Editor’s Den: Killer Bee – Otaku

By Sam Tornow, Editorial Director

Beat tapes have been made more popular than ever with the blow-up of streaming website Bandcamp several years ago. And while there seems to be an abundance of overly chill, nu-jazz beat tapes throwing down the same old 2-and-4 beat patterns, after some searching, an entirely new, colorful world of tapes with hours upon of hours of work put into them emerge. One such gem exists in the form of an entire summer’s effort, Otaku by Killer Bee.

Otaku, attempts to explore the meaning behind it’s name, the mania the genre has over anime culture and the judgements spit by others at it’s utterance. The expression of these ideas is not as easy as listening for lyrics and putting two and two together, only through multiple listens does the message become clear: serenity.

There’s a comforting feeling on this release. Samples are taken from no one source or time period, rather from a plethora of completely different artists from around the globe, but still all the sounds feel familiar and surprise the listener at the same time. And yet, this is a release that demands a full stream. Tracks don’t bleed into each other, they enhance each other’s presence.

It takes courage to rip samples from rap’s most lyrical minds, but Killer Bee takes workings from Kendrick Lamar, Earl Sweatshirt and Easy E and speeds them up, slows them down, and modulates them all around, perfectly fitting them over clever beats which borrow from many electronic styles, from future-funk to footwork.

What separates Killer Bee from other artists though, is their ability to produce constant momentum. Otaku continually pushes forward and never looks back. Rarely are beats repeated for extended periods of time or are clever samples manipulated and strung out for the sake of novelty. Every track is a treasure with countless, unique characteristics to it’s title.

On Killer Bee’s Bandcamp, the artist credits a large number of sources as inspiration: ‘80s acid house, jazz, Zen Buddhism, reel to reel machines, cassette culture, Rihanna and of course anime (just to name a few). It sounds like a who’s who of trends in lo-fi hip hop and related genres; a mess of ideas that should add up to an easily calculable ERROR message. Yet, Otaku exists in it’s own box, never exceeding its boundaries, jamming every corner with a conglomerate of textures and patterns.



Nana Grizol

By Devon Hannan, Features Editor

I’ve never really been the kind of person to go out and search for music on the internet. The deepest I typically go is my Discover Weekly playlist on Spotify. I never rake through bands on Bandcamp or lurk between the crevices of technology to find my new muse.

However, luckily for me, there are always plenty of musically superior individuals who constantly invalidate my music taste and play something I’ve never hear of before. I’ve had a lot of, “Oh this is alright, but have you listened to THIS?”

Nine times out of ten I have not, but you know what else is nine times out of ten? The ratio of bands they force me to listen to that I just don’t particularly like. But every once in a while there’s one or two gems that by the end of the song I nonchalantly ask, “Okay, who were they again?”

To which on one occasion they responded, “Nana Grizol.”

I vividly remember when I first listened to this band. I’m not sure if it was the environment or the emotional state of being, but Nana Grizol clung to me harder than anything before. I was driving home in a steady rain when I was stopped at railroad tracks. My phone screen lit up with a link to the song, “Cynicism.” I had never experienced such an immediate love for a band, and I haven’t ever since.

The song started out with a twinkly, hollowed out guitar – something that I am always down for. Quickly thereafter, nasal vocals stretched out over the simple guitar pattern – something that I am almost never down for, however the lyrics in this tune made me ignore it. The song was very short, running just over the two-minute mark and after about two thirds was over, a robust trumpet blares out of my speakers. In just those two minutes, the track hits upon everything that is truly important in your average life: friends and love, doubt and the universe, songwriting and coming to terms with the unknown. I was sold.

Even though this is a band I’ve been crying over for quite some time, I never dove head first into their full discography until very recently. Nana Grizol calls themselves an indie folk band. However, they bleed into other alternative genres such as pop punk and shoegaze. To most people they sound like less funded version of Andrew Jackson Jihad (now simply AJJ). I can’t really argue with that either. Mix AJJ with Foxing, and a dash of Neutral Milk Hotel and there you have it- Nana Grizol. Considering the fact that two members of Neutral Milk Hotel are in this band, this doesn’t come off as a surprise.

Nana Grizol only has two full-length studio albums, and the latest album, Ruth, was released back in 2010. Despite being very inactive in the studio, the band has been on multiple tours since then, even playing a few shows in 2016.

Love It, Love It, Nana Grizol’s first album, is simply a feel-good, spirited masterpiece. It never at any point crosses the line into being sad- maybe at most being a little self-reflective. It’s an album that I can see myself sitting on the porch (that I don’t have) and drinking 17 Arnold Palmers to. Ruth is a bit more mature and a lot more twinkly. The difference between the two albums is colossal, but they are both really dang good.

Nana Grizol, without a doubt is going to be making an appearance on several playlists this summer. They radiate the ideals of living in a world that is so vastly diverse, coexisting among people that are just as confused as yourself. Nana Grizol wants you think that living isn’t such a bad thing. They’re a change of pace and absolutely necessary to anyone who needs a good pick-me-up.

The High Llamas

By Eli Schoop, Copy Editor

Lately, I’ve been listening to the High Llamas. I don’t really know why, besides the fact that I glanced at the band through someone whose taste I highly respect. They’re not winter music, per se.

