New Nasty Cherry Single ‘Music With Your Dad’ is Shamelessly Suggestive



After two amazing singles – “Win” and “Live Forever” – we really cannot get enough of Nasty Cherry…who, as far as we can tell, are really actually not nasty at all. Rather, the L.A. quartet are proteges of none other than Charli XCX.

They are, however, not above a bit of salacious suggestiveness – as evidenced on the clever new single “Music With Your Dad.” Indeed, the lyrics hint at an increasing attraction to a boyfriend’s father, with lines like, “We have the same taste in whiskey / But you don’t even drink wine / He just bought me a Cadillac / ’cause I already crashed mine.”

Musically, it’s a bouncy but slightly dirty synth-pop number, with a neo-funk groove and massive choruses. And all sung, of course, with the usual vocal aplomb.


Artist John Ransom Phillips Invades the Dreams of Warhol, Basquiat, Kahlo & More in Rare New Exhibition

Artist as lover, 2018. Oil on linen, 60×50 in.



We pour over the works of the great artists. Curators write rapturous descriptions of those same works and their supposed meanings. And critics surely analyze them far too vigorously. But what if we were able to really get inside of the minds of Van Gogh, Picasso, Warhol, Basquiat? How would it evolve the way we see both them and their art?

Those are the questions that New York painter John Ransom Phillips undertook – and fascinatingly succeeded – to answer with his revelatory new series, Lives of Artists – which will be on exhibit at the BlackBook Presents gallery in Brooklyn starting October 24.

Known for his metaphysical abstractions, like his captivating series on Walt Whitman, inspiration this time came by way of his artistic engagement with the Bardo, an Eastern concept defining the place where souls remain in limbo, awaiting reincarnation.

I perceived that some of these artists from my dreams wanted their stories to be told,” he explains.



And so Frida Kahlo’s spinal anguish, which drove so much of her artistic output, is given new voice, as is Jackson Pollock’s wild, volatile expressionism, and Jean-Michel Basquiat’s tense navigation between the street and the formalities of the art world. Interestingly, Phillips himself has said before that the profession of artist had actually chosen him, rather than he choosing it. And so did his selection of artists for inclusion in the series, in a sense, come to him – by way of a kind of suprahuman communication.

There was certainly a matter-of-fact generational affinity with Andy Warhol – whose iconic shock of bleached hair is perhaps the closest thing to being presented in a clearly representational way in the series. But Phillips reveals that while he was likely most philosophically aligned with the likes of William Blake and Jean-Jacques Rousseau, a mystic and a philosopher, respectively, and not particularly fond of Salvador Dalí’s work, he was nonetheless creatively energized by exploring the great surrealist’s fantasies and nightmares.

“While I have certain favorites, those I identify with,” he admits, “others I have no predilection for. But their demands simply persisted regardless of my opinion of them – and I discovered I have an enormous reservoir of empathy for artists who are very different from me. So, I listened and accepted their guidance.”



And it was that wholly unique happenstance of inspiration that led him to cast aside his personal proclivities, in order to explore artists’ stories that resonated decidedly more profoundly within him. By doing that, he was then able to create work that is at once enigmatic and enlightening, allowing us to see these towering geniuses in a remarkably intimate new way.

And that’s what ‘Lives of Artists’ so generously offers the viewer – a chance to be a fly on the wall of the dreaming world of so many of the great artists who shaped the modern and contemporary eras. They, in-effect, invaded John Ransom Phillips’ dreams, so that he may invade theirs. And then with those spiritual barriers removed, he interpreted the exchange in a way that is utterly revelatory, to say the least.

“I hope that people will feel invited to enter into other people’s dreams, as I have,” he enthuses. “Sharing experiences like these broadens our perspective and can help us grow.”

John Ransom Phillips’ Lives of Artists opens October 24 at the BlackBook Presents gallery in DUMBO, Brooklyn.


