For 3 minutes and 14 seconds of Boys Like Girls' recent set at New York City's Hammerstein Ballroom, Martin Johnson asked just one thing of the sold-out crowd: put your phones away.

"Let's do it like it's 2007," the frontman said before the band went into their biggest hit, "The Great Escape." 

Just before that, Johnson had requested exactly the opposite: take your phones out and capture the pop-punk anthem on film. But after the first chorus, phones were pocketed, and the energy in the room shifted to pre-smartphone, pure, and carefree teenage nostalgia. 

That's the kind of magic Johnson and his BLG bandmates — original drummer John Keefe, and new recruits (but old friends) guitarist Jamel Hawke and bassist Gregory James — have been feeling on their latest tour, which wraps on Nov. 1 in Raleigh, North Carolina. It's both a celebration of the band's beloved classics and their new album, SUNDAY AT FOXWOODS, their first in 11 years.

As Johnson proudly declared to the NYC crowd on Oct. 27, one week after the album's release, "In case you haven't noticed, we are back and we're better than f—ing ever."

In the time that the band spent apart, Johnson expanded his repertoire songwriter and producer for the likes of Avril Lavigne and Kygo; in 2017, he started a solo venture under the moniker The Night Game. Boys Like Girls was always in the back of his mind, but there was a lot of personal healing to do in order for the band to come back in full force. And after a 12-show reunion in 2016, it felt like maybe Boys Like Girls would never return.

"We sobbed in each other's arms after the [last] show — I don't know why we felt that way, but we all kind of knew that would be our last show ever," Johnson recalls. "That felt a little more like a celebratory victory lap with my best friends than it felt like reopening a chapter."

Yet, BLG still found its way into the music he was making — and once he had a song called "BLOOD AND SUGAR," he knew it was time to try again. Johnson had clearly never fully lost sight of the band's sound, though; SUNDAY AT FOXWOODS carries the same spirit as Boys Like Girls' older material, leaning more into anthemic '80s pop production and their signature guitar-driven, roaring melodies.

Below, Johnson details the healing journey that helped the new-and-improved iteration of Boys Like Girls come to life — and why it's just the beginning of their return.

This interview has been edited for clarity. As told to Taylor Weatherby.

You emotionally kind of go through this roller coaster, being on the radio at 20 and peaking, by cultural standards, at 23. And then you're trying to reassume your place in society at 24 as a normal human being, and you have to drop the narcissism and ego that are required to be that type of an artist. What happens is you bury the good things with the bad, and you almost become a completely different person. 

At that point, at 24, I also got sober. It was a bit of the death of a persona of introducing myself as Martin from Boys Like Girls instead of Martin Johnson. And kind of like, Who am I? Because I only know myself in the context of the music I make, and that's not going to make me a happy man long term. 

So then 12 years later, you look at your new music, and you've buried your ability to make [the music you used to make], because you've suppressed this kid inside you. You're not ashamed of them at all — I was grateful that that kid brought me so much value and incredible experience and life experience as a man. 

A lot of it I don't even remember, because I was so young, or inebriated. But it was important to make peace with that kid, and let him into the room, before figuring out what this was. And looking my 18 to 23-year-old self in the eyeballs and saying "I love you, I accept you, I'm not embarrassed of you, and thank you for everything that you did for me as a man." 

Then there's this "emo night" culture, where you go into a club and they play all the songs from 2002 to 2008, and everybody screams along really loud wearing all black and T-shirts that say "Sad as f—." And you're in the epicenter of that, but it feels like another life — it doesn't feel like you. Like, you're standing there in your mid 30s, [and it's] literally like I'm a museum exhibit behind glass. So also finding love for what culture has made out of who I was as a kid was [another] vital component of making this record.

For 12 years, I wasn't really emotionally available to watch old videos of myself. I was, like, on drugs, so watching myself perform in 2009 really hurts my heart. So I went back and I watched everything I could on YouTube, I listened to every single demo that [we] had never put out — and there are hundreds — I listened to every voice memo that I had from 2004 to 2010, I went through my entire video/photo library, all my camcorder tapes. 

And what a gift to experience that deep into my 30s, when I had made peace with myself as a human, and learned to love myself but hadn't yet loved my past or felt grateful for my past. There was always this, like, eerie disconnect around the age of 24, and this sort of line in the sand where like a new life began. That line doesn't exist for me anymore — and that was a huge part of creating SUNDAY AT FOXWOODS.

