OKM101 #3
Featuring Late Night Messages, Micaela Young, The Others Like Us, Ken Pomeroy
Welcome to Oklahoma Music 101, where I recommend and review music by Oklahoma artists. Thank you for being here.
Imposter Syndrome - Late Night Messages
(May 16, 2025)
Perhaps nowhere else is imposter syndrome more present than the arts—subjectivity can either be a prison or a playground. The former is what happens when we try to draw definite distinctions between undefinable spaces. The latter is how Late Night Messages approached their latest EP.
Originally the solo moniker of producer and songwriter Jonathan Nathaniel Martinez (JNM), Late Night Messages (LNM) has begun to forge a new identity for itself, with new members, influences, and goals. [This trajectory is similar to that of another OKC band, Dinosaur Boyfriend, which I wrote about here.]
Ironically, growth is often times the staging ground for imposter syndrome, because as soon as we think we’ve figured out who we are, we’re becoming someone different. No man ever steps in the same river twice and all that.
Each track on Imposter Syndrome (four total) feels like another piece of this new identity being revealed—another step in another river. From electro-pop to indie rock and many points in-between, the excitement of exploration and epiphany remains ever-present.
It’s in the moony, bedroom pop opener “Mass Hysteria”:
“Day to night and night to day
A thousand hours from yesterday
A hundred ways that I could change
Never ends, yeah it never ends”
It’s in the cool and charismatic digifunk of “Crybaby”, Martinez crooning “I just want time / I just want love,” over a punchy bass and drum groove, before spacey synths collide in a cosmic burst of color. It’s in the euphoric intro of “All a Dream” with its mellotron and birds warbling, like waking up to a new dawn, one full of possibilities.
Though these possibilities are exciting, they can also be frightening, paralyzing. Per the description on Bandcamp, “This EP has existed in ideas and demos for 3 years. Out of fear of it needing to be perfect, a lot of that time was spent hiding from it.”
The closing track “Something Else” is an emphatic and invigorating rejection of that fear. Overdriven guitar and vocals pump with determination, shedding riffs and skin, stepping into yet another river. In Martinez’ words: “Maybe it’s time / To stop holding yourself back.”
FFO: Tame Impala, Owl City, full circle moments
You Look At Me Like Art - Micaela Young
(May 11, 2025)
Having recently received recognition from the likes of WILLOW, it would seem people are beginning to catch on to this next Tulsa musician’s talent. Micaela Young’s musicality is vivacious, embracing authenticity, quirks, and a hopeful sort of sentimentality.
Have you ever felt like you’ve heard a song before, while listening to it for the first time? Not in the sense that it’s derivative or parodic, but in a deja vu sort of way, where the sounds are so intuitive and the emotions so familiar that it takes you back to a version of yourself you haven’t experienced yet?
That is the sensation of Young’s “You Look At Me Like Art”, an eclectic and lovely song that gracefully encapsulates its premise. Certainly the theme harkens back to something familiar for most if not every one of us: the gone but not (entirely) forgotten wide-eyed innocence of childhood, and the ever-growing gap between who we used to be and who we are becoming.
The instrumentation, with finger-plucked strings and flutes dancing about, bass squirming up and down restlessly, evokes that innocuous exhilaration in the first lyrics: “When I was little / things were simple.”
Playful production by Logan Bruhn fills the frequency spectrum, creating a balmy atmosphere that surrounds the listener, a comforting barrier between them and the big world beyond.
The arrangement adds an element of strangeness with its odd time signature (5/8), but is never burdened by it, achieving that sort of flowing unfamiliarity of youthful naivety.
Though Young swoons for that outmoded innocence, she is not blinded by it; she doesn’t seek to exploit her nostalgia, but cherish it, and even learn from it, realizing the power in the way she used to look at the world—at herself—with wonder and an appreciation of simplicity.
As we age, we naturally become burdened by judgements and colored by resentments. Young seeks to paint a different picture of her life, to preserve a piece of that “perfect sky.”
