On “a boy called ear,” Demi Spriggs (Athens, Greece/ London, UK), takes traditional British folk melodies and pairs them with freak-folk influences and shoegaze improv. The result is a four-song EP that walks between past and present — evoking feelings of melancholy, world-weariness, and brief moments of joy set across its tales of love and loss.
Spriggs, who is also a visual artist, ethnographer, and doctoral candidate, isn’t the first to marry old English folk songs with modern songwriting sensibilities. There’s a long list, ranging from 1960s/70s folk-rock bands Fairport Convention and Pentangle; the 1990s/ 2000s freak folk scenes; as well as contemporary folk artists such as Anaïs Mitchell and Laura Marling.
But what Demi Spriggs does well on a boy called ear is present a unique take to time-honored folk ballads; tying together feminist themes in these story-song narratives.
In doing so, she’s created new tales of her own that align with the role of the bard. She’s the storyteller who weaves a yarn of history, myths, and ritual into verse; transfiguring the past to speak about the here and now.
Demi Spriggs’ high and mellifluous voice is coupled with her intricate nylon-stringed guitar fingerpicking, which produces an intimate and emotionally-present record. These stripped-down arrangements lend themselves to these songs, which are nestled between desire, sadness, and hope.
Released on Jan 12, this is Spriggs’ first project with New Paltz, New York-based record label Team Love Records. The label was founded in 2003 by indie folk artist Conor Oberst (Bright Eyes) and musician and owner Nate Krenkel.
The EP’s opener, “holding fair,” begins with an a cappella quote of Scarborough Fair: “Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.” From there, Spriggs builds a scene of a relationship slowly falling apart.
Musically, there’s a mix of emotions; effervescent and bittersweet that captures the euphoria of the early stages of love and the sting of rejection. “My love/ You can’t chase time/ And you can’t hold the fairest ones down.”
And on “a tale of love and sadness,” Spriggs’ winding fretwork with her pure and honeyed voice contrasts with themes of unrequited love. The song left me feeling as though a part of me had been hollowed out. It summoned a rising tide of old memories — haunting and beautiful.
The highlight of the record is “if you don’t say it, the wheat will,” which sees Spriggs as a sayer steeped in ancient melodies with a portent message. It’s part folk ballad and part Greek epicedium with a foreboding sense of loss.
There’s an eerie calmness to Spriggs’ vocal delivery, which adds tension to the plaintive narrative. “And I see them in the fields/ Shadows of the ones who flew/ Of the men who didn’t know/ That they were dying before they grow.”
A boy called ear closes with the electric guitar-driven shoegaze instrumental “escalator jazz.” This drone-focused piece is a departure from the rest of the EP stylistically, but still emotionally fits with its wistful experimental improv.
Spriggs’ wrote on her Bandcamp page that “escalator jazz” acts as a bridge for a future release titled “Night Folkways” — an experimental folk project with looped textures, vocals, and FX pedals. Although it serves as a connective thread between the releases, “escalator jazz” doesn’t seem like a memorable way to close out the EP. The beating heart of this record lies with Spriggs’ abilities to bring new ideas to traditional folk storytelling. Despite the lack of cohesion at its end, Demi Spriggs’ a boy called ear is a heartfelt collection of songs that takes inspiration from the past, while moving forward with inventiveness and a willingness to experiment with the folk genre.
Every Friday, a staff member at the ugly hug curates a list of their five favorite new(ish) releases to share with us all. This week, our writer Nikki (Monsters in Hiding), put together a list of apocalyptical hugs, shoegaze stunners and heartfelt folk tunes to take into the weekend.
“everything to die for” by mui zyu
From a Featured interview, to a Guest List playlist, to my Hi-5 this week, Mui Zyu is a favorite on The Ugly Hug, and for good reason. At first listen, the dissonant melody notes (sharped 4th for music theory nerds) in the chorus are unsettlingly interesting, and then they become addictive. After singing “we’ve got everything to die for”, mui zyu goes on with “thank god if you want to” which seems to capture the essence of this song and its place within her new album as what might be the most melancholy sounding but hopeful track. To me, it is a reminder that through our existential earthling nihilism, disappointment, rejection, we still have so much to live for, especially the people who keep us here. Thank you Shea for showing me this song.
“falling down” by Current Joys
Many of us know Current Joys (Nick Rattigan) from his harmonic tremolo and super reverb sounds in the popular tracks “Blondie” and “Kids” from his older albums. But if you haven’t listened to his new music, you might be in for a treat if you like the old sound, PLUS a heavy dose of emo screams over digital modulations and breakbeats. It’s like Current Joys experimented, found a new sound, and couldn’t get enough of making songs with it. I’ve included the song I think demonstrates this, and my favorite off his new album LOVE+POP Pt 2 – “falling down”. The melodic singing ends at “These capitalistic pigs have destroyed the planet”, and then half of the song rides out with his screams “it’s all my fault”. Nick Rattigan doesn’t hold back and I’m so here for it. Emotional summer banger for sure.
“jsuk” by Saturnalias
I’m very excited to expose you to Saturnalias if you don’t know them – a band of wonderful humans and musicians based in my NC hometown. It was hard to pick a track of their new album “Bugfest”, but the ebbs in intensity and sampled sounds in “jsuk” are just too cool. I notice something different from the various layers and switch ups every time I listen. Singing drummer, Isa belts “Oh I need this” at the end of the bridge, feeling like an attempt to hold onto something comforting through chaos. If you like post-punk and shoegaze, I’m pleased to introduce you to the music of Saturnalias.
