The Altons: Love You Like That

 

Blog number eleven already. Which means blog number twelve — the Summer Season Finale — is right around the corner. Wild. Thank you for riding along these past three months; sharing these discoveries has been the highlight of my summer, and I love that the conversation keeps going both ways. (Seriously, keep sending me the songs you’re digging.)

Here’s the plan going forward: one blog a week, twelve weeks a season, like clockwork. Three months go by faster than you’d think when you measure them in music instead of days. I’ve even been toying with the idea of putting the whole summer season onto a mix CD. Would you grab one if I made it? Mix CDs are still one of my favorite things in the world — hand-picked, hand-burned, passed along like a little secret.

Now — this week’s discovery.
How do I even put this? It’s got me in a chokehold. But what else would you expect from a release on Daptone or Colemine? At some point, I’ll have to write a whole blog just about those labels, because they’ve become a compass for me. If I see their stamp, I know I’m about to hear something alive.

The Altons were brand new to me. And this tune — Love You Like That — is brand new too. Every once in a while, as a singer, you hear a track and think: damn, I wish this was mine. This is one of those times. The Altons just nailed it — the pocket, the heat, the ache.

So, who are The Altons? What’s their story? And how did I stumble into this song that’s been running laps around my head ever since?

How did I get here?!

Meet the Altons

The Altons come out of Los Angeles, and you can hear it in their sound — a groove only a city like L.A. could cook up. Soul from SoCal always feels like it was baked in the California sun and served from a lowrider by the beach. The Altons carry that tradition in their veins — tipping their hat to the past while making it pulse with urgency right now.

This one’s got Sunday slow ride written all over it. Picture yourself cruising the coast in a ’55 Thunderbird, hard top down, leather so hot you’re scared to shift your legs. The breeze is blowing, the tunes are bumping, and all is right with the world. That’s what Love You Like That is.

They’re part of the Daptone family tree — the label that has become shorthand for trust. If you’re crate-digging and you see one of those names stamped on a record sleeve, you know you’ve struck gold. And Love You Like That is pure proof of it: sultry vocals, a rhythm section that hits like velvet-wrapped steel, and horns that feel like the night air pressing in close.

I found this track almost by accident, but the second it hit, it was over. One of those drop everything and replay it three times moments. That’s the magic of a good discovery — it doesn’t politely knock, it just barges in and makes itself at home in your bloodstream.

• Adriana Flores – Lead vocalist whose rich, emotive voice anchors the band's sound.

• Bryan Ponce – Co-lead vocalist and guitarist, known for his expressive guitar work and vocal harmonies.

• Joseph Quiñones – Rhythm guitarist, contributing to the band's textured musical layers.

• Gabriel Maldonado – Bassist, providing the foundational groove that drives their rhythm.

• Carlos Canovas – Drummer, laying down the beats that pulse through their tracks.

Their collaboration began in 2015, evolving from a mix of rock and soul influences into a distinctive sound that caught the attention of Daptone Records. With the addition of Caitlin Moss on drums and Chris "Bolillo" Manjarrez on bass, they solidified their lineup, leading to the release of their debut album, Heartache in Room 14, under Daptone's Penrose imprint.

The Algo is Rithming

One of my favorite parts about being a nationally recognized professional listener

is getting to share new music with the people who swear all the “good stuff” is already behind us. I love playing a track like this for older folks especially — the ones who hold tight to the golden years of soul and think nothing new could measure up. Then you drop Love You Like That in their lap, and suddenly the past and present are having a conversation.

We’re living through a strange phenomenon right now. “Popular music” still dominates the charts and the radio, sure — but popularity itself has shifted. Streaming has cracked the code wide open. Discovery doesn’t just belong to DJs and record stores anymore, it belongs to algorithms, playlists, and pure chance. There’s no way I could’ve planned on finding The Altons — it just happened, a random click, a song slipping through the cracks. Or… was it random?

How much of what we find these days is really chance, and how much is the algorithm tugging strings we can’t even see? And how long before music discovery shifts again, reinventing itself in some new way we can’t predict?

For years, my world revolved around Pandora. I was a big fan — maybe even an addict. Pandora was my lifeline to indie music, the doorway to whole universes I wouldn’t have found otherwise. I remember starting a station off Fleet Foxes, and from there it unraveled like magic: Damien Jurado, M83, José González, The Marías, Bombay Bicycle Club, Aurora… the list goes on longer than I could ever write down.