I think it's also vitally important to have no rules. The thing that kept me from being willing to step into the ring to make a Boys Like Girls record for so long is [that] I felt there were rules. We made that first record with two guitars, a bass, drums, and a little bit of synthetic programming. When you do that, you do it with as much intensity and bravado as you possibly can, because you don't know anything else. Then you're in your mid-30s, and your toolkit has expanded so much, from writing music for other people and from time on the globe, and from failing, you know what I mean? 

For me, that created this beautiful freedom, where I was able to feel free to use that skill set, but also infuse the things that I had learned in my 20s/30s. Which was super liberating, because it felt like a second chance at creating music that changed my life.

[Last year], I bicycled across the U.S. It was 4,400 miles, it took me 70 days. I did it with one other guy, carrying all this stuff, camping and [staying in] some hotel rooms. I think the purpose for that was, I was looking at my life — and I deeply love my life, but I'm always looking for more. I'm always looking for what's next, I'm always looking for fulfillment, and I'm looking for what's my next creative endeavor — what is going to be the thing that makes me feel free and wild.

For a while, music had actually made me feel a little bit confined. And it's hard to even explain that, but I think a lot of it is to do with the direction the music industry has taken, where everything is dictated by metrics. So the fatigue that's involved with that had created a little bit of a block for me, and I had thought about stepping back on stage to segway out of that block, but I didn't know if that was the answer. 

I'm in a super happy marriage, [and I was] super excited that she was gonna let me go on the bike. We weren't sure if we were ready to have a kid yet. I got out on the bike, and within two weeks, the world got really quiet and two things became extremely clear.

Number one, I am supposed to sing. It was the thing I was supposed to do since I was a kid. It became really clear to me that in order to express myself and not feel locked in a box, what I needed to do was make my own music with no rules. 

And then also, I was like, I'm ready to be a dad, and I'm ready for what that looks like and I'm ready for that responsibility. It's so funny, because when I was a kid, being a dad felt like not freedom at all. We actually named our daughter Freedom.

I don't know that I'm never gonna write for somebody else again. This chapter for me is about my creative outlet and performance in the context of Boys Like Girls — what that means to my childhood self, what that means to my current self, what that means to me as a father and a man.

We booked a little bit of a trial-and-error tour last year — a soft, like, "Should we do this?" We went to Southeast Asia and Australia, and we played When We Were Young Festival and a couple of headlining sets here. The mutual energy exchange that we were experiencing from the crowd wasn't really something we had felt since maybe 2009. And that's really contagious to feel that — when you look out at the crowd and you're delivering escape and joy and euphoria, you receive it back.

It made sense to feel like, "Guys, let's play some songs here. This was a big part of who we are — why just totally kick it under the rug? It's been a long time. Let's go jam." And then it took on a really big, deeper meaning for us getting it in front of people. It was like, "Let's take a real crack at this. We'd been doing completely other s— for 12 years. Let's put it all on ice and let's do Boys Like Girls again."

It was the most liberating thing any of us have ever [done], and the biggest commitment we've made to ourselves as musicians since 2005 when we signed a record deal.

We played our first show since 2016 in Australia. We were in Perth. I stepped on stage with my best friends, and all of a sudden, this completely full club, sold out, is screaming these songs I wrote at 18. Sometimes you don't choose your path, it chooses you, and it became really clear to me that I had a job to do and this was it. At first, that came with a little bit of guilt that I hadn't done it sooner. Like, How did I neglect this for so long?

But I allowed that to just be the story of Boys Like Girls, and that's because our fans have grown up with us. I look out and I see it. I'm just like, Wow, we grew up together, dude. That was a journey together. And here we are, man. We made it, that's crazy. And it feels like that on this tour. 

I feel completely cut loose. I think you can hear that in the music, I think people can feel that in the performances, and playing the older songs has never felt better. I'm really enjoying doing this, and I feel like as soon as I get off the road, I want to make more Boys Like Girls music.

We're closer than we've ever been by a massive long shot. And that's a huge gift, but it came through a lot of work, finding what this looked like in 2023 — really asking ourselves the hard questions.

Obviously Boys Like Girls is not in its original form, but it's pretty much as original as it possibly could be considering the circumstances. Jamel was in the band in 2009 through '11 — he was our auxiliary guitar player. What's funny about Jamel was, we actually asked him to join the band in 2004 and he said no. [Laughs.]

Greg had been around the band and best friends with us for 15 years. He used to live with Paul [DiGiovanni, BLG's original guitarist] when the band was kind of peaking, played bass with us on stage a couple of times in between 2007 and 2009, and opened for us acoustic a few times on the OP Tour with Cobra Starship. He had sort of been a huge part of our story the whole way.