“Guardian” by Memorial (ft. Lomelda)
The songwriting in this one bleeds sincerity. From my interpretation, it paints the very real human experience of wanting to help others; but when we think we are responsible (a “guardian”) for their emotions, we neglect our own needs and can be left with resentment that only we ourselves can account for. Lomelda comes in on the second verse, sharing her classic slow vocal runs, which carry over so well when their two joined voices build and weave in and out over brushed drums. It’s a great shower song.
“Teeth” by Sour Worm
Sour Worm deviates from the digital, instrumental heavy songs released last year with this banger. Using what sounds like acoustic instruments this time, including a bold walking, clonking bass, this track is also lyric focused. It’s weird in all the best ways. Some elements are reminiscent of Modest Mouse and Alex G, like the rhythmic swing, violin solo, and descriptive word choices. It lyrically ends with an interesting final battling dichotomy to dissect – “It’s like pulling teeth trying to keep them [teeth] in my mouth.”
“There’s such a specific feeling you get from living in an attic,” Hobson laughs. “I feel like a little doll shuffling around up here.”
There has always been a layer of separation in Jane Hobson’s writing, a practice in creating an honest and reflective version of herself, so detailed that she can physically hold it in her hands. Last month, the Chicago-based singer-songwriter shared her newest album, Attic Days – a collection of songs that document her transition into adulthood, and the many paths she took to get there.
Originally from Madison, WI, Hobson became a staple in the scene with her powerful and enduring live performances. Attic Days found her returning to her hometown to record with her band (composed of other beloved Madison musicians) in the home studio of guitarist and songwriter, Bronson Taalbi (Please!).
Currently living in an attic, these new songs aren’t restricted within the tight, slanted and poorly insulated quarters of attic living, as Hobson’s storytelling and rock n roll catharsis mark a big breakthrough for the young artist. We recently caught up with Hobson to discuss the new record, as she reflects on writing with distance, the joy of playing live and reconnecting with her younger self through music.
Photo Courtesy of Jane Hobson
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Shea Roney: Attic Days marked a return to Madison for you. Can you tell me a bit of how the project came to be and the people you worked with?
Jane Hobson: I would say Attic Days is the culmination of a few years of songwriting for me. It started at the end of my college experience and then I wrote the other half once I moved to Chicago. The actual record was recorded in Madison with my band. Bronson [Taalbi], who is one of my guitarist, was also my producer and my engineer and he really brought it to life for me. It was really awesome working with him, and also really convenient to be back in Madison and stay with my family. I’m working in Chicago now, but I would still bounce back to Madison quite a lot to play a show or two over the weekend and then wake up early the next morning and go record in Bronson’s studio.
SR: Attic Days is a brutally honest project, as you grapple with more mature and heavier topics revolving around big transitions. When you began to write these songs, where were you at in life and how did the collective themes come to be?
JH: I feel like it’s an eclectic smattering and does really feel like an album that’s reflecting on a ton of different transitions that were happening in my life. I went to Oberlin College in Ohio and songs like “Time to Kill” and “Where the Fuck Am I?” are about feeling stuck in a very rural place. It’s such a small town and I felt lonely and isolated and really wanted to get out. But after graduating college, moving home and just trying to be an adult and reflect on the relationships I’d had in college, I think that’s where a lot of the big themes came from. Honestly, a lot of the stuff that I wrote, I’m not gonna say it’s random, but it pulls from all different parts of my life.
SR: A lot of these songs grapple with distance, whether that be your proximity to home, drifting relationships or even the gap between you and your younger self. Did writing these songs help bring these large concepts more into view for you?
JH: I think a part of why I write songs is to understand my feelings and my internal-self better. A lot of the time when I sit down with my guitar, it’s because I need a little emotional catharsis. It’s so corny to say that my guitar is my therapist, but it is kind of true. I feel like it helps me come to understand a lot of different stuff. The concept of distance is definitely present throughout these songs. A lot of them are about growing up and changing and feeling a lot of distance from my past self. “Cold Song” is really all about growing up and feeling separate from my childhood. And I mean, a lot of the songs that are about relationships on this album are about old relationships that I have. A lot of the stuff that I write about is more retrospective. I’m not necessarily someone who understands my feelings as they’re happening. I like to have some space and reflection or else my brain is just a massive confusion.
SR: Were there any specific ways that you found yourself connecting to, or reaching out, to your younger self in Attic Days?
JH: I mean, I feel like when I start playing music, it always feels like I’m communicating with a younger version of myself, because it’s something I started doing when I was pretty young. It also feels like one of those moments that is just so private, where a lot of the time, those childish feelings can come through a little bit more honestly. Then it becomes a question of if you want to lift it off the page and into the real world at a certain point. But I feel like when you really tap into your creativity, there is a lot of your childish energy within it and you have to give yourself some license to use that. A lot of the time when I write songs I just genuinely feel like a teenager, like I’m sixteen again or something, as I’m often like ‘this is so dramatic, what am I talking about?’
SR: Songs like “Eat Me Up” and “Know Thyself” are very observational of yourself, but at the hands of someone else. You do allow little moments of grace, like on “Not My Medicine”, to define your worth as your own person. Was this conflict something you wanted to highlight or did it come out naturally through writing?
