No Expectations 115: Dandelions

Seven new albums worth your time this week. Plus, gig recaps of two nights of Phish at the United Center.

Jul 24, 2025

a plane flying through a cloudy blue sky — Photo by Umanoide on Unsplash

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Headline song: Whitney, “Dandelions”

Thanks for being here. About a year ago, I was at a show where, in between bands, a reader said hello. Towards the end of our chat, he told me, “I love No Expectations, but all the jam band bullshit lately… What happened to you, man?” He was obviously kidding, and I thought it was funny, but it did make me worry: Am I torching my music critic reputation by writing so much about the Grateful Dead, Phish, Goose, and other related bands? On one hand, I imagined hundreds of people thinking they signed up for an indie rock newsletter only to see me go Full Wook and hit “unsubscribe” en masse. On the other hand, I thought, “Who cares?”

If you’re like me, sharing the same taste with a writer is not the main reason you read their work. It’s part of it, for sure, but why I subscribe to so many newsletters and read people from all sorts of publications, backgrounds, genre orientations, and editorial approaches is that I’m more curious about how they think about music. I want to understand why they believe something to be worthwhile, and investigate what connections they make while discussing it. While it’s certainly validating to see another critic rave about the same albums you love, it’s more interesting to have your biases challenged and your listening habits expanded. You should always try to expose yourself to things you wouldn’t have thought to check out on your own. Even the journalists with whom I agree most often will recommend something that doesn’t resonate with me at all. That’s part of the deal.

I started this newsletter because I wanted to have a place where I could write about anything I wanted without having to go through the often-humiliating ritual of cold-pitching an editor. That’s not changing. In the 13 years I’ve been paid to write about music, my tastes have evolved (a decade ago, I was mostly known as a critic specializing in punk and hip-hop), and my interests are vastly different now that I’m 33 years old. I started writing about jam bands as a curiosity, but now it’s out of a genuine, no-qualifications-necessary love. Of course, there’s a lot of stuff in that scene that I find tasteless, corny, and repulsive, but I think the same of a lot of the indie rock bands that get covered elsewhere.

So, in the What I Listened To section below, you’ll find a recap of my second and third time seeing Phish, a band I used to loathe but now love. If you’re not into jam bands, you’ll still find seven new album recommendations that might be more your speed up top. That said, I’m writing about Phish because I like the music, think you might too, am fascinated by their whole scene, and had a blast at the gigs. If you’re still skeptical, I hope you give them another shot. It might not hit right now, but if you’re anything like me, it definitely could if you’re open to it.

Here’s the spiel for what new subscribers signed up for: Each week, you get a wildcard main essay (often new album recommendations), a 15-song playlist, as well as updates on what I’m listening to, watching, and reading. Sometimes you’ll get an interview with an artist I love, and other times it’ll be a deep dive into one band’s discography. Since I’m a Chicago-based writer, this newsletter is very Midwest-focused. So, if you live in this city too, you’ll also receive a curated roundup of upcoming local shows to check out.

Here’s the part where I politely ask for money: As always, you can sign up for a paid subscription or tell a friend about a band you read about here. It’s still $5 a month—the cost of one Old Style plus tip at Rainbo Club. Every bit helps, keeps this project going, and allows it to stay paywall-free. It’s rough out there, so I’m grateful you’re still reading and supporting this writing project.

Next week, I’ll be traveling back to my home state of Michigan for the weekend. (Now that I’m in my thirties, I get out of Dodge for Lollapalooza.) I also have some shows I want to attend on Sunday and Tuesday, so expect a shorter one or, worst case, a break, on Thursday, July 31.

