hemlock is the swamp-raised and untethered (Chicago / LA / Texas) project of Carolina Chauffe who, as of today, is celebrating the two year anniversary of their album, talk soon. To commemorate the anniversary, hemlock, alongside Ghost Mountain Records, is announcing the release of a limited pressing of talk soon for the first time ever on vinyl as well as a new music video for the song “garbage truck”.
With a brush of gradual guitar, Chauffe begins, “I’ve always been so afraid of the things I can’t control / Like accepting that you couldn’t stay, and the sound of the garbage truck.” This line, opening the song “garbage truck” with a gentle admission, sets both tone and desire in the wake of a relationship while also putting weight on the things that feel inevitable. As the track goes on, with a steady heartbeat behind flourishing instrumentation, the music begins to drive with purpose – Chauffe admitting with sincerity, “I wanna be a better person to you.”
Two years after its original release, “garbage truck” only feels stronger in its deliverance, both towards its confessional imperfections and the confident strides of growth that hemlock has so genuinely crafted in their career. “I’ve always been so afraid of the things I can’t control,” Chauffe repeats one last time, before affirming, “But I am not bound to make the mistakes I did before.” With accountability, reassigning the things that we can control, soon, the conditioned racket of the garbage truck outside begins to feel less harsh in its composition – our unfavorable habits are no more foundational to who we are as is the stuff that is hauled away every week by that same darn truck.
To celebrate the two year anniversary today, hemlock has shared a DIY made music video for “garbage truck” compiled of footage shot back in 2021. With a bike basket full of flowers, Chauffe rides around the city of Chicago in hopes to hand out the beautiful bundles to the people at the helm of these dynamic machines. You can watch the full video for “garbage truck” premiering here on the ugly hug today.
The limited double LP pressing of talk soon is pressed on coke bottle clear vinyl. It also contains the bonus track, “Monarch” added in its original intended position on the track list. Side D has an etch designed by Carolina Chauffe. You can preorder the vinyl on hemlock’s bandcamp or at Ghost Mountain Records.
“Got home safe / Puttin on tea / Thanks for working on this with me,” Awh sings, almost instinctively; a clear marking – an endcap – no matter how fleeting this moment of calm may seem, there is a sort of closure at hand. This line, as simple as it is, opens the song, “Heart Container”, provoking a story to be told, while simultaneously closing out the album Good Game Baby. The song is an emotionally fostered and well rounded meander through a precarious heart; not necessarily in the right – nor the wrong for that matter. But as the song is escorted to its end, it becomes embedded within a collage of handpicked sounds and field recordings, some familiar, some unknown to us listeners. But the familiarity, although derived from the ethos of nostalgia, adds depth to where we stand; revisiting with a new perspective matured through time and experience to understand the full story.
Jess Awh is the gentle and vivid voice behind the band Bats, who, as of today, has just self-released her third LP, Good Game Baby. Following 2022’s Blue Cabinet, Bats has built a reliable reputation as a sincere lens into Awh’s own growing pains and intimate reflections. Good Game Baby is no different, with her tongue and cheek lyricism, hyper specific anecdotes and country music roots, the album weaves through pop facets and responsive traditions of storytelling to piece together a cohesive and sincere profile of the writer at hand. But as Awh reflects on the past, taking stock of genealogical traits, destructive patterns and influential circumstances, there is deliverance in her fractured timeline, blending nostalgia with confessionals as she looks back on how far she has come.
Album Art by Jess Awh
When it comes to recording, skills she has been sprouting since high school, Awh admits, “when I am outside of my own space I feel pressure to act a different way, and then it just never ends up coming out right.” So instead, with help from some friends, Awh turned her Nashville home into a live-in studio, taking advantage of the whole space being of her own. Weaving mics through the entire house – each room dedicated to a specific function; “the drums were in the living room. We had guitar amps in closets and in the bathroom, and we even recorded some of the record outside on the front porch.” As the time came to capture the valuable structure of Good Game Baby, “the whole band took a week off of work to have a little staycation and coop up in my house,” Awh recalls with giddy likeness – familiar with the importance of slumber parties as a kid. “We made breakfast together every morning, and then we would just get to work. It was very non-traditional and very relaxed and communal. That’s how I like to run the band.”
In turn to the accessible environment, Good Game Baby is a collection of songs that don’t sacrifice development due to comfortability, but rather find Bats taking on new sonic risks, while still propping up what makes Awh’s writing so special to begin with. Songs like “Going For Oysters”, “Are you like me?” and “Finger on the Tear” are dedicated to slinging guitar solos and more brash compositions than before, adding a dynamic intensity to Awh’s cunning melodies and cutthroat lyrics. Songs like “Sand Time Machine” and “Oh My God”, melodically fragile and willfully poignant, blend steel guitar, synthesizers and lo-fi drum tracks – a smooth blend of nostalgic rust and indie charm that has become the beating heart of the Bats sound. In all, Good Game Baby finds Awh taking the project from the early bedroom bandcamp days to a full band operation. “I’ve always wanted to make rock music ever since I started writing songs,” she recalls. “I could always hear full arrangements for them, but I just didn’t really have the resources, so this record really feels like a full realization of what I have always wanted Bats to sound like.”
