Nothing in this place has ever been abandoned. If we sound desperate, that’s only because we know what our hands can do.

Thank you for teaching us the grace of sandpaper, the razor-kiss of wreckage, staccato-sharp skeleton strung up to a 4/4 time signature.

Music is sacred and it is profane. I can’t help being intrigued by something that holds both so easily.

Songs for the Sforzando Issue (a selection)

The songs our team has been spinning as we work to curate your—& our own—burning & cracking & aching into something beautiful for you.

This issue is not a crescendo but a car crash, perfect as death, sudden as becoming. It eats its ghosts alive, mouth raw & open. It refuses to blink.