JH: I don’t think it’s something I necessarily intended. I think a lot of the stuff that’s in my music is not always something I intended in terms of, especially when putting together an album, being thematic in certain ways. For me, it sometimes feels random, to put a bunch of things together and see the patterns that might emerge, but it wasn’t necessarily intentional. “Eat Me Up” and “Not My Medicine” are both about someone consuming you and exploiting you a little bit and are both based off of feeling bad in a relationship, but again I wrote them pretty far removed from those feelings that I still carry around.
Photo by Max Glazer
SR: Is it easy for you to tap into and relive these old unsavory feelings?
JH: Yeah, I think a lot of what those songs are written about is gonna feel visceral, and it is easy for me to remember how that feels. But yeah, “Eat Me Up”, my mom hates that song. There’s definitely some metaphors in there that she finds unsavory for sure. “Not My Medicine” is supposed to feel more empowering in the message, like you don’t understand what I am apart from you, but at the end of the day, I’m my own person, and I can separate myself from you.
SR: You are known for having a really rockin’ live show, and that rawness translates into such a fun record to listen to as it feels like a step forward in your band’s recorded sound. How involved was the band when fleshing out these songs?
JH: Generally, I write my songs in a pretty solitary way, but I feel very blessed to have found a group of people who just get it, they hear it so fast. It’s really the most rewarding feeling. I’m primarily a singer, so I’m not a super well trained guitarist. I was an English major in college, and my songs are really lyric driven. I sometimes have ideas for guitar leads that I hear in the song, but I’m not someone who shreds necessarily. But James [Strelow] and Bronson, they shred. I do play acoustic sets sometimes where it’s literally just me and my acoustic guitar and it’s a really different sound than the full fleshed out band. Playing with them is something I’ve started to become really addicted to.
SR: Have you been playing these Attic Days songs live for awhile now?
JH: That’s the funny part, when it comes to recording, it takes such a long time that I’ve been playing almost all the songs on this album for at least a year. I think it’s kind of funny to release it, especially to the people who come to a lot of my shows, because I’m like, ‘it’s finally out!’ I think a lot of people expect that it’s all brand new stuff and I’m like, ‘no guys, like this is old.’ I’ve already lapped myself in my songwriting and I have a few more albums in me that are not recorded yet.
Jane Hobson will be playing the McPike Sessions in Madison on June 15 and then back in Chicago at Gman Tavern on July 19.
Written by Shea Roney | Feature Photo by Maha Hemingway
Grumpy is back! The Brooklyn-based project of Heaven Schmitt has returned to earth with “Protein”, the first new song shared since embarking on a four year side quest, marking a triumphant return and a huge step forward for all things Grumpy. The primarily self-produced track is a beautiful lumpy mass – a body kept alive by electro-pop ligaments and meaty distorted muscles, as they pump blood into an autotuned lament of digital longing.
Echoing a lone drum beat, Schmitt sings, “I got your message and you’re suddenly confessional/ you want to keep things strictly professional” – a chromatic plea of disappointment with the noticeable gap of digital intimacy. The chorus is loose and playful, utilizing the hyper-rock backdrop of heavy guitars and running synth licks as leverage to its dreamy and melodic palette.
“Starving for attention in a protein bar” – Grumpy thrives in the surreal, blending personal insecurities and unfiltered introspections that thrive in the absurd, telling an honest and compelling story of regret and heartbreak – a type of writing that is emotionally applicable, deeply relatable and sticks to your bones with every listen.
“Protein” is best ingested with the accompanying music video directed by Sarah Ritter (Surf Curse, Samia, Cherry Glazer). The video depicts an extraterrestrial story of obsession and longing, with a spout of alien warfare and Martian-like-wonder to highlight this new idea of futuristic vulnerability.
As Grumpy enters a new realm today, it is wise to let them show us the way. “Protein” is sincere, eclectic, introspective and irresistible, showcasing the evolution of Grumpy’s artistry and influences as they learn from, and further build out their craft. You can listen to “Protein” on all streaming platforms now.
Triples is one of Canada’s best-kept secrets. With an emphasis on loose and energetic DIY performances, the band has put out some of the most heartwarming and fun pop songs in recent memory. Today, the Toronto-based project of songwriter and actress, Eva Link, has released her long awaited new single, “So Soon”. As a follow up to 2019’s debut full length, Big Time – an album with no shortage of glittery attitude and loveable hooks, Link returns to her form more confident than ever, with powered up, jangly guitars and an enduring melody that reminds her to embrace what she knows best.
Triples has always gravitated towards a nostalgic feel – taking inspiration from 90’s alt-pop legends like Guided by Voices and Liz Phair, as well as that underground punk charm that is both invigorating in spirit and timeless by nature. “So Soon” showcases the band with a more expansive, rock-forward sound, but at no loss to the heart and pure enjoyment that comes with Link’s songwriting.
“Whose guilty conscious keeps them hiding away/ Fear of fucking up with things you say,” Link sings, as a steady guitar introduces the song – a batch of open ended doubt setting the scene. It doesn’t take long before her layered harmonies become responsive and the driving drum fills and heavy guitars turn the song into a pop-rock classic, as “So Soon” reaches for that joy of embracing what fills us up.
“This song is about coming out of a hibernation, where you’re just used to feeling bad or sad, and then reemerging into the world and remembering what it’s like to feel like yourself again doing the things that made you feel happy, actually doing the things that matter to you (the “cool and right things”) you recognize the YOU that starts to come back,” Link shares about the song.