Most of what Good Game Baby is based around thematically is Awh’s experience of growing up in the fast paced and self destructive city of Nashville, Tennessee. Besides leaving for school in New York, Awh has spent her whole life calling the “Athens of the South” her home. As a kid, “I grew up listening to 90s and 2000s mainstream country radio,” she shares; a notion that comes with the territory. “Being surrounded by that really potent pop and melody forward music taught me how to write the stuff that I like to write.” Too big for its own good, though, Nashville has become one of the fastest growing cities in the US. In search of sharing the authentic country music experience, it has fallen into years of demolition and rebuilding, as Awh watched the place that she grew to love become unrecognizable in virtue. Favorite businesses boarded up, parks left to their own efforts, restaurants’ Proust effect too overbooked to even experience; “Bats songs often have an undertone of being about the gentrification that I observe in Nashville,” she says with notable discomfort. “I feel that it runs parallel to my own experience of getting older and changing and grieving what used to be.”
Photo by Abby Johnson
“I think a lot of the turmoil of my early and mid twenties is represented by this desire to be able to identify myself,” she adds, “which is something that becomes harder when you don’t feel like you’re really situated in a place that is constant.” Touching upon stories of death, ambiguous love, losing friends, starting drugs, stopping drugs and terms of sincere guilt and ego, as a narrator, Awh’s defiance in change becomes crucial in experiencing Good Game Baby as a whole. “For some reason I’ve always tried to invite situations that are a little bit on the fringes of society,” she suggests – “a little bit unsafe.” Whether to do with dating an older man, cyclical substance abuse, breaking clarified distance or just simply profiteering self destruction, there is weight in reference that Awh releases in every song. Although it’s not easy to do, when done sincerely, “writing helps me confirm that I’m still me,” she expresses with an appreciative smile. “I’m still here trying my own experiences, putting them on paper and recording them. It helps me to contextualize myself.”
The track “Queen song we will rock you”, a cheeky name Awh will admit, begins to initiate an end to the record – bringing the heart of reflection into the forefront. “Grandpa died standing upright on two feet / Listening to Queen’s song we will rock you on repeat,” she sings with a soft yet forward delivery. “I would say it’s the most important song to me on the record, just because it provides a framework for understanding the rest of the lyrics on the album.” As is used, “We Will Rock You”, the bold and anthemic battle song, becomes self protruded when facing death, as Awh admits, “my family as a whole has this quality of taking the hard way through life and never really being able to give up or compromise their efforts,” leading to, “this realization that it’s in my blood to get up and try again no matter how many times I get fucked.”
Going back to the final track on the album, “Heart Container”, although it is not the beginning of Awh’s story per se, in the process she shares, “I have a desire to contextualize my life narrative as a thread that I can follow from beginning to end, even though in reality it’s not always so linear.” It can be found when blending together a story of a momentary relationship with the wistful sound effects from the cherished game, Legend of Zelda; as parting as a song about death introduced with voice memos from inside a favorite childhood restaurant; as defining as crippling self agency in a fleeting home like Nashville, Tennessee. Starting at the end of a story can give an artist some leverage; with expectations set, the rest of the time is spent filling in the holes that piece together a cohesive and resonating character. “I think juxtaposing my own history with my own present to tell a story of myself is a way to make it all make sense,” she says with a matured confidence. When dealing with a fractured timeline, jumping back and forth in its construction, there is an emotional emphasis brought on by hindsight and inevitable growth that resonates in this depth. But through her deliverance, blending these two narrative paths, there is closure that Awh demonstrates so affably of how things have been and an understanding of where they may go from here.
“Good game”, a form of etiquette passed around at the end of competitions, is meant to acknowledge the effort put in by an opponent. “Good game, baby”, a more personalized message, has a similar effect, yet less diluted by expectational manners. As the album enters the world, a physical project to face, Awh admits, “I think I’m actually a really well adjusted person in real life. Pretty happy and pretty peaceful in the day to day now,” before letting out a laugh, “I know this isn’t really what you’re supposed to say as an artist, so it sounds a little funny.” Through the turmoil and change, familiarity and rooted pleasures, Awh’s demeanor not only rounds out such an intimate and stylistically absorbing record, but marks impressive personal strides and victories as well; deserving of a pat on the back; a rewarding cup of tea; a good game well played.
Bats will be playing an Album Release show at Third Mans Record’s Blue Room March 1st, 2024. They will also be joining Bendigo Fletcher for a few supportive shows April 12 – 18. Listen to Good Game Baby now on all streaming platforms.
“You’re an expectation, I’m another night wasted on the outline,” a phrase lured in by a steady electric guitar and opening “Smokescreen” with no objection. As a whole, Nisa’s latest single is relentless; blending lush tenacity and the epitome of a catchy pop hook – making for a playful song of hesitation and emotional contusions. “I was stuck in a loop of repetitive behavior and somehow also expecting to feel different,” Nisa says about the song. “After a while, it started to weigh on me. In order to get out of one, I had to admit that I was prone to harmful patterns.” Along with the previously released pair of singles, “Vertigo” and “Currents”, Nisa says, “a lot of what these songs are about is a struggle to form a coherent sense of identity with all of the intersecting pieces of me.” These songs are abrasive and at times overwhelming, but from the heart, it comes together as Nisa’s melody matures into something to long for; an anticipation to break all expectations.
Nisa is the budding solo project of Nisa Lumaj, who, as of today, has just shared her new single, “Smokescreen”. With three singles released in this cycle, Nisa has also just announced her first full length album, Shapeshifting, due April 26 via Portland’s Tender Loving Empire Records. Nisa has crafted a career out of skies-the-limit songs, such as the cold-blooded rocker “Cold” (2021) and the glittery gaze of “Exaggerate” (2022), performing with such contagious angst that is leveled out by self reflection. Now coming up to her most cohesive project to date, Shapeshifting carries its name sake in both sonic explorations and narrative feats, as Nisa writes from the freights of a moving identity; one that is no longer fitting – while in line – the next is not yet attainable.
