresa’s plans are for her are unclear but from the beginning there is something more between Old Dolio and Melanie than just predator and mark.

This movie is written and directed by Miranda July, best known to me from her 2005 movie Me and You and Everyone We Know. The tone of this movie matches my memory of that one — people who feel anxious in their own skin and in need of connection. There is sweetness here and even some elements that almost border on fantasy — there is no actual magic but at times the people and circumstances push the limits of what is believable. I think asking too many questions about characters’ motivations or even their levels of mental wellness is probably not particularly useful for enjoyment of this movie (think too hard about Kajillionaire and it is disturbing and sad). But, taken at face value, Kajillionaire is a light-touch bit of strangeness and quirky romance. B Available for rent.

The Trial of the Chicago 7 (R)

Aaron Sorkin mixes a courtroom drama with the politics of the late 1960s in The Trial of the Chicago 7, a movie about that real-life case that is basically what you think it will be based on those ingredients.

Most of the movie takes place in 1969 during the trial itself with flashbacks to the events at the Democratic convention in 1968 that led to the indictment of eight men for conspiracy and other charges related to clashes between protesters and police. Those men are, roughly in order of movie importance: Bobby Seale (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), Abby Hoffman (Sacha Baron Cohen), Tom Hayden (Eddie Redmayne), Rennie Davis (Alex Sharp), Jerry Rubin (Jeremy Strong), David Dellinger (John Carroll Lynch) and, serving almost just as comic relief here, John Froines (Danny Flaherty) and Lee Weiner (Noah Robbins). During the trial, Seale’s case is severed from the group’s and a mistrial is declared for him on those charges; in the movie (though not exactly so in real life, according to assorted “what’s fact or fiction” articles about this movie) this comes in part because the U.S. Attorney leading the case, Richard Schultz (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), is appalled by Judge Julius Hoffman’s (Frank Langella) racist and violent treatment of Seale. The reluctant antagonist with a country-over-party sense of decency may be dramatic license but it definitely feels on-brand for Aaron Sorkin.

The other seven men have as their lawyers Leonard Weinglass (Ben Shenkman) and William Kuntsler (Mark Rylance). And let’s stop right here to talk about this year’s Oscar race (if there are, in fact, Oscars for 2020). I feel like any discussion of this movie and its Oscar chances has to build its case on Mark Rylance playing what feels like another familiar Sorkin character: the wise, world-weary man who nonetheless has been able to hang on to his sense of justice and morality. Those characters can be a lot but Rylance is able to make him a real person, a professional doing a job but also a person fighting for a set of principles and doing so in the real world. I don’t know how well he brings to life the real person that was William Kuntsler — I admit I know of most of these people in an extremely second-hand fashion. But Rylance brings to life a real person.

I feel like the other big performances here will be Cohen and Redmayne and to a lesser degree Lynch and Strong. My favorite of the group might be Lynch. Cohen and Strong are, I think, supposed to be the likeable showmen hiding razor-sharp minds, and Redmayne plays an earnest goodie-two-shoes who is nonetheless willing to put all on the line. And it’s all perfectly fine, was my response. It’s all acceptable, above average even, but more stagey than Rylance or Lynch.

Sorkin, who writes and directs here, knows how to construct a good courtroom scene, he of “you can’t handle the truth” fame. We get a couple of courtroom fireworks moments that work even when they verge on the hokey. He also does, as he often does, a good job constructing compelling quiet-conversation-between-two-characters scenes. He has always been good at having characters mix the on-task business of whatever’s happening in a plot with just shooting the breeze and displaying personality, and we get some of that here, particularly in scenes with Rylance or with scenes between Cohen and Strong and Redmayne and Sharp.

There are less successful scenes where characters speechify at each other, explaining “the Left” or “the War” or whatever to each other, and these scenes left me feeling like I needed a break.

Other Sorkin things that drove me a little nuts: women! Everything to do with the (all minor) female characters feels like he just sprinkled some West Wing secretaries throughout the movie. Look, I know this is history and you can’t just fan-fiction Ruth Bader Ginsburg into the trial and so your options are limited for how to have female characters. But still. This approach, with savvy helpmates always around for a quip and some sympathy, just wore me out.

If I had to zero in on the point of this movie for Sorkin, it would be in a line said by Abby Hoffman: “I think the institutions of our democracy are wonderful things that right now are populated by some terrible people.” This and a broad-survey look at that particular fight against that particular generation’s “terrible people” in the “institutions of our democracy” are as close as Sorkin gets to making any kind of statement about the modern era, which is also fine. On balance, if you enjoy history at all or Sorkin at all (even if you’re more of a fair-weather Sorkin fan), I think The Trial of the Chicago 7 is worth a watch — especially since it’s on Netflix and no extra effort to seek it out. B

Rated R for language throughout, some violence, bloody images and drug use, according to the MPA on Written and directed by Aaron Sorkin, The Trial of the Chicago 7 is two hours and nine minutes long and is available on Netflix.

