Maraschino

In the mid-80s, Maraschino might be the spunky Susan, desperately seeking love in a loveless town or the carefree Nikki Finn (from Who’s That Girl?), accused of murdering her boyfriend but somehow finding a rollicking adventure out of it. Actually, Madonna is a good place to start with Maraschino, the brainchild of Piper Durabo, the bloodied but unbowed L.A. cult figure—think Eve Babitz with a synthesizer—whose music weaves the strange tales of an unfiltered outsider popstar arch-hero in the midst of societal collapse. There’s a cinematic quality to Maraschino's songs—equal parts Surrealism, Derek Jarman, Ken Russell (not to mention those Madonna classics), and its own meta-universe of characters and situations seen through eyes that have seen it all. The lyrics drip with equal parts honey and venom, cooed through a dreamy cocoon of thick synths and disco-pop. Listen closely, and nods to Saada Bonaire and Blondie melt through the speakers. Thematically, her songs are a visceral diary of love, loss, seclusion, and pluckiness in a modern Los Angeles where alienation and ennui are the cousins of indulgence. Through that, it’s also a celebration of surviving some of the most difficult moments life can throw at you, but taking the pain and sorrows and turning them into something positive. A renegade utopian vision where glamor and garbage collide in a sparkly bang. Where hearts are broken and mended, dreams crushed and reborn, all just to wake up and do it over again.