I've Just Seen A Face
An intimate evening with Paul McCartney. Plus Cut Worms, Star Moles, Grace Ives, and more of the best music from March.
Friday morning at ten o’clock, as the day began, I was staring into some Microsoft Teams bullshit void. Suddenly, there came a ping from my personal email.
A limited number of tickets were available for a Paul McCartney concert at L.A.’s Fonda Theatre, a 1,200-seat club in the heart of Hollywood. I’ve seen a lot of shows at this venue over the years. Last year, I saw MJ Lenderman and Geese pack the house on their respective tours. It’s the kind of club an up-and-coming indie band plays when they first cross over into mainstream awareness. It is not the kind of venue in which you would typically see a Beatle. I grabbed two floor tickets and counted my blessings.
The next night, I was about eight human bodies from the front of the stage when whispers of celebrities populating the balcony began to spread through the crowd. Larry David’s up there! And Harrison Ford! And the drummer from Red Hot Chili Peppers! No, it’s Flea! It’s the drummer and Flea! It’s the entirety of Red Hot Chili Peppers! Sure enough, by the time the show began, the balcony was filled with the most famous faces in film and music: Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, Margot Robbie, the Haim sisters, on and on and on it went. Our phones had all been locked in magnetic pouches upon entrance, so no one could get pictures or video. Instead, the entire crowd turned and gawked up at the balcony, like the unwashed masses at the dawn of the French Revolution.
Once the show began, of course, it was all eyes on Paul. Mostly. People were still sneaking peeks up at the celeb-packed terrace, and I do admit to catching a glimpse or two myself. There were too many questions nagging at me. Was Billie Eilish having a good time? Did Dakota Johnson know the words to “Let Me Roll It”? But what I realized, craning my head up 180 degrees, was that even if all the most famous people in the world are packed into a single room, there’s one guy who can still walk out onstage and turn them into screaming, squealing fans.
Paul McCartney is ageless. The floor crowd was made up of an audience that ranged from 18-year-olds to those who’ve been Beatles fans since their plane first touched down at JFK. All of us held deep, personal relationships with this man and his music. We all felt like we’d known him our entire lives. As a child of divorce, it's entirely possible that Paul McCartney taught me about the concept of romantic love. And now, he was standing a stone’s throw in front of me. I can’t remember the last time I attended a concert where no one had phones, but it was a breath of fresh air to watch a show and not have to bob and weave to keep dozens of screens out of my sightline.
I have nothing but empathy for artists who get sick of playing their old hits. I dunno how they do it. I get sick of a song after listening to it for like a week. So how the hell does Paul McCartney still get this excited to sing “From Me To You”? There is no sense of labor to what the man does, no sense of “I’m playing this because it’s what you want.” Coming into the show, I half expected the whole thing to be a big ad for the new album he has coming out in May, and I still would have been thankful for the opportunity to be a part of it. But no, not one new song in the 28-song setlist (unless you count the weird AI Beatles song from a couple of years ago). At one point, Paul casually mentioned that he likes playing a small club once in a while because he “gets to see [our] smiling faces.” And goddammit, I believe him!
Leaving the show, I was immediately struck by how much the whole thing felt like a dream. The proximity to Paul, the balcony full of A-listers, the lack of any way to document the whole thing. I was left trying to hold onto my memories, the way you try to recall as much of a dream as possible when you first wake up. What an indispensable experience. What a great use of my human will and time. It’s fun to document things, it’s better to experience them, to want to soak up every moment and hold onto as much of it as you can.
About a year ago at this time, in my review of The Tubs’ Cotton Crown, I wrote about the concept of what I call Last Day of School music. This is a sub-subgenre of power pop that puts you in mind of the titular spring transition, breezy, jangly music that takes all your cares away. Transmitter, the fourth album by Brooklyn’s Max Clarke under the name Cut Worms, is real windows-down, “we’re gonna live forever” music. The album was produced by Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy after Cut Worms opened for the band on their U.S. tour, and that influence doesn’t go unnoticed. Particularly, Transmitter is reminiscent of Wilco post being the savior of alt-country, but pre the band getting too weird for Warner Bros. These are pocket-pop symphonies in the vein of Brian Wilson or Alex Chilton, exalting the life-shattering power of love over a guitar strum or a piano plink. In an ironic twist on the storied lore of Last Day School music, the album’s lyrics cover the unique feeling when the joy of freedom turns to the ash of loneliness. Yearning has never sounded as blissful as it does on “Worlds Unknown.” “Long Weekend” captures the excitement of a Friday night with a lover turning into the despair of being ditched and having two whole days to stew in isolation. The summer seems like it will last forever, but it’s only sweet because we have to go back to school in the fall. Transmitter nails that specific enuii as well as any record I’ve ever listened to.
