"MY SHADOW"

Stay informed on our latest news!

The visual depicts Johann seemingly trapped in an Astronaut's suit. Is the aircraft plunging? Malfunctioning? Regardless of the destination, the art is in the tension that builds up on the way.
Watch below.


In the arts, historically, there are many styles of duo. Recently, I spoke with Rico Nasty about her latest album, a collaboration with Kenneth Blume (Kenny Beats). Asked about their communication style and why it works, she scoffed — according to Rico, their success is not in spite of, but rather because of, the sheer amount of disagreement and push and pull between their dichotomous ideas. But with Tenenbaum and Lewin, common ground has been fruitful, and easier to find. “For the most part, we have the same opinions creatively on everything. It's very rare where I’ll feel very strongly about something, and she won't like it or the other way around. That's rare. But it happens, and then usually we'll be like, ‘Okay, you're right.’ Because sometimes you get caught up in something and you get tunnel vision on a specific idea you're working on, and then you need someone else's perspective to be like, ‘It's not actually working.’"
They’ve perfected the recipe between themselves, and the proof lies in their discography, a tight and eclectic catalog. But this year, its limits were tested. Their proverbial kitchen expanded to include more cooks, sous chefs, and the like when Magdalena Bay embarked on their first film. It was a challenge in finding a new sort of balance. Tenenbaum explains, “The way we write and make our music, it's kind of like whatever we think of we can do. There [are] no limits. There's no limit. When you're making any video, any music video, especially when [it's] so long and potentially expensive, there are so many limitations that you're up against that it's like you could address creatively and whatever. It all works out. But it is more of a logistical-meets-creative, collaborative kind of thing.

Lewin continues, “[With music], we work with our friends doing drums, Nick on mixing, but the vast majority of the time spent is just us two making the music. With the film, it involves so many other people. There's a lot more, I guess, creative discussion for the people you work with. It's more collaborative… it also forces you to, I mean, not necessarily compromise, but change the thing you have in your head. Where I feel like with music, it's much more like I have this thing in my head and I could get it onto the recording, and you're not limited. Especially now with modern music technologies, you could do anything with a laptop. There are very few things that you can't produce musically without your laptop, but mostly you can just get the thing in your head out onto the computer. But I feel like with film, it's just. Yeah. It's so much more logistically complicated and expensive. Yeah. So it does force you to change this thing you see in your head so clearly into something that resembles it, but is not quite that. So it could be frustrating. I feel like the endless possibilities of modern music production, I mean, a lot of people will say it's a bad thing, but I think it's just like, I like it. It's the way we've learned how to make music, and it's what we know. So I think going from something where you really have endless possibilities to something more constricted is."
Tenenbaum jumps in, with an addendum. “It becomes a new thing.”

Limitations, for the duo, had been a help and hindrance in the past. Starting out, with little budget, they’d always found a way to make their own music videos— which both constricted and pushed them creatively. “It forced us to come up with unique ways of editing or performance. Those limitations force you into being creative with how you try to get an idea across. So I think it is a good idea. I don't know why I don't feel the same about the music itself.”
Both on a musical plane and visually, with limitations or not, they’ve always eschewed boundaries. Having initially bonded as teens over fantasy worlds and outlandish characters they both loved — Harry Potter, The Book Thief, the TV show House — soon Lewin’s musical palate began to infiltrate Tenenbaum’s taste, and by way of bands like Genesis and Yes, she adopted an affinity for prog rock and its off-kilter time signatures. From there, in unison, their palate expanded. Pop entered the picture.
“We definitely discovered PC music around age 16. Coming from an anti-pop background, that sort of ironic take on it was the gateway for us,” Lewin explains. Magdalena Bay, however, outgrew the cloak of irony almost immediately. Once in the door, the only feeling they had for the pop landscape was reverence. Tenenbaum explains, “We were like, this is actually amazing stuff. In fact, I've always taken it too seriously. We've always been very earnest — maybe sometimes to a fault with it.” Lewin nods, “We don't have that punk ethos.”
Contrary to their self-identification, there’s quite a bit about Magdalena Bay that is punk in approach. Fiercely DIY, the film originated from an offhand urge the duo had to make a music video for every single song on their album, Mercurial World with little to no budget. Timing didn’t align. Then, while in the studio working on the following and most recent LP, Imaginal Disc, it came up again. “We had the idea for the title and the cover really early on.” This was the kicker, creatively. Tenenbaum unpacks the process as it unfolded in real time, "We wrote the story while writing music. Maybe halfway through the music creation process, we started talking about what it might look like to do a movie for it, and superimpose a narrative and characters over the lyrics.”

