Amyl and the Sniffers lit up the House of Blues like it owed them money. It wasn’t a gig. It was a full-body exorcism performed by a woman in bike shorts and fury. Taylor stalked the stage like a feral angel, snarling through “Guided by Angels” and tearing into “Hertz” like she was shredding a love letter with her teeth.

Some weeks, music is medicine. Other weeks, it’s a mirror, a molotov, or a hiding place. This week’s picks are all of the above — tracks that slap, sting, and sit with you long after the last note. If you’re feeling chaotic, tender, politically frayed or artistically wired, there’s something in here for you. This week’s Eight Track is a genre-defiant parade of real music made by real artists who’d probably ghost your ex just for fun. Emotionally feral, and refreshingly unmarket-tested, There’s no theme, just a mood: sharp edges, soft landings, and a little sonic violence when necessary. Here are tracks that actually deserve your ears. No skips. Let’s get into it.

People always ask for my “desert island discs” like I’ve packed a sun hat and emotional stability. I haven’t. These aren’t comfort albums — they’re survival ones. They’re the records that cracked something open, rewired my spine, gave me language when I had none. Some are angry. Some are weird. Some are soft like bruises. All of them showed me that sound isn’t just entertainment — it’s protest, memory, inheritance, resistance. This isn’t a ranked list. It’s a scar map.