If you know me, you know . Even if you’ve never met Koku, you know Koku. He is one of my best friends in the world. He brings endless amounts of joy to my life and to the lives of so many others through his humor, baked goods, and now his latest offering: Entropy Vol.1, a beat tape of 10 tracks in 10 minutes.

Taking a page from ’s Texting Interviews, I texted Koku about his latest project, sampling as expression, and sitting with a body of work rather than singles. I hope you enjoy our conversation and listen to Entropy Vol.1 wherever you stream music!

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I’m dropping in to announce that we’ll join back together on August 3rd for our next meeting of The Album Club — a monthly gathering for music lovers and those looking to connect with each other. I host these sessions on the first Monday of every month in partnership with The Scatter Joy Project, a mental health nonprofit making care and resources more accessible.

Picture a book club, but for music. That’s the Album Club. We usually discuss one album in full. The sound, the lyrics, the stories. During our last session, we tried to find the words for Promises, a collective effort by Floating Points, Pharoah Sanders, and the London Symphony Orchestra.

Our next album is LUX by . My friend suggested this project and will be guiding our conversation. Come through for your new favorite hangout!

RSVP here

Following Promises, we continue our exploration of orchestral music with another album recorded with the London Symphony Orchestra. Released last November, LUX is Rosalía’s fourth studio album, and it quickly became one of my favorite projects of 2025. The album is grand—a spectacle; an art piece; something to behold. Across four distinct movements, the Catalan artist sings in 13 different languages and dives into the inner worlds of female saints from around the globe. LUX is a practice in embracing imperfection, and I can’t wait to see where the discussion takes us.

This Saturday, July 25th, you’re invited to join us for Listening Room. These informal gatherings provide us an opportunity to sip coffee together and listen to our featured album ahead of each Album Club meeting. No RSVP needed. Just show up as yourself and start your weekend off right!

Rosalía’s music spans multiple genres, including flamenco, reggaeton, and most recently, operatic and classical sounds. For a better understanding of Rosalía and her influences, recommends watching Pedro Almodóvar’s films, especially Volver (2006) and Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (1988).

I’m dropping a few additional links if you’re looking for more on Rosalía. Feel free to drop any other suggestions in the comments!

• Essay: Substack

• Interview: Apple Music

• Interview: El País

• Interview: Popcast

• Interview: NPR Music

• Music Video: Berghain

• Music Video: La Perla

• Performance: Berghain (Live at The BRIT Awards 2026) ft. Björk

• Profile: The Guardian

• Profile: Vogue

• Review: Pitchfork

The Album Club meets at The Scatter Joy Storefront, located at 986 North High Street, in Columbus’ Short North Arts District. The multi-purpose space is cozy, welcoming, and made just for you. Whether you’ve recently listened to the featured album or you’re returning to it after a while, come as you are!

The event is free for all attendees thanks to support from The Scatter Joy Project. If you’re unable to reserve a spot for our 8/3 discussion, we encourage you to come through for Listening Room this Saturday!

Reserve your spot

Before we get too deep into my latest essay, I wanted to tell you about a new website for music lovers that my friend started called Encore.

Encore is like Letterboxd or StoryGraph, but for concerts. You can log every show you’ve ever been to, track what’s coming up, see what shows your friends are going to, and share the photos, videos, and memories that make live music so special.

When Adam first invited me to join Encore, I excitedly told Elizabeth about it, and we stayed up until 2 AM updating all the shows we’ve attended—many of them together. Every five minutes, one of us would remark how much fun we were having.

To help you get in on the fun, Adam hooked me up with a code to skip the waitlist specifically for Feels Like Home readers. Sign up here for early access.

Scroll to keep reading.

At a time when the future felt inevitable, D’Angelo kept us from losing recipes. Years before he christened the new millennium with his 2000 album Voodoo, mixing engineer Russell Elevado put D’Angelo onto one of the artists who would most significantly shape his sound: Jimi Hendrix. D’Angelo heard Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland album and learned how the legendary musician inspired some of his favorites, including Stevie Wonder. This led the Virginia native to record Voodoo at Electric Lady, the Greenwich Village studio that Hendrix built in 1970 before he died.

More than just the memory, D’Angelo was in search of a feeling. In a conversation with Jason King, who penned liner notes for the vinyl re-release of Voodoo in 2012, Elevado recalled D’Angelo’s first visit to Electric Lady: “As soon as we walked into the main room, which for the most part was still as Hendrix left it when he passed, D’Angelo said: ‘This is it. We have to do Voodoo here.’”

Elevado noted how they were blowing dust off the same electric piano that Stevie Wonder was said to have recorded with in the early 1970s. “You have to remember that at that time in the mid 1990s, hardly anybody in soul music was doing any recordings with vintage equipment like that,” he continued. “Nobody was really tracking bands anymore except for some of the rock guys. And so we really felt like we were bringing something back.”

It’s this intentional movement toward the past, toward more analog recording techniques, that created the conditions for one of my favorite D’Angelo stories and bits of music lore. “Untitled (How Does It Feel),” the Voodoo track that was co-written by Raphael Saadiq, is widely regarded as D’Angelo’s most notable song—not only for its hard-to-put-down hook, but even more so for the music video that left viewers wanting more while nearly pushing D’Angelo to the end of himself.

While this is all noteworthy, the most fascinating part of “Untitled” for me is how the song ends. After seven minutes of sonic arousal, as D’Angelo is still singing, the song does just that: it ends. Rather abruptly, I’ll say. It jumps so fast to the album’s last song, “Africa,” that you might miss it. And while it was an intentional choice to leave the song like that, the ending wasn’t planned. Saadiq went on to share that “Untitled” cuts out the way it does because they were analog recording the track on digital audio tape and the tape ran out.

The ending is ultimately what gives “Untitled” its name. Last February, Saadiq spoke on this with the Los Angeles Times, stating that the digital audio tape says “Untitled” when a song isn’t completed. He also added, “We didn’t really get a chance to finish the ending, so I was like, ‘You should just leave it like that.’”

I’m glad they didn’t touch the ending. I’m especially happy that we now have this story because, more than just being a cool factoid to roll out in conversations to impress the casual music fan, it’s also a testament to the mishaps and miracles of human creation. By bringing back the more tangible elements of music making that he observed in his idols, D’Angelo made room for the types of stories he probably heard about his idols—and the stories we now get to hear about him.

More than 25 years since D’Angelo released Voodoo, we find ourselves at a time where lifelessness is celebrated as a technological advancement. We’re told that AI is here whether we like it or not, and our success will depend on our ability to leverage it for growth and progress. There are fears of AI swallowing up whole industries and water supplies, and I must confess that one of my greatest fears is AI dissolving our humanity. The pieces of us that can’t be contained in a prompt.

When I ask someone how they made something, I don’t want the answer to start and end with AI. I can show you a finished product and maybe that’s enough for you, or I can tell you how I had one idea and was inspired in another direction. I can tell you how I sat on this essay for six months because I didn’t have the words yet, but when I least expected it, something finally clicked. And what I hope you hear isn’t that AI could’ve helped me arrive here sooner, but that I couldn’t have gotten here at all—at least in a way that I’m proud of—without the micro-stories present in every breath and interaction that led to this point.

In this moment, when intelligence can be artificial and everything feels insane, there’s an appetite for feeling and connection. We have to work harder to create the texture of realness—to make things that activate our senses and breathe life within a lifeless creative landscape.

In her book, In the Margins: On the Pleasures of Reading and Writing, Elena Ferrante writes:

“Anyone who has literary ambitions knows that the motivations, both great and small, that impel the hand to write come from “real life”: the yearning to describe the pain of love, the pain of living, the anguish of death; the need to straighten the world that is all crooked; the search for a new morality that will reshape us; the urgency to give voice to the humble, to strip away power and its atrocities; the need to prophesy disasters but also to design happy worlds to come from there.”

Ferrante’s emphasis on “real life” takes me back to Lorde’s Ultrasound World Tour stop in Columbus last September. The actual date, September 23rd, was believed by some to be when Jesus would return—otherwise known as the “rapture.” But instead, Lorde descended upon the masses at Value City Arena and declared, “This is real.” She repeated this mantra throughout the show: a call to recognize our shared humanity. The physicality of being together in one place, standing shoulder to shoulder, sweating, singing, dancing, and seeing what’s possible when we gather around what we love.

As we stood in this large basketball arena that Lorde made feel uncharacteristically small, I appreciated that she kept returning to this sentiment that we were experiencing — living — something real. Her insistence implied an understanding that we’ve been deeply conditioned to overlook the sacredness of these moments, especially as our interactions are increasingly dictated by algorithms and aided by ChatGPT. Through this simple reminder, Lorde was calling us back to ourselves.

