The second album from Sabrina Teitelbaum, aka Blondshell, borrows its title from a 1986 poem by the cherished American writer Mary Oliver, titled “Dogfish.” In the poem, Oliver grapples with the idea of telling one’s own story: how much to share, how much to keep for oneself — all questions Teitelbaum asked herself while writing If You Asked For A Picture. “There’s a part of the poem that says: I don’t need to tell you everything I’ve been through. It’s just another story of somebody trying to survive,” Teitelbaum says. “Something I love about songs is that you’re showing a snapshot of a person or a relationship, and showing a glimpse into a story can be just as important as trying to capture the entire thing. Sometimes it’s even truer to the entire picture than if you tried to write everything down.” Blondshell’s self-titled 2023 debut unleashed a swiss-army-knife writing style that gets under your skin: songs that are as visceral and anthemic as pop music with all the specificity, self-examination, and nonchalant humor of the best indie rock — songs you want to let crash over you, even as their strength is too concrete to be washed away. It’s a formula that turned Blondshell into one of the most lauded new artists in recent memory. If You Asked For A Picture expands these artistic horizons further, resulting in a collection of songs from an artist now at the peak of her powers that brim with an urgency, ambition, and devastating potency only hinted at until now. If You Asked For A Picture is alive with a more vital nuance both sonically and thematically, gesturing towards a deeper autobiographical story that taps into something painfully universal without being too overt. Teitelbaum explains, “The first record feels really black-and-white to me. This record has more questions.” The lucid songs of If You Asked For A Picture dig into familial relationships — parents who pass on their trauma (as in “23’s A Baby”), the endless two-way critique between mothers and daughters (the alt-rock daydream “What’s Fair”), and the loyalty of a sister who won’t forget how a man wronged you (the crushingly catchy accidental-love story “T&A”). Teitelbaum acknowledges her inherent imperfections while trying to extend compassion for the flaws in others. “The last record was a lot of, ‘You’re the villain in this situation, you’ve wronged me, and I’m really pissed’” she says. “On this record it was more like: ‘How did I get here? Maybe I’m the villain too.’ There was something freeing in that.” A major theme of If You Asked For A Picture is control — and the possibility of loosening her grip on it — including two songs (“Thumbtack,” “Toy”) that touch on Teitelbaum’s lifelong struggle with OCD. In the studio, Teitelbaum found herself confident and at home like never before, trusting her instincts as she developed an almost telekinetic shorthand with producer Yves Rothman. The result is a record of astounding sonic range - including sky-scraping ballads and colossal hooks that soar over waves of distortion, mixing layered textures and harmonic flourishes, or making unexpected hairpin turns between them. Primary among her production touchstones were unexpected curveballs like Queens of the Stone Age’s Rated R and Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Californication. Teitelbaum reveled in appropriating those hyper-masculine aesthetics for her uncompromising examinations of young womanhood, playing with performances of gender in rock. “It’s empowering for me to use sonic references that feel reserved for men,” she explains.   If You Asked for a Picture’s acoustic opener “Thumbtack” is a bittersweet gut-punch of self-reckoning amid an uneasy relationship. “So much of the last record was about finding myself in relationships I didn’t want to be in and not knowing why,” Teitelbaum says. “‘Thumbtack’ is one of those songs, but this record is more about finding out why and trying to be in different types of relationships.” Who among us  can’t relate to longing for someone even as they prove to be “a thumbtack in my side,” as Teitelbaum sings on the song’s slyly gigantic hook? “You’re not even a good friend,” she sings, a classic Blondshell mic-drop.  