7 Albums Worth Your Time This Week

Alex G, Headlights

Alex G has quietly been one of indie rock’s most influential artists for the past decade. He’s made the genre more intimate, warped, and beguiling. It’s to the point where even mentioning the comparison with one of his acolytes feels too obvious. If you’ve listened to his catalog, you’ve heard it ripped off countless times. But as newer acts mine his early oeuvre, the Philadelphia songwriter has moved on to a more refined, hi-fi, and softer palette long before he signed to a major label. Headlights, his 10th LP and first for RCA, still boasts all the hallmarks of Alex G’s signature style: you have inscrutable but endlessly evocative lyrics, relentless experimentation with his voice and pops of studio flourishes, and a folksy palatability that’s as inviting as it is menacing. It’s a departure in the sense that every successive Alex G is slightly more mature, intentional, and accessible. Bright mandolin chords that feel like latter-day R.E.M. enter the mix on lead single “Afterlife,” while opener “June Guitar” even features bongos, but they never feel at odds with his distinct sensibility. He even expands into Daniel Johnston territory at parts, but it still feels wholly cohesive. I’ll have more thoughts on it when I publish a Discography Deep Dive on him this year, but there is no one doing it quite like him. A generational talent who will inspire generations to come.

Billie Marten, Dog Eared

I’ve been hearing about Billie Marten for about a decade, which is wild because she’s only 26. For whatever reason, I never dove into the veteran U.K. singer-songwriter’s catalog until this year, when I heard the single “Swing” from her new LP Dog Eared. Though I enjoyed her earlier solo acoustic records, her latest and fifth is the full-band LP that’s most firmly in my wheelhouse. But even if I hated music that sounds like this, I would still be floored by the undeniable craft and artistry displayed in these 10 songs. This is commanding, astounding, and confident writing: no detail is excessive, everything is intentional, and any song would be the best one on her peers’ records. With winsome and warm melodies, Marten’s voice is always welcoming and rich, but it’s her earthy arrangements that really stand out. The twangy “Swing” is what hooked me, but the sparkling opener “Feeling,” the moody “Goodnight Moon,” and the catchy “No Sudden Changes” are what will keep me revisiting this record for months.

Credit Electric, Salvation

After almost three years of running the newsletter, it’s gotten to the point that if I read a rec emailed from a longtime reader, chances are we’ll totally agree. This happened a couple of weeks ago, when Friend of the Newsletter Nate sent a note about Los Angeles band Credit Electric, writing, “it's driving me a little crazy that they aren't getting any attention lol. They're like ethereal psychedelic alt-country? And have slide guitar and sax.” What especially felt like kismet was that I had just listened to Salvation, the latest LP from Credit Electric, and already planned on writing about it. Nate’s pitch is as good as I could muster, but after absorbing the full-length, I’m so happy to hear bands taking more loungy, amorphously ambient, and atmospheric approaches to indie rock. This is an album that you can live in, and I’d recommend it for fans of both the Blue Nile and Greg Freeman. “STUPID” picks up the pace with moody jangle while “WHAT I HAVE IS MAKE BELIEVE” boasts ample twang, but each song is immersive, brooding, and electric.

Forth Wanderers, The Longer This Goes On

When I first heard the New Jersey indie rock band Forth Wanderers about 10 years ago, I thought they were going to be absolutely huge. Their songs were mathy and energetic, and their lead singer, Ava Trilling, wrapped these tunes in a comforting guaze of playful and galvanizing hooks. Then, just when it seemed they were about to make that leap, they took a seven-year hiatus. Trilling thoughtfully wrote about her experiences with a panic disorder that we published at VICE in 2019, which talks about why they haven’t toured or performed since then. While their new full-length, The Longer This Goes On, is sonically a triumphant return that makes it feel like no time has passed, the press release states in no uncertain terms that, “‘We’re not back,’ guitarist Ben Guterl says emphatically.” There’s something aspirational and commendable about releasing only when it feels right, separate from the demands of industry, and even your fans’ expectations. It’s not in the cards for Forth Wanderers to operate in the same way that we expect middle-class bands to work. Even without the tours, the press obligations, or any other bullshit, this is an excellent record. The songs “Call You Back” and “Barnard” explode with jangly exuberance, while the single “7 Months” showcases how even in absentia, they can best their fellow indie rockers.