FFO: WILLOW, Kara Jackson, Vincent Van Gogh
All You Have Left - The Others Like Us
(May 2, 2025)
Ostensibly their final project, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention this EP from Tulsa emo darlings The Others Like Us.
Despite the metaphorical abandonment of the building, the foundation remains sturdy; since their first releases in 2021, the band has captured fans’ attention and hearts with explosive sonic energy and an unfiltered emotional core. All You Have Left represents their most refined work to date, with elevated production and a tighter sound both in terms of performance and mix.
The four tracks are marked with their usual self-effacing lyrics and cheeky song titles, but—and perhaps it is simply the prospect of finality—there seems to be a bit more sincerity, more weight to them, as the light at the end of the tunnel casts an unfamiliar glow on present surroundings.
The self-titled intro sets a cinematic opening, complete with swelling strings and twinkling bells under stitched voice samples, as that unfamiliar glow brings new shadows: doubts about things once seemed so sure of, ideas previously accepted without question.
“I don’t think that I can continue to do the things I have done, in the name of progress.”
This climax catapults into “How Did You Almost Know My Name?”, upbeat rock over a slamming backbeat, a blend of math-y guitar riffs and driving emo choruses. Vocalist Sam Smith’s delivery is ruggedly expressive, begging for clarity, searching for certainty: “Cause I can try / Try to change me, arrange me / Into something you could love.”
The closer “Keep Trying Kid” is cutting and cathartic, a testament to persistence through grief, and solitude, and change: “You think this is the end / I promise it will begin.” And though this may be the last leg of the journey for The Others Like Us, their influence will carry on.
By daring to let out those things often left in the dark, exposing themselves to the shadows, they also inevitably shined their own light into it, making things a bit brighter for others along the way. Thank you TOLU.
FFO: Ben Quad, La Dispute, Capri Sun
Ken Pomeroy - Cruel Joke
(May 16, 2025)
Many reading this will likely be familiar with the name Ken Pomeroy. The Oklahoma singer-songwriter has been on a borderline meteoric rise, touring with the likes of western music powerhouse Turnpike Troubadours, and landing multiple songs in syndication on popular tv shows (Reservation Dogs) and movies (Twister).
Although Pomeroy seems to be eschewing the generalities of a come-up, compromising neither aesthetic nor intention to please any lower common denominator. Her music (and artistic demeanor) remains ruminative, relatively serious—as introspective as it is observant, affirming.
Cruel Joke is not a debut album, but has the measure of one, a long way from her 2021 output Christmas Lights in April. Even a comparison of the two covers suggests its own story: the saturation and warm color of that first album now met by a black and white grit, an older Pomeroy centered, no longer in a green field but a bare prairie, staring straight ahead (at us), maybe worn, but unwavering.
From the cover art through to the lyrics and songwriting, the album sustains an impression of wisdom—more acceptance than maturation—not quite stoic, but reassuring, calm. That is not to say that excitement or joy is lost; indeed, within this harsher landscape there is a vibrance beneath the surface. Amidst the pain there is beauty.
Much like the grayscale of its cover, the soundscapes and subject matter on Cruel Joke are often shadowed, overcast like a storm approaches, feelings of fading dusk. The instrumentation is often relatively sparse—there is little “flare,” though the songs are not rendered dull by any means.
In fact, what is striking about this album is its sense of quiet, of stillness, which may either be soothing or unsettling. The whole thing rests (rightfully so) atop Pomeroy’s voice, its peaks and valleys similar to those of the aforementioned prairie: seemingly subtle from a distance, all-encompassing up close.
Her singing style belies a bit of a classic country sensibility, slight twitches and twangs. Her voice is full but gentle, diffusing a warmth akin to resting by the fire out on the plains as the cold wind blows, another night inevitable, another morning possible, an entire life behind and ahead. Sit down and rest for a while, traveler.
