Think deeply superficial thoughts with Flashion Forward, a new UI feature in which we endeavor to explore the ever-expanding universe of sonic style. Each week, we’ll pluck a recently added interview from our warehouse of current clips and try to read between the artist’s sartorial lines. This week, we explore the guff-free terror of the Heartless Bastards.

The Ohio-grown hardscrabble Heartless Bastards come off as your basic garage punks by way of indie rock and the blues: they’ve probably seen it, done it, imbibed it, sniffed it, fucked it and now they’re over it. They’re hardcore but soulful, and they don’t have time for your crap.

Sassy, brash, but never glib and always mesmerizing, lead singer Erika Wennerstrom’s voice and lyrics sound as fraught, steely and fervid as her last name does – especially when it’s pronounced with a fake Swedish accent. The Heartless Bastards are nothing if not pared-down, direct, ferocious story tellers with the frill-free musical chops to drive home the emotional jujitsu of Wennerstrom’s writing.

Their style – half chic gas-station attendant, half Lower East Side indie designer/boutique worker on an absinthe bender – is as spirited, brash and devilishly delish as their music. Below, Wennerstrom giggles over the sturm und drang und silliness that can happen at any live show.

Specifically, the piffle and pitfalls that result when even the most experienced and resilient flip flops-wearer dons a pair of her trusty rubber thongs to a Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings concert (when will the public learn?), clambers onstage with a bag of Doritos and something to prove — and attempts to steal the show.

Vogue it out with Flashion Forward, a new UI feature in which we endeavor to explore the ever-expanding universe of sonic style. Each week, we’ll pluck a recently added interview from our warehouse of current clips and try to read between the artist’s sartorial lines. Let’s fearlessly strut alongside these week’s selection, Findlay Brown.

Findlay is equally infamous for his days as a delinquent acid-dropping, booze-bolting, aerosol-snuffling wannabe army cadet from the decidedly unposh environs of York, England (he’s rock n’ roll, yeah?) as for his evolution from a krautrocking psych pop-head turned sensitive “have you cried today?” acoustic strummer (love’ll do it ya, every time).

His unabashedly emotive romantic ballads – which are almost universally lauded despite their square-peg, round-hole fit in the self-consciously cynical musical landscape du jour – speak volumes about his old-fashioned (without being lame-ass) approach to life, love and you guessed it…fashion!

It seems our man Findlay has a thing for quality over quantity, substance over style – not characteristics typically attributed by Brits to Americans, but hell, we’ll take what we can get! Below, he celebrates the non-trendy stateside music scene (perhaps he should ride the iron horse to Bedford Ave. in Billyburg before he makes a final call, but whatevs).

Let’s climb back into our trusty time machine for Flashion Backward, a new UI feature that’s the spiritual cousin of our recently debuted Flashion Forward. Here, we rifle through our treasure trove of interviews to fish out a vintage gem–the better to explore the strange vortex in which fashion and musicians meet. Onto this week’s blast from the past…

Zap Mama’s Marie Daulne, born in Zaire in the middle of a revolution and raised in Europe, has made it her life’s work to build a happy musical peace train between Europe and Africa with the resounding strength of her all-women a cappella quintet. Daulne’s music fuses traditional pygmy onomatopoeic vocal techniques with jazz, Afro-pop and old school rock, producing a sophisticated, offbeat sound that’s as unique, diverse and hopeful as she is.

Her look, unsurprisingly, is as gloriously difficult to qualify and pin down as her paradigm and her sound. One day she’ll be pairing a floor-length, slinky paisley gown with sky-scraper heels and a bright-green faux-fur coat and the next she’ll be rolling onto stage in a sober, all-white ensemble. Then watch out–a sequin-studded purple dress-wearin’ disco queen’s headed your way…

Never knowing what you’re gonna get onstage is part of the thrill with Daulne. And occasionally, she probably gives more of a thrill than she intends. Below, she recounts the time she cartwheeled her way onstage at the Hollywood Bowl–forgetting she was wearing a mini-dress–and gave everyone a peek at her unmentionables. Her mama was so not impressed. Zap!

Let’s boldly forge some sassy new fashion ground with this week’s edition of Flashion Forward, a new UI feature in which we endeavor to explore the ever-expanding universe of sonic style. Each week, we’ll pluck a recently added interview from our warehouse of current clips and try to read between the artist’s sartorial lines.

The Morning After Girls of Melbourne, Australia, recently made the move to New York City; their outlook on the human condition should put them in good stead with their fellow city dwellers, who will generally take a shot of whiskey, an overcast day and a blighted urban landscape instead of green tea, sunshine and verdant forest any day.

