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what does it mean to be “hyped” on something dour, to electively dwell with that which hews so close to loss? why is it that music—and moreover, pop music, in the broadest and most capacious sense of the term—is what so consistently offers us solace and relief? 

 

we invite initial submissions of 500 to 2000 words, focalized by something discrete—a sound, a song, an album, a band—that meditates on our titular phrase. we especially seek work that is smart but not professional; attentive but not arch; and, most of all, risks embarrassment at every syntactical turn.

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pitch to sarah and bob at hypedonmelancholy [at] gmail [dot] com.

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