Inventing Myself, 2019. Watercolor, 30×22 in.

Sources of childhood, voluntary hallucinations and meaningful falsifications of memory, 2019. Oil on linen, 50×50 in. 

Watch: The New Winona Oak Video For ‘Let Me Know’ is an Exhilarating Homage to Young Love

Photos by Andreas Ohman



What’s a nice Swedish girl doing in a place like Los Angeles? Well, for one, she’s securing a label deal with Neon Gold / Atlantic, while only having released a single single. Though Winona Oak‘s debut track “He Don’t Love Me” has wildly gone on to rack up more than ten million streams.

Her newest, the winsome, melancholy “Let Me Know,” has been holding us rapt as autumn begins. With its dancing piano, opulent atmospherics, epic choruses and her viscerally trembling vocals, it is nothing short of chill-inducing – think Lana Del Rey, without all that calculated preciousness.



Its accompanying video is a charming, lo-fi tribute to the glories of young love, taking her from forest to field to carousel in jittery but exhilarating quick cuts.

“’Let Me Know’ was created with three of my faves,” she enthuses, “co-written by Ryn Weaver and Oskar Sikow, and co-produced by Oskar and Andrew Wells. I really hope that this one gives you the courage to fall in love again after being hurt.”

It has…it really has.


BlackBook Interview: Devendra Banhart on Motherhood, Mobile Phones and Walking in L.A.

Image by Lauren Dukoff




If tender, thoughtful intention were the measure of a man’s potential as a parent, Devendra Banhart will one day make a fantastic father. Packaged in a gentle, groovy, acoustic web of emotional intimacy, the myriad facets of parenthood are both explicitly and abstractly explored in his new album, Ma. But to a man such as Banhart, it is a predictably unusual creative concept. It’s expansive, if not vast.  

That’s actually one of the most attractive things about Buddhism to me,” he reveals. “There is a concept called Mother Recognition. You don’t have to be religious or spiritual whatsoever to understand the idea. It’s just the idea of saying that everyone has been my mother at some point. A stranger, the moon. They are mother. It just makes it so much easier to get through the day as an applicable, utilitarian concept.”

While Banhart speaks in terms of pragmatism, the subject matter is one of humanity’s deepest mysteries. We have no real answer to what love and mother are, exactly; to be a mother is in its simplest terms is to be a creator. It is to be the protector, the nourisher, an expression of unconditional love. Ma manages to philosophically and literally explore the extent of its seemingly simple title – a job that is virtually impossible. And yet it does it by being an incredibly beautiful, nourishing and inviting listen.




Sung in four languages, including his mother’s tongue, Spanish, the album is as beautifully dense and rich as it is groovy and sweet. Ma philosophically tackles our deepest impulses and wounds, yet it is also a collection of fabulous cocktail party jams. Written at times in homage to Yellow Magic Orchestra’s Haruomi Hosono and still others in duet with Banhart’s muse and mentor Vashti Bunyan, he says that Ma includes everything that he would want to tell his child, should he ever have one.  He himself lost his biological father right as his last album, 2016’s Ape in Pink Marble, was being finished. So Ma is in many ways about his father, who he had just begun to know better, too. 

The album transparently, yet tenderly, tackles political agendas by just existing across cultural barriers the way it does. Banhart, who spent his early childhood in his mother’s home country Venezuela, also dresses up in its flag in the video for “Kantori Ongaku,” and asks for support for the Venezuelan people in it. The video for “Abre Las Manos” is a montage of Venezuelan imagery. 

“This time more than ever, I feel the need to connect with other Venezuelans,” he explains, in reflection of the socio-political strife that has ravaged the South American country for the last several years.

We sat him down just as Ma was being released, and he was embarking on a 24-date North American tour, to talk about some of the elemental impulses behind the album – the names, the origins, the need to disconnect from society, passing wisdom down through generations and acknowledging the mother that lives in us all. 