Madeline Kenney, Kiss From the Balcony

The Seattle-raised and Oakland-based songwriter Madeline Kenney has been a longtime favorite of my most trusted sources for new music. I’ve always dug her output and thought she’s been at the sweet spot of consistent and searching, never content to stay in lane but always excelling at trying new things. There’s no way of saying this without it sounding like a knock, and I don’t mean it that way, but every time I hear one of her records, I think, “This should be way more popular than it is.” (In a just music industry, no one would feel compelled to start a blog about under-the-radar, independent music.) Kiss From the Balcony, Kenney’s fifth LP, is some of the most inventive and atmospheric indie rock you’ll hear all year. It all sounds pristine—the mix is impeccable—but it’s Kenney’s effortless knack for airy hooks and left-field compositions that shine most. “Scoop” is jangle-pop perfection while “Breakdown” unfolds into a psychedelic jam that’s so heady it’s near-shocking. There’s a palpable self-possession in Kenney’s lyrical delivery and prowess as a bandleader that cements this as a slow-burning AOTY contender.

Natalie Bergman, My Home Is Not In This World

I’m not going to lie. I missed the boat on Natalie Bergman’s last band Wild Belle and never wrote about them but what I do know is that her new solo record is stunning. This is a record that threads multiple needles, with crate-diggers’ reference points of ‘60s pop, rock, and Americana, without ever delving into retro-kitsch. Here, Bergman is an expert curator who masterfully travails disparate threads of American musical history into something fully hers. “Stop, Please Don’t Go” layers so many delectable hooks it’s nearly overwhelming, while the highlight “Looking For You” has that classic “you’ve heard this your whole life” energy.

Smushie, Cicero Pizza Anthology

Austin Koenigstein is from Long Island, but has been in Chicago for a few years and released his most recent albums living here. His incredibly titled 2023 effort Doofus Casanova was excellent, but while I may have included it on a newsletter playlist, I didn’t write about it here. (On a recent relisten, this is a mystifying snub, even for me. Same goes for the collaborative 2024 LP with Friend of the Newsletter Astrachan under the moniker Berta Bigtoe). Though Koenigstein has already proven himself Chicago’s crown prince of hidden-gem, oddball rock’n’roll, his latest Cicero Pizza Anthology is his most ambitious and infectious yet. He stuffs 17 songs into 45 but packs a multitude of madcap ideas into each one. It’s a thrill throughout from the ripping “Field of Dreams,” the Talking Heads-evoking “Repent,” and the kaleidoscopic bliss of “How Dark.” I described it to a friend as, “Ram-era Paul McCartney, goofball Van Dyke Parks with a little bit of latter-day KGLW.”

What I listened to:

The No Expectations 115 Playlist: Apple Music // Spotify // Tidal

1. Billie Marten, "Feeling"
2. Alex G, "Logan Hotel (Live)"
3. Whitney, "Dandelions"
4. Sam and Louise Sullivan, "Birthday Forever"
5. Smushie, "Minute"
6. Forth Wanderers, "Call You Back"
7. Natalie Wildgoose, "Hand me a piece of your heart"
8. Credit Electric, "A HOPE"
9. Madeline Kenney, "Breakdown"
10. Golomb, "Be Here Now"
11. Living Hour, "Wheel"
12. Way Dynamic, "I Was The Dancer"
13. Ryan Davis & the Roadhouse Band, "Better If You Make Me"
14. Natalie Bergman, "Looking For You"
15. Teethe, "Hate Goodbyes"

Gig recaps: Phish at United Center (7/18, 7/20)