Born to Albanian immigrants, Nisa is a native New Yorker, preoccupying the boroughs of Manhattan, the Bronx, and currently residing in Brooklyn. Growing up and blending a bilingual household with the love of culture, both inherited and found, “I really felt like I had a foot in each continent,” Nisa conveys with recognition. With traditional folk music as the backdrop of her childhood, there was a drawn-out introduction to English-speaking pop music as she began to explore New York and the many artistic facets that hide in every corner. “When I started to play guitar I decided I was not going to focus on this [cultural] part of my musical identity,” admitting, “I hadn’t heard pop music yet, or anything of that beyond the radio.” Stimulated by this new music, and the wide definition thereof, “I was gonna explore what’s new,” Nisa recalls with excitement.
But with everything she has experienced, Nisa mentions, “the older I get, the more I appreciate my parent’s background.” Even in times spent dancing around despondency, there is an acknowledgement that her familial roots will always be a part of her; inevitably offering an angle when piecing herself together. “I do feel really attached to that part of my identity,” she reassures. Even in her musical world, Nisa admits, “the woes of being an indie musician, like the stress of financial security, doesn’t even begin to cover their hardships and experiences. I am very grateful to have that perspective.”
Photo by Rhianna Hajduch
Nisa is still a fairly new player to the Brooklyn scene, having released her first EP, Guilt Trip, in 2021. But in that short amount of time, with memorable live shows and a few more releases in the mix, Nisa has found a comfortable environment to cultivate her own. With each EP falling in love with a fresh sonic build up, discovering and defining new styles has become an exciting challenge for Nisa to venture into her songwriting. “I think working on a project-to-project basis has helped me keep a through line – that is, sounding like me without labeling me garage pop or something like that.” With much delight, embracing fuzzed out power chords, glittery sedation, theatrical art leaps, glitchy electronica – all with the subtlety of folk construction underneath, there ought to be celebration for remaining consistent in ever shifting environments.
The paired singles, “Vertigo” and “Currents”, released at the end of 2023, take a leap of faith together, not only into a tender subject, but into structural truancy as well. “The songs don’t really sound like something specific that I wanted to reference,” Nisa admits. “It’s just kind of what happened that day we were recording.” With production help from Ronnie DiSimone (Ritual Talk, Annika Bennett), Nisa shares, “we were kind of trying to convince ourselves that once we made it and it was out, we no longer had control over it.” As an incentive, control (or the contrary) can be a life support for a songwriter; especially one who so trustingly wears their heart on their sleeve. “I think understanding that you relinquish control in making something,” Nisa ponders, when a song is out, “there’s nothing you can do to change it. You’ve already said what you have to say and that can be really empowering.” As brutal as releasing a piece of yourself can be, acknowledging that there will always be anxieties; a standard rotation of expectations and critiques – “I think just reframing it for yourself has been the best way for me,” Nisa expresses with appreciable confidence.
In all, the amount of stylings Nisa embodies in no way feels like a chore – more rejuvenated by the movement – flowing naturally with the through line of her interior sentiments and emotional reverence. The new group of singles are sonically contrasting, thorough in their own ways, but aren’t necessarily that different as accomplices in Nisa’s overall narrative. “They were definitely written during a period of transition,” she shares, continuing, “the intersecting pieces of me didn’t feel composite.” Fractured in time with the basic experience of getting older, there is no clear answer to Nisa’s turmoil, but there is a blunt and habitual flow to these songs that rely on their combative differences and sincere nature to define an honest spectrum of mending; a balance that is always worth the wait.
With “Smokescreen” now out and Shapeshifting announced to a growing crowd, Nisa’s natural movements continue to push past expectations, both of the audience and of her own. For a project brought to life through hesitations and tender impressions, Nisa’s music grows out of this natural hunch and appealing confidence that she has spent years forming for herself. As identity goes, there is no saying when you have accomplished such an accountable idea of self, but with all the facets that Nisa has emboldened in her world, it is undeniable who she is as an artist. “I have always made what I want to make,” she says, clearly in direction towards our conversation, but the reflection in her voice lets it hang out in the open – to stay there. “I think if you keep doing that full steam ahead, you’re never gonna question yourself.”
Gentle in voice and strong in character, Montreal, Canada’s singer/songwriter, Pompey, has had an expansive career as a musician and songwriter. With a heartfelt and soft demonstration of candor, Pompey returns with the release of his latest full-length album, ionlyfitinyourarms. In the works for 2 to 3 years of exchanging the patience of writing for a therapeutic outlet, every bit of denial, pity, loathing, honesty, hope, and contemplation is laid out in its bareness. Through songwriting that is both confessional and outspoken, Pompey is there, giving voice to the dualistic devil/angel on each shoulder, to share his most genuine self in the midst of beautiful anti-folk songs.
Beginning the album hauntingly sparse and breathtakingly gentle, “please don’t forget about me” renders the tone for a complex and vivid album to follow. With additional vocal features from Shaina Hayes and partner and bandmate Thanya Iyer creates a tender collection of voices that battle the convolutions of loneliness. “And what if you have my voice in your ear? / If you can hear me and you can see me / Am I there,” Pompey sings in a sense of dissociation from what is present and whole.