“So Soon” is accompanied by a music video shot by Seamus Patterson at Paste Studios back in 2023. The video plays with a coming-of-age feel, as the band rocks out in a twinkle lit garage, capturing a new and exciting step forward for Triples.
Triples will be performing with PACKS (Eva’s sister and frequent collaborator, Madeline Link’s band) at the Drake Underground in Toronto on July 6, and look to release their forthcoming EP in the near future.
Earlier this week, the Brooklyn-based trio, Sister., released a new single, “Colorado” off of Mtn. Laurel Recording Co. If you live in New York and have seen the band perform in the past few months, whether that be stripped back for a house show or a full band endeavor, you most likely have heard a variation of this song. Regardless of which version, “Colorado” finds Sister. exuding a level of patient handling; a relic that romanticizes the enduring process of their collaboration, all while further defining their style and sound at their own pace.
This interview was conducted in January of this year. The band took the time to call me as they sat between projects and recording sessions of “Colorado”. We decided to hold off on publishing this piece until the song was released, and in the sense of music PR, that was the move – and for the sake of the piece, it allowed me to watch the contents of our past conversation live its life in real time.
Photo by Avery Davis
Sister. is composed of songwriters and multi-instrumentalists Hannah Pruzinsky, Ceci Sturman and James Chrisman. Last October, the band released their debut full-length album, Abundance, which found the band in a comfortable spot. Pruzinsky and Sturman started the project as a duo when they met in college, and since then, their songwriting found a similar path of sincerity and inventiveness in Chrisman’s warm and unique production and textured instrumentation.
At its core, Abundance is a bedroom record, hopping between locations in the process of writing and recording. Most of the album was tracked in a small cabin in Woodstock, NY – a little run down unit making a comfortable home for the trio to set up shop and flesh out the new songs. Unlike recording in a professional studio, the band was able to take their time, as Pruzinsky shares, “I think it was fun to be able to stretch it out so long. Even more so than recording in the cabin, I feel like I always think of us recording all the overdubs in my room with James at the computer and Ceci laying on my bed re-listening to the songs a million times.”
Whether at the cabin or in Pruzinsky’s bedroom in Brooklyn, the band recognized the outside elements that allowed the recordings to breathe; a symbiotic relationship between the noises captured and the environment in which the band occupied – “when we had the mics gained up you could hear the creek that was under the cabin,” Chrisman recalls, sharing an example form their time in the woods. These moments throughout Abundance latch on to our senses; a blend of birds in conversation, the clicks of guitar pedals and keyboards, pouring rain and the creaking of old wooden floors all stand out in their own way, yet add a collective beauty to the overall experience of the record. “That’s actually a personal preference of ours,” Sturman says, “using whatever happens to be captured, instead of going back and trying for a better sound or recording.” Something she further explains, “I think we’re just really good at embracing that sort of thing – this is what we did, we’re gonna honor it and that’s gonna become the song.”
There is no more striking example than the album’s opener “Ghost” – a song attributed to Sturman’s time learning the piano and recorded on a trip with her mom to a ranch in New Mexico. The final version grows from that original voice memo, capturing a performance of Sturman playing the song for her mother. “Ghost’ was really uncomfortable for me to accept,” Sturman shares as the others recall having to convince her to use it on the album. This song was my introduction to Sister., first listening to Abundance on the train when it was released. Its spacing felt like a familiar form of tenderness, one that knows that healing is an option, as Sturman sounded so distant in her presence, but so vulnerable and compelling in her performance.
The choice to place it as the opener wasn’t much of a topic of discussion for the band; “we started sending the album around a lot, and people said “Abundance” has to go first – you need a big entrance, and we all were like, no,” Pruzinsky laughs. It was a gut feeling, trusting their creative intuitions that kept it in its tracking spot. “I think there were definitely nerves about it, but it does welcome you into the expansiveness of the album,” Pruzinsky continues, with Sturman adding, “well, it felt like a risky move for me because it feels vulnerable, but I think it’s cool. We have to put trust in the listener that they will keep listening, and then they can understand why that might have been the first song.”
And to the band’s credit, having “Ghost” open the album perfectly sets the tone for a project that doesn’t stay in one lane for long, but rather focuses on their craft as a culmination of moments. “It’s like a record of so many things,” Chrisman says about the song. “It’s a record of Ceci and her mom and one particular performance, but it’s also because Ceci is learning the piano, it’s a document of a moment in her relationship to piano, too.” And once again, inviting in their settings, “even a document of that acoustic space with a weird bird in the background,” he laughs.
As a project, Abundance savors maximalism at no expense to intimacy, and originality through vision and feel of its players. Songs like “Notes App Apology” and “Guts” flow with melodic folk voicings through a classic and tempered alt-rock drive. “Gorilla vs. Cold Water” is a patient build, standing strong through synth drones and heavy guitar strums. The drum machine track plays second hand antagonist in the dark turns of “Classon”, and “Kinder” reaches similar emotional heights until decomposing into dust as the instrumentation burns from the inside out. “There are so many different narratives that take place on this album,” Pruzinsky shares, “I think what came through were these momentary glances in time.”
Abundance became a document of the trio’s growth, experimentation and ultimately, their form, but it is also helped capture the way that they learned to communicate creatively with such intention and ease. “It was more like a phase or a chapter for us, as songwriters and collaborators,” Sturman begins. “I think we have just been growing a lot as people and as musicians, so we got to just use this as an opportunity to co-write and just really try to see how we could make a bunch of different songs really work together and have cohesion.”