You sing in several different languages in your album. Language is a powerful tool, it’s a way to transcend barriers and understand other people outside of your language. 

I wonder how effective is Duolingo. I feel like everyone I know has it, gets it and does three languages for three days. But maybe it’s because I’m lazy. There could be incredible success rates. If you think about it, we spend our lives inside of our phones. And it’s just you as your avatar speaking the language. 

I suppose that’s true, but taking a language to the streets is the real test of how you can speak it. Of course, good luck to anyone trying to get out of their avatar in France!

The French will make it harder for you than anyone to learn their language. They’re the exception. Nobody will make it more difficult. I have said the words, and I know I’ve set it correctly. And they will pretend that they are not listening. And then they will finally respond and say, “Oh you mean…?”; and just respond back in their correct accent. It’s humiliating. Speaking in France is almost as humiliating as walking in Los Angeles.

L.A. is a weirdly walkable city, but it’s like nobody actually knows that. I always walk in L.A..

I walk in L.A. too! That’s why I know how humiliating it is. It’s so resistant to the walker, that you’re braving the resistance. I love it. I actually do not own a car and I live in L.A.. Up there is trying to speak French in France, but nothing is worse than walking in L.A..

We weirdly have rhyming names.

We really do. That doesn’t happen often. My name was given to me by my parents’ guru. You told me your name means snow-covered mountain and that your father’s people come from Zoroastrian lineages. I would like to talk more about Zoroastrianism. I think it’s so interesting, and it’s one of the world’s oldest religions and it’s vast. The name itself is so mystical and beguiling. It sounds like some sort of wizard floating in the stars. 



Nature is so vast and bewildering. When you are in spaces that are remote and where nature is your reckoning, you could only have a beguiling name. And a beguiling method of practicing your faith. 

That’s why so many of these ancient religions are so elemental and about worshipping wind, water and fire. It’s not so accessible to us anymore. We take so much of it for granted today, but think of the magic of it back in the day. Just the pure magic of finding a well, a stream, where the water is pouring from the heavens. We would climb a mountain and get to its height, and there find this nectar flowing from it. It makes so much sense that we would be in awe of these primordial elements. Being in Nepal, I really experienced that. We were pretty remote, in a very small village. The electricity would go out every 15 minutes. It really helped me appreciate electricity. Or how much I may take for granted my life in the city…plumbing. The village was still being developed, so I witnessed the effort that goes into creating a septic system. I came back to my life here, and I just felt so fortunate that everything was taken care of. In one sense, we are so fortunate because it’s so comfortable. But on the other hand, people don’t appreciate it as much. 

It’s important to understand those basic needs and luxuries. You somehow understand yourself better.

In an environment like that, you’re just forced to face yourself. The distractions aren’t there. I was in a remote village and stayed at a monastery at one point too. Monastic life is, well…you’ve got a bed, you’ve got a bedroom, you’ve got an altar table and a window, and that is it. I was given instructions that said: the person next to you is in a three-year retreat. Don’t open the door there, that goes into the balcony. And definitely be quiet. That person hasn’t seen another human being in three years and you certainly are not the first one that they want to experience.
I remember going on tour way back when, I didn’t have a phone on tour. That’s how old I am. We had the types of phones where you would have to type one key several times to get different letters, it was like a flip phone. I barely used it, and I definitely didn’t have a laptop with me. And I’ve never played my guitar better and I’ve never written more. I’ve never been more productive on a tour. It does require an effort, to think about the line. It’s so nebulous at this point. But you have to think to yourself – is this something that I really need to do, or is this a distraction?
And then it gets to the point of deep irony, and it’s a necessary irony. You’ve got apps now that are telling you to unplug, and I love that. I don’t know if there’s an app that you can time where every hour it just shuts off your phone for ten minutes. I’m sure there must be! Actually, maybe not. People need that app, but they probably wouldn’t get it!



