Through the faulty wiring and warm hiss of old tape recorders, Chicago’s latest addition, Harrison Riddle, has offered up his latest album, Lo Stereo, taking over the static waves and ecstatic ears of the local scene and beyond. Having performed under the pen name Riddle M since 2018, Lo Stereo finds Riddle in a continuation, arranging episodic moments that live out their own concise lives in the limelight of DIY antiquity and absorbing pop hooks.
Where flying cars and chrome exteriors used to imply happier times ahead, Lo Stereo kicks off with the retro shine of “Keyhead (Outer Space)” – daydreams push through with no intention of landing – “You don’t have to race / Up in outer space”, he sings over laser synths and a pleasant chicken pecked melody. Songs like “Sunset Inn” and “Falling On Off” play out with clunky whimsy, where melodies float through the air with ease above the strength of instrumental voicings that never feel to be restrained by the limitations of lo-fi recording. And to his credit, dusting off the old 4 track recorders, drum machines and synths, these new songs don’t feel weighed down by past sounds or ideas, but rather find Riddle embracing new life in an old and beloved style, bridging the gap between nostalgia and a continuation of homemade pop excellence.
Lo Stereo Limited Edition Homemade CD
Throughout all of the methodical interpretations that each song offers in their own unique way, Riddle’s performance and attitude towards writing becomes a needed reminder of how much fun making music should be – a marvelous feeling of universality that comes when connecting the world around you with silly stories and cordial characters. Songs like the clinky folk ditty of “Peaches and Cream” or the riff spilling of “Scarecrow” exudes charm and personality that sits with you long after the initial listen. “Silver Dollar Queen” jangles and dances along with its vibrato melody and driving hook, while “Bubbles” and “Pin Holder” find the off-center pop sensibilities of lived in new wave classics. There is a soothing pull to the studious electro motives that shine with a rusted sheen throughout the album, where songs like “Sleeping On Earth” and “Modern People” fit neatly between rugged rockers like “Fight Little Truffle” and “Bird Claw” that could easily be a part of the substantial catalogs of bands like Guided By Voices or The Magnetic Fields.
The album takes a turn as the end becomes inevitable – not so much a crash landing, but a quick return to our own atmosphere and the notable gravitational restraints. “Haunt In Bed” vibrates with darkened synths while accolated, ghostly vocals come out to say their brief piece before they are off on their way to complete other ghostly tasks. “Waken (Your Love)” brings a natural ‘down-to-earth’ ending to a rather adventurous collection of songs, as a heavy, somber synth is brought out by a field recording of light waves finding their own, breaking on the shore with a soothing, methodical washing. It’s quite a distance from where the journey began, but considering the care put into this charming little world, becomes one to take over and over again.
You can listen to Lo Stereo everywhere now. You can purchase a limited edition CD of Lo Stereohere.
Fronted by Diego Clare, a local spearhead to the New York community and a project of influence and vision, their penname D.A. Crimson has shared a new single called “Barrel to Heaven” this week, along with an accompanying music video. Within a controlled burn of sonic dismemberment, Clare’s performance withers and writhes in the face of loss and the complexity of familial altercations when emotions and memories begin to conflict.
Leaping in strides like a choreographed dance, “Barrel to Heaven” begins with a guitar that quickly establishes the thematic weight, further brought to life by an array of sonic voicings and deliberate timbres – dilapidated yet concise; harsh yet sobering when face-to-face with its grand scheme. “When I wrote it, my grandmother had just passed away after I’d spent a month staying with her and my dad at her house in Costa Rica. There was a lot of familial drama between her kids throughout this process, which I just found really upsetting,” Clare shares about the song. As the chorus follows the movement below, singular harmonics flash out at the end of each repeated stanza, “There’s a way out” – reverberating before screeching in exasperation – “Looking down the barrel to heaven”. “I felt especially attached to her home, my memory of which now feels sort of embedded in this song. In any case, those are the things that came through, or morphed into this kind of Hamlet-ass soliloquy about loss and what remains in the wake of it,” Clare finishes.