This need to escape, to which is present throughout most of the record, is a concept that feels often exploited in art; straightforward to the most saturated angst. But where Pompey stands apart from other direct desires is their need for back and forth confessionals; a therapeutic give and take. Songs like “snug tug” and “body/belly” flips back and forth between wanting to run away from his body to moments where he sings “I wonder where I’d be without my body”. Filed down to self-forgiveness, these sparse sonic embodiments are dutiful to affliction, but enshrined in the understanding from our own relatable personal insecurities.
Most of the time, Pompey’s sense of self is unsteady. Without misconception, things such as a pair of pants, sewing projects, and losing your keys have developed into objects of defeat for him. The songs are simple, tactfully pulling apart the things that Pompey has spent years thinking define who he is. With the ability to be impactful and touching without hiding behind metaphors and colorful language, Pompey’s writing stands a testament to sincere internal dialogue, through criticism, doubt, vindication and all. “Do you stretch your shirt out / Before you put it on? / ‘Cause i do / I learned it from my mom,” is an uncluttered portrait on the song “snug tug”. Honest songs like “tall wall” and “i’m feeling see-through” that follow are striking with their bare bones expression and reluctant empathy towards himself.
Where Pompey’s writing thrives though is when he gives the insecurities a glimpse into comfortability. “i only fit in your arms”, the earnest title track, is a song dedicated to remembering what matters most. When fixated on internal blemishes, Pompey finds refuge in his partner’s arms; a place built around trust, warmth, affability, and most importantly, a perfect fit. With a melodic shift towards composure, “i only fit in your arms” stands in as infinite gratitude for those that love us the most. “mother’s day”, a shift in topic but emotionally fervent as any, is a love letter to the subtle teachings that mother’s leave behind. With respect to character, “Thanks to you / I’ve got thanks for you,” Pompey sings with the most gentle care.
ionlyfitinyourarms is one of the most raw pieces of art that you will hear this year. Going beyond the home recordings and demos, the rawness comes from the gentle approach to internal infatuations, whether glamorous or not. Heartfelt, somber, and blunt; yes. But ionlyfitinyourarms has an underlying sense of comfort that becomes most apparent after a full listen-through. What remains as the album comes to its end is a collection of songs that represent progress; something that is so vital to this type of writing for both the author and the listener. Separating our inner insecurities or dilemmas into physical representations not only solidifies distance, but offers a face to our own foe. Pompey’s therapeutic endeavors to separate rather than fester makes ionlyfitinyourarms a beautiful, sincere, and inspiriting self portrait to be hung up for years to come.
“It was the morning after I had done a release show for the first record I ever did called Black Hole. I remember all my friends were just so supportive about it. But, I was basically living in a closet and I was pretty much on my way out of Brooklyn to go and study music therapy, so I just needed a change for a lot of reasons. But it was hard to leave”. Goldberg continues, “I had a dream that I was with some of those friends at this cabin in the snow. As I set off away from those friends at the cabin, a bear appeared in front of me. We had a standoff. The bear whacked me with its paw, and I was dying in the snow, but I remember thinking to myself, ‘I don’t regret this’”.
The Spookfish, the project of Maine-based musician Dan Goldberg, recently released his latest project, Bear in the Snow, off of We Be Friends Records. As a songwriter, Goldberg is a collage artist of sorts, encountering sparse folk music and lo-fi electronic fixings in a layered and textured sonic world. As a project, Bear in the Snow finds Goldberg in an extension of his natural self; the part of him that no longer has a place on this earth, but with full acknowledgement to his physical journey in the natural world. The album is also accompanied by its own video game created by Goldberg that follows that path of self discovery. Calling from his home in Maine, Goldberg opened up about his recovery process after a tragedy that led to this alluring and earnest project.
To fully grasp the personal aptitude and eternal understanding that went into the writing and producing of Bear in the Snow, it is crucial to know about Dan Goldberg’s last few years. With life turning events facing a family tragedy, on top of a heartbreak and moving to a new state, Goldberg was pushed into the externality of our human fragility. Referring to a lyric he wrote for the track “Misanthropy”, Goldberg kept coming back to the phrase, “the world’s not going to miss us when we’re gone”. In a bleak state, Goldberg explains his “frustration at the way that western values and capitalism can get in the way of human life,” while he adds, “if it killed us, the animals would not miss us. They won’t be like, ‘oh, I wish they did more economic development in their time,’” he laughs, but it is clear there is some weight behind it.
Having studied and practiced to be a music therapist, Goldberg made an effort to find effective ways of recovery through his own creative outlets. In textures, Bear in the Snow is a deeply expansive listen, embodying layers of familiarity and subtle sonic tensions. “I would go to this cabin and it would be these moments where I wasn’t gonna get an emergency call for an hour. I was just completely hidden in these scary woods,” he says. “I would really enjoy making sounds that soothe my brain and then playing them back,” Goldberg shares. Breaking away from structural soundness, “I think I was able to find a little bit of freedom to move the music away from my normal patterns”.
Beyond the primitive and experimental instrumentation that Goldberg creates, Bear in the Snow serves as a kind of natural field recording, following the sounds that make up his world. “Coyotes”, as simple as it sounds, is a recording of a pack of coyotes as they howl and laugh to the open sky. To some, this is an external noise that doesn’t grasp at any deeper meaning, but to Goldberg, this inclusion stands as an expansion of personal sense and growth. “As a small child I was horrified by everything. I was horrified by the woods, and I felt like everything was haunted. I’m sure that’s just being a vulnerable little being that could easily be eaten by anything,” Goldberg laughs, but with slight sincerity to his younger self. The inclusion of “Coyotes” was a thoughtful addition into an already deeply personal record. “I guess I wanted to revisit that childhood feeling” of vulnerability to the world. “That particular recording, I was walking back from a hike, and it had gotten dark. I was just immersed in that feeling and I recorded it as a journal entry”.