Morgan [Dorr, former bassist] and Bryan [Donohue, original bassist] and Paul, we love those three so, so deeply. I think we're on stage with the exact people that we're supposed to be on stage with right now. The guys are really assuming the character well and owning the music in a way that I'm so proud of. They've been there the whole time, so the context and the cultural significance is so clear. It's not just playing a four-chord part — it's playing a movement, it's playing a cultural moment, it's going back in time with us.

We're lining up stuff for next summer. This tour feels natural and amazing. My family and my wife are so supportive about the journey. My relationship with my bandmates is the best it's ever been in our entire career of 20 years. I feel healthy, happy and supercharged. And I'm ready to make the best music of my career.

10 Pop-Punk Albums Turning 20 In 2023: Fall Out Boy, Blink-182, The Ataris & More

Grief is 360°, and so are the best albums written about it.

Sorrow-weighted breakthroughs of the past decade, like Sun Kil Moon's Benji and Mount Eerie's A Crow Looked at Me, both grabbed you by the collar and read between the lines. Retro-tinted rockers Shannon and the Clams' new album, The Moon is in the Wrong Place, is no exception.

Out May 10, the band's seventh LP deals with a tragedy in leader Shannon Shaw's life: the loss of her fiancé, Joe Haener, in a freak car accident outside his Aurora, Oregon, family farm. As Shaw picked up the pieces, the songs poured forth — and as bruised as they are, that loss opened vistas of clarity and range in their gritty, mid-century-rock sound.

Take the ascendant highlight "Bean Fields," where Shaw maps Haener's spirit onto the soil he loved. "Gather up, sisters, cousins, and brothers/ Friends, Nan, and Delbert too/ Let's go be where the bugs sing/ And where the pole beans bloom/ We love this land 'cause it's you."

Shaw was concerned about "Bean Fields" being a single. "It's so peppy and joyous and celebratory," she tells GRAMMY.com, with Clams guitarist and vocalist Cody Blanchard in an adjacent Zoom window. "I was afraid of that being a confusing message for people without knowing the rest of the album."

In the end, they made the right call; sometimes harrowing losses, and their attendant life changes, can carry exhilarating headwinds. In short, it's not all doldrums.

And that's why that song — as well as other lush, blooming highlights like "Real or Magic" and "Life is Unfair" — feel right at home on an album borne of sorrow. Read on for an interview with Shaw and Blanchard about the making of the Dan Auerbach-produced album.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

How's the press cycle been, dealing with something this intensely personal?

Shannon Shaw: It's been good. I feel like everyone I've spoken to has been really super respectful and prepared. I think [PR firm] The Oriel did a good job at making sure people that have no idea what this album's about aren't interviewing me. So, that's been a good thing.

It would be weird to talk about anything that doesn't involve grief and loss really, because that's what the album is about. But it's been good. Definitely hard for me, but good.

For a long time after I lost a parent, I resented when people would drag me back into suffering. People would be like, "I'm so sorry," and I'd be like, "I'm chillin', but thank you."

Shaw: Oh, yeah. People have some really bad timing. I think most people are coming from a good place, but yeah, that is weird when fans will try to engage with me about it at really bad times. 

When I'm working and trying to be on, that's when I do not want to go deep. It's hard for me to not go deep, so to just be really surface and thank people for their condolences — I don't want to be surface with it at all. I also do appreciate people trying to be kind, but yeah, there's timing.

What really annoys me is when people want to pretend like it didn't happen. That doesn't happen with any press. More like people purposefully skirting talking about Joe or this experience, or trying to get me to not go there or something. And I know that's also because none of us are trained to talk about grief. It's just so not a part of our culture.

I'm a lot more comfortable really talking about it than pretending my life has been just really f—ing great for the last year and a half. And I love talking about Joe.

Obviously, this traumatic loss was an impetus to make The Moon is in the Wrong Place. But it's not a one-dimensional record, as you're not a one-dimensional person. How did this music start flowing, in any regard?

Shaw: I mean, music started coming to me right away, very soon after [Joe] passed away. And the way that looks is: I'll have either a phrase repeating in my head or a melody, and so I just start singing those little pieces into the recorder on my phone. So I'll have a ton of weird little vocal chunks to sort through later. "Bean Fields" came to me really soon after. Lots of them, really.

"The Vow" is the only one that I had written a lot of before the album. That's the only one, at least on my end, that I'd done before. Because I was going to perform that at our wedding, just that first part.

And I wrote that on guitar, which is unusual for me. I wrote "The Vow" on guitar from chords that Joe taught me, so it was significant in that way.

That song wouldn't exist if it wasn't for Joe, in two ways. If we hadn't had a relationship, that song would never have been written, and if he hadn't taught me a few chords on guitar. He forced me to learn some chords. I was really resistant. But if he hadn't taught me those, I wouldn't have ever written a song on a guitar using chords, probably.