I believe this return to self was at the heart of D’Angelo’s push to make Voodoo at Electric Lady. In the search for something real, he made music we could feel and leveraged analog techniques and equipment that made soul more than a genre, but something we could face in him and ourselves. We don’t get the story behind “Untitled” or even the name without the way they recorded it. D’Angelo didn’t call the song “Untitled” because a chatbot told him to; he did it because that’s where the process took him.

It’s tempting to opt for convenience over the messiness of toiling away at art, but when we erase the steps that got us there, we also lose the stories that make us human. The recipes for a full life.

Thank you!

I appreciate you reading! If you enjoyed, please share it with someone special.

• Was this forwarded to you? Sign up here to receive my next newsletter directly in your inbox.

• Support the newsletter: If you’d like to support my work, consider becoming a Paid subscriber to Feels Like Home or buying me a coffee.

• Stay connected: For more thoughts and updates, follow me on Substack, Instagram, and Threads.

It was fascinating watching us try to find the words for how the music made us feel when the album didn’t have any words of its own. Our first instrumental record, Promises introduced a beautiful challenge — better yet, a beautiful opportunity — to test our senses and attempt to articulate what it was like listening to this 2021 offering from Floating Points, Pharoah Sanders, and the London Symphony Orchestra.

When first told me Promises is the album he wanted to discuss, I had never heard of it, nor was I familiar with its architects. While I began learning more about Floating Points and Sanders over the past few months, it’s really in recent weeks where I’ve started to understand how much this record means to people.

There were a few conversations where I either mentioned this album in passing or had someone come up to me, and there was always a visible excitement on their face as they talked about the music or their love for Sanders. Listening to this 9-part composition and diving deeper into Sanders’ career, I now see how Promises is the type of record that gets under your skin and embeds itself in the crawl spaces of your heart and mind.

Like many of the folks at last night’s Album Club, I had no idea what to expect coming into this record. But I believe that openness—a willingness to sit before the music, as Ira described literally doing in front of their speakers—is the necessary posture to meet this record and be met by it in return. Sometimes, it’s the belief that you could witness a miracle that lays the groundwork for one to actually happen.

Now, what’s likely more true is that miracles are always happening. Our very existence a miracle of its own. It’s when we slow down and meet each other in the uncertainty that we start to see these miracles all around us. Almost like staring at a star long enough to notice that there are millions of stars surrounding it. That’s how it feels to listen to Promises.

One continuous piece of music, Promises slowly unfolds over 46 minutes. While returning to the same seven-note phrase throughout much of the record, it searches different corridors, sometimes leading to deep swells, galactic shimmers, and even bouts of silence.

Made near the end of his life, Promises doesn’t find Sanders in a rush. Rather, the jazz legend allows himself to embark on an intergenerational, genre-spanning journey with Floating Points’ Sam Shepherd, an electronic musician who is 46 years his junior. Mutual admiration guides them to a place of stillness where nothing needs said. The void is a universe.

For updates on future Album Club meetings, follow us on Instagram!

Even if you’re unable to join The Album Club in person, let’s continue the conversation in the comments. Feel free to answer any or all of the questions that Jaden outlined for last night’s Promises discussion:

1. What did you feel when listening to this album? How did it “score” your life? If you’ve listened to the record multiple times, how has your experience evolved?

2. How would you describe this album sonically to someone who has never heard it? When we talk about music, what is the purpose of that language? What is the function of genre—past, present, and future?

3. What does it mean for music to be “spiritual”? Is it really the music that we’re talking about?

4. In what ways do you think intentions and expectations shape our experiences?

Leave a comment

Welcome to Take It or Leave It. Pretty much every month, Paid subscribers will receive a quick hit of things I’m loving.

Most of my writing is long-form and requires time for research between essays. Hopefully, this helps fill in the gaps for you with new finds (or things you want to revisit).

If not, all good. Take it or leave it ✌️

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It’s been a minute since my last Take It or Leave It. I didn’t mean to go this long without a new installation, but such is life. Hopefully, you’ve been enjoying the essay drops and Album Club updates. As for what’s been going on with me personally, I turned 32. I saw Dijon open for Zach Bryan. A family of raccoons has been running across our fence. Sometimes, we get a visit from a groundhog. My siblings graduated from high school and college. I survived all three parts of the Summer House reunion and the surprise bonus episode. Also, I somehow survived the cousins group chat after the Knicks won—even though my Wemby glaze almost sent me packing. Either way, I’m happy for my family of Knicks diehards. And I’m just as happy that Love Island USA & UK are on at the same time, once again giving my evenings purpose.

Here are a few things I’ve written recently just in case you missed them:

1. My latest newsletter essay honors the life and artistic lineage of Tomás Miriti Pacheco, a poet from Columbus who recently passed:

2. For ’s Luz Films Mag, I wrote about the Knicks’ championship watch parties and gathering around what we love:

Luz Films Mag

The Future of Cinema is a Knicks/World Cup Watch Party

** this is the prelude to an upcoming issue on Third Spaces, Community, and Pop-Screenings which will be the first official newsletter for The Circuit, but I needed to set some groundwork first. Also shout out to Amanda Sweikow for covering our need for…

Read more

a month ago · 22 likes · 1 comment · Taylor Lewis

3. For ’s Postcards & Playlist series, I wrote about the love language of music:

Home, Wherever We Are

What Is Held: The Languages We Share

A record store date isn’t sex, but it is intimate enough to be classified as a body. The foreplay of getting your bearings and noting how the shop is laid out. Fingers slipping through layers of vinyl, feeling the plastic covers, some smoother than others. Peering over to see if your partner is still into it as time becomes an afterthought. Every experience different from the ones before…

Read more

2 months ago · 23 likes · 5 comments · Janel and Alex Lewis

Thank you for believing in me and my work. There’s more on the way. Much love!

If you’re new to my newsletter and would like to get my essays and monthly obsessions sent directly to your email inbox, tap below to sign up for a Free or Paid subscription to Feels Like Home:

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🎙️ My Favorite Lyrics Podcast

I’m loving discourse lately. Give me all the discourse. Elizabeth is confused how I can work with someone talking at me all day, but I like being a part of the conversation even if I can’t actually participate.

My Favorite Lyrics is a podcast hosted by comedian and SNL cast member Devon Walker. recently put me onto it, and I’ve been running through the archive ever since. The Drake conversation with is well worth the listen, but I also enjoyed the Ovrkast. and Mandal episodes.

There are a lot of wild things said in songs that we just let pass, and I appreciate that someone is having these discussions. If I was ever a guest on My Favorite Lyrics, I’m trying to get into Justin Bieber’s fascination with Spider-Man.

There are a few different instances across the SWAG albums where Bieber invokes the masked superhero. On “405,” he sings, “You hit the gas / Spider-Man, Spider-Man on your ass.” Then, on “BETTER MAN,” he says he gets behind “it” like he’s Spider-Man.

I have to assume he’s once again talking about the booty, but how did Spider-Man get in this? And why is this image so poignant for him? Please weigh in if you have answers.

🎵 Music League

What’s a song so good you wish you could erase it from your memory only to hear it again for the first time with fresh ears? What would you choose if you could only listen to one song for the rest of your life? What’s the track you want to blast on the beach while hanging with your friends?

Read more

Big thanks to for inviting me to contribute to this pivotal publication centered on the future of cinema. I’m such a big fan of what Taylor is up to, and I’m honored to lend my words to what she’s building. Come for my essay and stay for the beautiful pieces of art featured throughout.

Read Story on Luz Films Mag

A preview:

I’ve long known Madison Square Garden to be a magical place.

For five years, until Michael Jordan became majority owner of the Charlotte Hornets (then Bobcats), the basketball legend hosted his high school all star game, the Jordan Brand Classic, at MSG. During one of its final years at the hailed arena, my dad took me to the game on a whim. A huge basketball nerd, I jumped at the chance to see names I’d read in Slam Magazine like Russell Westbrook, Kevin Love, and Brandon Jennings.

As if the miracles aimed to one-up each other, my uncle somehow spotted us from across the venue and floated a possible opportunity to meet His Airness, the one and only MJ. It felt like an impossibility — a pipe dream! — until my uncle pulled us from our seats at halftime, while Wale performed “Nike Boots” at center court no less, and led us to a private elevator.

As the doors opened, we were met with a long-limbed, baby-faced passenger who couldn’t be anyone but Kevin Durant. A couple nights earlier, the soon-to-be Rookie of the Year had closed out his first NBA season on a win against the Golden State Warriors and a then-career-high 42 points. My dad and uncle made small talk with the 19-year-old until we reached our floor.

