Mayer Hawthorne

Mayer Hawthorne has over 100 million plays on YouTube, Spotify and all those other Internet sites. His sophomore album How Do You Do earned him a Grammy nod. And if he got a vote for every SoundCloud follower he has (five million), he could get elected Senator somewhere. But he’s not some piece of shit politician; he’s a musician who writes songs from the soul.

Here’s some stuff you can’t find on Wikipedia: Mayer Hawthorne starts his day off with waffles and The Whispers or turkey sausage and Steely Dan. Sometimes it’s punk rock and pancakes for dinner. It doesn’t matter as long as it’s breakfast food and music.

Raised by hippie parents in Ann Arbor, Michigan, smack between the Hash Bash and the car factories – Hawthorne’s old man taught him to play bass guitar at age five. He would play records in the house all while Mayer was growing up. He put him up on game. He’d say, “You hear him singing there? That’s David Ruffin.” Or, “You hear that guitar solo? That’s Stephen Stills.” And young Hawthorne would sit there, with his bowl of cereal, soaking it up.

Mayer DJed in Michigan at the height of Detroit hip-hop. He was there. Before Em blew, when Dilla was still alive. He was spinning records and making rap beats. Now he’s making soul records and rappers are sampling him. Circle of life.

Mayer’s been digging in the crates and you can hear the influences in his music. A touch of Shuggie Otis here, some Bob Marley there, a sprinkle of Sly Stone…

On his fourth full-length album, due out this spring, Hawthorne is back to handling the lion’s share of production. He also played damn near every instrument on the album and penned every track. His songwriting pulls from his life and observations; his heartache and joy. Sometimes it’s groovy, other times he’s vulnerable and sincere.

It’s the shit people listen to when they wanna get drunk and stoned and sentimental. The reason? Mayer Hawthorne stays making that timeless, soulful, baby-making music.

-Jude Angelini


On the heels of a series of much-adored singles, EPs, and video sessions, transcendent pop band Superhumanoids returns with its debut full-length, Exhibitionists. On the album the Los Angeles three-piece shows off a sound that’s ambitious and awesomely precise. Brilliant harmonies and arrangements abound, as the group showcases its trademark blend of diverse instrumentation and driving electronics. It is otherworldly pop at its finest.

Sarah Chernoff, Cameron Parkins, and Max St. John prize meticulousness—every sound you hear on these recordings is the result of deliberate, nearly obsessive dedication to their craft. Recorded and produced by the band itself, the album was mixed by Ariel Rechtshaid (Charli XCX, Blood Orange, Major Lazer, Active Child) and Doug Boehm (GIRLS, Guided By Voices).

Superhmanoids’ studio ethic is matched by its devotion to dynamic and inspiring live performance. The band has gained a steadfast fan-base across the U.S. and Europe on tours with Local Natives, Active Child, Balam Acab, Cold War Kids, Class Actress, Cults, and Wild Beasts. The group will hit the road again soon to share their latest creation with old fans and new friends.

L.A.'s Superhumanoids are actually more supernatural, and not just because of their songs, which float along like ghosts while vocalist Sarah Chernoff sings things like, "Time won't wait for either of us."

They've also got an unearthly command of the powers necessary to put together a beautiful little pop song—economy, diversity, spontaneity and of course heart, if you were wondering. Their newest "Too Young For Love" single displays both boundless love for and limitless knowledge of all the different ways to sing something sad, stretching from delightfully outré melodic flourishes right out of a Siouxsie and the Banshees single to pixel-dripping digitized rhythm tracks that'd give any
subwoofer a work out. Companion track "Geri" bounces off that space-y Moog-y left-field pop sound the Rentals perfected on "Friends of P," and if you wanna hear how they make sure less is more, you can examine the way they dissolve the Ramones' "I Wanna Be Sedated" into primordial soup. When people talk about "dream pop," this is the exact thing they hope they fall asleep with.

The more you prowl through their discography, which is currently a stack of EPs and singles pointing the way to their just-about-out debut full-length Exhibitionists, the more you'll discover. Really, there's a whole world in there—from the harmonies all the way to the horizon line where everything just melts into a white light. So go toward the light.

Trust us on this one.

$20.00 - $22.00


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