Along with the release of “Barrel to Heaven”, D.A. Crimson has shared an accompanying music video made by the creative duo known professionally as “The Valdez”, which features both Clare and movement by choreographer, J Gash. You can listen to “Barrel to Heaven” out everywhere now.
Every Wednesday, the ugly hug shares a playlist personally curated by an artist/band that we have been enjoying. This week, we have a collection of songs put together by Dallas-based artist Alex Montenegro of skirts.
The music that skirts has put out over the years has become an escape for anyone who has come across its roaming deliverance, layered charm and heartfelt narratives. Beginning as a DIY project by Montenegro back in 2017 with just a Tascam and a guitar, skirts has since become a full band endeavor and a rotating cast of creatives – still pushing that sincere warmth forward as they build upon new sounds and recording styles with every release. Last month, skirts released “Run”, their first bit of new music since 2021’s LP, Great Big Wild Oak. As guitars rip through the sonic scenery, Montenegro plays a charismatic piano that runs underneath the track, setting spirits in motion and solidifying the groups return with a rambunctious, yet delicate performance.
Along with her playlist, Montenegro shared this blurb as to how it came together;
This is a group of songs I pieced together on a drive from Dallas to Austin. As a Texan, it’s easy to do this drive repeatedly and have it become repetitive, its scenery and landmarks now so familiar to me after countless trips: out of Dallas, Czech Stop, Waco, some cows and a weird caterpillar dome, all along a massive six-lane interstate. Slowly witnessing the vast plains transform into Central Texas’ rolling hills. It is a great time to get lost in your thoughts and place your head on the warm glass and listen to some beautiful songs.
While history has proven that amity amongst band members is not necessary to create good music, it’s always special when the depths of a bands’ friendship is palpable in their work. Years of experience playing in bands like Sloppy Jane and Water From Your Eyes speaks to the technical talent of Al Nardo and Bailey Wollowitz, but it’s ultimately this sense of camaraderie that makes their prog-rock band, fantasy of a broken heart, so compelling. The duo’s collaborative friendship dates back to 2017, though up until now, fantasy of a broken heart was confined to a relatively low profile of house shows and occasional single releases. The time spent cultivating fantasy’s identity, or perhaps lack thereof, is discernible in their debut album, Feats of Engineering, a captivating experience doused in honest introspection and eccentric charm.
While fantasy of a broken heart claims that “only isolated artists make original material”, Feats of Engineering is a harmonious dialogue sung in a language that feels completely their own. Lyrically, Nardo and Wollowitz are masters at fusing vulnerable with whimsy. It would be easy to assume an album with imagery of Tony Danza preparing buttermilk pancakes and a possessed Evil Kenevil wielding an “as seen on TV magicians novelty arrow” would amount to a goofy but hollow listen, perhaps engaging in a bit of post-irony ridden social commentary at best. Instead, fantasy’s amusing tangents and bizzare imagery work to enhance the project’s emotional depth. In its entirety, Feats of Engineering is somewhat of an auditory hallucinogen, inviting us deep into an unrefined subconscious reality where the strangest of thoughts are met with rather hard to swallow existential notions. Instead of coming across as a joke you aren’t in on, the album’s vulnerability factor feels somehow amplified by each lyrical peculiarity.
In an auditory sense, fantasy is a maximalist quilt of 70’s prog-rock, 90’s dream-pop, and modern indie-pop, though if you tried to create a list of every subgenre their sound touches it would rival a CVS receipt. Each song on the album has a distinct identity, with its own unique formula of layered instrumentals and varied time signatures. However, amidst their most enigmatic structures, Feats of Engineering successfully stands as a holistic body of work, unified by a discernible sonic ethos and enriched by the soothing harmonies of two voices with an undeniable musical rapport.