Back then, I didn’t think about Pandora having an algorithm. To me, it just felt like luck — like some benevolent DJ in the sky was slipping me records I needed to hear. And I was fine with that. It was free, it was endless, and it gave me exactly what I didn’t know I was looking for.

But since buying into the streaming era — and spending more time inside YouTube Music — I’ve learned a few things. About how it really works. About how these platforms don’t just reflect taste, they shape it.

Here’s the thing about YouTube Music: it doesn’t just hand you songs, it studies you. Every skip, every replay, every late-night loop becomes data. The algorithm builds a map of your listening habits, and then it starts to steer. Sometimes it feels like fate, sometimes it feels like you’re being nudged down a hallway you didn’t choose. You think you’re exploring, but really — you’re being guided.

But there’s beauty in that, too. The algorithm is like a shadowy DJ, digging through crates you’ll never see, slipping you records you didn’t even know existed. It learns your moods, your obsessions, your seasons. One day it hands you a song like Love You Like That by The Altons — and suddenly you’re hooked, wondering how this tune found its way into your bloodstream. Was it chance? Or was it the algorithm whispering: you needed this one.

Two truths can exist at once: I can feel uneasy about a computer deciding what I want to hear next, and at the same time I can feel elated to live in a world where I can discover any artist, from anywhere, at any time — as if by chance. A chance that I couldn't create on my own. 

Love You Like That is one of those tunes I’ll always be grateful the algorithm slipped into my life. Not only is it my current obsession, but The Altons have officially become one of my new favorite bands.

I know this blog feels a little different. Normally, I break the song apart and tell you about every detail I love. But this one? This song doesn’t need notes. It’s perfect. The production, the instrumentation, the backup vocals, the melody, the way the bridge folds into the verses and chorus, the horns, the pocket. Honestly — just go listen to it. In my eyes, this is the song of the summer. I’m still dumbfounded at how flawless it is.

My only complaint? I wish it was longer. That’s it. Congrats to The Altons and Daptone Records — you made the best song of the year, right alongside Flower Moon by Durand Jones & The Indications. But that’s a song for another time.

Love you all, music freaks. Take a walk. Share a song you love with a friend. Drink some water. Stay tuned in.
—Berly D

If you dug this post, feel free to tip the scribbler: Venmo: https://venmo.com/u/berlyd

Listen to Love You Like That: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iX7-iEvuLX4

Part Time: Lies in the Eyes of Love

Do you guys know what time it is? It’s PART TIME (boooooooo).

Easy, y’all — “comedian” isn’t exactly on my resume. But I’m great at one thing: being the human embodiment of, “I have so many ideas, none of which I’ll finish today.”

I’ve got the energy of a jazz solo and the focus of a cat chasing a laser pointer. My brain is a nonstop mixtape of distractions — and honestly, I’m just trying to keep up without losing myself in the shuffle. At least I’m self-aware, and my to-do list has personality… if I remember to make one.

Most of what I plan boils down to three things: vacations, hangouts with friends and family, and concerts. Even then, most shows I attend are spontaneous. I try to live in the moment — even while writing this blog. No outlines, no plan. I open the computer, do some digging, and press buttons until I’m ready to say something.

When I started this post, I thought I’d have plenty to say. But Part Time… stumped me. Not a writer’s block or ADHD thing — there was simply no info. Anywhere. I had to dig deep just to find something worth mentioning.

Which is wild, because Lies in the Eyes of Love is a gem. So who is Part Time? Why does Wikipedia have the shortest page in history? Why is the iHeartRadio bio so bare-bones? Only one interview exists. The song has 3.4 million streams. And the guy has, like… three names?

Now I’m wide awake. Now I’m hooked. And I’m here to share what I found.

Freaks, welcome to The Mysteries of Part Time: ’80s synth pop from 2019.

As always, the first question is… how did I get here?!

David Speck? David Loca? Davida Loca and the Berkshire Hobbits?

WHAT?

When I first heard Part Time, I was in the car, as usual. Pleasure driving? Maybe… not really. My lower back was on fire, traffic testing my patience to toddler-rage levels, and all I could do was breathe through it — you know the drill.

