Lars Gotrich

Richard D. James loves to clear the vaults. A couple years ago, he sent Aphex Twin fans on a scavenger hunt through a series of anonymous SoundCloud accounts, where he had uploaded 200 old tracks and demos leading up to the release of Syro. Then he deleted them.

Pardoner can't stop saving us from 'blah' punk. That's what Uncontrollable Salvation means, right? Or maybe Pardoner's some kind of Judge Dredd, a combination of judge, jury and savior whenever a perp is making lame punk crossed with '90s alt-rock.

It's Bastille Day in France, so what better way to celebrate 1789's violent overthrow of the monarchy than with some French house music — désolé, musique de maison -- arranged for a marching band?

She called herself "Diana, Hunter of Bus Drivers." In the late summer of 2013, a woman shot and killed a bus driver who inflicted sexual violence on the women of Juárez, Mexico. Then she did it again, a day later.

Zachary Cale is a helluva guitar player, his understated picking patterns interweave like latticework, thrust through dusky production, whispering and lush strings and a Dylan-esque voice (which you won't find here).

Lee Bozeman's always been something of a romantic and a provocateur — taunting ("Fame is lust to be loved / And fortune: to live off the fat of the land"), teasing ("Make you gasp / Make your heart skip a beat") and often both at once, with some wisdom woven in ("But some still call it making love / And some believe that'

Have you ever done anything for 24 hours straight other than binge-watch Game Of Thrones before a new season starts? This guy spun a fidget spinner for a full day, so you know, the sky's the limit. Endurance tests now just seem like excuses to sit on your butt and get praise for it.

Update: This limited-run stream is over, but you can still clink glasses to the roséwave playlist.

We didn't create roséwave: We merely drank from its stream, the one that already spills pink drink on dance floors and beach blankets to the tune of favorite pop songs being shouted en masse. We didn't invent a genre; we just gave it a name.

Flesh World's story reads like something out of a cult comic book: two San Francisco musicians from seemingly different worlds bond over The Velvet Underground and The Jesus And Mary Chain, and start a cool band in the process.

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