Like any good baker, I used the language of sweetness and season to reassure familiar desires—to feel safe, to feel nourished ...

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Our autumn 2025 issue continues Orion’s longstanding tradition of exploring environments of all kinds, be they built, natural, social, or otherwise. In these pages, we turn our ears to the sonic ...

I HAVE TO ADMIT, the forthcoming pretty good (I think) question would never have occurred to me were it not for the subject, broadly speaking, of this issue (hip-hop), which is yet another plug for ...

I COULD LIVE INSIDE the dedication page forever. Before the who’s-who “Acknowledgements” at the beginning of Greg Tate’s era-defining 1992 essay collection, Flyboy in the Buttermilk, and, likewise, ...

ONE FEBRUARY NIGHT IN 1973, singer-songwriter Ann Peebles found herself cooped up in her Memphis home, waiting out a severe storm before a concert. What started as an offhand gripe about the ...

RUTH FELT WAS WORKING OUT the second verse in full view of her cat when the world fell in upon her. This was not enough, and she started over. Ruth Felt—“Call me ‘Bushrod,’” she said to the room—was ...

Fifty-seven people in all showed up at 17 East 126th Street on August 12, a Tuesday, so Kane could set up and record the ...

THE GUITAR LINE UNFURLS with a kinetic, pulsing energy. Soft moans hover over the riff, both spooky and sensual. Then the synth slides in, drums steady the beat, and the song swells with the promise ...

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from crest to trough, both terrestrial and aquatic. I’m barely a blip, a pelagic circuit, and my only compass, ...