Despite analog yearnings, I discover new music on the internet
Five musical artists I stumbled across on the internet
I spend a lot of time wondering whether the internet is a net positive in my life.
It feels like a necessity these days. I know I would be lost, not only mentally but physically as well, without the little moving dot on my phone which shows me where I am in the world despite my best efforts to look up in search of dilapidated street signs.
Recently I’ve been making some small efforts to disconnect myself from the endless online grind. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to achieve any kind of major disconnection but I think finding moments of solace is helpful enough. I booted up my decommissioned iPhone 7 and now operate it like an iPod due to the lack of internet access. I keep handwritten notes for my PhD. I fill books with an array of rainbow sticky tabs.
That being said, the internet does offer a lot towards my relentless penchant for discovery. I still find things in old-fashioned ways—I’ll ask practically anyone who will talk to me for a restaurant recommendation, friend or stranger—but when it comes to music, I seem to discover almost all of my new favourite artists online.
This is not for lack of trying in other arenas. I give myself plenty of opportunity to uncover artists in the real world: once again I turn to friends for their endorsements, I arrive early at concerts to listen to unfamiliar openers, I put the radio on from time to time. I want them to find me. I have my old favourites, their CDs fill the glove box in my car, but I never in my life feel that there is enough music. I could always do with more.
Despite my analog yearnings, the internet remains the place to be. Perhaps it is the sheer volume of sound I’m exposed to each day. A concert can only have one opener, maybe two at a push, whereas I’m scrolling past new artist after new artist on my feed in each dedicated wasteaway session.
I first heard ‘Daphne Blue’ by The Band CAMINO because a friend added the song to an Instagram story. The distinctive guitar riff captured me immediately. It reminded me of the pop punk songs which had dominated the soundtrack of my teenage years. A listen to the equally entrancing ‘See Through’ and three albums later, I found myself screaming their lyrics with a crowd at the Forum, completely unable to hear the rain that was bucketing down outside. As I left, I thought to myself, I’d immediately buy another ticket if they had a second Melbourne show on tomorrow night.
I don’t remember the exact initial encounter of stumbling across Laufey’s enchanting voice. I know I certainly found her on TikTok. Most likely it was ‘Falling Behind’ or ‘Beautiful Stranger’ from her first album Everything I Know About Love. It wasn’t long before I was fighting for tickets to her Palais Theatre concert in Melbourne. Unable to face dynamic pricing, I waded into the trenches of the resale war and received the miraculous email outlining my success with one day to spare. Laufey’s impact extends much further than her music. I wrote about her influence on my cultural identity earlier this year. But she does also make beautiful music, and I’ll be there again when she returns to Australia next month.
It was the full package of her visualisers that drew me to Lyn Lapid’s album to love in the 21st century. A visually vibrant album trailer set to the opening instrumental and a dreamy voiceover spoken by Lyn, I felt sure that I was watching a clip from a coming of age movie. On discovering it was connected to her album, I saved the date for it immediately. I loved her insistence at creating an entire world to exist around her music. It felt whole.
Aleksiah burst onto my screen with quirky dances and zany outfits only last year. I encountered her several times before ‘The Hit’ convinced me she’s set to be Australia’s next pop IT girl. Her songs are addictive, the kind of pop that makes you want to dance around your bedroom late at night with your headphones plugged into your ears. Seeing her perform at Howler in Brunswick shortly after the release of her ARIA-charting EP Good on Paper only confirmed what I had already guessed: Aleksiah is the real deal. Unleash her onstage at an arena as soon as possible.
When Jackie Evans sings ‘Seven Brides,’ I picture myself nursing a drink in a velvet booth surrounded by friends at a wine bar in Canberra. Not because she’s from there, she’s American and undoubtedly has never heard of the strange Australian capital, but because her music comforts and makes me feel at ease. She’s a true storyteller who paints images with her carefully chosen turn of phrase.
Sometimes finding a musical artist on the internet is a curse. Australia is a lone island halfway on the other side of the world from a lot of these people and often I relinquish my dream of ever hearing them live immediately. I’ve loved one of my favourite bands, Fickle Friends, for many years now and grow no closer to existing in the same room as their anxiety-fuelled pop bangers.
But I’m always looking to feel something new, to hear a tune I haven’t heard before. Even if it sets me up for a unique kind of Australian-based heartbreak, I know it’ll be worth it. Plus, there’s the rush each time I do find a new artist and am blessed to discover they’re playing a gig right near me.
I have no plans to quit the internet, only to slow things down every once in a while. The small bursts of brilliance, like new artists discovered on a Sunday evening scroll, are certainly a positive for now.