I lived in Montana for a few years, and I miss that about my life there terribly – the lack of reception. It was eventually a convenience when the people in my life came to expect that I was always without service.

I just want my friends and my family members to know that I love them. But I really don’t want to hang out with them. And that’s it, but okay, leave me alone. That’s why I want to have a kid. It’s a reason to get out things, really. 

But you’d be connected to the kid all the time?

Yeah, but when they’re little they’re just like little poetry machines. You can just ask them anything, and then write down their answers. What’s that object you see? What’s that in the sky? Okay, got it! And then it’s like, “Hey yeah I’d love to see you and go out…but sorry, I gotta stay home with the kid.”

But it’s interesting to me that a man at your age – we are both at that age where we have to reconcile our personal timelines with the concept of parenthood – went so far as to explore the potentials of fatherhood, or motherhood, through an album. It’s touching.  Do you want to have a kid? 

I mean, I don’t know. Maybe you should buy me a drink first? I’m kidding. But it’s weird. The age that we are at, you do start to think about it differently. Prior to this window, you’re not really faced with the idea that you may never have children. You kind of assume that you will…later. And then time goes by and you’re in the window where you may, or may not. And then you have to understand if you can accept it if you don’t. And can you be open to having them too? It feels like a strange decision. It feels like something that should happen organically if the garden is fertile. The best thing I ever heard about parenting was that if you tend to the garden, the flower will grow. That garden is, of course, a relationship. So it’s not so much do I want to have a kid or not, but the ability to create that garden. 




The idea of “mother” is different to everyone. I like the idea of pushing it beyond the frame of one other mortal.

When we are born, we have this one person to call mom. It’s like, “that’s my mom.” That one person who is my mother. Human evolution may take you to expand that concept, once put on one being, to various beings and different objects. You can see mother in primordial objects. For instance, can you see the mother in the ocean? Can you see the mother in the stars? Which is what we were talking about earlier, which is in many ways the foundation for so many different pagan faiths. Can you see mother in other people? And in other elemental forces as well. And that could be a definition for what it means to evolve as a human being, I think. 
I couldn’t stop thinking about this one line in the autobiography of Swami Vivekananda. He was the greatest disciple of Ramakrishna, who was this super duper Vedantic master. Towards the end of his life, someone asks him how he’s been. But all he wants to communicate is that all he sees is mother. I just kept thinking about that, how beautiful it must be to be able to see mother everywhere. 
These people are set up in that they are spiritual superheroes, and it’s their karma and they’re born that way – but it’s applicable to all of us. It’s something you have to work at. It’s not something that just occurs. You have to practice it. But if you do, you can start to believe that mother is everywhere. You don’t have to be frightened by the things you don’t understand, they are mother. The world is not frightening, it’s mother. Imagine meeting a stranger, and immediately behind that thought, thinking, “You know what? That’s my mother. This was my mother at one time.”

I wonder if that application of mother is more my speed. It seems like all the loving, universal ideals of motherhood without all the etheric, negative attachments or the confusing line of where the boundaries of the mother’s life end and their child’s life begins.

There comes a point in our lives where we have to reckon with the idea if we like the people that our parents are. They are our first deities. But they are in fact human beings. And you have to asK, “Do I love you because you’re my parents? Or do I love you because of the human being you are?” This incredibly flawed human that you are? Probably at that point in your life where you ask yourself that question you’re just like, “Fuck you, Mom and Dad!,” no matter what. And maybe at that time you just love them in some fundamental way because they are your parents. Or, you can love them for who they are. 
I think it’s kind of the same way with a parent. It’s like, “Oh, this human I made here is not this accessory. It’s not this piece of clay that I can mold into what I want. It’s actually not mine.” And you to have to try to let it go. It’s a moment in time where you are a parent without the ego attachment of [ownership]. And that’s a choice you can make – to embody and practice a type of parenthood that is purer. It may be less direct, but it’s more pure. But we are genetically programmed to make it nearly impossible. 