Recalling the time he went on a solo hike on Devil’s Path, one of New York’s most difficult trails to hike in the Catskills, Goldberg brings up a fractured process where he admits, “I would try to exhaust myself into feeling better”. As the sun set on the treacherous trail, Goldberg found himself lost and with no cell service. As the old tale goes though, follow running water and you will find a way out (which Goldberg says that this is an irresponsible action and that it is safer to stay put). Soon coming upon water supply land and flag markers, Goldberg ended up on a highway, where he came face to face with a mama bear and her cubs. “She scowled in my face before shooing her cubs in the woods and leaving,” Goldberg says. Eerily similar to the dream he explained earlier, Goldberg admits, “I feel like that was when I was like, ‘Okay, I need to focus’”.
The video game, a visual extension to the album in which Goldberg also titled “Bear in the Snow”, is a personally rooted piece of art representing Goldberg’s understanding of his path to recovery. “Well, I was working at a soap factory while I was in school. I was just drinking coffee, putting soap into boxes, and the idea just popped in my head,” he says in suit of mindless busy work. Goldberg describes the game’s concept, in which “you’re this little ghost character. I came to see that as my own ghost,” referring back to the dream, “because the bear killed my sense of self”. Enriched with these beautiful and introspective beings, the game is a haunting exposé of Goldberg’s eternal conflicts. As he continues, “my ghost is floating around, and each of those places in the game and each of those song titles is a place where some really significant things happened”.
These significant places are highlighted with a storybook instruction manual that refers to Goldberg’s travels. Put together by his partner, Saffronia Downing, the manual explains specific paths, locations, creatures, and myths that expanded Goldberg’s perception of self. As the ghostly character, you encounter this cathartic journey, redefining your own place in the world.
As a world traveler, Goldberg has been on the move for years. But he finds himself comfortable with where he is at now. “I think that I feel like I’m set,” he tells me with confidence. Having graduated and spent years in practice as a musical therapist, he has found a love for helping others in their own recovery process. “I’m really interested in combining outdoor therapy with music therapy. I would like to have a place that I could build relationships with the people that I work with,” he says.
When living in Brooklyn, Goldberg would host events that he called the ‘Mountain Shows’. Taking a group of musician friends as well as a group of listeners up Mount Taurus, the mountain became a sanctuary of redefining personal roots, not only in the natural world, but internally as well. “I think a big reason for the mountain shows was to give people different ways of looking at being in the woods, especially in New York City where a lot of people hate hiking,” he says. Goldberg developed a remarkable way in which people can experience both kinds of therapies. “I would say that the interesting thing about both fields is that they let people have moments of not speaking”. He insists, “I don’t necessarily or rationally believe in ghosts, but, some part of me feels the ghosts. Some part of us is feeling things that we aren’t thinking”. In the search for understanding, those inner ghosts can come out when least expected when given a moment to breathe and “it can share really valuable information about [people’s] lives,” Goldberg finishes.
Returning to his dream, as Goldberg laid dying in the snow, the bear stood defiant and remorseless in its actions. A nightmare of sorts, but in the end, the bear is the least important facet of this dream. A narrative, told through the simplicity of closing his eyes and the complications of REM sleep, broke down an impossibly difficult decision into a clear answer. Goldberg recalls a moment where, “it felt worth it to try and do what I needed to do, even if I got killed by a bear within five minutes”. Bear in the Snow stands as a complementary parallel to the valuable information given by the ghosts that find home in our physical bodies, as Goldberg tells me he decided right then and there, “I’m gonna do this change, even if it fails”.
Revved up and out of the gates of Chicago’s expansive DIY scene comes the newbie band, Cruel, and the release of their debut EP, Common Rituals. Off of the newly formed Angel Tapes, an extension of New York’s Fire Talk Records, the band is at home with its rough and deliberately melodic post-punk sound. With recording and mixing help by Jack Henry (Friko, Free Range, Horsegirl) and mastering by Greg Orbis (Stuck, Lifeguard, Deeper), the four-piece strike a deal between punk antiquity and alternative’s melodic variety to release the next Chicago stalwart of rock music.
Cruel, consisting of Michael Schrieber (vocals/guitar), Jen Ashley (bass), Brent Favata (drums) and Jack Kelsey (guitar) is a ruthless and well constructed group of musicians. There is no doubting the intensity that comes off of this EP more than the very moment it begins. The opening track and the first single released, “Gutter”, is a trial of human exposure to a relentless system. With an explosive guitar riff right off the bat and drums and bass rumblings underneath, Schrieber growls into a song about societal expectations of labor and moral bending. “Forty hours a week I lose myself on my knees / Forty times a night I tell myself I’ll get more sleep”, Schreiber screams as the chorus finds its steady ground.
Emerging with guitar chunks and pounding tom-tom runs, “Damage” has a rhythmic change, initiating a maturely paced intensity. With a melody reminiscent of the glory days of punk music, with its simplicity yet engaging and angsty lyricism, “Damage” finds the band speaking to the self-destructive nature of youth. As the two guitars duel between dissonant bends into harmonious and satisfied chord progression, the feeling rises up into a release of our own pent up frustrations. “Demeanor”, one of the catchiest tracks of the EP, is a rush to a secular life. With the drums, bass, and guitars all in a mutual understanding during the instrumental rundowns, “Demeanor” is a screaming conversation towards a one sided systemic scheme. “Count me out / Of your affiliation / I won’t take part / In any congregation” Schrieber demands.