Bone-deep revelations like these have become a Blondshell hallmark — startling clarity, comforting wit — and If You Asked For A Picture is full of them. “I don’t want to be your mom, but you’re not strong enough,” she sings before the tidal chorus of “Arms.” On the clear-eyed “What’s Fair,” she examines a complex maternal relationship (“I grew up fast without you”), trying to empathize even as she refuses to sweep the truth under the rug. “You always had a reason to comment on my body,” she sings, like a century of mother-daughter exchanges compressed to 10 words. Teitelbaum addresses body image throughout the record, whether observing her own changing shape or admitting “part of me still sits at home in a panic over fifteen pounds” on “Event of a Fire,” a road narrative that builds to a blaze of brutal candor, capturing a kind of cinematic back-seat interiority.    In the time since Blondshell, the image of Teitelbaum’s life has changed considerably. As the accolades accrued — late-night TV performances, countless year-end accolades, landing on Obama’s Best Songs of 2023 list, covering Talking Heads for A24’s Stop Making Sense tribute — Teitelbaum spent two years on the road. She played 150+ shows in support of her debut, including major festivals and a tour with Liz Phair on top of her own sold-out headline dates. This rootlessness naturally impacted Teitelbaum’s relationships with others and with herself. “When you travel a lot, you see different possibilities for who you can be,” Teitelbaum says. “So there were a lot more questions coming up. What do I want my life to look like? Maybe it’s just the nature of being two years older, but I’m more comfortable with nuance now, and I’m more comfortable with gray areas.” There’s an open-endedness to where If You Asked For A Picture lands: it’s a no-skips, triumphant sophomore record that captures the unresolved process of figuring out who you are, too wise to suggest that it has a definitive answer.   

An essential new voice on the indie-rock scene, 20-year-old singer/songwriter Daffo brings an unexpected beauty to the most uncomfortable of feelings. With a poetic specificity that cuts right to the heart, the Brooklyn-based artist speaks an unfiltered truth about all that sets them apart from the wider world, exploring everything from shame and self-loathing to misplaced affection and the chaos of living with an overactive brain. As a kid growing up in the Philadelphia suburbs, the musician otherwise known as Gabi Gamberg first started writing songs after taking up guitar at age 9, then later shaped their intimate yet frenetic sound by playing countless DIY shows in backyards and basements. Recently signed to Concord Records, Daffo is now set to share a new body of work revealing the full depth and power of their strangely poignant songwriting. Daffo’s debut release for Concord, a reimagined rendition of their breakout hit “Poor Madeline” finds Portland-based folk artist Searows joining in for a more elaborately arranged take on the track. In creating the new version, Daffo worked with producer Philip Weinrobe (Adrianne Lenker, Deerhoof) and musicians like guitarist Adam Brisbin (Buck Meek, Jolie Holland), adding a lovely intensity to their lived-in reflection on feeling hopelessly adrift. “I wrote ‘Poor Madeline’ when I was 17 and having a tough time with my mental health,” says Gamberg, who penned the song as a student at Idyllwild Arts Academy (a residential arts high school in Southern California). “I was also dealing with all these stomach problems and kept thinking about the part in the children’s book Madeline where Madeline’s appendix bursts, so I decided to use her name in the lyrics.” Mastered by Heba Kadry (Björk, Sufjan Stevens) and mainly recorded live at Weinrobe’s Brooklyn studio, the update of “Poor Madeline” unfolds in luminous lap-steel tones, spellbinding violin melodies, delicate piano work, and an aching cascade of harmonies from Daffo and Searows—ultimately making for an exquisite new addition to Daffo’s catalog. Meanwhile, their single “Get a Life” laments the all-too-familiar struggle to live in the present amidst the chaos of a cluttered mind. “I feel like I spend a lot of time knowing I should be present, I should be enjoying the things in front of me, but I can’t,” says Gamberg. “It’s a lot of knowing what you should be doing but not being able to do it.” The track, produced by veteran producer Rob Schnapf (Elliott Smith, Beck, Cat Power), is the product of thoughtful, leisurely recording sessions that encouraged Gamberg to lean into their own artistry. “It’s a very different vibe than I’ve ever experienced with recording,” they say. “We sit around, we talk a lot, we goof off. I like that nothing is forced, and [Rob] sort of pushes me to really put my twist on things. It makes me feel like there’s more of me in these songs.” Daffo called on Phil Weinrobe again for “Winter Hat,” a darkly organic “anti-holiday song” recorded live in one take in Weinrobe’s Brooklyn studio. “I’ve never heard a Christmas song