That cohesion comes through in the varied feels of comfort that arise from the individual songs, regardless of their build, emotional pull or stylistic choices. “For so long, Ceci and I had no idea how to articulate our ideas to each other and how to find someone that also just knew what we wanted,” Pruzinsky shares. “When we were able to finally get there, it was like, ‘okay, now we can do everything we want!’ It’s like we can be doing the most minimal thing, which is just the three of us playing acoustic instruments in a room, and it feels so good and so comfortable.”
Photo by Felix Walworth
“We wrote Colorado together,” says the band in their press release. “Hannah started with the chords and the line ‘You drive to Colorado and I get emotional,’ and we built it all from there.” The song builds off of those same elements of loose textures, shared ideas and honored performances that live within the heightened emotional release of the song. Within their composure, the band thrives in pushing the vast soundscape further, but in no way at the expense of losing that intimacy that makes their performances so full and memorable.
While recording “Colorado”, Sturman recalls a time when their friend and label manager, Elijah Wolf, said, “this is such a classic Sister. sound,” in the middle of their session. “That’s so cool that we might have something like that,” she says. And as “Colorado” now sees the daylight, and it was time to resurface this old conversation, I was instantly enveloped in that first experience I had with the Sister. sound, a moment of true Proust Effect on public transportation; my own momentary glance in time that felt so present. And to its effects, that classic sound doesn’t feel to necessarily label their form, but rather a chance for the band to define themselves with where they are now in the moment, knowing they have so much more to show us.
“Colorado” is accompanied by a music video made by V. Haddad with the help from Nara Avakian. You can stream “Colorado” on all platforms now. Pruzinsky and Sturman also run New York-based show zine, GUNK, which is shared at the beginning of every month.
Bloomsday, the project of Brooklyn-based artist Iris James Garrison, has released their sophomore LP, Heart of the Artichoke off of Bayonet Records today. Following 2022’s Place to Land, this new project thrives in its deliverance – the lush instrumentations giving Garrison’s poetic phrasings room to breathe, and vice versa, showcases the personal growth and vision that made these performances so fresh and enduring. Heart of the Artichoke is an album that lives in its connections, creating an honest and clear silhouette of Garrison’s presence while also documenting a keepsake; the community that Garrison has surrounded themselves with to bring it to its truest from.
Last month, I grabbed a coffee with Garrison to discuss the importance of community, the significance of revisiting old songs and the momentary inspirations that stuck out when writing Heart of the Artichoke.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Photo by Desdemona Dallas
Shea Roney: You recorded a lot of Heart of the Artichoke with Ryan Albert at his home studio in upstate New York, which turned into a very community driven and collaborative project over all. Can you tell me about that experience and the people you chose to work with?
Iris James Garrison: I do so much of the writing part alone, and then to find the realized state of the song, I love to hear what my friends and people I admire think would work. So in that process I think the more the merrier. Maya [Bon] and Ryan [of Babehoven], Andrew Stevens (Lomelda, Hovvdy), Hannah Pruzinksky (h. pruz, Sister.), Richard Orofino, Alex Harwood, Chris Daley – they’re all awesome people and I just wanted to feel like we were all able to be really open. I can’t really focus when I’m in New York City, so when Ryan approached me about that, I thought that actually sounded so much better than doing it in a proper studio in New York. As awesome as that is, the pressure is really on to know what we are doing, whereas, exploring the songs and being in a house – going to grab a sandwich, going on the porch for a second, walking in the woods, going in the pond whenever I want. It sounds as dreamy as it actually was. There are very few times in my life where I had no stress. Even my friend Dallas visited us while we were there and halfway through the week, we had a bonfire and they were said, ‘you laughed more that night than I’ve ever seen you laugh.’ I was just very open and it was very special to have so many people I love to be working on my music.
SR: Did you get to work on your own time frame with these songs?
IJG: I gave myself ten days. Ten songs in ten days. We didn’t do the entire thing in that house, we also did three days at the Chicken Shack, which is a really sick studio in upstate New York, with Nick Kinsey to get a lot of the drum sounds and some live band feel. We played a couple of the songs live just to capture what they were like in that environment because some of them I feel like it’s really essential for their sound. So we just did a weekend there and then the rest of it was at Ryan’s house.
SR: Being so comfortable in a collaborative environment and taking in other people’s perspectives on your songs, would there be moments and ideas that would change your own perception of what the song means to you?
IJG: There were some that I was less open than others. The song “Artichoke” is a great example of having an idea, but not a fully fleshed song. I wrote all the melodies, but actually arranging it was a very collaborative process of just figuring out how to make it feel like an arc without there really being many lyrics to work with. That is different for me, because usually I’m really into song structure being pretty classic – verse, chorus, verse. But the instrumentation ended up telling the story a lot more than the lyrics.
SR: “Night Swimming” is fully instrumental. As you talk about perception in instrumentation, was this something that you wanted to focus more on putting meaning into than you have on prior works?