So, that one was just haunting me after I'd already started writing for the album. It was just pissing me off that no one was going to get to hear this semi-collaborative effort from me and Joe, even though Joe never knew it. He never got to hear it.

But yeah, so it happened right away, and I knew that it was going to be all about Joe. I don't know how it couldn't have been.

If someone were to tell me, "I don't think you should write an album like this. That's too sad," or something, I don't think that I could make music ever again. If someone was trying to stop that creative process, I wouldn't even have any interest in writing music, because music is how I process everything.

I'm sure Joe was a kind of co-pilot through this process, even though he's not here anymore.

Shaw: Oh, totally. I feel like I use Joe, and I make a lot of decisions now based on WWJD: what would Joe do? How would Joe feel about this? And I feel like Joe would love anything creative that we're doing to get through this or to learn to live with this.

Blanchard: He also was always pushing people. I mean, not pushing, but quietly encouraging people to make more stuff.

Shaw: Yeah, he was such a good fan. He had so many ideas, always, and was always trying to inspire me about more merch ideas, or, "Why don't you guys do more live karaoke?" Or just always encouraging us to put out more content, because he knew what the people loved. He was very conscious of that stuff.

Was bringing this incredibly raw music to market a strange experience?

Shaw: I was really stressed out about choosing singles because I always think of singles as teasers to represent the whole album, but I believe that in the industry, the way you use singles is different now. They're looking more for things that are going to sell and have a lot of plays because they're really catchy or whatever.

And us musicians, we have to try to keep up with those things because we need to keep this as our job. So, I understand being flexible, but there was this toddler in me that was like, No, I don't want to do it that way. I want songs that are going to be my favorite, most important songs that I feel like represents Joe and this tragedy the most.

But at the same time, I was too scared to use songs that are too intimate. To me, "Real or Magic" — I was really, really resistant to using that song as a single because it's so sad and tender. That's maybe one of the most tender, vulnerable songs I've ever written, and it's about the realest moment I've ever had.

It was the last song I showed the boys because I was so nervous about it, and they really saw a lot of beauty and potential in the song and wanted to make it soar. And then when everyone wanted it as a single, I was just like, "No, it's too sad. It's too intimate. People are going to know everything."

Blanchard: That's what people want, man.

Shaw: Now I'm used to it because I'm building some armor before a tour, but the idea of doing that one every night [was daunting].

People want to hear your singles when you're playing live, and playing that, I was like, "Am I going to be able to play this all the time? How is it going to feel to have people singing that song with us?"

And it turns out it feels good. It's not like people are singing "Real or Magic" and have no idea what it's about. I mean, I'm sure there's lots of people that don't know, but the overall feeling is that people are with us.

Blanchard: I'm conscious of it a lot, because you're playing these songs over and over and you become a little bit numb to them, but they were so intense when we first wrote them. And they're still intense.

We've been doing these weird or silly cover versions of these songs that we're going to start releasing on social media. And we did a version of "Real or Magic" that's ... I don't know, it's not silly, I guess, but it's a totally different vibe.

Humor is a powerful tool amid grief.

Shaw: It's definitely a powerful tool. You're taking a break from the misery, and just letting yourself go, and [allowing yourself] to be free and enjoy [yourself] for a while.

Can you talk about the point where it started to feel like a full-fledged record? Because that's what it is; it's lush and multifaceted. It doesn't feel like a hastily scrawled diary entry.

Shaw: I am glad we were able to get that across. I'm really glad that it doesn't just sound depressed and low all the time. I think it really has an overall positive feeling.

I really feel like the album is kind of like an adventure. I think about Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee going on their adventure, and the album really does a beautiful job at representing the variety or the spectrum of emotions.

I feel really, really proud of that. It's hard to put into words, and I felt it was much easier to put into music.

Marcus King Is Spilling His Guts On Mood Swings — But He's Always Serving The Song

If you were online during the summer of 2022, chances are you’ve heard Pheelz’s viral hit single "Finesse." The swanky Afro-fusion track (featuring fellow Nigerian artist Bnxn) ushered in a world of crossover success for Pheelz, who began his career as a producer for the likes of Omah Lay, Davido, and Fireboy DML.

Born Phillip Kayode Moses, Pheelz’s religious upbringing in Lagos state contributed to his development as a musician. He manned the choir at his father’s church while actively working on his solo music. Those solo efforts garnered praise from his peers and music executives, culminating in Pheelz's debut EP in 2021. Hear Me Out saw Pheelz fully embrace his talent as a vocalist, songwriter, and producer. 