Moments later, we walked into a dimly lit room full of people and, before I could fully process that MJ was lounging on a couch toward the back, I spotted Vince Carter and Rudy Gay. The basketball nerd in me could hardly contain himself. I got their autographs while my cousin, who was named after MJ, devised his plan to meet Black Jesus.

My nerves got the best of me and I stayed back while Jordan took my program for MJ to autograph. He got up soon after and met my hand as he exited the room. Another miracle as I finally touched the hem of his robe.

So yes, I’ve long understood MSG as a magical place—and the miracles continued in Game 4 of the 2026 NBA Finals as the New York Knicks fought their way back from a 29-point deficit to beat the San Antonio Spurs on a last-second tip-in from OG Anunoby.

On a night where Taylor Swift, donning a blue and orange Stevie “Knicks” t-shirt, hugged and twirled around Law and Order: SVU’s Mariska Hargitay, it’s easy to believe MSG was the center of the world. But I’d argue it wasn’t even the center of New York.

The rest of my essay includes:

• Thoughts on pricing people out of cultural experiences

• Friends I get to witness bringing people together in Columbus

• Where the real magic lies

Click through to Luz Films Mag to read the full essay (and if you want to share it with your people, please share the Luz Films Mag link).

Luz Films Mag

The Future of Cinema is a Knicks/World Cup Watch Party

** this is the prelude to an upcoming issue on Third Spaces, Community, and Pop-Screenings which will be the first official newsletter for The Circuit, but I needed to set some groundwork first. Also shout out to Amanda Sweikow for covering our need for…

Read more

a month ago · 21 likes · 1 comment · Taylor Lewis

P.S. In case you missed it, my latest newsletter essay honors the life and legacy of poet and journalist Tomás Miriti Pacheco. I’m grateful our lives intersected during his time here.

Thank you!

I appreciate you reading! If you enjoyed, please share it with someone special.

• Was this forwarded to you? Sign up here to receive my next newsletter directly in your inbox.

• Support the newsletter: If you’d like to support my work, consider becoming a Paid subscriber to Feels Like Home or buying me a coffee.

• Stay connected: For more content and updates, follow me on Substack, Instagram, and Threads.

What do I make of my living? My still being here. As a man, as a husband, as a writer. It often feels like we lose the ones who are larger than life, the lives mine could only hold for a time. But in those shared moments, I got to see them for the giants they are. A beauty that reaches up through the clouds. In some ways, always close to Heaven. Earlier this week, I learned about the loss of Tomás Miriti Pacheco. A poet whose days were cut short, but whole universes were constructed in the time he was given.

I’ve spent my days since reading words from people whose lives were touched by Tomás. I consider myself incredibly fortunate to be among them. Although we only met a little over a year ago, Tomás was making art in Columbus before I came along. His Columbus Underground bylines paved the way for mine. Many of the writers I learned to reach for saw the same things in Tomás that I got to see in him: talent, curiosity, and a bright future.

Tomás, like other writers in our city, spoke fondly of lineage. When interviewed for Matter News in March 2024, a year before our paths would ever cross, he remarked, “My story is only possible because there were a lot of artists before me who believed in the same things.” He wrote about several of these figures, including Scott Woods and Marshall Shorts, in a 2021 piece he wrote for Midstory on how Black artists paved the way for Columbus’ slam poetry scene.

Hanif Abdurraqib, a product of Columbus’ slam poetry scene and one of Tomás’ mentors, shared about lineage in a podcast interview that me and my homie Koku recorded with him at the end of 2022. “I sometimes think lineage is not always built through direct contact,” said Abdurraqib, “It’s built through an ongoing contact with the reality that someone’s life is built before you.”

Tomás and I weren’t far apart in age, but his artistic pursuits in Columbus made mine possible. So it means something that he said yes to sharing a few poems at the reading that me and hosted last March. It means something that we got to chat before the event and I saw him and Hanif trading poems during the intermission. It means something that he came to our first Album Club this year. Not only do I have a photo from that night, but I have an illustration by Hannah Mosley of said photo where Tomás sits closest to the camera, almost out of frame. He told me he was glad to be there and wanted to come back. I know he will.

Columbus artists like Tomás have taught me what it means to be rooted in a city and have a responsibility to the people there. Their love for this place, where many of them were born and raised, compels them to see what it can be. Woods, who exemplifies this better than anyone, penned an op-ed for Columbus Alive in 2019 about his could-have-been alma mater, Columbus Alternative High School, and one of its impressive student poets, Tomás.

In sharing how CAHS had been falling apart, Woods wrote, “We should feel lucky that such a student was able to overcome such adversity. We should also feel ashamed that he had to overcome such obstacles at all.” He concluded the essay, “I shudder to think how much brilliance we have effectively erased through our benign neglect and shoulder-shrugging march toward different civic priorities.”

Columbus isn’t perfect, but it produced my favorite writers, including Hanif Abdurraqib, Scott Woods, and Tomás Pacheco, which is to say, it’s capable of cultivating beauty. That potential is worth nurturing. While writing this, a young writer in the city sent me a story he’s submitting to a local publication. I consider this a privilege. I’m grateful for the Columbus natives who have been kind enough to welcome me in and let me show up for this city even though I wasn’t born and raised here. They’ve helped me find my way.

I want to do right by the city that gave me my wife and Tomás and They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us and Streetlight Guild. The city where me and my friends wrote home last March and I watched Tomás read new poems and we all stood together for a picture at the end, smiling and proud of what we created. I want to do right by the city where The Album Club is made possible and where I got to see Tomás one last time. I want to do right by the city where his legacy lives on—in me, in the writers who came before me, and in the artists who will come after.

We all share a lineage built on “the radiant feel of trading words,” as published by Tomás for Columbus Monthly in 2018. Our kinship is rooted in care.

Happy Juneteenth Eve! I’m dropping in to announce that we’ll join back together on July 6th for our next meeting of The Album Club — a monthly gathering for music lovers and those looking to connect with each other. I host these sessions on the first Monday of every month in partnership with The Scatter Joy Project, a mental health nonprofit making care and resources more accessible.

Picture a book club, but for music. That’s the Album Club. We usually discuss one album in full. The sound, the lyrics, the stories. During our last session, the city came out for a special edition short film viewing & discussion on Solange’s When I Get Home.

Our next album is Promises from Floating Points, Pharoah Sanders, and the London Symphony Orchestra. My dude suggested this project and will be guiding our conversation. Come through for your new favorite hangout!

Join the waitlist

At the time of release, Promises was jazz saxophonist Pharoah Sanders’ first album in a decade and the last project before he died. Released in March 2021, the album finds Sanders, who was 80 at the time, teaming up with electronic producer Floating Points (a.k.a Sam Shepherd). The duo recorded the nine-part suite of connected movements with the London Symphony Orchestra, whose string arrangements pair beautifully with Sanders’ signature sax and synth offerings from Floating Points.

Next Saturday, June 27th, you’re invited to join us for Listening Room. These informal gatherings provide us an opportunity to sip coffee together and listen to our featured album ahead of each Album Club meeting. No RSVP needed. Just show up as yourself and start your weekend off right!

Pharoah Sanders’ catalog is a deep well—one I’m still exploring—but recommends starting with Karma and Black Unity, then moving around his discography from there. Also, sharing some links for further learning and discovery here:

• Interview: The New Yorker

• Profile: The New York Times

• Review: Flood Magazine

• Review: Pitchfork

• Video: Five Years of Promises

• Video: “Movement 1”

• YouTube Interview (1996)

The Album Club meets at The Scatter Joy Storefront, located at 986 North High Street, in Columbus’ Short North Arts District. The multi-purpose space is cozy, welcoming, and made just for you. Whether you’ve recently listened to the featured album or you’re returning to it after a while, come as you are!

The event is free for all attendees thanks to support from The Scatter Joy Project. If you’re unable to reserve a spot for our 7/6 discussion, we encourage you to come through for Listening Room next Saturday!

When I Get Home begins with Solange repeating, “I saw things I imagined.” Within Black communities, repetition is a means of survival. My homie, Michaela, who runs Nu Nu Vintage and guided our discussion on Solange’s fourth studio album, shared how important the oral tradition is for retaining Black histories, pastimes, and cultural memory. We are a storytelling people, and it’s these stories that help us better understand who we are.

When I Get Home centers Solange’s hometown of Houston, Texas. She takes a multilayered approach to this homage, invoking certain sounds, flows, samples, and visual depictions. Ahead of our discussion, we watched Solange’s When I Get Home short film, which serves as a companion to the album. With all of us huddled inside Scatter Joy’s High Street space, we traversed through scenes of Black cowboys, slabs, iced-out teeth, and spaceships. The specificity of these images and the project’s focus makes room for those who dare to sit with their own sense of home.