I guess there is no real way to know until you are faced with it in your own life. 

I wonder what that’s like as a parent though, when your kid asks you something you don’t know the answer to. It’s so built into us to know everything. Can you admit that you don’t know? And can you tell your kid that it’s okay not to know? The world is constantly telling us we should know everything. And a parent should definitely know.
We live such different lives than we did before. The concept of being tribal is really loaded today. But historically, in tribal societies, there was a lineage. Knowledge was just passed down through ancestors and you would just teach your child what you were taught. It still works that way, but the entire system and structure is so fractured today. It should be a source of compassion to remember that people who are horrible to their kids? Their parents were horrible to them. It’s a question of hoping to become the conscious birth that breaks that chain. It’s just so obvious – until you’re faced with it.
It’s so funny when we’re around our parents, how we revert to being little kids. How we change. So the question there is how can we spend time with our parents without reverting to this little, frightened creature? If you think about it we spend most of our lives physically or emotionally suffering. And that doesn’t go away, but our deal with it changes. And our ability to identify it emerges if we’re lucky. But I think it’s our parents who most associate with the time in our lives where we largely have not yet come to realize that we spend the majority of our existence in some sort of emotional and physical pain.

But what more important of a gift does a child bring you than the gift of being present?

I was thinking about this the other day, I got in a hot tub and I was like, “Wow. This is so nice.” And I was looking up at the stars, and it was like “Aaah, wow.” And then I thought to myself what have I been feeling all day leading up to this point that didn’t feel just like this? But if you can be conscious of that pain, you can identify it. You can ask yourself if you are consciously or unconsciously right now suffering. Either physically or emotionally, am I in pain? 
But this brings us back to that lack of distraction. You, in Montana…it’s a blessing and a curse. You have this lack of reception, and that is annoying. But then it gives you a focus on yourself.

Well, what do most of those calls and texts really amount to, really?

Well if we figured that out, we’d be on it! But it’s kind of like…in hospice care. There really should be more documentaries about it. What do people say that they wished they had done more of in their life? There really should be more shows about the ends of people’s lives. I mean, I guess the reason why there aren’t more documentaries about hospice care is that people would start thinking to themselves that they should watch less TV! But they always say, I should have worked less. I should have had more fun. I should have gotten out of that painful relationship and divorced earlier. Which is hilarious. Which I love.

It’s that ability to tune back into that space that brings the daily joy that can punctuate the pain and suffering. But I think a source of that joy also comes from that identification you spoke of earlier. For instance, I am currently in St. Louis, which is four hours from my mother, as she is working through some health issues. It’s the perfect place.

Ah, that’s funny, actually. My mom recently called me and she was so happy! She said that she had written a poetic line for me. It goes: “I keep my loving mother at bay!” It was something she wanted to give me, but I think that it was also her way of understanding what I do with her. Close, but not too close. I wish your mother a thorough recovery. 


N.B. Devendra Banhart’s Mother Venezuela is suffering through a longstanding socio-economic and political crisis that has left her people facing high disease, crime, starvation, inflation and mortality rates. For his current North American tour, he has partnered with PLUS1 so that $1 from every ticket sold in the U.S. (excluding Dana Point) will go to World Central Kitchen. WCK has responded to the crisis along the Colombia-Venezuelan border and has served more than 350,000 meals to date.


Mika’s New Video For ‘Sanremo’ is a Love Letter to the Beautiful Italian Town



Every once in awhile, beauty and defiance come crashing together in a most spectacular way. To wit, the gorgeously shot video for the sultry new Mika single “Sanremo.” It is an once a love letter to the ethereal Ligurian Coast Italian town, and a reminder that there are those who would still chose to marginalize the gay community.

Filmed in striking black and white to depict a 1950s when, as director WIZ reminds, “homosexuality, if not illegal, was socially unacceptable, a time of discrimination and persecution. ‘Sanremo’ represents liberation and transcendence.”

