Before I let you dive into a playlist that begins with an ode to LA, I want to point out – at the risk of isolating myself from half of the country — that I don’t particularly care for the city. I’m a New York girl. But what I do love is The Palms’ sound: saccharine pop texturized with some sandy grit — like that limbo where the Venice Beach Boardwalk becomes Santa Monica Pier and the crackheads are replaced by moms with tots. Balance this out with a blossoming cinematic sunrise of a track from Phoria and a Neil Young cover c/o Fjord and you have a backdrop to typing, subway riding, traffic sitting (Shoutout Angelenos!) and pure unadulterated summering.
So. In summary: Nice to meet you. I’m a 30-year-old music writer who gobbles up indie tracks and hummus in equal proportions, works as a prototypical NYC worker drone in the music/advertising space, and runs miles around Central Park to feel sane — and to ingest more music.
I’ve had to turn off the Hamilton soundtrack in order to start this project, so if your gateway drug to music wasn’t show tunes (or Christian rock or 90s country for that matter) — you might not be picking up what I’m putting down.
I’m always ravenously feeding, so send me your submissions on SoundCloud, or tag me on Insta or Twitter using #IndieSkim. I like dream pop, folktronica, genre melding and a sick beat. We'll compile 'em together and throw them up on Spotify and Soundcloud for you to drink down every other.
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