Usually, I’m hyped on music, but sometimes the rotation just flops. When that happens, I hunt for something to jolt my senses — emotional, evocative, nostalgic, or just something fresh that grabs me instantly.

That day, I was listening to one of my favorite bands, Men I Trust — 10/10 band name for a 10/10 band. (They’ll get their own feature here soon.)

Then… bam. The synth hits. I think, “Wait… this must be an ’80s track I haven’t heard.” Instant hook.

When a song hits like that, I play it over and over… an hour later, still looping. And that’s nothing — I’ve always been this way. People ask how I remember so much about a song — keys, tempo, tiny details. Answer? I’m basically studying music all day. Softly listening to tunes 8–9 hours a day.

Some say it’s a problem. Others envy the skill. I call it neurodivergence.

I forget plenty of things, but songs? Never. Even one listen plants a memory; hearing it again floods the gates. I remember planets from Blue’s Clues, times tables and the Preamble thanks to Schoolhouse Rock. Music and rhythm are my memory keys.

Yeah, maybe my skills are useless… but they’re mine. And rare is the feeling when a new song hits with instant nostalgia — like I’ve known it forever… but I haven’t. Weird, but exhilarating. I needed to know more.

I clicked the Part Time page on YouTube Music. Lots of songs. Naturally, I Googled an Instagram page: “Part Time, band? Part Time music?” Tons of bands, but not the guy whose face I saw on YTM. Think… Bandcamp! Found a page — says, “Compiled by David Smith.” Who? No mention of Lies in the Eyes of Love.

Next move — YouTube video descriptions usually list socials. Checked YouTube.

Now I’m staring at the “Part Time – Lies in the Eyes of Love” YouTube page. Channel name? David Dean Burkhart. Wait… what? The channel has a million subscribers but is packed with other people’s music — no Part Time, no David. Cue mini panic: did I stumble on an AI ghost artist?

I Googled “David Smith Part Time” and finally hit gold — an interview titled Q&A: Davida Loca of Part Time, 91.7 Indie Overnight, Trinity University, 2018. Here’s the skinny:

• He’s released six albums, mostly lo-fi bedroom recordings, but recently stepped into a real studio for Spell #6.

• David has multiple projects and names, and apparently “David Speck” is a mistaken identity.

• Part Time started as a side project but quickly became his main gig.

• He’s hands-on with his music videos, blending DIY grit with some professional polish.

Sounds like he wanted it this way. As a research nerd, I love that mystery — an artist who doesn’t care about being found. Those meant to find him, will.

Sorry, David, Loca, Mr. Smith — I’m putting you on blast because your stuff is too good not to share. Mr. Part Time’s got a few side hustles under different names. Curiouser and curiouser. I had a blast chasing this puzzle down — and I might still have missed a piece or two.

Now that you’ve got the backstory, let’s dive into the track.

She Tells My Eyes…Lies

Alright, let’s talk structure — which I don’t usually do, because I like my words to land for everyone, not just musicians. But this one deserves it.

The “bass” — almost certainly a keyboard/synth — isn’t complicated. Actually, most of what’s happening here is delightfully simple.

But here’s the magic: it’s all about the layers. Everything locks into place with an unwavering groove. The snare snaps cleanly on 2 and 4, and — though it’s subtle — I swear the kick drum shadows the bassline. It’s a tiny choice, but it’s chef’s kiss.

First listen? You catch the vibe. By the fifth or sixth? You’re swimming in it. Doubled vocals wrap around you, his gentle delivery sinking into your chest, little background “breaths” giving it life. And then — those high-pitched, ethereal plinks and plunks of whatever synth he’s using — and BOOM, the sax solo hits. Out of nowhere. Perfect. Just perfect.

This track could’ve dropped right alongside Pet Shop Boys, New Order, or Depeche Mode — intentional or not. Either way… it slaps. One of my favorite YouTube comments says it all: “I danced to this in 1984. I was born in ’92.” Seriously, this is a jam worth diving into.

Go find yourself a Part Time jam to enjoy! You never know which alias he'll use next!