"I feel important, like I’m just molding clay, and I have control over each decision," Pheelz tells GRAMMY.com about creating his own music. 

2022 saw the release of the first two tapes in his Pheelz Good trilogy: Pheelz Good I and Pheelz Good (Triibe Tape), which was almost entirely self-produced. The 29-year-old's consistency has paid off: he produced and sang on Usher’s "Ruin," the lead single from his latest album Coming Home, and also produced the album's title track featuring Burna Boy. But Pheelz isn't only about racking up big-name collaborators; the self-proclaimed African rockstar's forthcoming projects will center on profound vulnerability and interpersonal honesty. First up: Pheelz Good II EP, out May 10, followed by a studio album in late summer.

Both releases will see the multi-hyphenate "being unapologetically myself," Pheelz tells GRAMMY.com. "It will also be me being as vulnerable as I can be. And it’s going to be me embracing my "crayge" [crazy rage]...being myself, and allowing my people to gravitate towards me."

Ahead of his new project, Pheelz spoke with GRAMMY.com about his transition from producer artist, designing all his own 3D cover art, his rockstar aesthetic, and what listeners can expect from Pheelz Good II.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

What sparked your transition from singing in church to realizing your passion for creating music?

For me, it wasn’t really a transition. I just always loved making music so for me I felt like it was just wherever I go to make music, that’s where I wanna be. I would be in church and I was the choirmaster at some point in my life, so I would write songs for Sunday service as well. And then I would go to school as well and write in school, and people heard me and they would love it. And I would want to do more of that as well. 

A friend of my dad played some of my records for the biggest producers in Nigeria back then and took me on as an intern in his studio. I guess that’s the transition from church music into the industry. My brothers and sisters were in the choir, but that came with the job of being the children of the pastor, I guess. None of them really did music like me; I’m the only one who took music as a career and pursued it.

You made a name for yourself as a producer before ever releasing your music, earning Producer Of The Year at Nigeria’s Headies Awards numerous times. What finally pushed you to get into the booth?

I’ve always wanted to get into the booth. The reason why I actually started producing was to produce beats for songs that I had written. I’ve always been in the booth, but always had something holding me back. Like a kind of subconscious feeling over what my childhood has been. I wasn’t really outspoken as a child growing up, so I wouldn’t want people to really hear me and would shy away from the camera in a sense. I think that stuck with me and held me back. 

But then COVID happened and then I caught COVID and I’m like Oh my god and like that [snaps fingers] What I am doing? Why am I not going full steam? Like why do I have all this amazing awesomeness inside of me and no one gets to it because I’m scared of this or that?

There was this phrase that kept ringing in my head: You have to die empty. You can’t leave this earth with all of this gift that God has given you; you have to make sure you empty yourself. And since then, it’s just been back-to-back, which just gave me the courage.  

How did you react to " Finesse" in former President Barack Obama’s annual summer playlist in 2022?

Bro, I reacted crazy but my dad went bananas. [Laughs.] I was really grateful for that moment, but just watching my dad react like that to that experience was the highlight of that moment for me. He's such a fan of Barack Obama and to see that his son’s music is on the playlist, it just made his whole month. Literally. He still talks about it to this day. 

Experiences like that just make me feel very grateful to be here. Life has really been a movie, just watching a movie and just watching God work and being grateful for everything.

At first he [my dad] [didn’t support my career] because every parent wants their child to be a doctor, a lawyer, or an engineer. But when he saw the hunger [I have], and I was stubborn with [wanting] to do music, he just had to let me do it. And now he’s my number one fan. 

Your latest single, "Go Low" arrived just in time for festival season. What was it like exploring the live elements of your art at SXSW and your headlining show in London at the end of April?

I have always wanted to perform live. I’ve always loved performing; Pheelz on stage is the best Pheelz. Coming from church every Sunday, I would perform, lead prayers and worship, so I’ve always wanted to experience that again.

Having to perform live with my band around the world is incredible man. And I’ll forever raise the flag of amazing Afro live music because there’s a difference, you know? [Laughs.] There are so many elements and so many rhythms and so many grooves

I’ve noticed that much of your recent cover art for your singles and EPs is animated or digitally crafted. What’s the significance, if any, of this stylistic choice?

It still goes back to my childhood because I wasn’t expressive as a child; I wouldn’t really talk or say how I felt. I’d rather write about it, write a song about it, write a poem about it, or draw about it. I’d draw this mask and then put how I’m feeling into that character, so if I was angry, the mask would be raging and just angry.

