The fact that Kyle MacLachlan has to stop our interview after just 30 seconds to attend to his coffee is almost too on the nose. As a devout acolyte of the cult of Twin Peaks, seeing the actor who will forever be synonymous with the TV show’s caffeine-loving FBI agent rush to pour himself a (damn fine) cup of coffee is like seeing Santa Claus come out of the chimney.
Like many others of a certain age, I fell head over heels in love when I first saw Mark Ruffalo. As the hunky boy next door in 13 Going on 30 (2004), he exemplified a rare kind of actor in the cinema landscape; a gruff man’s man who constantly displayed his vulnerability – an emotionally earnest sweetheart with a beefy exterior. In a world of toxic masculinity, Ruffalo brought a presence that was heartwarming and safe, a quality that netted him a string of similar roles in still-beloved rom-coms like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) and Just Like Heaven (2005).
Trapped in London, an ocean away from her US homeland, Caroline Polachek spent some of her pandemic-induced isolation going down a Pedro Almodóvar “rabbit hole”. “I was taken by the humanity in his work,” she reflects, staring aside as if scenes from the Spanish auteur’s films are flitting across her eyes. “How he creates space for women to be deeply intelligent, ferocious, unhinged, comedic, sexy and an absolute mess. I found that all very liberating. This was the hot-blooded, chaotic-but-soulful, emotional undertone for the album.”
It’s possible there is no one alive more disarming than Jeff Goldblum. In the first five minutes of our interview, he commends the beauty of my nostrils, insists that I resemble a young Aaron Paul (“Well, it’s a compliment to him!”), and serenades me with a few bars of the ’70s ballad “Indiana Wants Me,” after being inspired by my name (“If I had a name like Jake Indiana, can you imagine where I’d be at this point?” he marvels. “Nothing would’ve held me back!”).
In an era of growing division, there’s one thing we can all agree on: Things are bad, and they’re only getting worse. This is the age of the doom scroll, where even the most optimistic are haunted by the suspicion we are indeed living on the darkest possible timeline: the climate is collapsing, Russia is invading Ukraine, and America is busy assessing Season 26 of The Bachelor. The dystopia is now. If only we’d been warned of our impending doom…
I’m dying to know about Lyra Pramuk’s organization. I imagine her hovered over her laptop, poring over thousands and thousands of files – which, it turns out, is not that far from the truth: It’s “a really boring thing to say,” but she agrees that it’s one of “the best pieces of advice” to have “everything in a place.” Well, mostly. “I’m super unorganized in other aspects,” she quickly adds. “My desktop had 200 files on it at one point. Einstein said if your desk is organized, then you’re not doing anything.”
The first time I saw Grimes was, incidentally, the last time she was able to wear high heels. It was the summer of 2014, and the artist otherwise known as Claire Boucher was cresting the wave of alternative music stardom that began in earnest with the release of her 2012 album Visions. Like pretty much everyone I knew at the time, I adored this record, but I held a special obsession for its lead single “Genesis.” I would have paid to see her live show for that song alone, so you can imagine my chagrin when she ended her otherwise perfect set at Governor’s Ball without playing it. I stared at the vacant stage in disbelief attempting to console myself when she suddenly darts back to the microphone and sheepishly blurts “Oh my God you guys, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot to play ‘Genesis,’” at which point I burst into tears as she tore into the encore of my dreams.
The life cycle of a good party is brief. So for Herrensauna, the legendary Berlin affair masterminded by Nicolas Endlicher and Cem Dukkha, reaching its sixth birthday through a once-in-a-generation nightlife drought was a milestone — all but affirming its status as a bedrock among the techno capital’s party pantheon. How does it make the duo at its center feel? “Old,” sighs Dukkha.
It’s hard not to feel a liiittle bit envious when hearing about Kevin Celestin’s quarantine routine in sunny Los Angeles: “Working hard in the studio, tanning, swimming, working out. I just won two Grammys, so I'm still high off that. Like, oh shit! Two Grammys in a row."
“Ultimately, I would say capitalism is ruining every part of our lives... while making it seem like things are better because you have nice, shiny things. It’s cool to have nice, shiny things,” says Hasan Piker, in typically blunt fashion. Alternately known across the internet as HasanAbi, Hasanthehun, and (much to his chagrin) Woke Bae, we are engaging in what the political commentator, gamer, and talking head extraordinaire does almost every single day: breaking down how outrageously fucked up the United States is.
It’s hard to describe the extent to which the world of drag exploded over the past decade. Yes, RuPaul’s Drag Race exported (and mega-commodified) the once niche subculture to the masses, but a far more radical expansion took place within the culture itself. Labels and sub-genres were formed, embraced, multiplied, and discarded simultaneously; the structural limits of the practice were questioned, deconstructed, and reimagined. Drag has grown from a subversive show of gender-play to a highly-individualized dramatization of the possibilities of the human experience.
William Basinski is not happy. He has been holed up in his gorgeous mid-century home in LA – with a pool – for the duration of his quarantine, but such creature comforts are not enough to distract him from “doom-scrolling all day long, watching this tear-gas-fucking-ridiculous-reality-television-bullshit going on every minute, with this incredibly stupid, ignorant, deluded narcissist that just can’t get enough of his bullshit. And we have to live with that. It’s sheer insanity.”
In what may be the best piece of proof that the world in 2019 is in fact a simulation, our political and cultural landscape has suddenly become inundated with figures who seem too metaphorical to be real: the presidents, CEOs, and activists emblematic of a poetic justice profound enough to suggest they are not flesh and blood but the creation of an interdimensional script doctor. Supposing the realm of pop music is powered by such algorithms in disguise, few of the industry’s personalities seem as destined for broader narrative significance or as illustrative of concepts far bigger than themselves as Charli XCX. She’ll be the first to tell you that she is the sound of the future, but as her career approaches a zenith that has been years in the making, she’s settling into a role that feels more and more like the defining pop diva of the millennial generation — one whose work embodies the medium’s cutting edge and whose career can easily be painted as analogous to the millennial experience itself.
Tommy Cash, the cult "post-Soviet" rapper from Tallinn, Estonia, has built up a devoted following in recent years, becoming an artistic muse for designer Rick Owens. Following the release of his innovative, electronica-tinged debut album ¥€$, we caught up with the self-styled Kanye East for a trip to the heart of his surreal pop culture vision.
There are few creative figures who currently occupy as unique a space as Juliana Huxtable. She is a poet with a bracing lexicon and a multimedia artist with an incisive eye. She DJs and she writes and performs music. She is both a nightlife icon and a darling of the art world, capable of hosting a warehouse rave and rubbing shoulders with trustees of the MoMA in the span of a single weekend. She’s one of the most crucial voices in current transgender discourse, yet she is reluctant to agree with attempts to position her as such. She is, as she tells me when we meet, “really bad at describing” her practice succinctly.
The undisputed breakout talent of 2018, 070 Shake has made show-stopping appearances on Pusha-T’s DAYTONA and Kanye West’s ye, catapulting her to stardom. She’s one of the most captivating, enigmatic figures in hip-hop today, driven on by raw talent and a forward-thinking approach that marks her as a true innovator and a crucial voice of her generation.