Stay Tuned in, my friends — Berly D

If you dug this post, feel free to tip the scribbler: Venmo: https://venmo.com/u/berlyd

Listen to Lies in the Eyes of Love here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cp1aJtGYwh8

Bonus: One of my favorite Men I Trust songs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HSGwL5wORJY&list=RDHSGwL5wORJY&start_radio=1

After: 300 Dreams

Beep beep — You've got BLOG mail!
Get the internet dialed up and check your AIM. After just dropped a track that would've broken every Myspace heart in your Top 8. It's called 300 Dreams, and it’s what we’re diving into this week.

This magical duo took a floppy disk and stuck it right in my analog heart. Somehow, they’ve managed to bottle the exact timbre of an early-2000s Michelle Branch or Vanessa Carlton record — pure emotional nostalgia, wrapped in soft shimmer and catchy ache.

Most music discoveries come with a story — a night out, a friend’s rec, a random playlist rabbit hole. But this one? It’s less about how I found 300 Dreams and more about how it found me. It didn’t just pass through — it unpacked its Walkman and stayed.

But first...who is After? How did this happen? HOW DID I GET HERE?

The answer, apparently, is somewhere between 2003 and a very good Instagram algorithm.

Y2K Sound, 2025 Discovery

You’d never guess I found After on Instagram the first time you hear them. After sounds more like a CD I stumbled across in a thrift store — or an indie artist I randomly discovered on the library CD rack. And I mean that as the highest compliment.

When I was a kid, my family didn’t just check out books from the library — we checked out music. CDs. Piles of them. In our house, we’ve always been that obsessed with music. My dad even calls himself a world-renowned, self-proclaimed “Professional Listener.” I carry the title proudly, too. I’m even thinking about making stickers for the blog that say Professional Listener — maybe with some headphones and a little boombox or Discman for flair.

We’d grab ten, twelve CDs at a time — whatever the limit was — and listen to them all, front to back. And no, we definitely didn’t rip them onto our family computer and burn our own mix CDs. That would be illegal. We’re not criminals. …Yeah.

And every once in a while, you’d strike gold. An album you loved all the way through. That’s how I discovered Michelle Branch’s The Spirit Room — I played it nonstop and fell head over heels for everything about it.

That’s what I mean about After. It feels strange to say I found them on Instagram — because sonically, emotionally, spiritually, it feels more like that kind of discovery than… well, that. You know?

The truth is, finding new music on Instagram, TikTok, even Facebook — it’s just part of the landscape now. And sure, part of me still wrestles with that shift. But then I wonder: when would I have found After? Would they ever come on the radio? Would I have caught them in a record store bin? Maybe not.

I might not love the way the industry’s changed… but I’m endlessly grateful for indie artists like After who keep putting their music out into the void. Clearly, it’s reaching the right ears.

Also wanted to mention how incredibly beautiful their promotional material is. It seems that the majority of their flyers, album art and single art are done by artist @lyfegain on instagram. That's about all I know about them. Hey lyfegain, your work for After is stunning.

The Memory of the Real Thing

Most of my friends are musicians. That wasn’t exactly on purpose—it just kind of happened that way. You follow the music long enough, you end up surrounded by people who do the same.

We all value it for different reasons. Some obsess over tone. Some over vintage gear, rare pedals, the right mic. Some chase the high of performing. That feeling when the lights hit and the crowd disappears.

Me? I’m mostly in it for this:
What does this song—this artist—have to teach me about being human?
That’s the thing I keep coming back for. That’s the hit I’m chasing.

Graham Epstein and Justine Dorsey have written some pretty incredible lyrics that stuck with me during a transformative period of my life, while also adding that carefree, trip-pop sound that makes blasting their tunes on the freeway feel like a magic carpet ride. The combination of simply put yet deeply transformative lyrics, plus the twinkle of its timbre and tone, gives 300 Dreams the title of one of my favorite discoveries this summer. In fact, this might just be my song of the summer.

Justine sings:

“She’s the only girl you’ve ever wanted to be in your life.”

“It’s a high speed chase to find out who you’ve been this entire time.”

“Look at the state of me, I’m always falling down.”

Maybe it’s hitting because of where I’m at in life, and if you’re in a similar place, it’s probably hitting you too. I love this message, and I love the idea of creating music that speaks to those who are shedding layers, relearning who they are, breaking cycles, unlearning what was never really them. That you’re going to fall and make mistakes, but it’ll only aid your journey toward the self, not hinder it. I LOVE THIS SONG.