Houston connects time in really interesting ways, bridging the past, present, and future through lifestyles and landmarks. While Black cowboys invoke a seemingly bygone era that is still here and often overlooked, Houston is also home to NASA’s Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center. In the film, Solange depicts the city’s connection to space travel with a woman dancing around a spaceship before she carries it across the desert. Through these examples of cultural identity, Solange reinforces the longevity and inevitability of Black people. We’ve been here, we’re still here, and we’re not going anywhere. This is art as defiance, reclamation, and proclamation.

We repeat these truths not only to remember, but also to feel. Repetition is one of the key devices often employed in Black churches. From sermons to worship music, meditations become incantations that invite a flood of emotions. Ayana Mathis, who spoke with Solange for The New York Times in 2018, wrote about the artist’s experience of watching fellow churchgoers “catch the spirit.” She described Solange’s reaction as fascination mingled with fear. “Every person who wishes to create art that has meaning must face the Holy Ghost, metaphorically at least,” Mathis added, “she must struggle with whatever she feels called upon to create, the thing that wishes to inhabit her.”

As Solange repeats those opening lines on “Things I Imagined,” the song utilizing an old music technique that pianist Christophe Chassol describes as “speech harmonization,” I look around the room and see dreams that have come true. “I saw things I imagined.” Each time she says it, I look back and remember. “I saw things I imagined.” I think about Zach telling me he wanted to figure out some kind of gathering I could host at Scatter Joy. “I saw things I imagined.” I smile because we made it so. All of us daring to gather around what we love, facing our fears with a sense of curiosity about what this all could become. And what we know now is, it could become home.

For updates on future Album Club meetings, follow us on Instagram!

Even if you’re unable to join The Album Club in person, let’s continue the conversation in the comments. Feel free to answer any or all of the questions that Michaela outlined for last night’s When I Get Home discussion:

1. How did this project make you feel? What parts moved you? What didn’t you like? Did you like it on the first listen or did it take a few spins?

2. Why do you think repetition is used so much throughout the album? (repeated phrases, sounds, movements, visuals, etc.) Did it feel meditative? Hypnotic? Affirming? Haunting?

3. How does the project collapse the distance between past, present, and future?

4. How does spirituality become a home for people disconnected from place, lineage, or certainty? How does When I Get Home explore that idea?

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Hope you had a great long weekend and that someone cooked you something nice. Bonus points if it was a glizzy with the grill marks.

I’m dropping in to announce that we’ll join back together on June 1st for our next meeting of The Album Club — a monthly gathering for music lovers and those looking to connect with each other. I host these sessions on the first Monday of every month in partnership with The Scatter Joy Project, a mental health nonprofit making care and resources more accessible.

Picture a book club, but for music. That’s the Album Club. We usually discuss one album in full. The sound, the lyrics, the stories. During our last session, we took a deep dive into Dijon’s second studio album, Baby.

Our next album is Solange’s When I Get Home. My dear friend Michaela Mason () suggested this project and will be guiding our conversation. This month, we’ll screen the When I Get Home short film at 7pm and continue with our regularly scheduled discussion at 7:30pm.

RSVP here

When I Get Home is Solange’s fourth studio album. Released in March 2019, the album follows up the Houston native’s critically acclaimed record, A Seat at the Table. Narrated by Black women that she grew up with, When I Get Home is a love letter to Solange’s hometown and her upbringing in the Black South. Christophe Chassol, a well-respected pianist who Solange worked with on When I Get Home, said about the album: “She wanted to make a statement.”

This Saturday, May 30th, you’re invited to join us for Listening Room. These informal gatherings provide us an opportunity to sip coffee together and listen to our featured album ahead of each Album Club meeting. No RSVP needed. Just show up as yourself, and start your weekend off right!

Solange’s catalog requires its own curriculum, but here are a few links to get you started. Thanks to , , , , , , and some folks on Threads for sharing their suggestions. You can check out more and drop your own recommendations here!

• Acceptance Speech: 70th Parsons Benefit

• Community Library: Saint Heron

• Essay: A LETTER TO MY TEENAGE SELF (Teen Vogue)

• Essay: And Do You Belong? I do (Saint Heron)

• Essay: Reflections on Stillness, Joy, and the Year That Changed Everything (Harper’s BAZAAR)

• Essay: Runaway Bay (Dazed)

• Interview: A Creative Roundtable with CHANEL

• Interview: AnOther

• Interview: Apartamento

• Interview: PIN-UP

• Interview: Rolling Stone

• Interview: The Daily Show

• Music Video: Cranes in the Sky

• Music Video: Don’t Touch My Hair

• Music Video: LOSING YOU

• Podcast: Song Exploder

• TV Show: Random Acts of Flyness (HBO)

The Album Club meets at The Scatter Joy Storefront, located at 986 North High Street, in Columbus’ Short North Arts District. The multi-purpose space is cozy, welcoming, and made just for you. Whether you’ve recently listened to the featured album or you’re returning to it after a while, come as you are!

The event is free for all attendees thanks to support from The Scatter Joy Project. We just ask that you RSVP in advance, so we can plan accordingly. Hope to see you there!

Reserve your spot

The gentle nudge. I think this is maybe the most important lesson of my adult life.

I sat in yoga class as the teacher invited us to focus on our intentions. “If your mind begins to wander,” she said, “just gently nudge it back to center.”

It’s so easy to be hard on ourselves. For our self-talk to get angry and abusive. But this felt like an invitation to treat myself gently, to give myself grace. It told me that I’m worthy of kindness and care. Now, I practice this in ways I’m conscious of and sometimes don’t recognize. It has become embedded in my living.

The Shorty Awards nudged me back to who I am. I got to present at this year’s ceremony in addition to serving on the jury panel.

I’ve worked in social media marketing for over a decade. Throughout that time, I’ve been part of many projects across multiple industries: nonprofit, food and beverage, and corporate retail. I’ve gotten promoted into different roles and adopted new career paths. Most of my career has been in social media strategy, but I moved into creative marketing and social art direction ahead of last year.

Having never lived in huge markets like New York and LA, I’ve felt behind at times. Maybe I’d be further along in my career if I lived in a big city full of agencies and corporate headquarters.

But I also think about the life I’ve been able to make by not living in these places. The slower pace. The time I get to have at home instead of sitting in traffic or jumping between subway lines trying to make it back. My career not becoming my entire life. The chance to go and start things with other people.

Noah Kahan’s latest album, The Great Divide, examines the gaps between perception and reality. In other words, the “divides” in our lives. The disconnects in our thoughts and emotions. “Porch Light,” like several songs on the album, finds Kahan reckoning with his newfound fame and celebrity. He worries what the folks back home think—in this case, his mother. Writing from what he believes to be her perspective, Kahan refers to himself as a ghost, as someone who isn’t there. He worries that his parents regret his career and how he’s written parts of their personal lives into the music.

Kahan expands on this in his Netflix documentary, Out of Body. He apologizes to his mother for not asking permission to include their family in his music, but she tells him not to worry. She’s happy to see her son’s success and loves how people can see themselves in his songs and within their family’s imperfect lives. For Apple Music, Kahan shared how he didn’t have the full story:

“I always worried that my mom felt or my family felt like I wasn’t myself anymore and that I was just some ghoul that would come in to extrapolate further success or further emotion for my own gain. The truth is my mom never felt that way. She always felt she always showed me love and showed me patience and understood the gravity of what I was going through.”

I often tell myself stories without having all the information. I came into the Shorty Awards feeling like I was behind my peers only to realize that I’m right in it with them. The presenters held dream roles at recognizable companies, and there I was at the same table with all of them, so I guess I do, too.

Among the presenters was my homie, , who I first connected with on Twitter back in 2018. We knew each other as writers first only to find ourselves, eight years later, still writing and building local arts communities but also excelling in our corporate careers.

At times, I can feel like I’m missing out by not picking a lane. Like I’m not able to show up fully in anything. That I’d be a more prolific writer if I only focused on writing, pitching, and promoting my work. That I’d be further along in my career if I had less boundaries to protect my personal life and creative energy.

But I remember the words my parents shared that made me grimace when I was job hunting during my senior year of college. They said, you can still pay your bills and do the things you want to do. In other words, get a job and pursue your passions outside of work.

I was under the impression that my job needed to fulfill my passions and values. When you’re a creative person or want to help other people, this means you’re probably not making a lot of money. I thought it would cheapen my life to get a job that didn’t fully capture all my passions.

Now, 10 years into my career, having worked “dream” jobs and pursuing my passions at work and outside of it, I know that it’s less about where you live your values; it’s most important that you have them.

I want to be good, and I want my people to be good. I want all of us to have everything we need. I carry these principles with me.