Cuyahoga, by Pete Beatty

Cuyahoga, by Pete Beatty (Scribner, 262 pages)

You may know the Cuyahoga to be a river in northeast Ohio. If it’s still not ringing a bell, maybe you remember a river that used to catch on fire in Ohio with alarming regularity. That would be the Cuyahoga.

It’s no Merrimack, but it makes for a good book, even if you care nothing about Ohio. But be aware, Pete Beatty’s Cuyahoga is the sort of novel often described as “inventive,” which is a euphemism for “for at least the first 25 pages, you’ll have no idea what is going on.” Sometimes even after that, you’ll be scratching your head.

Big Son and Medium Son are brothers who’ve been adopted and live in a newly settled portion of Ohio in 1837. They’ve grown up in the care of a couple who had one other adopted child — Cloe — and seven children of their own.

Like many little brothers, Medium Son, who goes by Meed, worships his elder brother, whose Daniel Boone-like feats include domesticating Lake Erie, bear wrestling, hunting 100 rabbits in one day and felling 10,000 trees in two days and one night. At least that’s according to Meed, who not only appears to be an unreliable narrator but is poorly acquainted with grammar and spelling. The language is rough-hewn, exactly how you might expect a modestly educated pioneer kid to talk.

To get us all acquainted, Meed tells several tall tales, creation stories about Ohio and the role his brother played in settling it. “There is nothing like the making of a place,” Meed says. “To bust up creation. To write your name in the very earth. My brother was a professor of such work.”

This was necessary, because Nature, in 19th-century Ohio, was resistant to settlement. “I imagine you are customed to meek and mild trees that do not want correcting. This is a story of the west so it has got western trees. You do not know the manner of our trees,” Meed says, explaining how the trees fought back: “Firewood piles took to disappearing. … Branches were seen to bust into windows and doors and carry off animals and merchandise.”

Similarly, Big Son’s help was required in taming furious Lake Erie, which, according to Meed, was unleashing wild winds on the hapless populace. The solution involved a visit to the underworld where Satan presented as a middle-aged man “unshaved and tired around the eyes” who served “good storebought coffee.”

“Ever since Erie does not misbehave too much — only frowns and dreams of someday drowning us.”

From these introductory stories, Meed moves on to the heart of the story, which is of the two brothers’ love for their adopted sister, Cloe Inches, who has “cheeks perpetually blushed, like the blood inside knew a private joke” yet is more competent and accomplished than either brother.

Chloe is not one to become betrothed to young men with no means to support her, and as the brothers sleep on beds of straw in their adoptive parents’ barn, and Big Son basically exists on adoration, employment must be had. So Big takes to looking for jobs, which ultimately leads him to the wealthy man who is building, at his own expense, a bridge over the Cuyahoga, connecting Ohio City and Cleveland, whether they want to be connected or not. Hilarity ensues. As do disaster and heartache.

Although Cuyahoga has a strong sense of time and place, Beatty intends it to be a universal tale. “Every age and place has got its Big Sons,” he writes “Folks who hang the sky that we shelter under. Stand up the timbers of a place.”

Every place has also got its Meeds, its Cloes and its Mrs. Tabithas, the brothers’ adoptive mom. “Her mothering were almost ferocious. Food were an example. She would get a corncake in your mouth as soon as you come within her reach. Often you did not even mark her approach with the corncake — she struck like a panther.”

It is these comical portraits that ultimately endear Cuyahoga to the reader, as well as its quiet wisdom. “You cannot rely on a day entirely but you know the sun will come up,” Meed says, observing how birds are unpredictable but still have patterns in their “fool behavior.” The novel, too, is unpredictable, but satisfying for the mulish few who will stick with it to the end. A

For all its other dubious gifts, 2020 has not offered much in the way of books by celebrities, and by that I mean that pop singer and soap actor Rick Springfield did not publish a new novel. Also, when I search for “memoirs by celebrities,” the returns give me Glennon Doyle’s Untamed.

Doyle is not a celebrity in the way that most people think of celebrities. What modest celebrity she has derives from her writing, and I was not searching for “books by authors.”

But Mindy Kaling, formerly of The Office, does qualify as a bona fide celebrity, and her chops as a comic have translated nicely to the printed page. Her third essay collection, however, is strangely presented: Nothing Like I Imagined (Except for Sometimes) comprises six comedic essays, all sold separately on Amazon for $1.99 each, under “Amazon Original Stories.” (They’re free for Prime members.)