The Girls, like many New Yorkers, seem to be likely advocates of the good ol’ fashioned existential crisis; deep thinkers who enjoy dark philosophical discussions well into the wee hours over cups of the blackest coffee. They’re they kind of concerned citizens who worry about the pressure an overly homogenized and commoditized society could (and will) exert on our individual and fragile notions of identity.

They also happen to churn out hypnotic, iridescent acid pop that simultaneously evokes Sonic Youth, the Velvet Underground and The Jesus and Mary Chain. So yeah, they kick ass. Bonus: They look like Oscar Wilde dandies for the aughts with their navy-blue polka-dot ascots, slim black ties, cashmere v-necks and tight black sweater vests.

(MORE FLASHION FORWARD)

What will we find this week? Welcome back to another edition of Flashion Backward, a UI feature that’s the spiritual cousin of our recently debuted Flashion Forward. Here, we rifle through our treasure trove of interviews to fish out a vintage gem–the better to explore the strange vortex in which fashion and musicians meet. Onto this week’s buried treat…

Pop and world music maven Donna De Lory can seamlessly blend an intense and dizzying array of influences, effortlessly setting Indian mantras against modern beats without sounding like a generic purveyor of om-flecked massage parlor music.

Her approach to fashion, on the other hand, is totally and admirably hands-off. Comfort, color and a vaguely Eastern vibe (in that order) appear to rule the day. Donna’s feelings about her hair are evidently more complicated, but it could be summarized a la Saturday Night Fever, thusly: “Don’t touch the hair! I spend a lot of time on my hair!”

(KEEP READING FLASHION BACKWARD)

Get ready to sachet, shante (“Shante shante shante!”) with Flashion Forward, a new UI feature in which we endeavor to explore the ever-expanding universe of sonic style. Each week, we’ll pluck a recently added interview from our warehouse of current clips and try to read between the artist’s sartorial lines. Let’s work it, shall we?

This week we’re drooling over, I mean, er, taking a scholarly look at Elvis Perkins in Dearland, the Wurlitzer-happy fetching foursome. They’re a band that embodies all that is right, cute and admirable about the indie rock scene with a hefty enough dollop of sex appeal to avoid being just another gaggle of twee, long-haired men-children overly in touch with their emotions.

Elvis himself springs directly from the loins of Anthony “I wouldn’t harm a fly” Psycho Perkins and generally hails from a long line of lovably zany wackadoos (including the fashion designer Elsa Schiaparelli and the Theosophist and psychic medium Count Wilhelm de Wendt de Kerlor), so chichi snazziness naturally runs in his veins.

Also, his name is Elvis.

His band of scruffily polished cohorts are equally endearing, with their dapper oh-I-totally-just-rolled-outta-bed-into-this-impossibly-boho-chic-outfit-that-signals comfort-and-a-hearty-rejection-of-the-man,. There are also knit-caps, tinted sunglasses and an ecru scarf tied in a complicated knot, all in one finger-lickin’ package.

(MORE ELVIS PERKINS IN DEARLAND)

February is the perfect opportunity to get busy on Valentine’s Day or, if you’re flying solo, tense up with cynical anxiety. The month is also Hollywood’s excuse to get all gussied up for the Oscars, while the rest of the unwashed masses watches as our economy sinks to lower levels than a PMSing Lauren Conrad on The Hills.

But who cares about love and money when there’s Fashion Week to distract us! With its solid-gold skin-tight suits (thank you Christian Siriano!), Holly Golightly gloves (ooh la la, Oscar…) and gossamer gowns paired with enthusiastically bedazzled tights (courtesy of the inimitable Zac Posen), there’s a flavor for all. So in that gloriously c’est la vie spirit (and in the spirit of the recently debuted feature Flashion Backward), here are our five best-dressed UI interviewees from the month of February:

5. Hockey

The solid, gritty, new wave quartet from Portland is more sensitive than their studious lack of grooming and so-appallingly-bad-it’s-good fashion sense may lead one to believe. (Anyone who can pull off a brightly hued tie-die t-shirt, white sunglasses, black bank-robbers hat and a giant ‘stache without looking like a drunken frat bro on Schlitz is an American treasure who must be preserved, respected and carefully studied by experts).

And when Hockey isn’t using its powers of fashion to fuck with our preconceived notions, they’re churning out danceable, aggressively funky bass and drum-happy tunes with lyrics that don’t suck, playing sold-out shows around the world and being good little soldiers in the bike-riding vegan army. Also, they’re scaring Asian ladies and sweating and crying because the aforementioned Asian lady is attempting to lube them up with moisturizing cream. Wait. What?

(KEEP READING BEST DRESSED FEST)