IJG: I think even just the fact that I brought more people in was so starkly different from Place to Land where it was just me and Alex alone in 2020. He was one of the only people I saw that whole year, and that process of working with just two people for a six-month period can be hard. You don’t really get any perspective. It’s hard to get perspective on things that you’ve listened to like a thousand million times. So I guess, yes, I wanted to focus on instrumentation. Ryan, Alex and I were very zeroed in on parts. Now I just write something and think, ‘wow, I can’t wait to work on that with the people that I really love to work with and see what happens.’ Especially with something like “Artichoke” and “Object Permanence”, I was not sure what their form would be. Obviously it’s not like I just hand it over, but it was really fun to be a part of the process and work with everybody.
SR: So obviously you had this great sense of community on this record. When listening to Heart of the Artichoke, it very much focuses on human connection and the many different forms you encounter. Why was this such a natural place to let your songs go?
IJG: I’m not a super conceptual first writer. I’ll have a melody that I like and I’ll just kind of let that ruminate for a long time. I think with human connection I feel I write a lot in second person – a ‘you’ and ‘me’. So I think if I find a pocket of a hook, it’s almost always addressing someone else. I learn everything through my relationships. I need to bounce things off of other people, I think because my unconscious understanding of myself comes through talking to whoever the ‘you’ is. So as the songs come out, I’m learning through ‘you’ and here is a picture of what that feeling is like.
SR: Using that habit to learn from others, what does that say about where you’re at in your life where you’re touching upon all these different connections with such ease and comfort in your writing?
IJG: You know, as we go on in life we get to different spots. I’m much more healed. I feel like my songs when I was younger were so tormented and I had a hard time having perspective on what was going on for me – it just regulates my system and it’s helpful in uncovering the stuff that’s underneath. Some of these songs are my favorite songs I’ve ever written because they take those little moments that I don’t think I would have cared to notice and romanticize when I was younger, instead of thinking I’m tormented and heartbroken and that’s the only way to experience artful romanticism.
SR: I like how you said little moments, because a lot of what your lyrics revolve around are little mundane moments that hold more weight than what we may initially perceive. The song, “Where I Am And You Begin” has some remnants of the first song you ever wrote, bringing us back to those earlier days you mentioned. What was the significance of resurfacing a song that pushes for reliving the sensations of a moment?
IJG: That song is about a person that is from my past and was my super heartbreak. It’s really a song written in hindsight, looking back and sort of being overtaken by that feeling again. I like that song because I’m aware while singing it that the where I end and you begin is actually, in a way, talking about just codependency and not knowing where we are separated. Being aware of that now and then having sort of a flashback to a moment, letting it overcome and then letting it go, that sort of intensity feels so amazing when you’re younger, but it’s also super destructive and can be really addictive and toxic. I think in a way, writing it gives me a place to feel those things instead of actually living in those feelings now.
SR: Because it feels like you’re trying to recreate thesensations of particular memories, using hindsight to kind of resurrect those sensations, what did it feel like to reuse these parts that you wrote such a long time ago?
IJG: I mean the chords I wrote when I was 15 or something. It’s an old song, and when I was sort of going through it again, it almost felt like a ghost coming back into the room. Having a beautiful song that holds space for those feelings, I think there’s less shame involved in desiring them. Desiring them even though you’re older and have grown past certain things. It’s hard to let go sometimes of the teenage angst and the teenage first love – those feelings are a once-in-a-lifetime feeling. You don’t really get to have them again, so I think that yearn was a big part of why that song came through.
SR: This idea of writing about your younger self within the lens of hindsight, especially in songs like “Carefully”, how do you approach working with that reflective voice from who you are right now?
IJG: So “Carefully” came to me while I was on a bus. That was a one-sitting song, but it has a lot to do with sort of the inner voices in my head that are sort of coming back to doubt, feeling worthless or nothing I say will be good enough for the expectations. “Carefully”, the word itself, I think I hadn’t ever touched on that sort of a vulnerable position I often take. I think the way I navigate my art, or life in general, is being extra careful. It’s sort of from an anxious place of not wanting to ruin something. In a way it’s that hesitance where the song is really gripping at that inner tension. It’s a super vulnerable song because this is really a part of my internal self that I have not really shown before.
SR: Do you feel like releasing this song was, in fact, a step to kind of counteract those internal tensions?
IJG: Yeah, and having certain people really connect with it I think also made me feel less alone in those feelings. Also, I think even if people don’t connect with it is fine because I really think I needed the song either way. It’s definitely different from other songs that I’ve written, but I hope to write more like it because I think it was sort of uninhibited, and I didn’t judge it. I really didn’t judge it.
SR: I think the imagery of God buying a dollar slice is perfect. It’s so funny and it just makes sense, almost humanizing the highest being, or like the highest expectations. I know you’re not a religious person, but you’ve brought up this other idea of a higher being – is this something that opens your understanding of yourself or the world around you a little bit more?
IJG: I actually had COVID when I wrote that song and I was very feverish. That was one of those moments where I listened back to a voice memo and I heard myself say, “I saw God buying a dollar slice.” I thought that was so funny and such a weird thing to say. So I could not answer how I got that imagery but maybe that’s part of it, right? Maybe that’s just the higher being delivering me this line from the fucking ether. But the minute I had that image, almost like what if God was one of us? kind of vibe, it really struck me. I think songs sort of live somewhere in that higher-being space. I think there’s a lot of unexplainable kinds of divine experiences, and I feel like they’re most tangible with other people, like that same human connection.
Heart of the Artichoke is out now on all streaming platforms. You can purchase all physical formats here. Bloomsday will be playing a release show for the album on June 10th at TV Eye in New York.