Here are the all-important opening lines from the first essay, “Kind of Hindu,” as well as a few other celebrity offerings from this year. Some, I warn you, are vastly less promising, so I have taken the liberty of grading the opening lines, based on how much they induce me to read more.

Nothing Like I Imagined (Kind of Hindu) by Mindy Kaling: “Sometimes when I meet people who have seen The Office, they assume that, like Kelly Kapoor, I am only involved in my Indian heritage to the degree that it is fun and convenient. This assumption is pretty much correct. Culturally and religiously, I live my life like a secular American except when I’m out with friends at an Indian restaurant and I feel uniquely qualified to order our meal.” A

The Meaning of Mariah Carey, by Mariah Carey (Andy Cohen Books, 368 pages): “My intention was to keep her safe, but perhaps I have only succeeded in keeping her prisoner.” A

Open Book by Jessica Simpson (Dey Street Books, 416 pages): “The kids are asleep, and my husband is reading in the other room. So it’s just you and me.” B

More Myself by Alicia Keys with Michelle Burford (Flatiron, 272 pages): “I am seven. My mom and I are side by side in the back seat of a yellow taxi, making our way up Eleventh Avenue in Manhattan on a dead-cold day in December. We hardly ever take cabs.” B

A Very Punchable Face by Colin Jost (Crown, 336 pages): “I wasn’t able to speak until I was almost four years old. I didn’t know this at the time, but apparently that’s insane.” C

Me and Sister Bobbie, by Willie Nelson with Bobbie Nelson (Random House, 288 pages): “Nearly nine decades. A long lifetime. Hard to believe that it was sixty years ago I wrote a song called ‘Funny How Time Slips Away.’” C

What Can I Do?, by Jane Fonda (Penguin, 252 pages): “During Labor Day weekend in 2019, I was in Big Sur with my pals Catherine Keener and Rosanna Arquette. I have a history with Big Sur dating back to 1961, when I first ventured there myself in search of Henry Miller.” F

Let Love Rule, by Lenny Kravtiz with David Ritz (Henry Holt and Co., 272 pages): “I can’t breathe. Beneath the ground, the wooden casket I am trapped in is being lowered deeper and deeper into the cold, dark earth.” A

Also, just so you know, I wasn’t kidding about Rick Springfield. His novel Magnificent Vibration, released in 2014 (Touchstone, 288 pages), was shockingly fun.

Album Reviews 20/10/22

CrowJane, Mater Dolorosa (Kitten Robot Records)

For your Halloweening pleasure, we have this Los Angeles lady, last seen as the guitarist of Egrets On Ergot, a noise-rock band with the sound of early Nick Cave and the aesthetics of Dresden Dolls. The story goes that L.A. punk legend Paul Roessler (Nina Hagen, 45 Grave, etc.) was recording the Egrets and, noticing that this girl was deeply depressed, took her under his wing, basically locked her in a room full of instruments and such, and waited to hear the results. It’s a Throbbing Lobster-level noise opus, a cross between Swans, Zola Jesus and everything in between, especially Einstürzende Neubauten, given that the list of her noise weapons included tin foil, bed frames and kitty litter. She’s deliciously off her rocker, this one; her Exorcist-beholden promo photos fit perfectly with tracks like “Estrella” (clanging noise-rhythms under stream-of-consciousness existentialist hooey), “Delusion” (crazed-witch wilding plus tribal skronk) and her “cover” of James Brown’s “Man’s World” (primal-scream therapy accompanied by a shoegaze-metal guitarist blissing out). Picture what you’d get if Jarboe had a daughter and you’re pretty much there. Deliciously freaky. A+

Zero 7, “Shadows” (BMG Records)

It feels like a million years since a proper full-length from this British techno duo hit the streets. I lost track of them after 2006’s The Garden, an album that I listened to constantly in the car, more toward an attempt to like it than anything else. I mean, don’t get me wrong; José González, the Art Garfunkel of trip-hop, was on there, and so was (as always) Sia, and the album’s whole scorched-asphalt effect was wildly appropriate for its summertime release date. But Tina Dico wasn’t there that time, and whatever, nothing actually happened on it. Take the giant jump forward to now (we can skip past 2009’s Yeah Ghost, which was even more meatless), and we have this track, from a promised forthcoming Shadows EP, and once again I’m all set with these glorified Massive Attack wannabes. The tune features newcoming singer Lou Stone, who sounds like — ready for a shocker? — a white accountant’s idea of Tricky, and between that and the painfully obvious Portishead worship of the song’s airless, deep-chill beat, there’s nothing wrong, but also nothing to celebrate. Um, bravo, I guess? C

Retro Playlist

I still love me some Halloween, even in 2020.

