For the first time in a crazy long time, there were no hip-hop tracks in the Billboard Hot 100 for the week of October 25, 2025. The last time that happened was in February 1990 — Nirvana was still an indie band, and Run-DMC were already a nostalgia act. So what’s going on? Is hip hop dead or just resetting?
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Every time Patrick Sweany rolls through town, I ask myself the same question: how is this guy not bigger? It’s the eternal curse of music nerds — finding an artist you love and wondering what the hell is wrong with everyone else. But Sweany’s different. He belongs in the same conversation as Chris Stapleton, Jack White, Marcus King, and the Black Keys. He’s that good.
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Every once in a while, you’ll be at a show and wag your finger because you just know. That familiar light pops on that a music nerd can recognize when the band onstage isn’t just another local band; they’ve got the sound that moves beyond “this is good” to “this is international.” I’ve been to easily over a thousand shows in my life. I have seen many a band. Sometimes, you catch a Spiritual Cramp and can see from a million miles away, “these guys are gonna blow up,” and slowly but surely, those tours keep getting bigger. I said the same thing about Fontaines D.C., and after catching Austin’s Nuclear Daisies onOctober 28 at Hotel Vegas, I think it’s pretty obvious they have all the correct DNA to make a splash. Some of us can remember when Die Spitz was playing Chess Club. Now, they’re headlining Stubbs.
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I take every chance I can get to escape the wheels of the capitalist death machine. My phone is constantly telling me someone’s been shot in a mall, or the asshole with the long red tie has done something to make me clutch my humanity pearls, so when an opportunity to melt away into dimensions unknown presents itself, I’m taking it. This past weekend, to celebrate my boys’ birthdays, we took them to Meow Wolf’s Radio Taves experience in Houston, and I’m still thinking about it. I got lunch next to a fucking rat in a blonde wig while a three-titted bar was above my head. This place was madness of the Hunter S. Thompson variety—save the ether binge.
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I’ve seen a lot of bands do the whole “playing the seminal album” thing over the years. For a long time, the gold standard was Roger Waters doing Dark Side of the Moon—an experience that was incredible both visually and sonically. Despite being a much smaller affair, the Cavalera brothers gave that experience a run for its money, performing their masterpiece Chaos A.D. at Come and Take It Live on Friday, October 17. If you’re a Sepultura fan, this was probably the closest, tightest, and most raw celebration of that album you’re ever going to get.
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I know you are going to hate this. But since ACL I’ve been thinking about something: the fest itself and how Austin handles it. First, I gotta get through the fine print: I’ve been to the Austin City Limits Music Festival exactly one time – for an hour. I went to see Duran Duran and left. I also got into a car accident trying to get there on time. I am someone who’s still holding hope that we’re going to get a Fugazi reunion one of these days, so me waiting in the throngs of people to hear Chappell Roan sing “Pink Pony Club” I am not. But after seeing the photos of Sabrina Carpenter’s crowd last week, you have to wonder if the scale of the artists who play at the festival—is the park even big enough to hold the people anymore? I can’t say where I’ve heard the rumor from, but someone told me ACL should be moved to Circuit of the Americas (COTA), and I think the conversation’s at least worth having.
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Hats off to the folks behind the scenes at Levitation Festival. They pulled off a diverse event at a little-used location to great effect. The Palmer Events Center sounded great and showed a lot of promise for what the festival can be in the future. Keeping parking at $10 a day was a smart move that kept fans happy. The food and drink options were crazy expensive, but I understand that goes with the territory of putting a festival on – but on the real? $19 for a brisket sandwich is banana town. Just walk down the street to Whataburger next year.
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The passage of time is strange. One minute you’re crate digging for a Fugazi tape at the local record store, and years later, you’re the guy with gray in his beard, noticing a kid in a Misfits hoodie who’s never owned a CD but knows his “She Rides” because the TikTok algorithm keeps feeding them Danzig. Have no fear though. The kids are alright, they’re just getting their metal from TikTok now.
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One of the biggest draws to this year’s Levitation Festival in Austin this month is New Orleans’ swamp weirdos, Acid Bath. If you’re reading this and underground metal with a Louisiana flair ain’t in your wheelhouse, lemme get you right: this is the band everyone at the festival can’t miss.
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The kids are all right. For a while there, it seemed like the industrial scene was dead as disco, but after catching Austin’s Street Sects open for King Yosef and Youth Brigade at the 29th Street Ballroom Wednesday night, it’s a fair take to conclude that something’s bubbling up in the industrial scene like it did with hardcore and punk, with waves of new, young fans finding the music, in part to being chronically online. The underground is finding its way, even if it’s via TikToks and Instagram blowing bands up – whatever, it’s better than Sabrina Carpenter
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I get that Jeff Buckley is beloved. I know people with tattoos of his lyrics. Listening to it, I was taken to a place of feeling like, it was too dated for me, that I felt like people loved this record for its mythology of Buckley dying young and tragically more than the actual musical weight of the record, that his cover of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” made him so deep. It got me thinking about hype, legacy, and ultimately, Mark Lanegan.
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