With the fuzziest sound on the album, the closing track “Tuesday” is a thrashing escapade that barely scrapes over two minutes long. With the implementation of a stop time effectively used to break up the wall of sound, the band closes the EP with a catchy and repetitive headbanger that is as memorable as it is loud. (very).
Photo by Yailene Leyva
At only four tracks long, Common Rituals is a fresh take on the importance of punk music in a DIY scene. Loud, thrashing, and emotionally blending, Cruel stands their ground, in a rather dying world, as a defiant and exciting new voice to be reckoned with.
Genre: alternative/folk Label: Exploding in Sound Records
Prewn, the new project of Izzy Hagerup, released her first full length album titled, Through The Window off of Exploding In Sound Records. Antagonized through a gritty soundscape, Hagerup takes on the role of writing, performing, recording and everything in between to make something remarkably eerie and genuine. Leaning into experience obtained from working with Kevin McMahon and his expansive psych-rock project, Pelican Movement, Hagerup is well crafted in pushing the boundaries of song structure and mood. Through the Window represents the conundrum of mortality, being both fragile and perverse, as Hagerup so poetically opens up the bottomless pit. Offering up some post-punk and folk tendencies, Through the Window is a haunted exposé in search to understand human instincts when face to face with death.
Ghosts are summoned on the opening track, “The Machine”, as Hagerup touches on the scene of her own death. Starting with a sonically sparse landscape, Hagerup’s vocals are trailed by delayed harmonies as she sings of her soul leaving her body. The chorus rings, “sometimes I forgot that nothing matters” as the harmonies grow into a disadant climax and fade into nothing. Existential, yes. But in a sense, that nihilistic thought can bring comfort when everything else feels too consequential.
The lead single, “But I Want More”, is somewhat of a plea for help. Told through the perspective of her father, diagnosed with Parkinson’s, who was isolated in a care home during the pandemic. Reminiscent of sludgy 90s folk stylings, the track extends itself into a sing-along brigade of hot-blooded phrases like “but I want more”. It is a song about utter seclusion and the effects that it can have on the human psyche and as the song grows and brittles out, Hagerup’s pure anger stands defiant and unwavering.
One of Prewn’s draws is the way that Hagerup expels her voice over the eight tracks. Layered and lenient, Hagerup uses her voice as a tension point. Songs like “Alive” and “Sheila” are filled with vocal layers that expose themselves with every listen. “I’m Going to Fry All the Fish in the Sea”, reminiscent of a toil-n-trouble-esque marveling, Hagerup sings a roundabout melody about greed with lines like “I got what I want, I’ve got what I need / I fried all the fish in the motherfucking sea”.
Gluttony is a very inadmissible humanistic instinct, and to which point will be the death of us all. On the song “Perfect World”, Hagerup sings of the evil that billionaires disperse onto our society. “It’s a perfect world and I’m murdering my children / It’s a perfect world and I just surpassed a billion”, she sings in the spirit of ignorance and corporate greed that contributes to the polluting of our earth and the exploitation of the lower class. Although “Perfect World” is one of the more lighter sounding songs on the album, with a finger-picked guitar and textures added through vocal arrangements, it doesn’t go without saying that there is a level of intensity that comes from Hagerup’s performance.
In a very bold debut album, Prewn has shown the extent to which Hagerup’s honesty comes to touch upon human instincts. With dissident textures anchored to her voice and colorful intensity to an acoustic guitar, Through The Window stands as a shocking and unique new album that pushes our own understanding of what humans are capable of.
Being a rock star seems much more attainable when you are enrolled in the third grade. Usually that ambition simmers out as you encounter dream crushers and 401Ks. But sometimes there is an exception to this, and in this particular case, it is Madison/Chicago band Slow Pulp and their most recent release, Yard. With two EPs (EP 1 and EP 2) and a full length album (Moveys) already under their belt, Yard finds Slow Pulp reigning in this homegrown and nostalgic persona that they so often have perfected before, but attribute a more raw and introspective quality this time around.
Becoming friends in a west side elementary school of Madison, Wisconsin, Henry Stoehr (guitar), Teddy Mathews (drums), and Alex Leeds (bass) grew up together, both personally and musically, and began to play in bands like Trophy Dad and Barbara Hans. It wasn’t until attending the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where they found the missing piece, that being Emily Massey, who grew up on the east side of town and played in other local bands such as Melkweeds and Modern Mod. With Stoehr taking more of the production responsibility, Massey quickly became the breathy and longing voice of the band.
Yard is as reflective as it is blunt, both offering something for Massey to discover in the writing process. A lot of this had to do with the isolation she endured during writing retreats in a Northern Wisconsin cabin. The album’s opener, “Goner 2”, is an introduction to a softer and more matured Slow Pulp sound. “I’m living in between feelings” Massey sings in her soft vocal style that flows with delicacy and ache. Her lyrics are strategically doubtful while approaching her past, showing to what extent she gets in her own way. That being said, “Goner 2”, the 2 because it was the second version recorded, isn’t stuck to its own terms of ambiguity, but as the opener, leaves room on the rest of the album for Massey to grow and reflect.