The track itself is a velvety smooth slice of Euro-R&B, with sonic nods to the likes of Pet Shop Boys and George Michael. Mika’s voice is at its cool, breathy best, as he enthuses, “To feel like this / Is one in a million.”



The track is taken from his excellent new longplayer My Name is Michael Holbrook, which he says is, “Inspired by life in all its glory and all its dark challenges. An explosion of joy, color and emotion even though it was born in one of the most challenging periods for my family and I.”

The album is also steeped in a bit of simple, but essential philosophy, which often comes with arriving on the other side of tragedy.

“I have come to realize,” he opens up, “that the only thing that matters in life are the people we love and the stories we tell. This album is dedicated to those people I love and to the notion that although we all hopefully grow with age, we should do so without losing our colors, our warmth or whimsy.”

What he said.

(N.B. Mika will be extensively touring Europe from November through February.)


The New Rain Phoenix Single ‘You Right’ is a Tribute to Late Brother River



It’s hard to believe that River Phoenix has been gone for 26 years. But in the early ’90s, it seemed like the world virtually revolved around he, brother Joaquin and sister Rain – “it” kids in the best of all possible ways.

Considering their multitudinous talents, it’s hardly surprising that Rain Phoenix has “officially” launched her music career this year, with a poignant debut solo album, River, to be released this October 31. As the title suggests, it is a tribute to her brother, who died of a drug overdose outside L.A.’s Viper Room nightclub early the morning of Halloween, 1993, at the height of a soaring film career. The two were actually in a band together, Aleka’s Attic, and had built a devoted cult following, despite never recording an album.



A second single from her album is released today, and it is an achingly haunted ballad, with the lyric, “I got everything wrong / I got you right,” seeming to contain clues about her feelings for the still vividly lamented River.

“I’d love for listeners to take away whatever nourishes them – whatever they need,” she says about the full album. “In a wider aspirational sense, I hope we can think more about the reality of death during our lives, learning to celebrate the lives of loved ones when they die, and be more attenuated to death as life’s partner.

She continues, “To me, it’s like only seeing half of life if we’re not looking at death. I hope River can both be a source of solace for all of us who grieve and a life-affirming record.”

LaunchLeft will release River this October 31.



Eerie New Ladytron Video for ‘Deadzone’ Imagines a Car Crash Aftermath



JG Ballard’s erotically dystopian novel Crash (and its controversial 1997 David Cronenberg film version) eerily depicted a heady sort of car-crash fetishism. No less unsettling, the new Ladytron video for current single “Deadzone” imagines the violent aftermath of a vehicular accident, which then transforms into a strangely alluring sort of dance of death.

In it, a pair of victims struggle out of their shattered machines, only to engage in a twisted rhythmic ritual. The song itself is appropriately musically machine-like and ominous, recalling Black Celebration era Depeche Mode. It’s taken from Ladytron’s self-titled sixth studio album, released earlier this year – which some regarded as their best ever.

The exalted Liverpool synth-pop quartet will also play 11 dates across the U.S., Canada and U.K. this fall, kicking off with an appearance at Brooklyn Steel on October 2.


Phenomenal Nature: Mrinalini Mukherjee’s Instinctive Sculptures Stun at the Met Breuer



“How on earth did someone even think to do this, never mind do it?,” was New York Times Editor Holland Cotter’s reaction to the Met Breuer’s latest exhibition Phenomenal Nature, by late Indian artist Mrinalini Mukherjee – which we admit to almost missing, but were compelled to report on before its closing.

Born in Mumbai in 1949, Mukherjee drew her inspiration early on from her artist parents: Mother Leela, a sculptor, father Behari a painter and prominent figure of India’s modernist movement. Mukherjee grew up surrounded by the picturesque foothills of the Himalayas and later the rugged landscape of Santiniketan, West Bengal.

