Listen "Out" music reviews for March 2026
- by Jason Drewry
Music Critic
Robyn – Sexistential
On Sexistential, Robyn sounds like she’s staring down the mirrorball and asking it existential questions it’s not equipped to answer. It’s pop as philosophy: sweaty, cerebral, and aching with the kind of loneliness that only hits once the club lights come up. Robyn has always understood that liberation and isolation are twin forces, and here she lets them grind against each other until sparks fly. The beats pulse with restraint rather than excess, favoring tension over release.
As a queer pop icon, her gift has never been escapism alone - it’s honesty dressed up as catharsis. Sexistential leans into that lineage, tracing desire, selfhood, and emotional endurance with a cool, almost clinical precision. Yet there’s warmth buried beneath the steel, especially in moments where vulnerability peeks through the icy synths. This record is not chasing hits or nostalgia, but rather a document of survival on the dancefloor, for anyone who’s ever found themselves alone in a crowd and weirdly grateful for it.
Melissa Etheridge – Rise
Rise finds Melissa Etheridge sounding battle-worn but unbowed, a queer elder stateswoman still willing to bare her teeth - and her heart. The album leans into her familiar muscular Americana rock, but there’s a new softness threaded through the grit, a sense of reflection earned rather than forced. Etheridge writes like someone who has lived every word she sings, and here she allows space for grief, resilience, and righteous anger to coexist.
As one of the first openly lesbian rock stars to break through mainstream barriers, Etheridge’s voice carries cultural weight, and Rise understands that responsibility. The album’s political undercurrent never feels performative; it’s deeply personal, shaped by loss, survival, and decades of visibility. When she sings about standing back up, it’s not a slogan - it’s a memoir. Rise doesn’t reinvent Melissa Etheridge, nor does it need to. It reaffirms why her presence still matters: she remains a reminder that queer survival itself can be a radical, defiant act.
Beverly Glenn-Copeland – Laughter In Summer
Laughter In Summer feels like a gentle hand on the shoulder, guiding you toward the light without insisting you rush. Beverly Glenn-Copeland’s music has always existed outside of time, and this collection drifts with the ease of warm air and open windows. The songs glow with quiet optimism, blending folk, ambient textures, and Glenn-Copeland’s unmistakably tender voice into something that feels both deeply personal and universally soothing.
As a Black trans elder and cult icon, Glenn-Copeland’s work carries profound emotional resonance, especially within queer communities hungry for softness and affirmation. Laughter In Summer doesn’t demand attention; it earns it through patience and grace. There’s a spiritual quality here - not religious, but reverent - honoring joy as something sacred and hard-won. In a world that often feels relentlessly sharp, this album offers refuge. It’s music for breathing; for remembering that survival can sound like ease, and that laughter itself can be an act of quiet resistance.
Cavetown – Running With Scissors
On Running With Scissors, Cavetown captures the anxious poetry of growing up queer in real time. Robin Skinner’s songwriting remains disarmingly candid, turning intrusive thoughts, self-doubt, and fragile hope into soft-focus indie pop that cuts deeper than its gentle exterior suggests. The production is intimate and slightly frayed, as if these songs were stitched together in a bedroom at 2 a.m.—because emotionally, they were.
As a trans artist whose audience skews young and fiercely devoted, Cavetown understands the power of naming feelings others are still learning how to articulate. Running With Scissors balances vulnerability with forward motion, acknowledging fear without letting it fully take the wheel. There’s a sweetness here that never tips into naïveté; Skinner knows that healing is nonlinear and often uncomfortable. This album doesn’t promise answers. Instead, it offers companionship - a reminder that stumbling forward still counts, especially when you’re building a self the world hasn’t quite learned how to hold yet.
The Gayly online. 3/9/26 @ 2:18p.m. CST.