Written by Shea Roney | Feature Photo by Desdemona Dallas
Today marks one day since New York-based singer-songwriter Claire Ozmun’s song “I-90” entered the world; now, with an accompanying music video made with hand-written lyric animations (by the Ugly Hug’s own Audrey Keelin) and home video recordings from Ozmun’s personal family archive, Better Company Records’ newest signing makes an exciting entrance through her foray into a released discography.
Ozmun says, “I started writing ‘I-90’ in 2020 while living in my parent’s basement. I was facing student loan debt, a waning relationship, and changing family dynamics. ‘I-90’ is about granting myself permission to feel the weight and silliness of that time.”
Ozmun’s EP, set for release on July 19, is titled “Dying in the Wool.” As described in a press release, “I-90” “offers a candid look at early adulthood, capturing the experience of comparing personal achievements with those of peers and navigating complex relationships and self-discovery. Set against Midwest-imbued guitar parts, vocal harmonies, and nostalgic field recordings, “I-90” reflects Claire’s introspective nature and trust in the future.”
If you’re in New York, her EP release show (with support from Hiding Places and Adeline Hotel) will be held at Sultan Room on July 24th and you can buy tickets here.
Building upon the gratuity of contrast and the wiggle room of a DIY world, Georgette Pullover is the latest mini-album from New Orleans-based creative project, Make Your Maze. Beginning in 2019 as a Bandcamp-only outlet for multi-instrumentalist and producer Andreas Jahn (Sympathy Wizard) for his more off-kilter sonic explorations, Georgette Pullover sees a definitive expansion of the project into something that is both sweet by nature and confident at heart.
The album opens with “Dov”, where electronic tinkerings push back tides of static waves in a competition of the harshest. It’s an abrasive opening, but it stands out as an incredible differentiator to what follows in suit. While experiencing intense OCD lows, Jahn spent the time fleshing out these tracks as a writing exercise to contrast anxiety-relieving and anxiety-inducing sounds – building fixations to live inside the listener as well. Songs like the delayed mania of “Bronwyn Avery” or the dilapidated folk diddy “6AM Flower Carton” thrive upon their own relapse, creating soundscapes of brash electronic layers and vocal manipulations that graze the edge of anguish.
But in the in-betweens of frustration from unresolved mediums, Jahn compartmentalizes relief in the midst of admirable twee-pop instrumentations and beautifully catchy melodies that are all tied neatly together with a bow of lo-fi rock n’ roll whimsy. Songs like “Pastry” and “Friend Foundation” live amongst Jahn’s warm production style – allowing the repetition of sounds to lift up the catchy and oftentimes complex melodic structures. One of the standout tracks, “baseball” is a patient breeze, making sure to capture the entirety of a blissful feeling, “in the same hi-resolution render” Jahn sings, reaching the high notes of the chorus. But throughout, Jahn romanticizes the sound of nostalgia, whether that be through revitalizing song snippets written in his teenage days or embodying the works that have inspired his own projects (“Awful Mess” by the Softies), there is an undeniable layer of joy tucked into the songs.
Georgette Pullover offers a remarkable escape when taken in as a whole – where Jahn plays with both our sour familiarity and active wonderment for the world around us. It’s a very sweet album, one that is memorable upon introduction, as it allows the listener a view into our own characterizations of what we personally find comfort in – an attribute that Make Your Maze humanizes so well.
You can stream Georgette Pullover on all platforms as well as purchase a limited edition cassette made by Kiln Recordings in New Orleans.
To the likes of being awakened by your sleep paralysis demons – used to the routine of these spooky encounters by now – only to be shown the surprise birthday party they have thrown for you, there are elements of mui zyu’s music that stick out as odd, borderline conflicting, yet from the center of its beating hearts, there is a tender sweetness that becomes irresistible to partake in.
mui zyu is the creative project of Hong Kong/UK artist and experimentalist, Eva Liu, who as of today, has unleashed her sophomore record nothing or something to die for out into the world via Father/Daughter Records. Over the past few years, Liu has molded her expansive, yet incredibly intimate project as mui zyu into something that is both emotionally refining and sonically addictive when ingested by earthlings. But fifteen songs in and out, nothing or something to die for is a rehabilitation of what it means to be a human, and the things we must hold on to when existence begins to feel radical and nihilism becomes a choking hazard when left out in arms reach.
With a production style that’s made through a clenched jaw and an expansive mind, Liu has thrived in brewing and boiling her sonic landscapes from within her home studio with co-producer and fellow Dama Scout bandmate, Luciano Rossi. But when it came time to create nothing or something to die for, with help from PRS Foundation funding, Liu was able to take her ideas to Middle Farm Studios in Devon, England. “The engineer came and picked us up from the station and took us to a farm shop to get supplies,” she recalls as the week of recording began. “Once he dropped us off at the studio, he left us to it – we were stuck there for a week and had no way of leaving unless we walked for hours.” Besides a hairless cat named Dust, Liu and Rossi were left to their own curiosity.
Photo by Tia Liu
“I feel like our approach to making this album was a lot different in that we had more time to experiment and mess about with new equipment,” she adds. Through their interwoven brain paths and love of textured earworms, Liu and Rossi thrived in these moments of uninterrupted exploration. “If I’m wanting a particular sound or feeling, I would just describe it, and [Rossi] would be able to manipulate the certain thing to sound exactly like what’s in my head,” she shares, showcasing their strengths as a creative duo.