Do I even dare talk about the timbre and production of this tune? If you don’t wanna see me nerd out, maybe stop reading here…

These sorcerers of pop have bottled the essence of my Hello Kitty CD player and barefoot runs through summer sprinklers, pairing it with grown-up, whimsical takes on coming-of-age.

Somehow, they’ve managed to make modern pop without letting it sound over-processed — it actually breathes. When Justine sings, it feels like she’s right here in the room. (Side note: I love catching Graham slip in those octave-below lines in the post-chorus.) The drums are locked in and tight, cutting out at exactly the right moments. The bass tickles your eardrums — delightfully wobbly, just enough to make you grin.

Honestly, this might be one of my favorite pop tracks of the last few years. And keep in mind, when I’m sharing this, Subway by Chappell Roan has already dropped — a different kind of pop entirely. But I think the folks in After could give a masterclass in production.

And again — I’m only going off what I know. I’m not interviewing them, I don’t know them personally. All my information comes from my own digging, and so far I haven’t seen a single mention of another producer. If you catch a whiff, let me know — I’m ridiculously curious about the magic behind this time capsule of a band. Anyway, enough nerding.

A couple weeks ago, I left my friend’s place in Ontario and took the toll road down through Laguna Woods to my grandma’s house. That road cuts through these golden, rolling hills, and it was one of those perfect California afternoons — windows down, warm breeze, sun just leaning into golden hour. I had After on shuffle, and when “300 Dreams” came on, I was in that rare, perfect place where the road, the song, and the moment all line up. Bliss.

Got to share that kind of magic with Angel a different weekend too — we’d been on this massive 2000’s pop kick, the kind where you remember every ad-lib and drum fill — and After just… hit. 

HEY — I know you came here for music discovery… but if any of those lyrics hit a nerve, I see you. For a long, undisclosed stretch of time, I’ve been on a journey back to myself. I stopped trying so hard and started surrendering to who I am — and trust me, there are whole philosophical chapters I could drop here, but I’ll spare you.

What I want you to know is this: no matter your journey, no matter your path, you made it here. And I’m proud of you. In the immortal words of the legendary Huey Lewis from the criminally underrated Oliver & Company:

“Keep that dream alive. Dreamin’ is still how the strong survive…”

That, my friends, is the heart and soul of 300 Dreams. Keep dreaming your way into who you really are. One day, you’ll blink — and realize you're already there.

Love you. Stay tuned.

— Berly D

If you dug this post, feel free to tip the scribbler: Venmo: https://venmo.com/u/berlyd

Listen to 300 Dreams here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pv8thdk-7vc&list=OLAK5uy_kUcHkMgzVktKSRdyThF4JIH1Hdiv57iyM&index=1

Listen to the After album here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_kUcHkMgzVktKSRdyThF4JIH1Hdiv57iyM

After's bandcamp: https://after95.bandcamp.com/

Novos Baianos: Brasil Panderio

 Bom dia, audiófilos!

While I’d like to think I was a performer long enough to let it translate into my writing… it’s not happening, folks. At least not today. Mornings are certainly less than perfect; I’m a certified grogster. Grogged out till nearly 11 a.m., no matter how much sleep I get—you can catch me feeling groggy until my afternoon lunch break in the sun… surrounded by trees and breeze, taking in the fresh air, loving every moment of being alive.

Being at my desk, however—not typically something I look forward to, even if I am writing. However—I’m here, and I’m typing, and it looks like you’re reading, so: I’m grateful.

But I’ve also learned that even if I wake up as Dr. Grog, professor of being groggy, I don’t have to force myself to feel perfect—or perfect enough to write. Sometimes releasing the expectation to feel positive paradoxically brings more lightness.

At the same time though… this discovery has such an incredibly warm feeling inside. My soul remembers overflowing with joy; my heart remembers feeling so open. So, in an attempt to actively come back to myself, I’m going to share with you my story of this week’s discovery—and maybe contemplate something caffeinated.

But first… how did we land in Brazil again? Or better yet, how did Novos Baianos find me? How did I get here?

Well my friends, while every discovery story is valued, not every story is as extraordinary as this one.

Whyyyyy Nooooot (Why Not)

I've been revisiting childhood anthems this summer.