Some of the early singles that the band teased stand as a testament to the their various strengths in songwriting and producing. “Doubt” is Massey’s battle with insecurities told through a campy 2000s pop-rock song. Her gripping and raw lyricism only stands out more when juxtaposed to the band’s Malibu-style guitar work and the “do-do” chorus’. “Am I not enough or too much/Can you fix this I think I’m ready to commit” Massey sings in hopes of validating her own uncertainties. “Cramps”, borderline fully distorted, was a full collaborative song that was written on the spot. When the drums roll in and the guitar fuzzes out, Massey’s vocals relay between catchy melodist and souring garage rocker. With lyrics of self hatred in credit to pms, Massey and the band punch out one of the catchiest songs of the year. “Slugs” was first written and introduced by Stoehr in middle school. As most first songwriting adventures go, Stoehr found a muse in his crush at the time. Now bringing it back full circle to the band, “Slugs” is coincidentally still about a summer crush. It’s a laid back tune that lets the distorted guitars and bass take the background, leaving a butterfly effect in your tummy (one requisite to falling in love in the summer).
The title track “Yard” is a turning point on the album. As Massey’s parents put up her childhood home for sale, she fell into the sinkhole that is digging out family memories, especially when it came to her relationship with her little sister. With just a simple and dry piano instrumental, Massey sings, “They put the house for sale sign up/Didn’t know that I cared that much/I’m sorry I wasn’t there enough/It’s on me”. The piano is reminiscent of the old and worn heirloom instruments that usually occupy the living rooms of family households.
Taking shifts in Massey’s approach, there are two different types of love songs that arise in Yard. “MUD” is an undeniable rock song about a relationship coming apart. Standing for “miss u dear”, Massey sings about the delusional exceptions we make to stay in a relationship, often due to the fear of being alone. “I know I’m not where I said that I’ve been/Getting older but I still play pretend/I don’t want this to end” Massey sings as the band comes crashing in. On the other hand, the single “Broadview” is a twangy country inspired song about allowing yourself to fall in love again after a long time on break. “I’m just gonna give it a try/And hope that it’s enough”, sings Massey as piano and harmonica roll in. With Peter Briggs on pedal steel and Willie Christianson on harmonica and banjo, the band adds another texture to their arsenal.
As kids who grew up going to record shops, playing in battle of the bands and attending most of their academic experiences together, there is an indisputable and familiar bond within this group. As an in-house project, being produced and engineered by Stoehr himself, Yard is an album that finds the band at the top of their game. Slow Pulp, relying on their roots, still aren’t afraid to jump into the dark and it has worked time and time again. What Yard has shown is a band that is both effortless and strategically precise, warmhearted and sincere as well as meticulously poignant. Slow Pulp now stands as one of the most important bands in play.
When structure is lost and life seems to forgo desire, it becomes easy to sit within observations. Like the simple pleasures from a smoke break in the middle of a brutal shift at a dead-end job, calamity slows down to personal silence. This personal silence can be just what you need to understand your place in the world. Told through whirling, soft folk songs, Allegra Krieger uses her winding words to do the heavy lifting on her new album, I Keep My Feet on the Fragile Plane, as she sits still in a superficial passage.
Hailing from New York, but having lived all over the country, Krieger has been a part of many people’s storylines. On her fourth full length release, and her debut from Brooklyn label Double Double Whammy, Krieger stays grounded in her own storyline, giving emphasis to the album’s title and the world in which she visualizes around her. There is no time wasted in getting to memorialization, and in ten tracks, Krieger muddies the concept of past and present that perpetuates the timeless struggles of young adulthood.
In a rhythm like waltz, Krieger opens the album with an apologetic line of, “I’m so sorry to say/I think you’re walking the wrong way”. “Making Sense Of”, the opening track, is a dance of sorts towards the unknown. With the simplicity of guitar strumming, Krieger’s vocal points are accented by orchestral string arrangements that create a whimsical atmosphere, yet remain receptive to the light thumping of stand up bass that steadies at the bottom of the sound. The uneasiness that comes hand-in-hand with unexplored territory is stagnant in Krieger’s songs, but in no way does it become overbearing.
Krieger’s strengths come from intersecting lines of grace and delicacy with grittiness and violence. These contradictions, so specific in their recollection, must come from personal observations that Krieger has deemed resourceful. “After work I have a drink/and walk to Matthew’s down the street/I love the way I don’t think/when he’s fucking me” Krieger sings as guitar distortion seeps in, fighting off the acoustic groove. Seeing things not just primarily good or bad, but complex to the human experience, Krieger allows many layers of consciousness to mature within her words.
There is an unconventional pull to Krieger’s song production that pushes I Keep My Feet on the Fragile Plane to stand out amongst standard folk works. With implements of French and English horns, there is a florid softness to a song of heartbreak like the track “A Place For It To Land” while the use of heavy static hums hold a layer of tension. “I Want To Be” frills out into a guitar battle of pounding strings and amp feedback, coming to an abrupt conclusion on a rather mellow track. “Terribly Free” utilizes a simple piano sound while Krieger’s vocal phrasings fizzle out into scrapes of static as she sings “fire and fog/sparkling stars/slow heavy sex/fast moving cars”. The contradictions in her lyrics reverberate within the sweet tones of the extended outro.
The stand out track, “Lingering”, is a cyclical story of doing everything and nothing at all. Beginning and ending in Krieger’s room described as having “pictures on the white walls/black mold on the ceiling”, she goes about her day as normal, but calling out the mundane that would normally go right past us. It’s a slow methodical groove that allows the listener to walk with her through Fifth and Avenue A that “smells like piss and garbage”, or sit and people watch through her bedroom window that separates her from the outside world.
