Spotify wants to give historic venues such as the Troubadour and the Paramount — and the independent musicians who play there — a boost.

The steaming giant on Wednesday said it is partnering with the National Independent Venue Assn. (NIVA) to promote local music nationwide, including at dozens of clubs in L.A.

In the yearlong partnership, the company said it aims to boost visibility for independent music venues through its live events feed that will feature links to music from local artists and their performances at clubs in the Los Angeles area.

As part of the initiative, NIVA will choose someone who books the acts for these indie venues to work with Spotify’s editorial team and create a playlist featuring artists.

Spotify is launching the playlist this summer to celebrate and highlight the people shaping independent live music from behind the scenes.

The Regent Theater, Gold Diggers, the Teragram Ballroom and the United Theater on Broadway will be included in the program, Spotify said in its statement.

“Independent venues are the heartbeat of live music,” said Rene Volker, Spotify’s senior director of live music. “They’re where artists take risks, build devoted communities, and where fans discover what they’ll love for the rest of their lives.”

Spotify’s history in the music industry is complex, and it has previously faced some criticism over how it compensates artists whose songs stream on its platform.

Bill Werde, the director of Syracuse’s recording and entertainment industries program, said Spotify’s support for indie musicians could help them during a difficult time.

“It costs money to market, to collect good data and to do most of the things required to break through in today’s attention economy,” Werde said in a statement. “This creates a disadvantage for smaller music companies and smaller artists, who may not have the resources of larger acts and larger venues.”

Blue Heron, 2025.

Written and Directed by Sophy Romvari.
Starring Eylul Guven, Iringó Réti, Ádám Tompa, Edik Beddoes, Amy Zimmer, Liam Serg, Preston Drabble, Lucy Turnbull, and Jecca Beauchamp.

SYNOPSIS:

A family of six settles into their new home on Vancouver Island as internal dynamics are slowly revealed through the eyes of the youngest child.

At one point in writer/director Sophy Romvari’s meta-reflective and profoundly personal 1990s-set Blue Heron, young Sasha (Eylul Guven) asks her mother (credited as such and played by Iringó Réti) if her friends can come over and play outside (the film primarily takes place during a warm, breezy summer filled with swimming and bursting water balloons), only to be told that it’s not a good idea. It could be” embarrassing”, even, given that her older brother Jeremy (the eldest child, played by a truly unknowable and unsettling Edik Beddoes) has a behavioral disorder that is gradually becoming more erratic, unstable, volatile, and dangerous to himself and those around him. 

More than a film that convincingly portrays such a condition, and the lack of systemic resources and knowledge among psychologists and social services to properly help, Blue Heron approaches it from the narrative and cinematic perspective of a child eavesdropping on her parents (her father, played by Ádám Tompa mostly sticks to his computer-based work, avoiding what’s happening until that is no longer possible). Roughly halfway through, Sophy Romvari adds another layer, this time an experimental aspect in the present day that takes everything from the past and puts it under a new microscopic lens, juxtaposing those experiences and how Sasha feels as an adult (now played by Amy Zimmer), making films to reach a greater understanding of her brother and the rocky dynamic they had.

In some respects, it’s about a child’s first exposure to a disability or some type of condition destabilizing socially acceptable behavior, the frustrations that come with that from not only navigating it at such a young age, but during a time when adults also didn’t have much of an answer, later squared up against the fleeting happy memories, the reality of the situation, regret, and an adult perspective. At times, the film brilliantly and beautifully fuses the older perspective with the childhood memories and scenes, creating genuinely innovative emotional poignancy.

Much of this is elevated by striking cinematography (courtesy of Maya Bankovic) that is doing more than simply observing family interactions and dialogue through Sasha, but also sometimes utilizing tracking shots from an outdoor point of view following characters walking across the home, as if reappearing into something deeply personal on a narrative level and a similar sense regarding the filmmaker. The photography also makes use of reflections in numerous scenes, with the additional twist of characters sometimes reflecting back at one another, or of eerie ghosting that seemingly duplicates faces. Nearly everything about the filmmaking approach contributes to the reflexive nature of the story being told, a contemplation of whether something more or better could have been done to help Jeremy.

Then there is Jeremy (practically nonverbal, blonde-haired, sporting glasses, generally giving off quietly unhinged, emotionally distant vibes) who isn’t treated as a cheap caricature, but a real person who, at some point, changed (some family history is revealed providing fascinating context) and now teeters between serene moments of gentleness (most notably with Sasha at a beach) and outbursts that start off relatively harmless but blossom into full-blown threats of burning the house down (it’s also important to point out that the threat itself is kept offscreen, which is a smart decision so as not to exploit the behavior for misguided suspense; it’s not about whether or not he will follow through on any of this).

It should go without saying that these performances are nuanced, layered, and extraordinary across the board. However, it is that inventive second-half turn that elevates Blue Heron into a truly original work that takes the exploration of a condition and a child’s initial experiences around it, or how the entire situation alters and breaks apart the family dynamic into something far more profound regarding memory, sibling bonds, and systemic failings.

Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★ ★ ★

Robert Kojder

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=embed/playlist

Since I started DJing nearly a decade ago, it’s been a dream of mine to DJ at a music festival, a place where music lovers of all walks of life converge. So when I got the opportunity to spin at Coachella, the country’s festival of all festivals, I was over the moon.

