By Annie Bush and Katie Li

May 11th 2025

A leather clad figure is perched on the steps of Sigma Pi. Bruise colored light spills from the still- empty foyer and floods the grassy lawn, washing the lone body with a strange spectral glow; it is something like a halo. A purpled angel of the fraternity yard, lor2mg waits patiently for me. 

They are here to play a DIY alt rap show put on by the next generation of agent assistants and PR darlings yet to graduate UCLA, a noteworthy collaboration between a generous collegiate fraternity and the campus radio station. Tight groups of twentysomethings with nose rings and Accutane-clean skin coalesce in corners, anxiously awaiting the impending crowd—tonight, these hallowed halls adorned with dusty trophies and vinyl couches and fraternity composites of decades past will be filled with people who have come from all corners of Los Angeles (and, in one case, OREGON) to see musicians jackzebra, kuru, Lucy Bedroque, Harto Falión, Deer park, and, of course, lor2mg.

Lor will perform on the concrete back patio at 10:30pm. Two hours beforehand, we’re standing atop the wilted grass in the early dusk and they’re showing me a ghost-catching app on their phone and playing peekaboo with a frat cat peering out of a filmy window. They don't appear the least bit nervous—Lor communicates in broad smiles, gesticulating wildly, as if their words have been frothing in their ligaments, kinetic energy animating the limbs before they bounce out through a row of straight teeth. lor2mg has been on a performing kick—after releasing 7-track album dedecaytion this year, the artist toured with Kitty Craft across the West Coast. Tonight, though, is a unique show: It’s Lor’s first rap-only performance. 

Since cementing a spot in the hyperpop vanguard in the throes of the pandemic, Lor (a singular producer, musician, and vocalist), has been playing with genre: their music borrows from conventions in black metal; shoegaze; hip hop; noise, all of which have yielded a strange soundscape that’s garnered Lor a cult following. And across their broad discography—replete with 12 albums, 5 EPS, and over 160 songs—you’re sure to find the one that moves you: sometimes rock (i.e., daisies), sometimes rap (i.e. cicada), or an ambiguous tangling of both (i.e., neverspeak). 

Unlike many musicians in the scene, Lor’s first musical escapade involves tangible instruments, playing guitar in a black metal band. Lor’s first notable online escapade, in contrast, was “dancing to some Playboi Carti song” on TikTok, which they cite as unintentionally capturing the first segment of their fanbase: teenage boys. A further dive into that TikTok era hints at other bridges of inspiration to their current eclectic sound, via stream-of-consciousness dances soundtracked to Bladee, Duwap Kaine, and Sickboyrari. 

Accordingly, with their first two 2021 albums wurds 2 heer and love nowhere, their entry into the church electronic cosmos are entirely rap; these projects remind me most of early Babyxsosa (a high-pitched, almost baby- rapping voice, effortless flow, distorted 808s, bouncy synth melodies, and the classic trap drum patterns) with an emo tinge. After those projects, however, it becomes rather unpredictable which song will take which route. In Lor’s sonic universe, rage beats exist in the same canon as a neo-jazz beat only months apart; screamo vocals sit atop an anti-genre blend of an electronic drum machine pattern and a sharp, distorted tone of a guitar’s bridge pickup. Roots do have a way of finding their way back into your subconscious; “I went back to the instrumentals I guess,” they tell us, “because it's just that it feels better, more natural to play. I love the heavier sounds of it that you can kind of mix every genre with.” 

While genre differentiates lor2mg’s songs, a singular emotional landscape unifies them; if genre (or, rather, its bending of) is the spirit of Lor’s music, the sentiment of loneliness is its soul. Lor’s music evokes a weighty feeling of isolation, akin to crawling through a brisk, damp garden on a cold morning: you can almost feel the peat under the crescents of your fingernails. You may have to listen closely; their lyricism is choicely obscured, occasionally unintelligible, drifting away to the breeze as soon as their words float by. But their voice still pierces that wind like a thicket of thorns: its spatially and emotionally distant melodies clarifying the heaviness of their confessions to someone so close, yet so far away. Even in “GO,” an energetic single with a beat that echoes pregame favorite artist Chief Keef, and in “rollitup”—one of Lor’s most popular songs for its dreamy, laid-back yet upbeat atmosphere—we hear muffled calls to that familiar seclusion: “I been on my own” and “I don't need no friends, and I'll throw away my phone,” respectively. 

It is this contrast—the warmth of the sound, the crushing solitude tangible in the music—that vivifies their newest album dedecaytion. The shoegaze record was made entirely in isolation, Lor peering from their window at the sunny Santa Barbara weather. “Sometimes Santa Barbara is not exactly my vibe,” they laugh. “Because everything there feels so happy. Wine moms are walking everywhere and, like, fucking frat and sorority people,” [Lor stops themself here and giggles at a nearby brother]. “Which is fine! No shade, no shade…It’s just like I'm not that person. And that is a lot of the feeling in dedecaytion comes from not feeling like I belong anywhere I go,” they admit. And probably unlike Santa Barbara’s classicists, Lor was listening to shoegaze band Julie’s my anti-aircraft friend and Bladee’s Cold Visions, coloring both the sound and emotional intensity of dedecaytion. Despite listening to both albums for “two months straight,” Lor finished theirs in just a week and a half, playing each instrument on the record and, notably, recording their favorite song “eroded” in just 30 minutes. 

This Grimes-esque artistic isolation was not bred from an eagerness to stay alone—Lor expresses, emphatically, a radiant gratitude for their newfound mobility: after spending seven years without any interaction with the outside world due to a chronic illness and severe disability, they have only begun to be able to go outside starting last October: “I never thought I would live my life again genuinely. I really did give up, and I never thought I'd walk again. I never thought I'd take car rides and go road trips,” they share. 

Tonight, amongst pierced fans in black hoodies that crowd in front of the stage when Lor steps on, Lor seems to fit right in. They bounce around the stage, jerking their head and with it the microphone—the crowd bounces with them, unified by a love for rap music and a resignation to, ironically, a feeling of loneliness present in Lor’s voice scraping the air atop a bouncing bass. 

……………………………………………………………………………..

Watch our full conversation with lor2mg below.