This understanding that “all flourishing is mutual,” in the words of Robin Wall Kimmerer, guides my politics, life decisions, and interpersonal relationships. When the temptations of individualism and cruelty lure me away, I gently nudge myself back home. To the things I know to be true.

I don’t dream of career accolades. I dream of doing right by my people and maintaining the best parts of me along the way. I can’t force myself into becoming the best version of me. I don’t even want to be someone else. Can I love me enough to accept me for me? To believe that I’m worthy of grace and gentleness when my mind begins to wander?

It’s not a failure to lose sight of my intentions. Distraction isn’t worthy of punishment; it shouldn’t disqualify me from receiving kindness. It’s human to get sidetracked. To get lost in what everyone else is doing. But when I come home, I’m reminded that I’m not behind them. We’re all in it together, looking toward each other to remember where we belong.

Thank you!

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Early morning whispers in the
perked up ears of our little visitor

Our friendly neighborhood visitor

The instructions are simple:
“Rest and digest”

I find the chipmunk sitting atop
our front step, taking in the day

He listens intently while his
body slows to a halt

I, too, pause my ripping and
running to drink in the sight

I saw more than a child should’ve
But I never saw a chipmunk
Not before moving here

Now I look forward to our
morning meetings

No Teams notifications
No talk of AI

Just a sweet little face whose
nose wrinkles against the wind

I ask him his plans
What’s next for the day

He returns what’s been whispered
And encourages me to do the same

Today is my 32nd birthday. If my writing has ever blessed you in some way:

1. Share it.

2. Become a Paid subscriber.

3. Buy me a coffee.

4. Tell me about it.

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“The songs will save us” isn’t just a tagline; it’s a recognition that music has met many of us in our darkest times. It’s also a belief that, when we gather around things we love — in this case, music — we gain a better understanding of the world we want to live in and consider how we might make it more of a reality in the here and now.

Get yours now

Selfishly, I was super excited when I saw multiple people suggested Dijon’s Baby for The Album Club. It was one of my favorite releases from last year and an album that I would’ve forced a discussion on even if nobody recommended it. But thankfully, my friend Heba was down to lead the conversation and did so beautifully. Her questions centered not only on her own experience with the album, but also how others experienced it.

I remember sitting at the Jersey Shore the weekend of my little brother’s 21st birthday when Baby first came out. I snuck it on while we relaxed at the dock, but Dijon’s second studio album isn’t necessarily background music. Baby is abrasive. It’s jarring at times. The production, and even Dijon’s voice, aren’t made to be passive; they’re geared toward disruption.

This is fitting as Baby is an ode to Dijon’s firstborn, who shares the same name as the album. I’m not a parent, but I know that having a child is beautifully disruptive. Not to equate the experiences, but even having a cat, I know that I can’t always plan for the type of love he’ll need or when he’ll need it. Sometimes, my cat throws up, and I have to spring into action—or I can be texting, and next thing I know, he’s nudging my phone out the way, so I can give him my full attention.

For all of its staggers and jolts, Baby mirrors the zigzags of loving what’s yours. From what I’ve collected about parenthood, it’s messy; it’s experimental. You’re trying things as you go. What worked one day might not work the next. We talked about Dijon’s live performances and how he and his band create different arrangements, often transforming songs from their original recordings to where they’re sometimes unrecognizable. Such is raising not only one child, but “Another Baby” as Dijon foreshadows on the album’s second track.

At times, Baby is loud and eclectic, but so is life. And there are points when you hit a groove. “Baby, I’m in love with this particular emotion / And it’s sweet, you in this particular motion.” Or there are moments when it’s quiet and sweet like Dijon on “loyal & marie.” But the point is that love doesn’t take one shape. As Heba summed up so well, “Perfection does not mean it’s perfect.”

For many of us, we don’t come to Dijon for a “vibe.” We come to his music because it reminds us of life. He gives voice to the tension we feel. And when he yells, we remember how we haven’t yelled in a while, and maybe it’d be good to let it out. Maybe there’s something on the other side of all this. A payoff. A “Kindalove” that can’t be put into words, so all you have left is exclamation points !!!

For updates on future Album Club meetings, follow us on Instagram!

Even if you’re unable to join The Album Club in person, let’s continue the conversation in the comments. Feel free to answer any or all of the questions that Heba outlined for last night’s Baby discussion:

1. Is there a moment where the “mess” on Baby feels truer to you than a polished version of the album ever could?

2. If you were going to pick a song from Baby that represents you, what would it be & why?

3. When you listened to Baby for the first time, did listening to the album bring you back to yourself or was it a tribute to someone else?

4. Where did you notice intimacy on this album? Did it compare to a traditional understanding of intimacy, or was it different?

Leave a comment

Welcome to Take It or Leave It. Pretty much every month, Paid subscribers will receive a quick hit of things I’m loving. But this installment is free for everyone.

If you’d like to receive these recommendations in your inbox, please consider becoming a Paid subscriber.

If not, all good. Take it or leave it ✌️

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Taurus season is starting with a bang. My birthday is less than two weeks away, but it feels like this past week was the birthday with everything that went live. But before we get into that, the past month has been action-packed. I spoke on a social media panel with Elizabeth. That was the first time we’ve ever gotten to do something like that together. A tree fell on our fence, so that was wild. I went to Austin for a creative retreat. It’s probably my favorite thing I’ve done in a while, and I wrote more about it here. Traveled to Indy for the men’s Final Four and National Championship. All my teams lost, but at least we had fun. Then, that brings us to this past week.

I’ve heard people talk about how there’s New Year’s, and then, there’s the real new year. That’s how this past week has felt. I spent the first few months of the year chipping away at a few things. Now, I see what I was working toward. I had a lot of fun things come out this week, so I’ll drop a list below just in case you missed them:

1. For ’s Track Ten newsletter, I wrote an essay about the throughline of R&B and Black music in Justin Bieber’s career. This is my contribution to Resurrection, a collaborative collection with Eric, , and that traces moments in pop stars’ careers when they rise from the ashes. I had fun writing on Journals and how it makes SWAG possible.

Track Ten

The Question of Justin Bieber's Soul | Track Ten: Resurrection

If you’re reading Track Ten for the first time, welcome! Today’s essay by Alex Lewis is part of Resurrection, my collaborative collection which traces moments in which pop stars rise from the ashes, whether th…

Read more

3 months ago · 18 likes · 8 comments · Eric and Alex Lewis

2. interviewed me for her newsletter’s Well Worn series. She asked me several questions about bravery that made me think deeply and gave some clarity about myself. I think you should read it, but don’t just take it from me. said:

   “Wow wow wow. I devoured this! Alex is new to me but I immediately went and subscribed. Such beautiful words about bravery, had me tearing up.”

i think it's brave:

well worn: alex lewis

This week, we are joined by Alex Lewis, a writer who has been on Substack since 2023, and whose trajectory is due to a lot of hard work, consistency and community building. I remember the first time I went back and forth with Alex on Substack, it was over Love Island. I thought to myself, who is this man, so fervently knowledgeable about this reality show!? Then …

Read more

3 months ago · 32 likes · 9 comments

3. My dear friend Jaden Shah, one of the people who has helped shape The Album Club from the beginning, invited me to curate a playlist for his radio show, WaveSpace. That episode is out today, and I hope you love it. I’ve had the playlist on repeat in my personal life and think you’ll enjoy it, too.

Also, I interviewed Julien and Justen Turner of Dreadhead Films for my debut on the Experience Columbus blog. The Turner brothers premiered the comedy pilot for their show, FreeLance, at Sundance earlier this year. I’m thankful I got to share how Columbus has played an integral part in their story.

Alright, that’s all the plugs. I love you and hope you have a wonderful week. More goodness below.

If you’re new to my newsletter and would like to get my essays and recommendations sent directly to your email inbox, tap below to sign up for a Free or Paid subscription to Feels Like Home:

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🎤 Dave’s Power 106 Freestyle

Hanif shared this on his Instagram Story, and man, I’m so glad I tapped in. There’s a lot of talk about entering “flow state” right now, but this is exactly that. Dave blacks tf out for damn near seven minutes. I want you to go listen for yourself, but here are a few of the lines that made me smile like Keith David:

• “If I pass down my hustle, I can leave my kids nothin’ and they still be rich”

• “I need antidepressants for the doors on my cars”

• “We do Indian when it suits her, like Kamala Harris”

• “I ain’t even bein’ sassy, but I really ate with that”

📖 The Serviceberry by Robin Wall Kimmerer

Shoutout to for putting me on to this book. It starts with one of my favorite quotes from Robin Wall Kimmerer: “All flourishing is mutual.” She goes in depth on the “gift economy,” which she views not only as an ethic of reciprocity, but as a reshaping of our entire world. A revolt against imperialist, white-supremacist capitalist patriarchy. Kimmerer asks one of the more important questions of our time: “When an economic system actively destroys what we love, isn’t it time for a different system?”