that really resonates with me, so I thought it would be cool to have a holiday song that’s true to my music and true to me and how I actually feel during this time of the year,” says Gamberg. Gamberg has been vocal about their struggles with seasonal depression, and the song turns several classic holiday motifs on their head as it remarks on the loneliness and disappointment that so often accompany the winter holidays. With their artist name taken from the swath of daffodils that grew in the yard of their childhood home, Gamberg started playing violin at age six and underwent classical training for nearly a decade, but immediately felt a much stronger affinity for guitar. “As soon as I picked up a guitar, I was constantly writing songs, mostly because I didn’t feel like playing other people’s music,” says Gamberg, a largely self-taught guitarist. At the age of 15, they took part in a five-week summer program at Boston’s Berklee College of Music, where they quickly crossed paths with Hudson Pollock—a fellow student who soon introduced Gamberg to the DIY community in northern New Jersey, including all- ages spaces like Serendipity Café (a student-run nonprofit venue that’s hosted likeminded artists such as Pinegrove and Alex G). “I started going up to New Jersey almost every weekend to record or play shows, and after a while I felt like I needed to get out my town altogether,” Gamberg says. Following a failed attempt at persuading their parents to let them drop out of high school, Gamberg headed to Idyllwild just after Covid hit. “I spent a lot of my time at Idyllwild secluded in the mountains, writing and recording and going to classes on Zoom,” they recall. “At first I had a hard time with songwriting classes; I didn’t like the idea of following any kind of formula or rules. But eventually I learned a lot about what makes a song effective, and how to convey things in a way that really gets through to somebody.” During their time at Idyllwild, Daffo made their debut with Crisis Kit—a five-song EP co- produced by Gamberg and Pollock and self-released in 2021. After graduating, Gamberg enrolled at the Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music at New York University and slowly made their way into the local DIY scene. “The first time I played in New York, I didn’t know anyone and only one person showed up,” they say. “But then my first week of classes I went in and told everyone, ‘I’m playing a show on Friday and I don’t have a band, who wants to play with me?’ It’s a lot harder to tap into the DIY scene there, but pretty soon I was playing shows every weekend in New York and in Jersey.” As their community of fans began to grow, Gamberg downloaded TikTok on a whim and went viral with the second post they ever shared: a bedroom performance of a spontaneously composed song called “The Experiment.” “I woke up in the middle of the night with a melody and all these rhyming words stuck in my head, and finally I got up and grabbed my guitar and wrote it all down while I was basically still asleep,” Gamberg says of the song’s origins. Later on in 2023, “The Experiment” appeared as a bonus track on Daffo’s sophomore EP Pest, a brooding but tender project that drifts from the fuzzed-out catharsis of “Good God” to the glorious devastation of “Seed” to the heavy-hearted enchantment of “Complete Circle.” Not long after Pest’s arrival, Daffo inked their deal with Concord and left NYU to focus on their music full-time. Fresh off their first-ever tour—a North American run as support for Sir Chloe—Daffo is now gearing up for a fall tour with Illuminati Hotties (and for the first-time vinyl release of Crisis Kit and Pest). “It’s so crazy to travel to so many places and talk to all the people who’ve been listening to my music,” Gamberg says. “Some people are really shy, some people give me art they’ve made, some people tell me very personal stories about the way my songs have helped them. It’s always cool to feel like the things I’ve gone through and written about weren’t all for nothing.” With their latest endeavors also including recording their next batch of songs with producer Rob Schnapf (Elliott Smith, Kurt Vile), Daffo points out that the experience of songwriting remains entirely unaltered by their ever-growing acclaim. “It’s amazing that people are able to connect with my music, and it makes me feel a deeper connection to the world overall,” says Gamberg. “But even though it gives me so much joy, I don’t think it’s really changed anything. At my core, I still just write for myself and for my survival. I still just want to make things that feel good to me.”