Going beyond the classic build up of instruments and mui zyu stylings, there are multitudes of little sound bites and recording tricks that live amongst the record’s landscape – something that Liu takes a lot of pride in. “As soon as we want to explore something, we’ll explore it to the max, even if we chuck it in the end.” Most memorable, to her excitement, was the chance to use a fanfare horn that hung on the wall of the studio “It was my first ever experience using a brass instrument – I had no idea what I was doing, and I think it literally only plays one note on the album,” (found in the depths of the song “sparky”). “But that’s what I enjoy mostabout our process and I wish I could do that every time I record – it was just such a nice experience being so removed from the world and solely focused on what I love doing.”
nothing or something to die for also features a handful of collaborations with outside artists – something that Liu has always wanted to do, but never felt confident enough in her abilities to ask for. “I used to be so terrified – I just had that inner imposter syndrome screaming at me all the time.” But spending years working with Rossi and other bandmate, Danny Grant, in countless creative environments, Liu now admits, “I feel like Dama Scout definitely gave me the confidence to approach other people and collaborate more with other artists I love.” With songs like the dissolving “sparky” featuring lei, e (formerly Emmy the Great), the darkly meditative “in the dot” featuring Lukas Mayo (Pickle Darling) or the industrial-strength muscle relaxer that is “please be okay” featuring Miss Grit, the features only enhance the sonic experience of the album, pushing Liu’s writing to new depths that she never thought were possible before.
Opening with “satan marriage”, an instrumental that plays out from an array of stringed instruments, the album comes to life like body parts shaking off their tingly slumber and unconnected nerves. Soon a drum machine accumulates and introduces our surroundings, as “the mould” kneads our physical being to fit inside this fantastical world of dilapidated characters that Liu has created – one that emboldens the horrors of very human-centric qualities of destruction, apathy, misogyny and greed through the lens Liu’s own individuality.
Following her 2023 debut LP, Rotten Bun for an Eggless Century, which followed a lone warrior exploring concepts of identity and healing, nothing or something to die for goes beyond Liu’s conception of her own character as she observes how mankind, as a species, have both a hand in, as well as are concurrently fighting off, this dying world. “As humans, we’ve kind of messed up a lot of things,” Liu will say with visible weight. “With this album I’ve left my story behind and I’m now looking more outward at my understanding of the world.”
Photo by Tia Liu
“I think a lot of the album has to do with embracing chaos in the many forms it comes in,” she adds, in the name of betterment. Dealing with serious grief on songs like “please be okay” and “the rules of what an earthling can be”, reckoning with the pressures of appeasing others’ standards, while “in the dot” gives a voice to our most destructive humanly habits, being an earthling can feel impossible at times. The sugar-coated, cavity filled track, “donna likes parasites” refers to a family member who is, as Liu puts it, “overly worried about everything. The strive for perfectionism is actually damaging their health – it’s actually ruining their life.” Like a parasite, these manufactured stressors begin to eat you from the inside out. “I find a lot of people I know are always trying to find a way to better themselves, or I guess in their eyes, quick ways to find happiness,” she says. “But it’s not lasting.”
“After the pandemic, a lot of my friends were exhausted and very disheartened with everything that’s going on in the world,” primarily noticing, “people were just not looking after themselves.” In response, Liu’s artistic theme became one of perception; creating new ways to look at, perceive and carry our trauma alongside our need for harmony and hope. “It’s just amazing how our perception of things can change all the time – whether it’s true or not,” she admits, going on to explain, “sometimes we look at memories and we can interpret them differently at times and you’ll start to feel differently towards it.” Utilizing this idea of perceptions as a new challenge – “it’s just deciding what to do with it that can change how you feel.”
“Follow the mould through portals/ Looking at memories wrong/ Take tiny sips through their lips”, rattles through the pop sensibilities and slo-mo palpitations of “the mould” as Liu views decay with a new manner of optimism. The idea of portals, as she explains it, “ represent a sort of opportunity to rethink something or to look at something differently for the positive.” “the mould” celebrates that idea, warts and all, as she embraces the caste that only she can fit in – no longer living in regret of what she’s not, but rather cherishing what she has become on her own.
Taking inspiration from the the classic 1986 David Lynch film Blue Velvet, the standout track, “sparky” honors the dog that plays in the hose as his owner dies. Although dark in its depiction, it comes down to instincts – what is Sparky capable of controlling in the moment and where is Sparky at his purest form? Although it is often warped by societal expectations of what Sparky should be doing in that moment, Liu lays it out on the chorus, “Does it feel cute biting the water, Sparky?/ Does it feel good trying to be happy?,” she sings, almost with envy towards its simplicity.
“In a way, the portals do represent an escape, but they also represent the next level, the next chapter or the next world that you’re about to embark on.” This sounds like a huge concept, but Liu knows it doesn’t need to be overly complicated. As she embarked on this treacherous journey, mirroring the complexities of manufactured rules and utilizing chaos as a benchmark of capabilities, she found there are slivers of grace amongst these songs that hold a purpose. “We need to take time to look and realize and reflect that things are actually really good and you are lucky to be where you are.” In no way is this an album of defeat, but rather one of self rehabilitation against the odds of what an earthling can be. “I like absurdity, but I think overall, this album is about hope, and as cliché as it sounds, not giving up.” As portals open and close, allowing momentary lapses in reality, Liu embraces that first step through, knowing it can make all the difference.
the ugly hug 