I’m so grateful this book exists and appreciate how it gives an abundance of language for what it means to show up for each other and choose interdependence over individualism.

🥤 Shirley Temple prebiotic sodas

Elizabeth and I are known to sometimes forgo the fancy cocktail when we go out to dinner and order Shirley Temples instead. Yes, we’re aware of the ever-alluring Dirty Shirley. But sometimes you just want the syrupy goodness of grenadine floating around an ice-cold Sprite. One-to-two Maraschino cherries, of course. I’d go on record to say it’s maybe the drink of my lifetime. A friend that has stuck by my side since early days at the kids’ table.

What is inner child work if not co-opting my adolescence for the purposes of gut health? The new craze of Shirley Temple-flavored prebiotic sodas has descended upon our home like the plague of locusts. We taste-tested three different brands: Poppi, Bloom Pop, and the most confusing one, Stiller’s, which I guess is Ben Stiller’s soda brand? Who knew? No one needs to know because it’s bad. But I actually really like the Poppi and Bloom Pop versions.

Elizabeth’s favorite is Bloom Pop. I prefer Poppi, but the Bloom Pop is a close second. The caf at the office is stocked with Poppis, so they’re my work friends. And then we keep a case of Bloom Pops at the house, so they’re who I come home to. Both are good. Both are necessary. All of them aren’t the real thing.

🥰 Jill Scott & Tyler

When Jill Scott told Tyler, “You look like you’ve been loved,” I felt that. What a beautiful thing to see in someone and speak to them. This whole conversation is a balm. I love how they see each other throughout. I love the mutual admiration they have for one another. The smiles they bring out of each other. Jill telling Tyler that her son is dope and reminds her of him. Tyler eating that up. This is intergenerational. This is reaching backward, reaching forward, resting in the warm embrace of Black artistry.

🏜️ “We got Coachella at home”

Let’s start with a confession: I stayed up for Bieberchella two weekends in a row.

The second confession is that I’m happy I did.

And the third confession: I’m still suffering the consequences.

I don’t have too many things to say about the Justin Bieber performance that haven’t already been said (or that I haven’t already written about), but I do think it was the perfect way to honor this current stage in his career and where he came from, as well as the fans that have supported him from the start.

It was good to see Justin approach these weekends thoughtfully, especially within his preparation. Touring has been an Achilles’ heel for Justin throughout his career. I’m sure part of that had to do with the people he had around him—many of which he’s since cut ties with. But instead of pushing himself to exhaustion, Justin picked his spots. He did trial run performances on Twitch and did a small run of LA shows leading up to Coachella, and of course, there was his Grammys performance. It all paid off with the most confident version of Justin we’ve seen in a while. I’m not fully opposed to a tour if that’s what he wants to do, but I hope he took notes from Kendrick & SZA and pops up in a few major cities instead of doing a full-blown world tour. Ease in, and enjoy the moment.

My surprise for the weekend was ZULAN’s set. I had never heard of the Argentinian DJ, but I shot up as soon as I heard snippets of “4EVER” and “Gasolina.” ZULAN had a whole crew of festival attendees behind her like a Boiler Room set while she vibed out in a vintage Boca Juniors jersey. The energy was infectious, and so was ZULAN’s festival look. I ended up snagging my own CABJ kit on Depop. Only issue is they spelled “Maradona” wrong. And that’s why I still stand behind Depop being the bravest place to shop on the internet. Joke’s on me, I guess.

A few other highlights from my two-week binge of Coachella livestreams:

• Dijon and Mk.gee on Weekend 1 (and them both popping out during Bieber’s performance)

• Turnstile, plus extra points for how lit the crowd was

• GIVĒON bringing out Kehlani to sing “Folded” and looking so giddy the entire time

• Kacey Musgraves with the surprise set at Weekend 2

• Addison bringing out Olivia Rodrigo to sing “drop dead”

Sleeper pick: Teddy Swims and Joe Jonas singing “When You Look Me in the Eyes”

I hope someone told you they love you today. If not, hear it from me: I love you. Then, go look in the mirror and say it again.

I’m dropping in to announce that we’ll join back together on May 4th for our next meeting of The Album Club — a monthly gathering for music nerds and those looking to connect with each other. I host these sessions on the first Monday of every month in partnership with The Scatter Joy Project, a mental health nonprofit making care and resources more accessible.

Picture a book club, but for music. That’s the Album Club. We usually discuss one album in full. The sound, the lyrics, the stories. During our last session, we paid tribute to D’Angelo and his seminal album, Voodoo.

Our next album is Dijon’s Baby. The homies & suggested this project and will be guiding our discussion. Come through for your new favorite hangout!

RSVP here

Baby is Dijon’s second studio album. Released last August, Baby follows up the Maryland native’s 2021 debut album, Absolutely, with an ode to his wife and their son, Baby. In reaching for vanguards like D’Angelo and Radiohead, Dijon starts from a place of messing everything up. Instead of perfection, he chases feeling and lets emotion seep through every pore. Dijon follows the moment wherever it may lead—and in turn, he establishes new moments and creative standards that artists will chase for years to come.

Starting this Saturday, April 25th, we’re launching The Album Club: Listening Room on the last Saturday of every month. These informal gatherings will provide us an opportunity to sip coffee and listen to our featured album ahead of each Album Club meeting. No RSVP needed. Just show up as yourself, and start your weekend off right!

Dijon is a universe unto himself, but here are a few links to better understand him as an artist and his latest album, Baby. Thanks to , , , and more for sharing their suggestions. You can check out more and drop your own recommendations here!

• Essay: Feels Like Home

• Interview: Apple Music

• Interview: Over/Under for Pitchfork

• Interview: Producer Tommy King for Dead Wax

• Interview: Thoughtseize

• Performance: “Another Baby!” on SNL

• Performance: “HIGHER!” on SNL

• Performance: “Kindalove” at Coachella 2026

• Profile: Brick Magazine

• Profile: Pitchfork

• Review: Shatter the Standards

• Short Film: Absolutely

The Album Club meets at The Scatter Joy Storefront, located at 986 North High Street, in Columbus’ Short North Arts District. The multi-purpose space is cozy, welcoming, and made just for you. Whether you’ve recently listened to the featured album or you’re returning to it after a while, come as you are!

The event is free for all attendees thanks to support from The Scatter Joy Project. We just ask that you RSVP in advance, so we can plan accordingly. Hope to see you there!

Reserve your spot

When you faint, there’s no worrying about who’s not there.

I’ve passed out on airplanes and in restaurants and at my homie’s crib, which is to say I’ve opened my eyes to all kinds of people.

There was the horror on the face of my little sister as she ran from the sight of my vomit-covered shoes. There was the physician with the annoying kids and the ER nurse who rubbed Elizabeth’s back and told her it was going to be okay. Her and her family offered to cover our dinner before the restaurant owner told them it was on him. He got Elizabeth’s number so he could make sure everything was okay, and weeks later, we sent him a box of ice cream to say thank you for everything.

Just recently, I’ve started to realize how deeply disorienting it is to not be in control of my body. I have very little understanding of what my body does when I faint and no sense of what’s happening around me. In most cases, I just wake up to help.

The help usually comes in a series of rushed questions, but it’s help nonetheless.

What’s your name? Where are you? What day is it?

Elizabeth knew I’d be alright when the paramedic asked me who the president was and I spat back his name with the venom only one can produce when that president wants to grind you and your people into a powder that has no chance at concealing his burnt leather face.

I didn’t get a choice of who was there or what I’d be met with when I opened my eyes. There is no who’s who or what’s what. Who is who, and what is what, and I am simply lying before you in a pool of sweat wondering if this is real life or a dream.

I’ve asked that same question during the past few days. After two years of my homie telling me I should go, I finally gave in and traveled to Austin for a creative retreat he hosts. I was joined by other artists, and all he asked is that we were open to better understanding ourselves and each other.

On the first night, we went one by one and told everybody something about ourselves. I shared with most folks that I’m a chronic fainter. I had no reason for sharing this other than inadvertently explaining all the water I’d be drinking and, as a result, my many bathroom trips. They shared themselves with me and kept sharing themselves with me, and I lingered on the last night despite my early flight because I wanted to keep hearing their laughs and stories and soak up what I could.

In trying to communicate how concerning these fainting spells are but also how mundane they can be, I shared about the time I fainted on a plane and no one noticed. I woke up in a cold sweat, and it was the first time I didn’t wake up to a frenzy. Even though I dread the chaos, I know that, if I was with these people, they’d see me. I wouldn’t be the tree that falls in the woods with no one to hear. We’d make a sound.

