I arrive at an unassuming venue off Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood for Spotify’s Best New Artist party. The only hint of what’s inside are billboards with headshots of the Grammy nominees: “Lola Young can’t be playing,” my Uber driver tells me as we drive past the British singer’s face. “I saw her in the U.K. while I was touring with Nine Inch Nails, right before she passed out,” he adds (It’s LA, everyone is in the business). I tell him she is on the lineup—more on that later—they all are. “Sombr is great live too,” he shouts as I jump down from his jeep in my platform Chloé heels (impractical comfort-wise, but a height advantage for filming).
We are ushered toward a walkway where mirrored walls and posters of the artists present the first of many photo ops. The next: A giant, shiny blue Spotify orb. Inside, the venue, expected to hold 2,000, is already pulsing with a set from DJs Zoe Gitter and Alex Chapman. It’s a warm night so I hide my leather jacket behind a palm frond by the bar. Outside, guests take advantage of the food trucks and more low-key dive bar-themed room around the corner. Later, celebs like Zara Larsson, PinkPantheress, Barbie Ferreira, Pusha T, Adéla, Shaboozey, Ravyn Lenae, and others make appearances. “The Spotify party is notoriously the hardest party to get into for Grammy week,” my friend texts me. The dress code is cocktail attire but the vibe is casual: industry insiders catching up and letting a little loose before the big night.
Leon Thomas kicks off the night with his soulful 2024 ballad “Vibes Don’t Lie.” The voice of Spotify’s AI DJ announces him and notes that he was a former actor on Victorious (2010–2013). At one point, in what comes off as a genuinely improvised moment, someone throws hot pink roses into the crowd like a deconstructed bridal bouquet, and the girls next to me go crazy reaching for the stems.
I step out to use the bathroom only to almost miss Lola Young. She was supposed to go on later, but her voice carries out into the courtyard and I rush back to the stage, pushing my way to the front. She’s in grey trousers, an oversized leather belt, and a black Vaquera T-shirt, hair worn down in loose waves, and even her signature maximalist makeup looks softer. For her 2025 track “Penny Out of Nothing” she channels Amy Winehouse but softer. In “D£aler,” her lyrics about addiction hit extra hard without a full production. “Go on Lola,” one girl screams. It’s obvious this is a moment for her, but it doesn’t feel bombastic or even triumphant, the vocals speak for themselves. She doesn’t sing her hit, “Messy,” 2024.
The Marias follow, mixing English and Spanish and bringing melodies and atmosphere. It’s one part dream pop, one part shoe gaze, and entirely in a league of its own. It’s also nice to see a band that has been around for a decade finally get their flowers. The frontwoman, María Zardoya, struts across the stage in a satin Victorian-style gown. Their hit “No One Noticed,” 2024, is drenched in melancholy, and the band seems to glow.
Next is Alex Warren. When he breaks into “Ordinary,” it all clicks. A flashback of countless TikToks soundtracked to the 2025 song come to me at once (to be fair, every artist featured on the lineup has had a viral song in the last year), but the crowd brings me back to the present: They are loving it. Phones filming, arms raised, the song does have a religious element. “It’s TikTok music, but good,” I write down. Then I check the lineup to see when Addison Rae is on.
The stage rotates and all six of the girls In Katseye appear in skimpy black leather and lace, mics in hands. It’s hot, fun, and campy, with their last song “Gnarly,” the viral 2025 bop co-written by underground hyperpop artist Alice Longyu Gao, which includes lyrics like “Hottie, hottie, like a bag of Takis I’m the shit, I’m the shit.” In true Kp-op fashion, they hit every beat and serve face while doing so. Sombr follows, matching Katseye’s high-energy, wearing a metal chainmail shirt with a heart on the front. Gone are his cringy stage antics that circulated social media. Sure he twirls the mic before catching it, and does at least one leap, but it falls closer into the heart-throb rock star category than I expected while still being decidedly pop, in the spirit of the 1975 without the years of experience and subversion—Sombr is ernest, but weren’t we all at 20?
I take the least amount of notes for Addison Rae. For the last song she dons a Miss Claire Sulivan tulle skirt and a page-boy cap; a long, skinny hot pink feather boa trails from her mic stand. She pauses to toast a martini to the stage. For the final stage rotation: Olivia Dean. Her voice sounds hydrated. Her checkered sequin gown is sparkling. After so many back-to-back artists who seem entirely of a certain time—one that is all about soundbites and visuals and everything else that surrounds the music itself—Dean is entirely of her own era. Post-Dean, we’re left to linger. I pop back into the fake dive and ask for a bag of chips behind the bar, but am told that they are props. Same with the vintage cigarette dispenser. The music may be real but afterall, we’re still in Hollywood.