The angry ones were the best ones, so that stuck with me even after I started coming out of my shell and talking and being expressive; that act of drawing a mask still stuck with me. And then I got into 3D, and I made a 3D version of the mask and I made a 3D character of the mask. So I made that the main character, and then I just started making my lyric videos, again post-COVID, and making them [lyric videos] to the characters and making the actual video mine as well.

In the future, I’m gonna get into fashion with the characters, I’m gonna get into animation and cartoons and video games, but I just wanna take it one step at a time with the music first. So, in all of my lyric videos, you get to experience the characters. There’s a fight [scene] among them in one of the lyric videos called "Ewele"; there is the lover boy in the lyric video for "Stand by You"; there are the bad boys in the lyric video for "Balling." They all have their own different characters so hopefully in the near future, I will get to make a feature film with them and just tell their story [and] build a world with them. I make sure I put extra energy into that, make most of them myself so the imprint of my energy is gonna be on it as well because it’s very important to me.

You and Usher have a lengthy working relationship. You first performed together in 2022 at the Global Citizen Festival, then produced/co-wrote "Coming Home" and "Ruin." Take us through the journey of how you two began collaborating.

It started through a meeting with [Epic Records CEO] L.A. Reid; he was telling me about the album that they were working on for Usher and I’m like, "Get me into the studio and lemme see what I can cook up." And they got me into the studio, [with Warner Records A&R] Marc Byers, and I wrote and produced "Coming Home." I already had "Ruin" a year before that. 

["Ruin"] was inspired by a breakup I just went through. Some of the greatest art comes from pain, I guess. That record was gonna be for my album but after I came home I saw how L.A. Reid and Usher reacted and how they loved it. I told them, "I have this other song, and I think you guys would like it for this album." And I played "Ruin," and the rest was history.

Before your upcoming EP, you’ve worked with Pharrell Williams, Kail Uchis, and the Chainsmokers in the studio. What do you consider when selecting potential collaborators?

To be honest, I did not look for these collabs. It was like life just brought them my way, because for me I’m open to any experience. I’m open to life; I do it the best I can at any moment, you understand? 

Having worked with Pharrell now, Dr. Dre, Timbaland, and the Chainsmokers, I’m still shocked at the fact that this is happening. But ultimately, I am grateful for the fact that this is happening. I am proud of myself as well for how far I’ve come. Someone like Timbaland — they are literally the reason why I started producing music; I would literally copy their beats, and try to sound like them growing up. 

[Now] I have them in the same room talking, and we’re teaching and learning, making music and feeding off of each others’ energy. It’s a dream come true, literally.

What's it like working with am electro-pop group like the Chainsmokers? How’d you keep your musical authenticity on "PTSD"?

That experiment ["PTSD"] was actually something I would play with back home. But the crazy thing is, it’s gonna be on the album now, not the EP. I would play it back home, like just trying to get the EDM and Afrohouse world to connect, cause I get in my Albert Einstein bag sometimes and just try and experiment. So when I met the Chainsmokers and like. "Okay, this is an opportunity to actually do it now," and we had a very lengthy conversation. 

We bonded first as friends before we went into the studio. We had an amazing conversation talking about music, [them] talking about pop and electronic music, and me talking about African music. So it was just a bunch of producers geeking out on what they love to do. And then we just talk through how we think the sound would be like really technical terms. Then we get into the studio and just bang it out. Hopefully, we get to make some more music because I think we can create something for the world together.

I’ve noticed you dress a bit eccentrically. Have you always had this aesthetic?

I’ve always dabbled in fashion. Even growing up, I would sketch for my sister and make this little clothing, so like I would kick up my uniform as well, make it baggy, make it flare pants, make it fly. 

I think that stuck with me until now, trying different things with fashion. And now I have like stylists I can talk to and throw ideas off of and create something together. So yeah, I want to get into the fashion space and see what the world has in store for me. 

What can fans expect as you’re putting the finishing touches on your upcoming EP Pheelz Good II and your album?

Pheelz Good II, [will be] a close to the Pheelz Good trilogy of Pheelz Good I, Pheelz Good Triibe Tape and Pheelz Good II. The album is going to be me being unapologetically myself still. But it will also be me being as vulnerable as I can be. 

It’s going to be me embracing my crayge [crazy rage]. Like just embracing me unapologetically and being me, being myself, and allowing my people to gravitate towards me, you get me. But I’m working on some really amazing music that I am so proud of. I’m so proud of the EP and the album.

Mr. Eazi’s Gallery: How The Afrobeats Star Brought His Long-Awaited Album To Life With African Art

When Code Orange's Jami Morgan came to work with Steve Albini, he knew that he and the band had to be prepared. They knew what they wanted to do, in which order, and "it went as good as any process we've ever had — probably the best," he glowed.