One of the most superlative: “Why Not” by Hilary Duff (2003), which has incidentally become one of my favorite things to say—second only to, “The worst answer you’ll get is ‘no.’”

It’s amazing what can happen when you just give it a go.

A few weeks ago, I wound up at an Earth, Wind & Fire concert with the LA Phil and a fireworks show on a Wednesday night. Found the show at 6 p.m., picked up my mom at 6:30, called Jon—my best friend up in Hollywood—grabbed last-second box office tickets for $59 a pop in Section L because I asked for a discount since we were late.

Our seats were taken. I said to the bouncer, "we wouldn't mind moving..." So, we got moved down—to the front of Section D.

All of it: a string of decisions that started with “Why not? The worst answer I’ll get is no.”

This story has the same flare.

Oddly enough, a lot of things in my life have been like that.

Okay... I’m getting my gusto back. Let’s gooooooo.

Speaking of Jon—Jon Kakura: LA transplant from Buffalo, New York, monster bassist, and one of my closest friends on this earth—sent us all a group message:

 "Hey y’all! Whitney and I and a few other people are going to this show tomorrow night, if you don’t have plans. They’re a really famous Brazilian band from back in the day, and it’s their first time being up north. This is their seminal album, we’re absolutely obsessed with it. It’s all around beautiful."

 That album was "Acabou Chorare" which translates to "No  More Crying". 

Think: samba in a hammock, psychedelic guitar riffs weaving through the smell of fruit trees and afternoon rain.
It’s joy, but not forced. It’s intimacy, but playful.
It’s Brazilian counterculture saying, “We can be soft and radical.”

It’s what happens when a bunch of idealistic, wildly talented musicians live communally, smoke weed, and casually reinvent the future of Brazilian music. What I didn't know when I said yes, was what an incredibly big deal it was that they were here. And somehow, I was able to experience it.

The Mayan is an iconic establishment. It's been around for 98 years, and is unfortunately, set to close in September. There's no telling if Novos Baianos would ever be back to the states again. This, was an easy yes. 

JAZZ ESTA MORTO

Before we get into the evening and the music, I want to offer some information about the folks who helped make this show happen. Rather than tell you from my perspective, here is their bio from the About section on jazzisdead.com:

This is Jazz Is Dead, a love story.

Founded in 2017 by Adrian Younge, Ali Shaheed Muhammad (A Tribe Called Quest), Andrew Lojero, and Adam Block, Jazz Is Dead began as a bold statement—plastered on walls, whispered in headphones, echoed through venues. Not a farewell, but a rallying cry. A tribute to the past and a charge toward the future. A reminder that the spirit of jazz—the innovation, the rebellion, the soul—has never stopped evolving.

We are crate diggers and culture keepers. We travel the world in search of rare records and the artists who created them. We sit with the legends who shaped entire eras and bring them into the present—not to recreate the past, but to build something new with it. We do this through live concerts, analog recordings, visual media, and the growing community that surrounds it all.

Our collaborations with visionaries like Roy Ayers, Marcos Valle, Gary Bartz, Azymuth, and Jean Carne laid the foundation. And the journey continues—recent releases from Ebo Taylor, Hyldon, and Dom Salvador show that greatness doesn’t fade. It deepens, expands, reinvents itself.

At the heart of it all is a belief: Perfect Is Boring.

Jazz Is Dead is a rebellion against the sterile and the overproduced. We believe greatness lies in the tension between chaos and control, between what is planned and what simply happens. What moves us most is found in the unpolished moments—in the grain of tape, the crackle of vinyl, the chemistry that can’t be programmed. We embrace analog because it captures something real. Human. Messy. Alive.

This ethos extends beyond music. Everything we create—from records to garments to films—is meant to be lived in. To wear the marks of time. To evolve with you. We’re not just curating culture; we’re contributing to it. One imperfect, extraordinary piece at a time.

Jazz Is Dead is not a brand. It’s a movement. A way of seeing, hearing, and being. A call to those who find beauty in the raw and the real. It’s for the listeners, the makers, the feelers, and the dreamers.

This is Jazz Is Dead. A look back. A leap forward. A celebration of imperfection.

Join us.

