Claire Molek and Jason Savsani didn’t intend to record Desire!, their latest album as Friend of a Friend, in a haunted house. In fact, they didn’t know that the Illinois abode, once a home for spiritualists and said to be a site of demonic possession, had that reputation until a few days into their stay.
“I think when we share this tale, people might assume that we’re obsessed with this sort of stuff and we watch Ghost Hunters and we’re all about that lifestyle,” says Savsani. “We are not. We are not seeking that out.”
Acidtrain live at Slipper Clutch on Sunday, April 13, 2025 (Pic: Liz O.)
It’s just before 9:30 p.m. on a Sunday night and red lights beat fast against the upstairs stage at Slipper Clutch. Acidtrain, aka Ryein Evan, has just launched into “Delulu,” a song, he says to the crowd, that’s about the billionaire class.
It’s the day after 36,000 people turned up for Bernie Sanders and Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez’s Fighting Oligarchy event at Grand Park, just a few blocks away from this downtown club. Plus, “fuck billionaires, fuck Trump” has been the general theme of club conversations for months, so “Delulu” is a good fit for the moment. The frenetic beat and a squelchy synth sound that comes and goes throughout the song captures the vibe of downtown Los Angeles. Evan dances and bounces across the stage, growling lyrics like, “what’s this obsession with cultivating wealth?”
In early February, in a small L.A. venue called Love Song, Taleen Kali debuted her EP, Covered, a few days before its Valentine’s Day release. Every detail reflected the holiday theme. The EP, which includes versions of songs like “Ava Adore” and “#1 Crush,” was available on heart-shaped flashdrives at a merch booth decorated with cupids. The listening party was followed by a live set where Taleen Kali, the person, morphed into Taleen Kali, the band, as more and more musicians joined the singer/guitarist on stage for a set that included live rarities and music from Covered.
It was a killer night, and I’m not just saying that because I happened to be the DJ for the show or because Taleen and I have been pals for a few years. I mean, it was a very well-planned and well-executed show.
When Vincent Guerrero had a venue in San Antonio, called Vice Versa, he spent his days organizing, which also meant going through the vinyl collection housed in the space. “Every day, I would get a random record and I would listen to it,” he recalls.
He was struck by the album covers with photos of the musicians, sometimes large bands, all dressed up for the occasion. “At some point in their life, this was their dream,” Guerrero remarks. He’d listen to the music, some of which could not be found on Spotify or YouTube. “It was kind of scary, but kind of beautiful,” he says. “We won’t be here forever, but our music potentially could live for a very, very long time.”
All this inspired Guerrero, who records under the name Night Ritualz. “I always wanted a record, a vinyl,” he says. “That was a dream.”
So, after Vice Versa closed, Guerrero put his efforts into attaining that dream. On March 7, Night Ritualz’s self-titled debut album was released via Metropolis Records on both digital and vinyl formats. Following the album drop, he hit the road. He headed back to San Antonio for the record release shows, then to Austin, where he now lives, and played a string of South by Southwest dates. A West Coast tour, which concludes with Night Ritualz’s first headlining gig in California at The Cathedral in Pomona on April 4, followed.
Jeff Jacquin and Joey Cevetello of Grey Factor (Photo courtesy of the band)
When first wave L.A. synth band Grey Factor originally played around town, it was the junction of the 1970s and 1980s, an era when synths were more cumbersome and complicated than they are today and local audiences weren’t totally sold on electronic music.
Back then, Jeff Jacquin and Joey Cevetello, the core of the group, and their bandmates lugged analog gear into punk clubs. Sometimes, they brought their own soundboard as well. Cevetello carried pieces of paper with charts showing how all the knobs on the synthesizers should be arranged. Their stands were repurposed shelving units.
“You could pop on the internet right this second and find people road-raging,” says Mark Lane. “It’s so ubiquitous, such a part of the culture.”
That unabashed anger so often on display online and in the streets is what Lane is referencing in “Yelling at Cars,” the title track from his latest EP, released last November. “I saw you standing in the street/Yelling at cars,” he sings over a beat that’s a little electro, a little EBM, a clubby sound that still conveys the shock and dismay of his observations.
“It’s really hostile now,” he says. “The record touches on this psychosis of imagined road ownership. These people really believe, the road is mine. You see it over and over.”
It was the night before the inauguration and, somewhere in the distance, the Eaton and Palisades fires continued to burn. Needless to say, the mood was grim on the streets of L.A. that Sunday. Inside The Regent, though, at a little after 7:30 p.m., the vibe was dynamic. Agender was in the midst of their opening set for CSS. The floor level of the venue was already packed wall-to-wall. The balcony, where I stood, was quite full as well. Looking down, a mass of people bopped around the floor as the L.A. punk band ripped through one fierce song after the next.
“I think it was a moment of the city coming together and it felt special,” says Romy Hoffman, who is the singer, guitarist and songwriter for Agender. “I know I needed that outlet.” Hoffman, who has known CSS since a previous project of hers toured Australia with them in the mid-‘00s, notes that the Brazilian indie band has a “positive, infectious energy” that lent itself to the “catharsis” inside the venue that night. “It was the perfect band to play at that time just because of their energy,” she says. “We had a great time and the crowd was really responsive. It was wonderful.”
Imagine you’re trapped inside a machine, looking for a way out. You feel a cold beat and tense rhythm, hear bleeps lurking in the background. It’s unsettling. Then, in the distance, a voice repeats the phrase you know from Dune. “Fear is the mind killer.” You see Timothée Chalamet or Kyle MacLachlan or some other Paul Atreides who lives in your head survive the box of pain. You feel relief.
That’s what it’s like to hear “Fear (is the Mind Killer),” the Optometry song, for the first time. From Lemuria, the L.A.-based duo’s sophomore album, the song is an homage to Dune as much as it is a reflection on life in the 2020s.