This was my second time playing at Coachella with Party in My Living Room, a house party concert series founded by Inglewood native Yannick “Thurz” Koffi in 2015. The activation, designed to look like an actual living room with couches and artwork, was a collaboration with GV Black, a group promoting “Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) to be seen at the festival.” For the last four years, Koffi has been inviting DJs and musicians (Ty Dolla Sign, P-Lo, Kamaiyah and Isaiah Rashad, to name a few) to perform at the pop-up, which has quickly become a popular side quest for festivalgoers. So when Koffi asked me to be a part of the stacked lineup during Weekend 1, I was honored.

After preparing my set for weeks, the moment had finally come for me to spin on Sunday afternoon. I soaked up the entire weekend experience — from the celebrity-packed artist compound to the exclusive pop-ups (Redbull Mirage and the Soho House hideout) and the free dining. Here’s a peak behind the curtain from an artist’s perspective and what I learned about DJing at the festival.

Kailyn Hype played house, hip-hop, jersey club, baile funk and other genres during her high-energy DJ set at Coachella.

(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)

1. Spinning at a daytime desert festival is much different than at a bar

I was in charge of kicking off the activation on the final day of Coachella Weekend 1, which is an underrated job because it means that you get to set the tone for the day.

If I were spinning at a bar, club or flea market, I’d likely ease into my set with more chill songs before getting into bangers. But this was a festival and the crowd was ready to party, so I didn’t waste any of my 45-minute set. (My set was initially scheduled for one hour, but it was cut due to a sound check delay.) However, I left the big hip-hop tracks for the other DJs to play, which is a common DJ courtesy.

With songs like “Tonight” by Pink Pantheress, “Am I Wrong” by Anderson.Paak, “Brighter Days” by Cajmere, “Nissan Altima” by Doechii and several high-energy remixes that I found on Bandcamp, my set was everything I’d hoped for: fun, joyful and liberating. The crowd and I jumped up and down, threw up our hands, sang and danced together. And even if they didn’t know the words to a particular track, they were still open to all of it, which is one of the best feelings you can get as a DJ.

2. The artist wristband was my golden ticket — to a glorious buffet

With so many delicious food vendors like Villa’s Tacos, Prince Street Pizza, Happy Ice and El Moro, I knew that I was going to be eating good at Coachella. What I didn’t expect is for there to be free catering for folks with artist wristbands, like myself. After making my way through the artist compound, past the golf carts that transported performers and celebrities (I spotted Teyana Taylor and Damson Idris) and along a plant-filled pathway, I made it to the elaborate dining area. Inside the room, which was draped with colorful curtains with guitars attached to them, I felt like a kid at a buffet. There were poke bowls, a sandwich station, pizza, steak, ice cream sundae and even a “wrap station,” so you could take your food to go.

“Since I started DJing nearly a decade ago, it’s been a dream of mine to DJ at a music festival,” says Kailyn Brown.

(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)

3. But even if you have an artist wristband, long lines are inescapable

At any major event, be it a music festival or sports game, lines are to be expected. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I expected the bathroom lines in the artist compound — an exclusive backstage area for artists and their crews — to be shorter. I quickly realized that the lines were unavoidable and if I really needed to go, it was usually faster to go to the porta-potties in the general admission or VIP areas.

4. I found respite at exclusive lounges

After running around the festival for hours, it was nice to be able to take a break from the heat in stylish, exclusive areas like the Red Bull Mirage and Soho House’s hideout.

Red Bull invited me to check out their three-story social hub and hospitality destination at Coachella, which included a Nobu omakase dinner on the top floor. Overlooking the Quasar stage, it offered the perfect spot to sip on the energy drink company’s signature cocktails (the Paloma was my favorite) and watch energetic DJ sets from artists like David Guetta, Fatboy Slim and Pawsa. It’s also where “Love Island USA” Season 7 favorite Olandria was serving Red bull mocktails — and looks — from behind the bar.

While Red Bull Mirage provided day club vibes, the energy at the Soho House hideout was a bit more laid-back. Located inside a luxurious air-conditioned tent near the main Coachella stage, invited guests and Soho House members with VIP passes could order from the bespoke bar, grab a bite (e.g., burgers, fries and maki rolls) and enjoy music from a live DJ.

Founded by Inglewood native Yannick “Thurz” Koffi in 2015, Party in My Living Room is a house party concert series.

(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)

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With an artist pass in tow, Kailyn Brown explored the artist lounge, dining hall and other exclusive areas at the music festival.

(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)

5. Music festivals can be a lot, but there’s a reason we keep coming back

After I was finished with my set, several people came up to thank me including one man, a Mexico-based artist named Memo Wright, who drew a live sketch of me spinning, which made my day. Even some of my Times colleagues took a break from reporting to stop by and say hello.

As I drove back home from the desert the following morning, I reflected on why I love music festivals so much and have been attending them since I was 16. Though events like Coachella get a bad rap for being expensive, crowded and uncomfortable (yes, it’s hot and dusty), this experience reminded me why people keep coming back — for the love of music and being able to commune with others who are just as obsessed with it as you are.