“Nobody was born cool” proclaims ROE KAPARA. “Where’s the fun in that?” After relocating from Nashville to Los Angeles just before the pandemic, the St. Louis-born singer/songwriter did what any reasonable 20-something would: find solace online and build a community. Soon, his burgeoning digital fanbase hit six digits, enthralled by his endearingly unpretentious personality but also by his irresistible music, a modern swirl of indie, psych, dream pop, and alternative. His debut single for legendary Epitaph Records, “BETTER OFF,” elevates both qualities equally, spinning a hyper-relatable tale of toxic romance with razor-sharp lyricism (“I’m better off getting high than being naked with you” he sings in the song’s hook) over staccato guitar stabs, jazzy rhythms, spurting synths, and sunny energy. “I had a long-distance relationship from high school into college that … it was bad,” Kapara says with a laugh. “Certain behaviors became OK because we both did them, and it was completely codependent. Looking back on it now, I realize that I’m better off because I experienced and learned from it.” Dwelling on the death of his own past is a common theme through Kapara’s music, throughout a catalog of DIY singles like “Everyone’s Dying” and “Past Grow” that helped boost his Spotify listeners into the 300,000s and TikTok audience over 250,000. But just as he’s willing to expose vulnerable parts of himself in his songs, he’s quick to shine the mirror outward to address the creeping dread of modern life: consumerism, corporate greed, climate change, the general feelings of the younger generation in 21st-century America. Combining these two sides of his musical personality – deeply relatable yet unafraid to stand up and ask life’s big questions – into pop songs makes for a musical journey that’s a little off-kilter, sure, but all the better and more interesting in the end. Now, with “Better Off” leading the way and a concept EP, I Hope Hell Isn’t Real close behind, this next era of Roe Kapara is poised to keep fans, and himself, guessing as to where his quirky sensibilities will wind up next. He prefers it that way. “I’m really inspired by ’90s movies,” he says, referencing classic flicks like Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. “There was a level of freedom to push the envelope in that era of filmmaking, and my approach to creating music is similar: ‘What’s some crazy shit we can talk about or do?’ I Hope Hell Isn’t Real feels like that to me. It’s about this guy who’s living in an apathetic world where everything is crumbling. He ends up dying and comes back to life and realizes life has a lot of meaning and is worth living. I just want to say crazy shit, but stuff I also really care about. It’s gotta be both.”
When considering Los Angeles outfit The Interrupters, take a moment to kindly forget jargon like “SoCal punk rock” or “next wave ska” or whatever perimeter you want to secure around them. A typical Interrupters gig feels like going to church where all the religious iconography is taken out and replaced with mirrors so the band and audience become one. Ignited by frontwoman Aimee Interrupter and the Bivona brothers’ indefatigable enthusiasm, attendees can see joy in action; discover strength in numbers; and feel bulletproof when facing the forces that haunt them. There are no victims or outcasts in attendance when the quartet are onstage: Transfixed by the legendary ‘80s 2 Tone ska movement and fueled with a contemporary energy that makes 180-bpm thrash-metallers seem positively slack, Aimee Interrupter and the Bivona brothers Kevin, Justin and Jesse blur the enthusiasm between band and audience in a way that’s equal parts dance party, cardio workout and personal therapy.