Premiere: NOLA Queer Musician Oblivia Debuts Second Album, ‘Suburban Legend’
New Orleans based chaos chauntese Oblivia has always been a maven of metaphoric means, deep-diving in the perforated psyches that relate to IRL past lives through digitized confessionalist concept pieces. Debuting Suburban Legend with album art featuring them and their mother in the backyard of the artist’s childhood home in Norristown, PA, photographed by Chris Berntsen, this symbolic return to an adolescent space after a timeframe of transformative process clues into the space that stamps the story throughout Oblivia’s second album.
“I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of mythology. Gods, monsters, archetypes, and legends that dance and elaborate the theatre of life, a mirror for society. I think of the self in this same way: an invention that we develop and that others make for us as we live our lives, both of these ideas eventually creating a deeper truth,” Oblivia explains. “I wanted to weave a tapestry of stories from growing up queer in the suburbs of Philadelphia and reflecting back on my personal mythology in a traumatizing household, to see what lessons I could learn from my past, as I remember it in fragments, sounds, and stories others have told me.”
Suburban Legend has overarching themes regarding concepts of family and safety, grappling through betrayal, self-reliance, fear and metamorphosis, as stated: “I wanted to meditate on the perpetual violence within the seemingly calm world of suburbia, what happens behind closed doors of stark beige cookie-cutter homes with chestnut rooftops.”
With a half year recently spent in Mexico City, Oblivia recorded much of the material during this time frame of intensive study for a condensed Spanish language program. Suburban Legend is the result of the moments in which the artist had to create, reflecting on what youth was at “home” while being in the extremely diffing environment of Mexico City’s international metropolis. Suburban Legend’s collection of tracks range from juxtaposed jingles, looming witchhaus haunts and samplified mishmash madness, the ambience and energy of this record intense and harrowing.
“I tried to capture this essence in the form of ambient noise and weird electronic sexuality: a howling chorus of winter valkyries desperately chirping sonic landscapes through the distortion of teenage emotion and the trials of familial secrecy and judgement. Will we see an end to this violence, or will we indulge in the fetish of a silence?”, Oblivia questions.
Like all of Oblivia’s works, Suburban Legend is built on the exploration of self. From constructing the complicated and juxtaposed art film Year of the Whore in 2014, teetering between parody and femme vulnerability with a heavy dose of Beyonce, to finding further artistic actualization through 2018’s “noise opera” The Bottom, Oblivia has perfected deconstruction (and sometimes destruction) in her particular brand of queer art divahood. Her uncanny ability to seek reflection in environments and situations as it relates to her identity and artistic expression, filtered thru mocked clubby motifs and distortion, one could say Oblivia’s music in itself is a commentary on the nitty gritty hiding within our ego-oriented society, and the victim that is individual vulnerability, bringing dysfunction to the surface while maintaining hints of glamour and pop that sits at the forefront of femme performance. If there ever was a Lynchian equivalent in the queer performance art community today, it would be Oblivia.
“With Suburban Legend I fathomed indulgence, self-destructive habits, and the game of risk that we play to experience joy in sterile environments. One day, while writing this album, I came across a sign in Lowe’s that read, ‘Safety is when nothing happens,’ which easily became a personal thesis,” Oblivia explains. “I’ve come to the conclusion that safety’s an illusion. This is a suburban myth to me, a suburban legend if you will, that preventing danger from happening is better than experiencing the world in its austere unfamiliarity.”
—
Sunni Johnson is the Arts Editor of WUSSY and a writer, zinester, and musician based in Atlanta, GA.
Archive
- November 2024
- October 2024
- September 2024
- August 2024
- July 2024
- June 2024
- May 2024
- April 2024
- October 2023
- July 2023
- June 2023
- May 2023
- April 2023
- March 2023
- February 2023
- June 2022
- April 2022
- March 2022
- January 2022
- December 2021
- October 2021
- September 2021
- August 2021
- July 2021
- June 2021
- May 2021
- April 2021
- March 2021
- February 2021
- January 2021
- December 2020
- October 2020
- September 2020
- August 2020
- July 2020
- June 2020
- May 2020
- April 2020
- March 2020
- February 2020
- January 2020
- December 2019
- November 2019
- October 2019
- September 2019
- August 2019
- July 2019
- June 2019
- May 2019
- April 2019
- March 2019
- February 2019
- January 2019
- December 2018
- November 2018
- October 2018
- September 2018
- August 2018
- July 2018
- June 2018
- May 2018
- April 2018
- March 2018
- February 2018
- January 2018
- December 2017
- November 2017
- October 2017
- September 2017
- August 2017
- July 2017
- June 2017
- May 2017
- April 2017
- March 2017
- February 2017
- January 2017
- December 2015
- November 2015
- October 2015
- September 2015
- August 2015
- July 2015
- June 2015
- May 2015
- April 2015