Art Undefined: First Reactions to Mildred's New Album "Pt. 1"

“Art is supposed to make you feel something.” It’s an overused adage, filled with ambiguity—which, I suppose, is left up to the consumer to determine—but is usually followed with a concrete, quantifiable term. 

Art is supposed to make you feel happy. Art is supposed to make you feel sad. Perturbed, anxious, nostalgic, and any other slew of easily identifiable vocabulary words. Yet, when listening to the sophomore album of Glendale’s Mildred, I was at a loss. It was art, that much I knew, but I struggled to articulate how it made me feel. Lasting over two hours, featuring 23 artists, and spanning genres that I am not qualified enough to individually name and describe, Pt. 1 challenged me to be uncomfortable, and to find solace within tension. I’ll admit it—I’m awful at finding new music. I know what I like, and I’m happy to exist in my own bubble of normalcy, never really branching out. There’s a reason I’m never shocked when my Spotify Wrapped comes out, as it’s the same songs I’ve been listening to since the start of the year. 

Yet, through this self-induced monotony, I’ve seemed to forget that it takes discomfort to find new music, and explore new art. It won’t be handed to me, and that’s what makes finding new music worth it. Through the journey of pushing yourself to listen to the unknown, you put a fraction of yourself into the song, becoming involved and ingrained into the very notes that create it. 

After listening to Pt. 1, I was drawn back into the beauty that is discovering NEW music. . Each song was methodical, a carefully calculated movie that drew vivid images in my mind. I didn’t know what to expect heading in to the album, but I knew that I was someone different after listening. 

A personal standout was near the end of the album, titled Lila’s Death. It was a softer, more melancholic approach than the earlier hardcore tracks. Strangely enough, it was reminiscent of the house shows I used to attend when I was a baby freshmen on campus, struggling to find my place and my people. It too echoed a similar taste of nostalgia, immersing me in the sweat, dirt, and unexplainable bruises that resulted from dancing too hard to an unnamed band in an unnamed backyard. 

In fact, the whole album could be seen as an ode to every up and coming band playing for anyone who has ears to listen. There’s a sense of grit and determination from both parties, as both willingly put themselves into a state of vulnerability—artists exposing their work, and listeners opening up to receive it. So while I can’t find a single, tangible descriptive word for this form of art, I know that art is supposed to make you feel. 

And man, do I feel.

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Makena Locsin is a writer on our Editorial Team. She wrote the article. Sam Thome is our Art Director. He made the graphic. Bella Villa is a photographer based in Los Angeles. They took the photo of Mildred.