I’ve been thinking a lot about why, over the past few years, I’ve gravitated so strongly to listening to jam bands like the Grateful Dead, Goose, Eggy, and more. This is a genre I actively wrote off for 30 years: I thought it sucked, wasn’t artful, and the territory of smelly hippies and too-earnest punishers. I could pop off a couple of Culture Journalist™ takes to explain it: That because of the ubiquity of AI-and-algorithm slop, machine-led playlists, and the lowest-common-denominator, circling-the-drain state of corporate music media, I opted to try the most human-forward music imaginable in improvisational rock that boasts a fervent, passionate, and organic fanbase. Or, I could argue that as someone who’s made a career out of writing about all music but jam, this genre felt separate enough that it could be a sort of musical vacation from what I normally cover. While both have merit, the truest (and scariest) outcome to me is that I simply, genuinely love it.

Where my newfound zeal for the Dead easily translated into a band like Eggy and eventually Goose, Phish were the last piece of the puzzle. For most of my life, I hated what I heard. I thought it was too goofy, too-theater kid, and too gross for my precarious tastes. My repulsion turned into muted respect when I saw them in 2023 with

Phish Essays

scribe Rob Mitchum. Even though my first experience featured a lot of deep cuts, I had a blast. (“Run Like An Antelope,” holy moly!) Still, when I’d listen to a show in the months following that gig, it wouldn’t fully click. I tried Hampton Comes Alive, Chicago ‘94, and some of the Halloween shows where the band would famously cover an entire record from the Beatles, Velvet Underground, Talking Heads, and more. I liked several moments, but it wasn’t the transformative listening experience I’d get from a Dead show. Eventually, I remembered that when I started listening to the Dead, it didn’t fully resonate until I got a few chapters into their archival Dick’s Picks series. Phish have their own in the 20-volume Live Phish releases, so I dove into that.

The live LP where everything came together was Live Phish Volume 4, a show recorded at the Drum Logos club in Fukuoka, Japan on June 14, 2000. Bands like Tortoise and Sea and Cake were incredibly formative for me, and some of the jams here felt like those classic ‘90s Drag City, Thrill Jockey, and Kranky records. A few weeks later, Mitchum wrote in a review of the show called, “The Snob’s Choice,” that, “If somebody raised on indie rock, experimental jazz, or minimalist electronic thinks they’re “too cool” for Phish but is at least willing to be convinced otherwise, I can’t think of a better argument [for them to check out this show first.]” I felt like I had already become a walking stereotype in Phish World, but comforted knowing that it was the #2-ranked show on Phish.net. (It also led me to a profound love for the song “Heavy Things,” which I’ve come to realize seasoned fans often loathe.)

So, what changed? Though I joke that I forced myself to undergo Phish Exposure Therapy, that’s basically what happened. By familiarizing myself with the catalog, the pacing of the live shows, and the band’s eccentric melodic sensibility, I started to come around to it. Writing about Goose, the critic Steven Hyden coined the term “jam ears,” where you learn to appreciate long improvisations so much that “even a 22-minute song might not seem long enough.” With Phish, I think I had to develop “jam ears” for when they sing. I enjoy the left-field charm of their voices now, but there are still vocal deliveries that make me think, “Jesus Christ, that’s horrible.” (I’d argue that unpredictability is part of the thrill of loving this band.) Intentionally silly, theatrical, and bizarre, their songs reference so much American music but somehow sound nothing like it. Classic rock, prog, barbershop quartet tunes, Broadway numbers, funk, bluegrass dissolve into something that “Sounds Like Phish.” You can go from hearing it for the first time and thinking it’s awful to humming “Wolfman’s Brother” at the grocery store fast, I promise.