I believe that Jazz Is Dead is doing incredibly important work. Their bio speaks for itself. I often feel disconnected from whatever "the culture of America" is supposed to be. But this? This is it.
The innovation, the rebellion, the soul.
The belief that perfect is boring.
The rebellion against the sterile and the overproduced.

Thank you, Jazz Is Dead, for the work you do—and for bringing Brazilian music (and other global sounds) to the heart of Los Angeles.
Please check out their work and learn more at jazzisdead.com and artdontsleep.com

Now… vamos para o The Mayan!

Dancing with Legends

If you haven’t been to The Mayan, it’s an incredible venue — and I highly recommend checking out whatever shows are left before it closes (hopefully someone will buy it. Why hasn’t it been dubbed an LA landmark? Ninety-eight years… sheesh).

I didn’t fully understand what I was walking into that night. The moment I stepped into the Mayan, I was surrounded by Portuguese — always a good sign, like stepping into a hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant where no one’s speaking English. You know you’re in the right place. A woman in line even corrected my pronunciation (politely), which sparked a bit of friendly banter.

I met up with my friends: Jon, Whitney (my other closest friend and the singer/performer extraordinaire behind LA pop band Babelicious), Angel (who you’ve heard of), and some of their crew. We eventually made our way down to the floor, where the energy was magnetic. Even the wallflowers clinging to their introverted corners were swaying and grooving in their own quiet ways. The vibe was infectious.

I didn’t realize until later that Novos Baianos had never played in North America before. This was a once-in-a-lifetime show. To be a newbie in a room full of diehards — to experience that level of enthusiasm, to be arm’s length from legends, to feel the joy radiating from strangers’ nostalgic souls — was overwhelming in the best way. The floor was alive with dancing feet, lovers, friends. Funny enough, it reminded me of the Earth, Wind & Fire concert I was telling you about: a shared space full of people brought together purely by love of the music, and to celebrate legends.

I’m so grateful for music and the way it unites us like nothing else.

And speaking of “walks of life” — halfway through the show, I figured I’d walk mine right outside and make some new friends to share my schmag with. Because if I’m at a show, you know a Berly’s gotta get Swirly. And why not get swirly with some strangers?

I’m a California girl through and through, but I was raised by Brooklynites. I have no problem talking to strangers. I spotted two folks standing around, asked for a light, and if they wanted to share — and they replied, appropriately, “Fuck yeah.”

We ended up having this lovely conversation about letting your head and heart exist in their truths at the same time. Turns out, they were both musicians. We bonded over my newfound love of Novos Baianos and how they discovered the band. We quickly realized that most of the people there were musicians too. And oddly enough, we were all wearing red and white. Strange coincidences? Or maybe just the energy of why not coursing through our veins.

We exchanged numbers and Instagrams — and now Kasha and Kosta are my friends. I mentioned the blog, and Kasha recommended I check out Jem and the Holograms. I sense a new music discovery on the horizon.

I made a few more connections that night — more musicians, more hugs, more “see ya laters.” Then I rejoined my crew, and we all got down together. It felt good to boogie with my pals.

At the end of the show, the band came back out for an encore. They performed one of my new favorite songs — the title of this blog — “Brasil Pandeiro,” which translates to Brazilian Tambourine. The crowd’s voices rang through my ears and down into my hips, gripped me tight, and pulled me along for the ride. Dancing with strangers, singing with new friends — this is what life is all about.

We all sang together:
“Ô-ô, samba! Ô-ô, samba! Ô-ô, samba! Ô-ô, samba!” 

That’s when you know a show was really, really good — when you’re still basking in the glow of its eternal memory days later.

From the center of my soul, through the valves of my heart, thank you for reading this blog. Thanks for sticking with me from the grog to the glory. And as always: stay tuned in, my friends.
See the links below to explore more.

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Note for mobile readers:
If you’re reading this on your phone, scroll to the bottom of the page and click “View Web Version” to access older blogs on the right-hand side. If you’re on a computer (like me), the archives are already to your right, organized by month.

Coming soon:
Audio versions of each blog — mini podcasts for the non-readers who still want in on the ride.

If you dug this post, feel free to tip the scribbler: Venmo: https://venmo.com/u/berlyd

Hear Novos Baianos and "Brasil Panderio" here: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=V-PdMLOOFvk

Honorable mention? Hear "Why Not" here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gr-obmBuu-4