And a big part of that was that Albini —  a legendary musician and creator of now-iconic indie, punk and alternative records —  didn't consider himself any sort of impresario. 

"The man wears a garbage man suit to work every day," Morgan previously told GRAMMY.com while promoting Code Orange's The Above. "It reminds him he's doing a trade… I f—ing loved him. I thought he was the greatest guy."

The masterful The Above was released in 2023, decades into Albini's astonishing legacy both onstage and in the studio. The twisted mastermind behind Big Black and Shellac, and man behind the board for innumerable off-center classics, Steve Albini passed away on the evening of May 7 following a heart attack suffered at his Chicago recording studio, the hallowed Electrical Audio. He was 61. The first Shellac album since 2014, To All Trains, is due May 17.

Albini stuck to his stubborn principles (especially in regard to the music industry), inimitable aesthetics and workaday self-perception until the end. Tributes highlighting his ethos, attitude and vision have been flowing in from all corners of the indie community. The revered label Secretly Canadian called Albini "a wizard who would hate being called a wizard, but who surely made magic."

David Grubbs of Gastr Del Sol called him "a brilliant, infinitely generous person, absolutely one-of-a-kind, and so inspiring to see him change over time and own up to things he outgrew" — meaning old, provocative statements and lyrics.

And mononymous bassist Stin of the bludgeoning noise rock band Chat Pile declared, "No singular artist's body of work has had an impact on me more than that of Steve Albini."

To wade through Albini's entire legacy, and discography, would take a lifetime — and happy hunting, as so much great indie, noise rock, punk, and so much more passed across his desk. Here are five of those albums.

Pixies - Surfer Rosa (1988)

Your mileage may vary on who lit the match for the alternative boom, but Pixies — and their debut Surfer Rosa — deserve a place in that debate. This quicksilver classic introduced us to a lot of Steve Albini's touchstones: capacious miking techniques; unadulterated, audio verite takes; serrated noise.

PJ Harvey - Rid of Me (1993)

Some of Albini's finest hours have resulted from carefully arranging the room, hitting record, and letting an artist stalk the studio like a caged animal.

It happened on Scout Niblett's This Fool Can Die Now; it happened on Laura Jane Grace's Stay Alive; and it most certainly happened on PJ Harvey's Rid of Me, which can be seen as a precedent for both. Let tunes like "Man-Size" take a shot at you; that scar won't heal anytime soon.

Nirvana - In Utero (1993)

Nirvana's unintended swan song in the studio was meant to burn the polished Nevermind in effigy.

And while Kurt Cobain was too much of a pop beautician to fully do that, In Utero is still one of the most bracing and unvarnished mainstream rock albums ever made. Dave Grohl's drum sound on "Scentless Apprentice" alone is a shot to your solar plexus.

"The thing that I was really charmed most by in the whole process was just hearing how good a job the band had done the first time around," Albini told GRAMMY.com upon In Utero's 20th anniversary remix and remastering. "What struck me the most about the [remastering and reissue] process was the fact that everybody was willing to go the full nine yards for quality."

Songs: Ohia - The Magnolia Electric Co. (2003)

When almost a dozen musicians packed into Electrical Audio to make The Magnolia Electric Co., the vibe was, well, electric — prolific singer/songwriter Jason Molina was on the verge of something earth-shaking.

It's up for debate as to whether the album they made was the final Songs: Ohia record, or the first by his following project, Magnolia Electric Co. — is a tempestuous, majestic, symbolism-heavy, Crazy Horse-scaled ride through Molina's troubled psyche.

Code Orange - The Above (2023)

A health issue kept Code Orange from touring behind The Above, which is a shame for many reasons. One is that they're a world-class live band. The other is that The Above consists of their most detailed and accomplished material to date.

The band's frontman Morgan and keyboardist Eric "Shade" Balderose produced The Above, which combines hardcore, metalcore and industrial rock with concision and vision. And by capturing their onstage fire like never before on record, Albini helped glue it all together.

"It was a match made in heaven," Morgan said. And Albini made ferocity, ugliness and transgression seem heavenly all the same.

11 Reasons Why 1993 Was Nirvana's Big Year

What is about the Beatles' Let it Be sessions that continues to bedevil diehards?

Even after their aperture was tremendously widened with Get Back — Peter Jackson's three-part, almost eight hour, 2021 doc — something's always been missing. Because it was meant as a corrective to a film that, well, most of us haven't seen in a long time — if at all.

That's Let it Be, the original 1970 documentary on those contested, pivotal, hot-and-cold sessions, directed by Michael Lindsay-Hogg. Much of the calcified lore around the Beatles' last stand comes not from the film itself, but what we think is in the film.