RIYL: Big Star, Fountains of Wayne, Summerteeth-era Wilco, the smell of fresh cut grass, shandies.
I’m always intrigued when I come across an artist who’s new to me, but whose discography boasts a collection of records as long as my arm. Click the “more releases” link on Star Moles’s (the mononym of Philadelphia musician Emily Moales) bandcamp page, and you’ll be whisked away to a magical land populated by dozens of DIY albums, EPs, and singles. The lore runs deep. And I mean literal lore. Moales’s music before this record existed at the nexus of folk rock and fantasy-tinged concept fare. But on her newest album, Highway to Hell, Moales has her feet on firmer ground. The album description decrees that she has banished the dragons and kings and queens in favor of “the burger king on Columbus st (sic).” Hit play, and you’re immediately immersed in a folk pop album that wears its authenticity on its well-worn sleeve. Opener “The End” finds Moales complaining about a tendency to put her shirt on backwards, and features a charming little blooper when she starts the second verse too early, before nope-ing out and waiting for the guitars to come in. There’s a real warmth to the album’s sound, and it’s matched perfectly by Moales’s endearingly self-effacing lyrics. “I need you like I need a hole in my head,” she sings on “Overdog” to some presumably toxic romantic entanglement. Then she admits, “I need a hole in my head, how else could I sing?”
RIYL: Kate Bush, Big Thief, Cameron Winter, Paolo Santo incense, a casual game night where everyone’s chill about the rules and stuff.
Grace Ives is a pop music miracle, and it turns out we’re really lucky to still have her. Her sophomore effort, 2022’s Janky Star, felt every bit like a mainstream breakthrough. It combined the oddball laptop maximalism of her earlier work with more polished production and a keener sense of songwriting. I was raving about that album to anyone who would listen, but as the years went by, I started to wonder, “Where’s Grace Ives at??” Turns out producing that record and touring it massively burned her out. She fell into a mental and creative “rock bottom,” which she tried to drink her way out of, only exacerbating the problem. She nearly quit the industry entirely. Fortunately, after moving to L.A., reprioritizing her mental health, and getting sober, Ives has found a new sense of purpose that has translated to her musical output. Girlfriend gets its name from Ives’s desire to be a better romantic partner, and that newfound sense of maturity is evident from the opening notes of “Now I’m.” If that song is giving Modern Vampires of the City, it’s likely because longtime Vampire Weekend collaborator Ariel Rechtshaid is a coproducer on the record. But the musical influence on these songs goes deeper than VW; there’s a playful plunderphonics streak reminiscent of 90s alt-rock staples like Beck and Eels. Songs like “Drink Up” and “Neither You Nor I” feature funky little backbeats and cheeky samples that would have gone hard in the early days of MTV2. Girlfriend is the rare “getting my shit together” record that is just as fun as its sloppier older siblings.
RIYL: Caroline Polacheck, Beck, Robyn, dancing with friends and not feeling judged, non-alcoholic beers (they’re good now!)
To hear songs from those albums, and more of the best music from last month, check out the legendary Adult Contemporary Playlist. Now available on Spotify AND Apple Music:
Here are the albums I’m most looking forward to in April:
Frog, Frog For Sale. Frog released two albums last year, and they both landed on my Best of 2025 list. Seven months after their last release, they’re back again with their signature blend of weirdo sibling indie rock.
Gia Margaret, Singing. It’s been a long road back for Gia Margaret, ever since an illness left her unable to sing shortly after the release of her debut album. In the meantime, she’s honed her skills with gorgeous ambient and instrumental records, but now she’s ready to use her voice again.
Angelo De Augustine, Angel In Plainclothes. De Augustine is perhaps my favorite folk musician of the last decade, and he’s usually a solo act. On his latest release, he welcomes a host of collaborators, including string arrangements, harpists, vocalists, and more, to expand his ethereal sound.
Bye bye :-)