Passive listening to Krieger’s words is, often, not possible. At heart she is a storyteller. And like any skilled storyteller, she warrants all ears. Her voice is both comforting, in delivery and in spirit to the subject matter. The atypical orchestration below her never feels abrasive, but more of an emphasis of priority to her soft and skillful vocal approach. There is no structured path for Krieger, instead she wonders on her own terms. This fragile plane wavers underneath her feet, cracking into noticeable gafs, as she dances around them. “I keep my feet on the ground/and my expectations low” she sings on the formidable track “Low”. Broken down into individual stories, Krieger can’t seem to stop writing. Each song on I Keep My Feet on the Fragile Plane, with its poetic and winding verses, establishes beauty in the context of observation and comfort in the context of learning.
GENRE: folk/dream-pop LABLE: Father/Daughter Records
In a bedroom somewhere in Christchurch, New Zealand (the largest city in the South Island), sits multi-instrumentalist and producer, Lukas Mayo, known as their musical project Pickle Darling. New Zealand, a country that frequently pumps out alternative innovators, such as The Clean, Tall Dwarfs and Aldous Harding, also finds that Pickle Darling fits neatly into this estranged group. After years of formidable DIY sustenance, Mayo finds comfort again in making lo-fi bedroom pop songs from the comfort of their own home.
Finding success amongst EPs and two full length albums, Bigness (2019) and Cosmonaut (2021), Mayo felt the extension of pressure that comes from the public eye. Pickle Darling has been a bandcamp favorite for years now, having both full length releases being labeled as ‘Album of the Day’. Also having toured with acts such as The Beths, Fontaines DC and Lucy Dacus while gaining a lot of attention to their homemade pop songs, Mayo began to feel lost. The release of Cosmonaut in 2021 brought Pickle Darling to large production heights, fitting for the theme of the outer spaces, but with intricate composition and the expectation of perfection, Mayo no longer felt like they were making music for themselves anymore. Feeling worn down, Mayo retreated back to the bedroom to record their newest album, Laundromat.
Laundromat, Pickle Darling’s first release off the San Francisco label Father/Daughter Records, is Mayo’s journey back to finding comfort in art. Still creating lighthearted songs embellished with several finger-picked instruments, the dreaminess of synths and drum tracks and coyish autotune has shown that Mayo has perfected the clean and sweet bedroom pop tune. Graduating with a degree in audio production, there is no denying the quality that a Pickle Darling album sounds like. Writing, recording and producing each song on their own, these songs live in Mayo’s personal world, crafted and mastered within the walls of their home; sometimes reluctantly released out into the world. Laundromat finds Mayo in their first comfortable living situation; sans problematic roommates and peevish landlords, offering a place for Mayo to fully thrive in the writing process.
The first single for Laundromat that Pickle Darling let sit in the world was the brief “King of Joy”. Scraping over a minute long, “King of Joy” dangles in its simplicity; running low tones with driving percussion that resolves in the lightness of synthesizer melodies. There is undoubtedly a sweetness that it leaves behind; a smile on your face or a daydream to a more honeyed time. This single acts as a reminder to Mayo to not overcomplicate art. Pushing themselves to utilize ideas in the moment relieves the pressure of making something overworked in the name of perfection.
There is a large amount of Nostalgia that Mayo paints within their tunes. Considering the lengths that Mayo takes to ‘homemade’, I am taken back to the extent of childlike imagination. Laying on the floor with a box of broken crayons, no care as to what is produced, resting on the expected approval from adults and the confidence in what our little minds can make. Mayo litters Laundromat with songs that soundtrack this homemade and pressure free artistic exposure. With folk tunes built in dreamy atmospheres, Pickle Darling brings the listener back to the bedroom; our own space of solitude and comfort, decorated without the pressures of the outside world.
The music video for “Head Terrarium” is built within its own DIY world with paper mache hilly landscapes, cardboard trees, cotton ball clouds and dancing plastic creatures. Overlooking this dream world is Mayo, whose face rests amongst the clouds, taking pride in all the self-constructed beauty. As the song shifts into the chorus, the video takes a turn to the real outside world, much darker in its aesthetics, where a malformed mannequin is made out to be Mayo. The only resemblance to Mayo’s humanity is the lower half of their face on a screen attached to the body, singing along to the song. This shell of Mayo repeatedly sings “I’m not as brilliant as I like”, an acknowledgement to the feeling of despondence from the art they are creating.
Mayo’s electronica intuition has been a signifier through all the music they have released into the real world. The song “Invercargill Angel”, beginning with folky string instruments housing Mayo’s whispery autotune, is a beautiful reminder of the sonic instincts that prop up a Pickle Darling song. Two different sonic styles that gracefully blend together to create a unique and playful sound that is reminiscent of early Sufjan Stevens or a late career Wes Anderson soundtrack. “I hope he makes you feel at home” Mayo repeatedly insists before the song breaks off into an electronic setting of retro synthesizers and drums tracks that build upon each other until there is a harmonious chorus of arcade nostalgia and internal comfort.
Pickle Darling sings about finding art in the mundane; having an open mind to the beauty when you don’t over complicate things. It’s this simplification to the writing process that fills Laundromat with so much charm and affability. Caked in sunny major intonations and culminating melodies sets Pickle Darling light on the chest. It’s a meaningful listen that flows from track to track with the hope that it doesn’t end.
the ugly hug 