Halloween doesn’t have a lot of songs associated with it. The only one I can think of is Bobby Pickett’s 1962 sock-hop hit “Monster Mash,” which went on to become the “Jingle Bells” of Halloween (Jack Marshall’s theme to the 1960s TV show The Munsters didn’t have lyrics, unfortunately; it coulda been a contender).

Corny as they are, I’m always up for campy monster-themed bands. In fact, the only surefire way to get a guaranteed review in this multiple award-winning column is to send me something where the band is singing about Frankensteins or Draculas or wolfmen or whatnot. It’s a tradition dating from way back, even before my Hippo days, when I reviewed an advance copy of British band Zombina and the Skeletones’ 2006 album, Death Valley High, for some such zine or newspaper. The sheer audacity exhibited by the band for naming themselves such a thing earned it an instant A+, never even mind the garage-pop nonsense-songs that are on the album: “The Kids Are All Dead”; “Janie’s Got A Dissolvo Ray.” A definitive, masterful work whose genius should be broadcasted at 100,000 watts from every mountain top on an hourly basis.

And then there are the fails, or at least the failed bands that didn’t start out as fails. The 2007 debut album from U.K. band The Horrors, Strange House, was utterly crazed, like a Screaming Lord Sutch-fronted Bauhaus being stung by a million bees. On that record, the singer shrieks his spazzy lines (“Jack the Ripper! Jack the Ripper!”) over goth-core that’s to die for. They were so awesome it physically hurt, like, I was like, “Why didn’t I do this?” (I’d actually thought of starting a day-glo-metal band called Goody Howl in the early Aughts, but my laziness won out.)

Anyway, then, inexplicably, The Horrors made a group decision to suck. For their second album, 2009’s Primary Colors, they got rid of the fright wigs and the monster stuff and went in the direction of, I don’t know, shoegaze-tinted indie.

That was a tough one. I’ll tell you, if I weren’t an actual vampire, I would have cried. You know, maybe I should do it, put together an awesome band. Watch for an announcement in the coming weeks.


A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• Oct. 23 is on the way, and with it will come new albums, some of which people will like, and some of which will be brutally mocked and derided by mean-spirited critics who have been in quarantine for the last million years and are always on the lookout for albums to mock and deride, in order to take some of the edge off the boredom and horror. And speak of the devil, look, everyone, it’s gravel-throated Vegas-pop charlatan Bruce Springsteen, with his guitarist The Guy From The Sopranos and whatever horn player hacks could fit into the studio, with a new album, called Letter To You. Everyone thought I was pretty mean to The Boss’ last album, whatever its name, but in my defense, it was only due to the fact that it sucked, so it’d be cool if y’all would stop making up #FakeNews and reporting me to Twitter just to get me bounced off of there, not that I’d miss it in the first place. Whatever, Bruce is super-old now and should probably just form a super-band with Willie Nelson and William Shatner and call it “The Jammin Old Dudes” instead of releasing new albums with the whatsitsface band, don’t you think? No? OK, then I’ll just go watch the video for the title track. Look, it’s the Sopranos guy, all smiling, and the other guys too. This song kind of sounds like Bon Jovi, but more old and boring. Disposable junk it is, as Yoda would say.

• I don’t know about you, but the last Wilco album was so good that I’m ready to cut frontman Jeff Tweedy some slack for his upcoming fourth album Love Is The King. But not if it’s super bad, though, because I never recommend music that I don’t like unless free concert tickets or dinners are involved — I have standards and principles to uphold, fam! So, the title track finds our hero in full John Lennon fanboy mode: His voice sounds like John Lennon, and there’s all sort of John Lennon-level reverb on his voice. As a song it’s fine, so if you like fine John Lennon songs, you’ll probably like this.

• Last time we checked on Claremont, California, indie band The Mountain Goats was February of last year, when I gave their 17th album, In League With Dragons, a once-over. My lava-hot take back then was that it was awesome (in a Vampire Weekend meets Decemberists way) but a little under-adventurous. Whatevs, the new LP, Getting Into Knives, is out imminently, led by the single “As Many Candles As Possible,” a delightfully unprofessional no-wave-chill mess. Know who it sounds like, is the nerdy prank singer “Mike Behind The Mike” Callahan from the Sports Hub morning show, but since you have no idea who that is, I won’t mention it.

• To wrap up we have Big Thief singer Adrianne Lenker, with two albums coming out the same day: Songs and Instrumentals. See what she’s doing there, hipsters? Guess what, one of the albums just has instrumental-only tunes on it, and the other one has full songs on it. So cute, on the song “Anything,” she sounds like a weird Baby Yoda wombat-girl, singing in a sweet little voice over 12-string wondrousness, about her boyfriend, whom she likes to smooch. So adorable and fresh!

Stay in the loop!

Get FREE weekly briefs on local food, music,

arts, and more across southern New Hampshire!