Let it Be does contain a couple of emotionally charged moments between maturing Beatles. The most famous one: George Harrison getting snippy with Paul McCartney over a guitar part, which might just be the most blown-out-of-proportion squabble in rock history.

But superfans smelled blood in the water: the film had to be a locus for the Beatles' untimely demise. To which the film's director, Michael Lindsay-Hogg, might say: did we see the same movie?

"Looking back from history's vantage point, it seems like everybody drank the bad batch of Kool-Aid," he tells GRAMMY.com. Lindsay-Hogg had just appeared at an NYC screening, and seemed as surprised by it as the fans: "Because the opinion that was first formed about the movie, you could not form on the actual movie we saw the other night."

He's correct. If you saw Get Back, Lindsay-Hogg is the babyfaced, cigar-puffing auteur seen throughout; today, at 84, his original vision has been reclaimed. On May 8, Disney+ unveiled a restored and refreshed version of the Let it Be film — a historical counterweight to Get Back. Temperamentally, though, it's right on the same wavelength, which is bound to surprise some Fabs disciples.

With the benefit of Peter Jackson's sound-polishing magic and Giles Martin's inspired remixes of performances, Let it Be offers a quieter, more muted, more atmospheric take on these sessions. (Think fewer goofy antics, and more tight, lingering shots of four of rock's most evocative faces.)

As you absorb the long-on-ice Let it Be, here are some lesser-known facts about this film, and the era of the Beatles it captures — with a little help from Lindsay-Hogg himself.

The Beatles Were Happy With The Let It Be Film

After Lindsay-Hogg showed the Beatles the final rough cut, he says they all went out to a jovial meal and drinks: "Nice food, collegial, pleasant, witty conversation, nice wine."

Afterward, they went downstairs to a discotheque for nightcaps. "Paul said he thought Let it Be was good. We'd all done a good job," Lindsay-Hogg remembers. "And Ringo and [wife] Maureen were jiving to the music until two in the morning."

"They had a really, really good time," he adds. "And you can see like [in the film], on their faces, their interactions — it was like it always was."

About "That" Fight: Neither Paul Nor George Made A Big Deal

At this point, Beatles fanatics can recite this Harrison-in-a-snit quote to McCartney: "I'll play, you know, whatever you want me to play, or I won't play at all if you don't want me to play. Whatever it is that will please you… I'll do it." (Yes, that's widely viewed among fans as a tremendous deal.)

If this was such a fissure, why did McCartney and Harrison allow it in the film? After all, they had say in the final cut, like the other Beatles.

"Nothing was going to be in the picture that they didn't want," Lindsay-Hogg asserts. "They never commented on that. They took that exchange as like many other exchanges they'd had over the years… but, of course, since they'd broken up a month before [the film's release], everyone was looking for little bits of sharp metal on the sand to think why they'd broken up."

About Ringo's "Not A Lot Of Joy" Comment…

Recently, Ringo Starr opined that there was "not a lot of joy" in the Let it Be film; Lindsay-Hogg says Starr framed it to him as "no joy."

Of course, that's Starr's prerogative. But it's not quite borne out by what we see — especially that merry scene where he and Harrison work out an early draft of Abbey Road's "Octopus's Garden."

"And Ringo's a combination of so pleased to be working on the song, pleased to be working with his friend, glad for the input," Lindsay-Hogg says. "He's a wonderful guy. I mean, he can think what he wants and I will always have greater affection for him.

"Let's see if he changes his mind by the time he's 100," he added mirthfully.

Lindsay-Hogg Thought It'd Never Be Released Again

"I went through many years of thinking, It's not going to come out," Lindsay-Hogg says. In this regard, he characterizes 25 or 30 years of his life as "solitary confinement," although he was "pushing for it, and educating for it."

"Then, suddenly, the sun comes out" — which may be thanks to Peter Jackson, and renewed interest via Get Back. "And someone opens the cell door, and Let it Be walks out."

Nobody Asked Him What The Sessions Were Like

All four Beatles, and many of their associates, have spoken their piece on Let it Be sessions — and journalists, authors, documentarians, and fans all have their own slant on them.

But what was this time like from Lindsay-Hogg's perspective? Incredibly, nobody ever thought to check. "You asked the one question which no one has asked," he says. "No one."

So, give us the vibe check. Were the Let it Be sessions ever remotely as tense as they've been described, since man landed on the moon? And to that, Lindsay-Hogg's response is a chuckle, and a resounding, "No, no, no."

The Beatles' Final Song: Giles Martin On The Second Life Of "Now And Then" & How The Fab Four Are "Still Breaking New Ground"