When my friend asked me to go on this retreat, I didn’t ask who’s going to be there. I rarely do. Fainting has taught me that who’s there is there, and I don’t have much of a say in who will be there for me. My very living is a belief that there will be helpers.

And this week, I saw something I think I’ve always known: artists see.

Thank God for the artists—the ones who are there.

I hope that, wherever you are, you’re feeling the sun on your face. I’m dropping in to announce that we’ll join back together on April 6th for our next meeting of The Album Club — a monthly gathering for music nerds and those looking to connect with each other. I host these sessions on the first Monday of every month in partnership with The Scatter Joy Project, a mental health nonprofit making care and resources more accessible.

Picture a book club, but for music. That’s the Album Club. We usually discuss one album in full. The sound, the lyrics, the stories. During our last session, we discussed Saint Cloud by Waxahatchee, and I still can’t stop myself from listening.

Our next album is D’Angelo’s Voodoo. My dear friend suggested this project and will be guiding our discussion. Come through for your new favorite hangout!

RSVP here

Voodoo is the second of three albums released by D’Angelo during his lifetime and is largely considered to be the musician’s magnum opus. Released at the top of the millennium in January 2000, Voodoo reaches into the past while guiding us toward the future. D’Angelo, originally from Richmond, Virginia, sidestepped the “neo-soul” label in favor of making what he referred to as “Black music.” With the heartbreaking news of his death last October at the age of 51, Voodoo becomes even more crucial as we cherish the gift of D’Angelo’s living.

This is hardly skimming the surface, but here are a few links to better understand D’Angelo & Voodoo. Thanks to , , , and more for sharing their suggestions. Included a few of my favorite tributes from & !

• Essay: Clarissa Brooks for Chaotic Good

• Essay: Questlove for Rolling Stone

• Essay: Shanté for things i collected

• Documentary: Devil’s Pie

• Docuseries: Bonnaroo SuperJam 2012

• Interview: Red Bull Music Academy

• Liner Notes: Voodoo Vinyl Re-Release

• Music Video: Untitled (How Does It Feel)

• Performance: Live at North Sea Jazz Festival (2015)

• Podcast: 60 Songs that Explain the 90s

The Album Club meets at The Scatter Joy Storefront, located at 986 North High Street, in Columbus’ Short North Arts District. The multi-purpose space is cozy, welcoming, and made just for you. Whether you’ve recently listened to the featured album or you’re returning to it after a while, come as you are!

The event is free for all attendees thanks to support from The Scatter Joy Project. We just ask that you RSVP in advance, so we can plan accordingly. Hope to see you there!

Reserve your spot

Welcome to the new Take It or Leave It. Every month, sometimes a few times a month, Paid subscribers will receive a quick hit of things I’m loving.

Most of my writing is long-form and requires time for research between essays. Hopefully, this helps fill in the gaps for you with new finds (or things you want to revisit).

If not, all good. Take it or leave it ✌️

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Me and were grabbing coffee the other day, and she asked me how I was doing. I try to avoid “busy” as the default answer, but a generous reframing is that my life is very full. I told Jessica how I have a few key commitments, but they are things I care about deeply. I enjoy putting time and energy into them and try to keep them as sacred as I can.

I feel committed to art at this time. Our practice of it. Our participation in it. Our gathering around it. Lucille Clifton said she thinks that “most artists create in order to explore, not to give the answers.” She continued, “Poetry and art are not about answers to me; they are about questions.”

As the United States and Israel continue their imperial war on the world, including all of us, I look to art as a way to better understand myself and the people around me. I look to art as a way to question what I’ve been handed and explore possibilities beyond it. I look to art, as Ross Gay does, as the “process by which we imagine the lives that we want.”

In Columbus, there’s been an ongoing push to maximize capital at the expense of art. Scott Woods recognizes that “Columbus isn’t special in this respect.” He adds, “America as a whole spends very little on the art that it generates.”

As artists, we find a way to keep showing up for ourselves and each other even when our city officials don’t. I get to see it in big and small ways nearly every day. Art remains because we remain, and I hope we can fight to make our remaining easier in the days and months and weeks ahead.

In case you missed it, my latest newsletter essay dives into Justin Bieber’s career and examines his 2026 Grammys performance as a response to it all. This is now one of my top-10 most popular essays, and it’s received endorsements like this one from :

“I love how you’re always able to weave the personal into culture and make it relatable to us all! Your writing is a gift, I loved reading every word of this.”

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💿 Everywhere Isn’t Texas by August Ponthier

I’m back on my bullshit (aka trying to thoughtfully listen to as much new music as I can). My recent favorite that I’ve been recommending to anyone who might entertain it is ’s new album, Everywhere Isn’t Texas. I didn’t realize when I first listened, but Ponthier is featured on one of my favorite songs from last year: “Jesus and John Wayne” with & googly eyes.

The country-pop artist, who came out as non-binary before finishing the album, explores themes of home and belonging that fit right in with songs from Oladokun and Hayley Williams that I highlighted in this essay. On the surface, there are glimpses of other twangy pop stars, such as Kacey Musgraves, Taylor Swift, Chappell Roan, and Sabrina Carpenter. But Ponthier’s superpower is their relatability.

On “Ribbons + Taxes,” the young adult anthem, Ponthier sings, “Right now, my mom would be a wife, but I’d feel like a child bride.” So many of us are trying to make sense of our place in a world that, as Ponthier notes, feels like it’s ending. This album, at least, provides us with a soundtrack to see it through.

🏀 Bam Adebayo’s 83-Point Game

I didn’t watch the game, but I felt it. The push notifications on my phone felt like the sizzle, then just like that chef used to say: “BAM!” The record books were cooked. Whenever a player starts inching toward Kobe’s 81-point milestone, there’s always this question of “what if they do it?” But everyone has fallen short—that is, until A’ja Wilson’s boyfriend caught a vibe and made it everyone else’s problem (mainly the Washington Wizards).

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On the first Monday of every month, I gather with a room full of people here in Columbus, Ohio, to discuss an album in depth. Together with my friends at The Scatter Joy Project, we introduced The Album Club back in October 2025 as a way to create more opportunities for togetherness and connection. Since then, we’ve hosted genre-spanning conversations on projects like Bon Iver’s SABLE, fABLE and Ravyn Lenae’s Bird’s Eye.

I first learned about album clubs — or “book clubs, but for music” — on Substack. I tapped in with when I saw his chordinnate album club was hosting a virtual conversation on Bon Iver’s first and last albums. As a fan of these records, I decided to give it a try. What I found was a group of people who were passionate about music and shared interesting perspectives I hadn’t thought about before. I felt free to geek out and knew I’d do whatever I could to be at the next one.

From virtual discussions to trying my hand at in-person gatherings, I’ve seen a genuine excitement for album clubs. Here in Columbus, we’ve had a waitlist for every meeting. As people have caught wind of these events, I’ve started hearing from folks in different cities who want to start their own. If this is you, here are some questions for you to consider as you begin exploring what’s possible.

1. Is there an Album Club that already exists?

When starting anything, my first question is whether something like it is already happening. While I’m comfortable leading, I don’t need to be the one in charge. I can gain just as much—if not more—by participating in different communities. I think we miss out when we jump to lead instead of supporting organizations that are already in motion and helping them thrive.

While I saw local record stores hosting listening parties, which I love attending when I can, I wasn’t aware of any album discussion groups in town. This felt like a gap we could help fill. I’m still involved with the chordinnate album club and join their virtual meetings when I’m available. Although I can’t always make it to different community events, I love supporting good people doing good things—even if it’s just a repost or sending announcements to friends.

I recommend doing a quick search for whatever you’re looking for. When I began to consider starting my own Shut Up & Write chapter, I reached out to different writers and literary friends in the city. I asked them if they knew of anything like what I was proposing. While there are a couple other Shut Up & Write groups, there were none that met close to downtown.

You might attend an online or in-person album club and find that it doesn’t align with your interests or values. That’s okay. At least you gave it a try. And maybe, by you sticking around, they’ll evolve in ways that weren’t on their radar before. You might also find a different set of people you can reach with your club.

2. In-person or virtual?

There’s no wrong answer here. It’s really up to you. I’ve found a lot of value in both types of album clubs—and there’s even a secret third thing: hybrid. From listening parties I’ve attended, I saw how powerful it is to be in the same room experiencing music together. But I’ve also gained a lot of value from virtual discussions and love that I can participate from the comfort of my couch.

I lucked out with a location for The Album Club because Scatter Joy has its own third-space storefront. I have a homie who’s looking to begin hosting an album club at the bar where he works. Another one of my friends, , hosts in-person music discovery events at Vowels’ showroom in downtown New York City.