After rinsing the Live Phish series and a few other shows available on streaming services, I felt fluent enough with their revolving and unpredictable 1000+-song repertoire that if lucky, I’d know maybe half of a recent setlist. The day I attended the second Phish show at the United Center with Rob Mitchum last Friday, I decided to listen to their most recent studio LP Evolve. Beyond one new song (the jam vehicle “What’s Going Through Your Mind,”) I actually didn’t have to look up the setlist mid-show. While almost anyone can be disarmed and have a good time at a Phish concert, it’s especially fun if you know what’s going on. The first song was a rousing rendition of “Harry Hood,” a track they usually reserve for a show closer. (I knew the opening slot was a rare placement for the tune, but I later found out they haven’t opened with it since 2003.)

Later in the first set, to my delight, they played a “Heavy Things” (its first performance of ‘25 and first in 31 shows). Eventually, they ripped through a fan favorite in “Bathtub Gin.” That track might be most quintessentially Phish composition (or, the Phishiest Phish song). It’s super zany, boasts a deliriously catchy riff and melody, its lyrics are self-referential to other songs in the catalog, and it heavily quotes George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” and other touchstones. During the second set, the part of the show where they typically expand songs to extended jams, the band soared through an experimental hour-long stretch of three songs that culminated in a cover of Talking Heads’ “Crosseyed and Painless.” It was exploratory and astounding musicianship. Mitchum, who has seen close to 100 Phish shows since the ‘90s, said that it was “one of the best hours I’ve seen them perform. Incredible to be able to say that in 2025.”

After the show, I met up with my girlfriend and our buds at the neighborhood bar. There, I found out they had all taken bets on whether or not I’d go again for one of the Saturday or Sunday United Center shows. (My loved ones roast me more often for this new hobby than any newsletter reader.) While I decided I’d look for a Sunday ticket midway through the first set Friday, I waited till the morning to begin my search (I was drafting up an “I Need a Miracle” ask just as my buds informed me of their bet). Sure enough, 15 minutes after I posted on Bluesky that I was looking for a ticket, a follower named Joe messaged to say he had an extra in a box (his relative works for the Bulls). I was in.

Back in ‘23 after my first Phish experience, I wrote, “I saw a band that treats live performance like a DJ set—they feed off the energy of the crowd and actively mess with them to accomplish the set most gratifying to the four guys onstage.” It’s a mesmerizing trip that can be meditative, disorienting, and danceable. The audience’s energy and excitement are palpable. On Sunday, they ripped through some beloved tunes like “AC/DC Bag,” “Reba,” and “Mike’s Song.” Though the jamming didn’t quite reach the same peaks as the first night, I was happy to hear a “Sparkle,” a raucous “Kill Devil Falls,” and a “Weekapaug Groove,” “Fee,” and “Say It To Me S.A.N.T.O.S” encore. Beyond a welcome “S.A.N.T.O.S,” the only thing I heard twice in my three shows was “Leaves,” a track the band has only played 17 times. These sorts of setlist oddities hit the same sweet spot that baseball fans get memorizing stats and batting averages.

There are many reasons that, after four decades together, Phish continues to rally such a dedicated and abundant group of fans. Whether it’s the unpredictable setlists, the wide-ranging body of songs in the live rotation, the nerdy jokes, fan-centric festivals, the virtuosic musicianship, or the drugs (or the supportive sober community in the fandom), the band has operated firmly on its terms. I get it now. I’ve joked to friends that Phish are the musical equivalent of an inside joke: insufferable if you weren’t there for the genesis of the bit, but it’s transcendently rewarding if you feel a part of it. Go see what over 40 years of friendship, chemistry, and awe-inspiring talent can do to four middle-aged guys in Vermont.

What I watched:

Bittersweet Motel (directed by Todd Phillips, YouTube)

I didn’t buy a ticket to Phish as soon as it went on sale, but I knew I would find my way into at least one of the shows somehow. When I first saw Phish in 2023, I tweeted asking for a miracle extra and immediately got it. Then, nearly a dozen more offers came into my replies from friendly online strangers. This go around, even though I didn’t have a guaranteed spot, I thought it’d be good to research and immerse myself in their discography as much as possible before show date. Directed by Todd Phillips, who’s behind movies I liked at the time (The Hangover) and movies I hate (Joker, most everything else he’s done), the documentary blends roaring concert footage with unvarnished behind-the-scenes footage and interviews. It does a good job of capturing Phish’s pre-hiatus interpersonal vibe, their careening ascent in popularity, and how they channeled their legion of fans into what would become the Music Festival Industrial Complex we experience today.