Like a ball bouncing through a sunburnt festival crowd, the two finish each others’ sentences with an eagerness that mounts as we get further into the details of their craft. Lewin continues, “As we were finishing writing we started thinking about characters and plot. We weren't changing lyrics per se to fit the plot, but we were thinking more just on the emotional progression of the album, and how to correlate it with the story and the characters’ journey… It’s a semi-concept album — where the album can be enjoyed without knowing anything about the character and the plot, and the lyrics don't directly correlate to the story. But I think emotionally, the album mirrors the story. You can then interpret the lyrics to fit the story, or you cannot. The story is sort of just one way to interpret the album.”
Magdalena Bay is the Choose Your Own Adventure book of alt-pop. Rooted in a real appreciation for rock, they are a shimmering, shoegaze-steeped synthpop version of Coheed and Cambria — made for and by fantasy lovers, avid readers, LARPing fans, as much as those who purely want to get lost in a dreamy wash of good music. The key, for listeners and the artists themselves, is to leave it all wide open. “A beautiful thing about music,” Lewin says, “is that it's up to the listener's interpretation of what it means to them, and it has a personal thing. That's why we like to frame the album movie as just one version of what the album means. This is just one way that we're seeing it. Even to us, it's just one version of the lyrics because I think the lyrics are very personal to me as an individual person, not the character we've created.”
And they’ll continue to offer more and more iterations of their work. While they’re constantly ideating on new music, it doesn’t end there. With the album and film out, and a whole tour cycle behind them based around Imaginal Disc and its visual identity — including their memorable red and blue costumes and set choreography, motifs from both the film and live show — there’s still more to come from it. Next week, Magdalena Bay will hit the road with Paramore’s Hayley Williams on her highly anticipated solo tour, The Hayley Williams Show, alongside Rico Nasty as support. As far as their production plan? Unclear if they hoped to keep things a mystery, or if they were just as curious as I. As an opening act, there are limitations. “It’ll be a different perspective of thinking of them as songs, rather than as part of the story,” Tenenbaum thinks out loud. But, as has been proven by these two, limitations mean little when it comes to what they can, and will, create. After a pause, she smirks, giving me the last hint. “We don't like doing the same thing twice.”

Congrats on your first single, really exciting. What inspired “misbehave”?
Thank you so much! For this track, I really wanted to make something fun, dance-y, and bass-heavy that sounded very girly at the same time. I was thinking, “What's a song that I would have listened to and loved in high school?” I was super into sad girl, alternative songs, but I also love a nasty beat that makes you go, “Oh shit.” We were coming up with vocal chops, making sounds into words, and then the chops started to sound like “sad” and “misbehave.” We were like, “Let's play off of that and create some lyrics.” We came up with, “When I'm sad, I misbehave.” It’s the feeling of, “It's my party, but I'm still crying–tell me what to do to make it all feel better.”
Who produced it with you? Who do you feel influences your sound?
Bruno [Zero] and I produced it. We had so much fun making this. Growing up, I was such a Future bass girl. I loved Flume and I loved Odesza. On the other end, I was really into Crystal Castles and Clams Casino. That definitely had an influence on my sound. I'm such a pop girl and Tumblr girl at heart. Lana Del Rey, Halsey, Melanie Martinez, Marina and the Diamonds–I love those girls. I also love the idea of a super melancholy lyric muffled by a fast, upbeat, and happy track. It kind of confuses you, but that's where I was going with this record.
Where did you grow up? How long have you been DJing?
I grew up in Florida and I’ve been DJing since 2021. I was going out all the time thinking, “I would play better music than this,” and feeling like there weren’t enough female DJs. I would rent out studio spaces at Pirate in Brooklyn and just practice. I started DJing parties in college and when I graduated I thought, “Let's see where this can go, I'm having so much fun.” Now we're here!
How does it feel to have your first single out?
It feels crazy. I'm so grateful and overcome with love and joy. It just feels so surreal. Growing up I was always singing and doing musical theater. I loved music, and singing was always something I secretly wanted to do. Now that it's happening and everyone in my family and everyone that I grew up with has been like, “This is what you always wanted to do!” They're so excited for me. I can’t wait for what’s to come.


What’s next?
Hopefully an album or an EP. We're working on more songs, but I don't have a date for that yet. The next single will be in October or November.
"misbehave” is such a summer anthem. Will your next single in the fall be a bit darker?
I’m a summer girl through and through. Summer is a mindset.
What is your mantra?
Live Laugh Love in Rae Dunn font.
What is your favorite way to misbehave?
I love texting an ex-boyfriend. I'll admit that. I'm a pretty good girl but those aren’t my best moments.
What are three words to describe the single?
Sexy liberating freedom.