Depending on your vibe, there are a lot of ways you can go. It can be open to the public or as intimate as dinner with friends. One of the things I loved when leading a virtual album discussion last October is that friends from all over the country got to join. I had homies from New York, North Carolina, and Salt Lake City all on the same call. At the end of the day, what is going to be most conducive for the conversations you want to have and the environment you want to create?

3. How are you picking your albums?

“Choosing an album isn’t easy,” wrote Paste Magazine’s Josh Jackson for a story on album clubs. He’s not wrong. There’s so much music out there and so many directions you can go. That’s why I’ve done two things since starting The Album Club: (1) I don’t lead every discussion, and (2) I ask people to share an album they want everyone to listen to.

Dave of the chordinnate album club inspired me to tap other people to suggest albums and lead the discussion. I know that my reference points are limited. While I enjoy listening to different genres, there’s so much music that I haven’t listened to—and I love learning what others are into. ’s discussion on Baby Rose’s To Myself helped me recall a collaboration I heard of hers with BadBadNotGood. I also made the connection with her appearances on Dreamville’s Revenge of the Dreamers III.

Knowing I wanted to open the floor to other attendees, I created a QR code flyer that reads, “What’s an album you want everyone to listen to?” I place the flyers around the room during Album Club meetings and prompt people to share their suggestions. There’s also an option for people to note whether they’d like to lead a future discussion. Over the past few months, we’ve received nearly 100 sign-ups and album recommendations.

When building out the schedule, I’m mindful of picking a diverse group of discussion leads whose album suggestions maintain good variety in gender, ethnicity, and genre. Especially since we’re early on, I try to strike the balance of curating a lineup of artists that aren’t too obscure and still keeping it interesting with plenty of opportunity for conversation. As we go, we’ll take some risks and continue testing the limits of what’s possible.

4. Listen to the album or just discuss?

This is really a question about how you want to structure your time. There are so many different ways to interact with our favorite albums, and it’s simply a matter of what’s most meaningful to you and your community. We structure The Album Club similar to most book clubs where we listen to the album prior to the meeting, then come together to discuss it. There are other album clubs that are more focused on listening to records together.

The best advice I can give is to stay open to how your community might evolve over time. From the beginning, I told people that I’m along for the ride just as much as they are. I thought, when first starting The Album Club, that we’d break everybody into smaller group discussions. We tried it for the first meeting, and it went well. But there was a desire to hear from more people. During the next meeting, we ended up with one large group around the shop. I was worried the conversation may not be as intimate, but people really opened up. We haven’t turned back since.

Be open to surprises. Just because you’ve done it a certain way doesn’t mean you have to keep doing it that way. When you ask your community what they think, you might hear ideas you’ve never thought of. This is the beauty of building these spaces together. This is when it goes from being yours to ours.

5. How often are you meeting?

This question is dependent on a few different factors, but I really want to focus on making the cadence work for you. You don’t start an album club if you don’t want to be at the meetings. You want to be there as much as you can, which means it needs to work with your schedule. Album clubs should be sources of joy; they shouldn’t add to the burnout we’re pushed toward in so many other areas of our lives. You don’t want to bite off more than you can chew.

Overextending myself was my biggest worry about starting The Album Club, but I knew I could commit to meeting once a month. With organizing events, I’ve found that it’s easiest to plan around these gatherings when they happen in regular intervals. By meeting on the same day each month, hopefully, this allows for more consistency—and with consistency comes community.

Depending on your capacity and the appetite of people in your community, you can, of course, meet more often. But you’ll want to ensure that you’re not sacrificing the quality of your club by adding more meetings. What’s most important, at the end of the day, is that you and your people are comfortable being yourselves and gathering around what you love together.

This is meant to provide you with thought starters as you begin dreaming what your album club can be. I’ve shared some of what I’ve learned and encourage others to do the same. If you started an album club or have participated in one, please share in the comments what you’ve found helpful or really enjoyed!

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I started last night with a question: how can we talk about music at a time like this? This is a riff on another question that Ross Gay once received from a white woman at one of his readings: how can a Black man write about flowers at a time like this? Hanif Abdurraqib addressed this question in his poetry book, A Fortune For Your Disaster. And I asked us to sit with this idea to kick off Album Club.

Inherent in these lines of thinking is the reality that there have been times, there will be times, and this is certainly a time. We’re not new to violence or war or imperialism or death or dying children or unnecessary displays of power. In fact, these are hallmarks of living in the belly of the beast. However trivial they may be, we talk about music and flowers because we’re more than what we’ve been handed.

As Ross Gay told NPR’s Brittany Luse, “Gathering around what we love might, in fact, be the process by which we imagine the lives that we want.” Said another way, also by Gay, “Noticing what we love in common, and studying that, might help us survive.”

Last night, my friend and fellow Substacker invited us to share in her love for Waxahatchee’s Saint Cloud, and I want the beauty we experienced in that room — the openness, the togetherness, the curiosity! — to permeate our world. To be something we aspire to.

, who has been making music as Waxahatchee since 2010, returns home on Saint Cloud. Newly sober, the singer-songwriter reflects on who she is, where she’s been, and who she hopes she has a chance at being on the other side of her alcohol addiction. For better, and for worse, Crutchfield has been shaped by her homes. They’ve helped nurture her artistic dreams and desires, and they’re also where she inherited her wild side—the addiction and struggles she’s now trying to heal from.

As noted on “Ruby Falls,” which I consider the saddest song on the album, Crutchfield worries that she hasn’t lived as fully as she could and won’t be able to if she keeps on drinking how she was accustomed to. She fears letting people in and worries what they’ll find if they discover the real her.

On “Arkadelphia,” Crutchfield writes, “If we make pleasant conversation, I hope you can’t see what’s burning in me.” She hides in the mundane, right beneath the surface, hoping even those she’s closest to won’t force her to face herself. But when you come home and you’re surrounded by the folks who know you best, there’s no hiding. “You strip the illusion.” You find that the myth you’ve built has no real love to give. It can’t hold you in the ways your people will.

We try to convince ourselves that our struggles have nothing to do with anyone else, that they’re not worth burdening others with, but the irony is that we have everything to do with each other. “Our belonging to one another is always there,” Gay told NPR. “Our reliance upon one another is always there.” We are “condemned to interdependence,” as declared by Thomas Sankara.

Our attempts at escaping the concerns of those around us are futile. The myth can’t hold up. “You can’t bluff or outsmart.” We need each other, and we waste more time trying to hide than making ourselves available to care.

When we surrender to the love waiting to catch us, we find, as Crutchfield did, that “you won’t break it after all.” Our struggles aren’t too heavy; we’re not too much. This surrender is a return home—back to where we were once held, only to be held again, only to be reminded that they’ve got us, that our people have always had us.

At some of my lowest points, I returned home. I walked through the door at my most broken and allowed my people to put me back together again. I couldn’t feign strength anymore. I was out of answers; I needed help.

On the album’s final track, “St. Cloud,” Crutchfield sings, “Where do you go when your mind starts to lose its perfected shape?” Back to the place I know, to the people I know, holding onto hope that they might shape me into something new. Someone who can experience all this life has for me. Everything I’m meant to taste and see.

That’s not to say home is perfect. As we discussed, in connection with Crutchfield’s lyrics, there’s a tension in returning home. Many of us left for a reason. We may love where we’ve been, but we also know it’s not good for us to stay. I wrote about Hayley Williams and Joy Oladokun wrestling with this dilemma in their music. And still, there’s a difference between what we have and what we want.

Crutchfield expresses her wants throughout the album. I thirst for a future that my present doesn’t always mirror. It’s these desires that help articulate the things that feel like home for me; they guide me toward the heaven I want to create amidst this hell. All of us showing up to share in our love for music, to laugh with one another and “try to give it all meaning” — even at a time like this — I get a glimpse of who we can be. Album Club shows me what’s possible.

For updates on future Album Club meetings, follow us on Instagram!

Even if you’re unable to join The Album Club in person, let’s continue the conversation in the comments. Feel free to answer any or all of the questions that Anna outlined for last night’s Saint Cloud discussion:

1. What did you first hear on this album? The sense of quiet introspection? An immediate “thaw” of lilacs, riffs, and Americana? Something altogether different

2. Does Saint Cloud feel like an indie album wearing a prairie dress and driving a pickup? What lyrics, sounds, or production choices push it one way or another? Any moments on the record that feel evenly both?

3. How did you interpret “Fire” when you first heard it? Does it feel like it’s about putting something out or igniting something?

4. Lyrics often oscillate between poetry and plain-spoken on this album. Do you think that helped make the project more communal? For better or worse, what lyrics stood out to you?

5. What was your favorite song? If you could cut a song, which one would it be?

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