Between Me and My Mind (directed by Steven Cantor, Tubi)

Yes, I knocked both Bittersweet Motel and the other Phish-related documentary, 2019’s Between Me and My Mind, in one sitting a couple of weeks ago. I figured that after attending a gig totally blind in ‘23, I’d be doing myself a disservice for not more fully immersing myself this go around. With my considerable lack of Phish knowledge post-2009, Between Me and My Mind helped fill the gap of the post-reunion band dynamics and how Trey Anastasio lives as a sober man. It highlighted the frontman’s kindness and generosity in ways that transcended his angsty portrayal in Bittersweet Motel. I found his vulnerability and reflective nature disarmingly genuine, especially during a scene where a recently-sober fan approaches Trey in New York City. The frontman’s gracious, thinking it’s just a random guy who likes “Tweezer.” But when he mentions that he’s been clean for a few days, Trey lights up and launches himself into the conversation. He apologizes for the cameras and sends him a word of encouragement. I was really moved, even if I didn’t immediately love the then-new songs off the Ghosts in the Forest project that were heavily featured in the film.

What I read:

Phish: The Biography (by Parke Puterbaugh)

For a band that’s the heir-apparent to the Grateful Dead, that has played Madison Square Garden a whopping 87 times, and is still as popular as ever over four decades after forming, it is wild to me that there are so few books about Phish. In the short years that I’ve been a fan of the Dead, I feel like I’ve read more books about that band than there are books that exist about Phish. The definitive, go-to biography of this band is from the former Rolling Stones journalist Parke Puterbaugh in Phish: The Biography. Assigned to write a profile on the band in the early-to-mid-’90s, the guy stuck around, kept in touch, and followed the bands for years from their initial breakup in 2004 to their reunion in 2009. This is a really nice primer into the history, the stories behind the songs, and the evolving band dynamics from dorm room band, to drug-addled success, to coming into their own entering middle age. What’s inspiring is how much history the band has made since reuniting 16 years ago, so while it is a solid primer, I’d recommend recent longform profiles from Amanda Petrusich at the New Yorker and Grayson Haver-Currin at GQ as essential and supplemental reading.

Sharing in the Groove: The Untold Story of the '90s Jam Band Explosion and the Scene That Followed (by Mike Ayers)

One of the most arduous, stressful, and rewarding projects I’ve ever undertaken was compiling an “oral history” of Chance the Rapper’s breakthrough mixtape Acid Rap for Complex in 2018. I had a 10-day deadline and got dozens of collaborators on board. I coordinated their schedules (why was hip-hop icon Twista easier to reach than certain independent artists from younger artists?), called them up and transcribed the interviews, and edited them into something readable and conversational. That period was a blur and it somehow worked, but Mike Ayers’ new book, Sharing in the Groove: The Untold Story of the '90s Jam Band Explosion and the Scene That Followed, is a masterclass of the form. I don’t know how he did it or how long it could’ve taken. He lucidly and comprehensively tracks the ascension of the jam band scene with interviews with dozens of the main players, from Anastasio to members of Blues Traveler, the Spin Doctors, the Disco Biscuits, Dave Matthews Band, moe., and more. While my reading at the time had been mostly focused on Phish, it wouldn’t have clicked without the exhaustive scene reporting. Essential stuff for a scene that needs more definitive books like this one. Order it here.

The Weekly Chicago Show Calendar:

The gig calendar lives on the WTTW News website now. You can also subscribe to the newsletter I produce there called Daily Chicagoan to get it in your inbox a day early.

No Expectations