August 11
I wake up from a 13-hour sleep at around 7am, missing what the weather says is the only sunny day in Reykjavik that week. The mind and spirit always go further than the body. There aren’t taxis (that I can see) or Ubers or Lyfts here, but the public transit is surprisingly efficient. I take my suitcases and head into town.
When I was here last year covering a local indie festival, I was given a global membership to Kjarval, which is everything Soho House claims to be. I peek in and find, to my delight, the pass still works. After finding the coffee machine, I sit there and plot the week while digesting the clanging church bells and glitchy dimensions of the new Arca album.
Around noon, I get a text from my contact at Iceland Music: “you can use our office if you need a desk/coffee?” I do. The office is thankfully across the street, so lugging the suitcases isn’t hard. He greets me downstairs and helps me settle in. After filing the first of several pieces around the rave, I get the keys to an apartment a block from where the action is. The walk up the street is electric with life: tourists with eclipse t-shirts, a street vendor selling commemorative coins of the sun turned into an outline.
I have 15 minutes before a panel at Smekkleysa, the record store/ brick-and-mortar manifestation of a label founded by The Sugarcubes. There’s a short line for ticket pickup. After a brief panel led by Einar Örn Benediktsson, the band’s former vocalist and trumpet player, there’s a small set of local acts. Waiting for the set to start, I text a few friends I know are in town for the rave and, digging through the stacks, I meet a fab girl in a fur coat who somehow is also Venezuelan. It’s comforting to know so many of us are here on this cold esoteric island country. We exchange contacts and make vague promises to meet in New York, where she lives. My friend B texts back: ya estoy llegando, nos vemos abajo.
The Icelandic scene is singular in that its baseline is experimental (is it any surprise, when the country’s most important musician is communing with mushrooms in the woods to get inspired? Of the showcase, Knackered is the strong point, playing a freewheeling set that smashes fast BPM and drum machine together with irreverence. It’s not lost on any of us that this was where Björk would spin reggaeton on her full moon parties.
As the Brazilian baddies with the long acrylics and septum piercings vogue down, a tall cutie stands out, curls brushing the air as he headbangs to her set. We talk afterwards, when I tell him he’s an amazing dancer. Then, walking with my friends to get a drink, I see him on a bench, a pizza in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He waves.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, smiling.


August 12
The eclipse is coming, and the energy is scattered. In the same hour, my ride seemingly falls through; I get a frantic text about the coverage, and as I’m cutting up some cheese for a sandwich, I slice my finger open. Eclipses are moments of shift. They’re demanding, brutal, thirsty for blood. I decide I want to transition with the eclipse, even if it’s cold. I put on an all-white outfit, and layer on top of it, hiding the look until after the light returns.
30 minutes of a river of blood down the drain, lots of Neosporin, and several changed bandages later, I head to the Iceland Music office for a quick meeting. It’s raining and windy, definitely too cloudy for an eclipse sighting. We sort everything, and I get a text: my friends can take me after all. Just as quickly as everything fell apart, it came back together. In a few hours, the light will be devoured and reborn from the darkness.
I find M and his boyfriend a few streets up from Smekkleysa, and we ride out to Víðistaðatún. They have “a little G and a little acid.” I’ve been raving relatively sober for years now and don’t plan to end that streak, but it’s good to know. The rain is coming in and out, and I resign myself to not seeing the eclipse itself. The vibe at Echolalia more than makes up for it. I tuck my pink eclipse glasses away and take out my earplugs, heading straight to the medical tent where they give me a fresh bandage. “And you’re still going to dance?” the nurse asks me.


Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith kicks things off, playing breaks on her Buchla synths. She’s followed by Gummi Arnalds. We dance hard in the rain. After, there's Icelandic wünderkind Ronja’s set accompanied by a Japanese musician wielding a sledgehammer, another musician prancing in a white dress, and a gangly punk guy who loses his balance. He falls all over the fresh flowers set up on stage, and gets right back to jumping to the smashed-up punk, EDM, and deconstructed club beats. Sidestage, a countdown to the eclipse starts at 59 minutes.
Before Arca comes on, somehow, the rain subsides. Clad in an all-black Loewe dress, she opens with Afro-Venezuelan drums. “Leo-leo-lee-leo-leo-la, leo-leo-leo-leo-leo-leo-la”, a vocalization I grew up listening to rings out as she clambers on stage, letting loose next to B, who also knows what it means to hear our music. She gets back behind the decks, brings in a hard bass, and proceeds to dismember it. We’re front left, rocking to the beat as Arca moves us through a high-energy set that at one point includes the acapella of Tokischa’s song with La Mas Doll and DJ Yirvin’s hard fusion classic, “Pan Con Mortadella”. If there was any magic being invoked for the eclipse, this was the clear opening of the portal. After dancing in cold rain and wind, my body starts to radiate with heat.
Near the end of the set, the grey sky behind Arca takes on a red tint. She shouts out mother Björk, and ducks out as the countdown above and side stage is at ten minutes, right before the key moment, appearing on the lineup as TOTALITY. I look up and catch a few birds flying frantically. The light leaves suddenly. In the darkness, somebody begins a “Free Free Palestine” chant. The crowd gives this intention to the eclipse, some of us lighting cigarettes. I burn a rose-scented papier d’Arménie. My finger pulses. I give the eclipse old loves, lost friendships, and everything weighing me down before stripping off my top layer, feeling reborn.
The light returns, and white balloons peek out from atop the decks. Björk comes out wearing an insane dress, white balloons blown out in every direction like the wings of a Biblically-accurate angel. She starts with the 2001: A Space Odyssey theme. It’s a fact that Björk isn’t so much a DJ as a curator, her sets being more a peek into what she’s listening to right now. It’s expectedly eclectic in the best way: Kelela. Arca’s new album (and Safety Trance’s “El Alma Que Te Trajo”. North Nigerian auto-tuned devotionals. She ends with the Conrad Taylor remix of Rosalía’s “Berghain”. When you rave, if you’re lucky, you get a moment of transcendence. Fist bumping to this song in Reykjavik with this specific crowd was one of those moments.
Knackered takes the stage, playing a similar set to the one I was very glad to have lived up close at Smekkleysa, so I take a break, walk around. The grass is a little greener from the rain. People are scattered, relaxed. Finding M and his boyfriend, we talk about the things we gave to the eclipse, how light we feel now. As the festival ends, Spanish-Icelandic duo LOSCABALLOS close on a high note with reggaeton, dembow, and dancehall. Waist-wining to Spice’s viral “So Mi Like It (Raw)” in Iceland was a reminder that this is, in fact, an island.


August 13
At the Icelandic hospital, I get familiar with the local humor. After explaining how I lost the tip of my finger: “You cut a piece of cheese but ended up cutting off a piece of you!” Yeah.
The Echolalia ticket lets you access an exhibit at the National Gallery of Iceland. B and I watch Björk’s “Ancestress” performance and a beautiful live show on giant screens. “Tabula Rasa” hits extra hard after an eclipse that truly left us all with the feeling of a clean slate. In the line, two boys who met while waiting to enter the screening grab and kiss each other in the dark.
We head to the grocery store and go home to cook, a calm moment after yesterday. My friend Andervel, a Mexican folk singer who’s been based in Iceland for almost eight years now, links up with us before we head to a noise show at Mengi. “It’s a safe space to experiment”, he says on the walk there. I’m ready to see something freaky as hell.
We’re greeted outside by several local performers smoking cigarettes, including Ronja and Gummi. I thank them for their sets yesterday, and then we hear a screeching electric guitar. On the floor, the Japanese performer who was onstage yesterday with a sledgehammer leans further into sonic destruction. The crowd is cool, curious, and well-dressed. He’s followed by more cigarettes and an experimental tarot performance led by Ronja, where folks were invited to have a card projected on top of them as a sort of pseudo-reading. Yuki, a local journalist at the Reykjavik Grapevine, gets the High Priestess. One of the divas I twirled with yesterday gets the Knight of Wands. I get The Tower. We all make shapes in front of the wall, part of a really warm scene that clashes with the outside cold.
The after is nearby (like everything in Reykjavik) at the record store 12Tonar. After a long chat with Andervel, I buy two vinyls for one euro, maybe the cheapest thing I’ve bought in Iceland. We get a drink and chat outside, and when we go back in afterwards, Yuki comes in with a motley crew, a small procession involving a xylophone and a taxidermied duck, which her friend proceeds to tap on the silver keys. Of course, we all clap at the end.
August 14
I’m typing up my notes at Kjarval, processing the past two days. M and his boyfriend go to the West Fjords, so I look for new nature I can reach by bus before my midnight flight out of Iceland. I settle on the Kvika Footbath, and enlist B to come with after a visit to Olafur Eliasson’s Harpa building, and a few minutes dancing in its colorful textured glass façade.
Two buses later, we arrive at this tiny hot spring at one of the island’s many tips. There’s a couple there soaking their feet, and after they leave, I strip down to my speedo, soaking in a jacuzzi for one with a mountain and a sea and an expanse before me. B films a modern dance video in front of the landscape I’m taking in and eventually joins the soak.
When we finish enjoying the hot spring and dry off, an older woman approaches with a small child. “My husband knows the artist who made this,” she says. “She also made a hill somewhere else in Iceland.” We say we weren’t able to see it, and she smiles. “Well, you simply must come back!”

