UNFORGOTTEN XANAX DAMAGE

Golem

Last March, the California-bred artist Eera, also known as a founding member of the influential New York crew Surf Gang, also known as a producer who has laced tracks for everyone from Bladee to Babyxsosa, Rich The Kid to Black Kray—did a DJ set as part of Nina Night at the New York club Nowadays. Eera’s session for Nina highlights the same tracklist that he played at the club. It’s a washy melding of rave, rap, ambient, techno, and club; it makes sonic connections, and it makes us excited about the future of both the producer and the wider community from which he incubated. Give it a listen and read an interview with the artist below.

Nina Mix - 014 - Eera

I don't lose

Not your friend prod ike

Doves

PHANTOM AUDIO
MIXED AND MASTERED BY RAINY MILLER

m0ney

Decline

uHazsh

Sittin on Italian leather 
With the cats in the back, never better
I guess I’ll never know
I guess you’ve never been
When im feeling low
Gas smoke in the wind
She brought an eighth of a key in the club
End of the night, she thinks its not enough
Its just a game
Money coming from above
And she’s got a couple bennies in her bag
Not for fun

Give me a way
To understand what you’re putting on my plate
Her Bambi hands gave her an innocent face
There’s no sunlight in the back of the rave

Even when you hide it, I can tell you’re afraid 
Even when you hide it, I can see in your face
It wasn’t there for you to take
So baby
Give me a way

Im tired of this rain
The birds all swim in puddles
And we drown in oil stains
Blue velvet ribbon atop her lingerie
Daiquirai with a lime
We celebrate the stain
I can’t remember what you said the other day
She told me how she felt in 27 different ways
Daiquirai with a lime
We celebrate the stain

Go away prod Deer park

When Mesa Babe first began performing together, they were drawn to an abandoned theater on the outskirts of New Orleans. The building had been closed since 1946, after a fire during a charity concert left dozens dead. The locals said the stage lights sometimes flickered on by themselves, that you could still hear the final song echoing through the rafters at night. They called it the Afterglow,  the light that refused to die.

During rehearsals, the band noticed strange things. The amplifiers would hum even when unplugged. Shadows moved across the stage long after everyone had stopped playing. Abigail felt it first, a warm light that pulsed in rhythm with her guitar. Addison said the air smelled faintly of smoke every time the chorus hit.

They later discovered that the theater had once hosted a traveling blues group from the Delta, a band led by a woman who vanished after the fire, her name missing from every surviving program. Her final song was never recorded, but fragments of her lyrics matched words Mesa Babe had already written, as if pulled from the same memory.

Each time they played Afterglow, the room shimmered faintly, heat rising from nowhere, lights dimming and swelling in time with the melody. The song became an invocation rather than a performance, a merging of past and present. The fire’s victims weren’t gone; they were listening, answering through the music.

And now, when Mesa Babe plays Afterglow live, the final note always hangs longer than it should, like the stage, and the souls beneath it, refusing to go dark.



Doves

Wraith9