Each Sunday, Pitchfork takes an in-depth look at a significant album from the past, and any record not in our archives is eligible. Today we revisit the cosmic country rockers’ 1969 debut, a strange, short-lived truce in the long battle between hippies and squares.
This live set captures the former Big Star frontman for a 1999 one-off in Memphis, where he serves up a feast of soul-music staples backed by the city’s legendary Hi Rhythm Section.
With production by Peter Kember and an added gospel choir, the Danish band’s fifth album completes their transformation from grim-faced nihilists to wearied soothsayers.
Although Dodie Clark came to fame for her chatty and intimate viral videos, she proves the exception to the rule about internet stars making terrible music. Her debut studio album spotlights the sparse and self-conscious folk-pop she’s been making for nearly a decade.
Everyone from pop stars to metal urchins to avant experimentalists are grappling with the grief and anger that comes with living on a planet careening toward environmental disaster.
One year after their stages went dark, live music workers from across the country talk about what makes their spaces so important and how you can help them.
Dua Lipa also rates Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, bagels, Bernie Sanders, and more in this episode of Over/Under.
It’s a terrible night for a moondance: On this risible and intermittently lovely 28-song collection, Van indulges in some of his most cherished paranoid theories and deepest-held grudges.
With sharp DIY production and earnestly self-aware lyrics, Eric Reyes’ debut radiates familiar, understated emo-pop charm.
On this mini-album, the K-pop girl group struggle to maintain the audacious energy that first put them in the spotlight.
Ambitious, self-referential, and packed with their signature bad puns, the D.C. emo-punk duo’s double album hones in on the nostalgia and sincerity that lies beneath all adolescent woe.