At least, as seasonal as people who are Beach Boys obsessives can get in the very least. Warmness as an entity in music is oddly not as praised, even if you’re earnest. Kitsch and irony get a pass, depending on the value of the release, but it’s certainly less beloved than say, a manic-depressive odyssey. It’s not fair to the High Llamas, because all music should strive to this much craft.

The usual comparisons are Stereolab, Nelson Riddle, Brian Wilson, yada yada melody makers. You get the picture. Experimental pop has a weird place in culture. Usually, you see it sit as this pristine ideal not to be interacted with, lest disturbing the mad geniuses at work.

Sean O’Hagan’s group is not that version of pop perfection. Rather, he lets the music prove itself not just through ingenuity, but sheer determination as well. The arrangements are loveliness incarnate. As I sit here, I’m disassociating from ingesting this sort of lush, vital songwriting.  Is there such a thing as too many harmonies?

Moreso, most other bands of the ilk, the High Llamas want to take you on illustrious journeys. Snowbug, their 1999 LP, gently feels out the atmosphere of every track, with none running out of steam.

The last place you’d think the songs would be produced from is the United Kingdom, as the breezy arrangements are reminiscent of Moroccan shores or French villages. It comes as no surprise that O’Hagan went on to compose for films, as his style lends itself magically to cinema, feelings and emotions vibrant in his music.

It’s extremely hard to imagine actual people creating this in a studio, rather than in some enchanted forest where Phil Spector never got incarcerated. Pristine pop of this magnitude can’t be contained by force, even if the nature of it is mellow and serene.


In the past couple of years, I’ve had a mild infatuation with bands and artists that ooze this innovative verve but just couldn’t quite get the acclaim they deserved. Gospel, cLOUDDEAD, Drexciya, and Lilys all fit this bill as sonic pioneers in their respective genres.

The High Llamas exist in this non-acclaimed sphere, quite unfairly. What they devised was unreasonably pushed as derivative and trite, and without proper understanding of their content. Long live the High Llamas, for if they continue to make music, melodic pop will have a bright future.



Sven Atterton

Hi gang! Abbie here, Editorial Director comin’ at ya with Editors’ Den‘s first entry! This is so exciting; I feel like I should smash a bottle of champagne against the building I’m in. But that’s wasteful, in terms of hydration and finances, so I’m not going to do that and instead will relay my process of finding some weird, obscure jams to talk about.

I started by going to bandcamp.com and selecting its “discover” tab. I was given some options—did I want Best Selling, Staff Picks, New Arrivals, Artist Recommendations, or did I want to browse genres? Did I want to decide by way of musical format?

I went two ways: I chose funk, and I chose cassette format. This led me to Sven Atterton, an artist from London who wants to transport his listeners through the universe via a wave of sound. That seems pretty ambitious to me.

His album The Cove is decently composed (and by that it means it contains many elements) and sounds like it was probably expensive to produce (although GarageBand can be deceiving), but I’m wondering how on earth this sounds on a cassette. Probably not great. There’s some subtle ocean mist sounds happening in the opening/titular track that  would sound like sub-par white noise on a cassette player. That’s definitely not what’s intended, considering whoever wrote Atterton’s bandcamp bio says “You can almost feel the ocean mist on your face.”

I gotta admit, I’m not feeling too much mist over here. This funk-tastic bass is far more reminiscent of a mildly seedy, underground bar than an ocean. If there were a seedy, underground bar on a beach somewhere, maybe the shadier parts of California or something, I’d get the ocean mist reference, but otherwise it’s sort of baffling in how inaccurate it seems.

“Prime Time” is making me feel a lot like I’m watching cable TV at 3 a.m. in 1986; the local fire department ad is soaking up airtime as I stare blankly at the screen, waiting for something more interesting to come along while my fried brain slowly smokes out of my ears.

One song passed by without notice as I was conducting other business on the Interwebs, and now I’ve reached track four, “Always Remember.” Atterton has upped the ante significantly in this jam, but it’s still just another instrumental track and they’re all beginning to blend together at this point. I can’t do this anymore; I’m switching albums.

Interesting: Atterton could afford to print 100 cassette tapes and 500 vinyl, and there’s a fat red text that reads “SOLD OUT” on The Cove‘s bandcamp. Is that for real? Can anyone just write that, regardless of its truth, and try to up the hype? Not to be a prick, but I’m having trouble thinking anyone would spend $10 on a physical copy of this music. This honestly sounds like the kind of stuff a DJ would cut and sample in their own tunes, so why buy a physical copy when a digital edition will do just fine?

Bandcamp didn’t seem to have much more of Atterton’s work, so I went to Google which brought me to his Soundcloud. I’m listening to a song called “Vapor” which includes this Daft Punk-wannabe robotic incantation. My neighbors probably think I’m snorting ecstasy and painting myself with glow paint. I promise I’m not.

Okay, this is officially mind-numbing. I’ve found myself in a dark and scary Internet hole. I’m escaping. I’m getting out of here. I feel dirty, frightened and alone. If I was influenced by drugs and in a poorly lit, smoky room with writhing bodies and some ass-kicking combat boots on I’d probably feel better about what I’m listening to, but that’s not the case.

So long, Sven Atterton. Thanks for the headache.