Working with earthy fibers like cotton, jute, hemp, bamboo, carpet brushes and natural rope known as Shani, which she describes as “something like hemp, not sure it if is flax, but not jute…maybe something in between,” she was an artist like no other. And this is in reference to the time – the 1970’s – and place – West Bengal, India – when the sculpture scene was a predominantly male dominated space. Her contemporaries were largely using marble to carve their figurines, Mukherjee was fully invested in cultivating her woven forms.



Roughly half a dozen free-standing sculptures, suspended from wires, and some situated on the floor, show off Mukherjee’s impeccable ingenuity. Using a knotted macramé technique, each form represents her laborious handiwork, resulting in mysterious, sexual and at times grotesque forms.

Theatrical, inventive and iconic, her pieces are rooted in nature and culture, although she believes it’s a “metamorphosed expression of varied sensory perceptions.” She further clarifies that her “anthropomorphic deities have no relationship to gods and goddesses in the traditional iconographic sense, but are parallel invocations in the realm of art.”

From the moss green Van Raja (king of the forest) to Yakshi (female forest deity) and Pakshi (bird), most of her pieces were titled with Sanskrit names of nature spirits and feminine deities. With every curve nuanced, expressions exaggerated and human-size scale, it speaks volumes about her knowledge of Indian sculpture, folk art, modern design, and the crafts and textiles that underlie her artistic expression.



Without any preparatory drawings or sketches, she went with what she calls “the feeling of awe you get when you walk into the small sanctum of a temple and look up to behold an iconic presence.” The 1980s marked the culmination of her work with fibers and her foray into experimenting with ceramic and bronze (her sculptor-mother’s favored material).

Unlike knotting rope which was more pliable, handling malleable clay required immediate reactivity; and yet she managed to retain her signature fluidity, evident in pieces like the Night Bloom. Mukherjee’s bronze forms take you through a series called Palmscape, where she collected natural tree droppings like leaves, stems, stripped-off bark, and cast them in bronze, reminiscent of her time at Santiniketan, where learning happened outdoors in a style known as “tree schooling.”

Mukherjee’s untimely demise at age 65 came as she was racing to the finish line of one of her series’, a look back at her career at the National Gallery of Modern Art in New Delhi in 2015. It marked the end of an artist who spent a large part of her forty-year career working in isolation, creating masterpieces that came purely from her love of the craft. A revelatory retrospective, this installation at the Met Breuer is visually arresting to say the very least.

Phenomenal Nature will be showing through September 29.



BLACKBOOK PREMIERE: Hyper-Sensory Video For Aussie Songstress Jack River’s New Single ‘Later Flight’



When Holly Isabella Rankin chose to launch her music career under the nom de plume Jack River, surely she wasn’t guessing that the “current” would take her straight up the Australian charts. But that’s exactly what happened to the New South Wales born singer upon the release of her critically acclaimed 2018 debut album Sugar Mountain.

Indeed, the record peaked at Number 11, and she went on to nab three ARIA Award nominations (sort of the Aussie Grammys).

Now she’s back with an exhilarating new single, “Later Flight,” which is like some magical midpoint between Karen O and Tom Petty. The track betrays a new level of openness and honesty for the young songwriter (who bears a striking resemblance to Chloe Sevigny), or as she describes it, “this feeling of rushing, loving and dreaming of home drove the song to where it is.”



And her voice has never sounded more alluring or insistent, as she urges, “I wanna know, I wanna know, do you feel it?”

The accompanying video, which BlackBook premieres here, finds her on a long motorcycle trip, as a sensory overload of images flash by – shifting eras and scenography at a breathtaking pace.

“I’ve always danced around writing an honest love song,” she explains, “but ‘Later Flight’ is a direct and candid world of big feels, big highs and big hopes. For so long my songs have revolved around the past and future; this marks a new chapter of songs from the present and the heart.”