The album commences with the trance-inducing “Fresh”, a minute long track that starts off with a steady high pitch car beep, the one reminding you to buckle up or perhaps shut your door. Though the beep is initially attention-seizing, it is soon lost in a mesmerizing synthetic organ melody, and in a brief, word-less 60 seconds, the magnetizing pull of Feats of Engineering has begun. The vibrant “AFV” follows, providing an auditory finger snap to the meditative state induced by the intro song. At its core, “AFV” is a humorous tale of a romantic interaction gone wrong, a palm to the face detailing of a flirting effort mistaken as an attempt to buy weed. The earnest anecdote is paired with an uneasy chorus, as the two harmonize on the repeating lines of “All I wanted was a little sensation”, and “I thought a devil called my name”. Through satisfying hooks and a lavish layering of instrumentals, fantasy of a broken heart harvests structures of an addicting pop track, while balancing a lighthearted story with a desperate longing to feel.
It doesn’t take long to establish that fantasy of a broken heart has perfected the art of writing tearjerkers that pass as chic remixes of vintage television jingles. Loss is the archetype for this, offering a vulnerable testimony to the umbrella concept of “loss”, supplemented by buoyant guitar riffs and animated vocals. The track is burdened by the weighing question of “have you lost it”, but not without the comedic relief of “Where did you put the sword”. “Loss” is not the only song on Feats of Engineering where fantasy sugar coats dreary ideas in bubbly melodies adorned with quirky references. At a recent Brooklyn show, Wollowitz led with “this song is about Pizza”, before diving into “Doughland”, where the duo’s craving for inner peace becomes increasingly harrowing with every “I can’t stand this” they chant. In “Mega”, the toll of an ambiguous relationship dynamic takes the shape of a catchy tune about an extinct giant shark. The title track might hold the most intense juxtaposition of heavy and eccentric, with imagery of tiny men and their adorable miniature safety gear following shortly after a painful reflection of “thoughts of jumping off a broken bridge in Middletown”.
The compelling effect of Nardo and Wollowitz’s harmonies excels in “Ur Heart Stops”, a sonically melodramatic track about the tethers of depression and stagnation. When Wollowitz’s droning is met with Nardo’s shimmery vocals over a series of jolty instrumentals, the repetitive chorus of “Ur Heart Stops” becomes hypnotic, transforming a devastating existential dialogue into a catchy prog-pop masterpiece.
“Tapdance 1” and “Tapdance 2” are back to back tracks that take contrary approaches to exploring the crushings of doubt. In “Tapdance 1”, the lyrics rarely stray from “Nobody knows what you’re talking about”. In “Tapdance 2”, Wollowitz embarks on a tangent of reflective commentary and what ifs, confessing to a habit of overindulging in Pitchfork reviews and dwelling on a “surplus of vision”. In the midst of an excess of thoughts and questions, fantasy of a broken heart gets honest about the blurring between art and interpersonal, while once again toying with the idea that “nobody knows what you’re talking about”.
The album wraps up with “Catharsis”, an appropriately titled delicate ballad that matures into an impassioned crescendo of realization. Around four and a half minutes in, Wollowitz’ soothing vocals erupt into an emotionally charged shout, and the lyrics shift from guarded thoughts of “it means so much to me that it happened at all”, to fervent revelations of “Love is collision, destroying your soul for another”. The two offer one final harmony, repeating “catharsis of the heart is the narcissist’s nightmare” over a pulse-raising arrangement of drums and fierce orchestration. While the album hurdles through a docket of unresolved questions and heavy notions, the intensity of “Catharsis” offers closure to a lyrically and sonically consuming experience, solidifying that Feats of Engineering is not only a collection of quality songs, but an extremely well structured album.
Like many of their fellow Brooklyn-based genre-bending contemporaries, fantasy of a broken heart isn’t here to resuscitate a subculture from decades prior. At the same time, it is abundantly clear the duo has spent ample time listening and deconstructing the most successful structures and sounds, creating arrangements that are equal parts pragmatic and avant garde. Through every nonsensical twist and earnest turn, Feats of Engineering engages in sonic nostalgia while paving a completely original identity, verifying that fantasy of a broken heart is a major band to watch.
You can listen to Feats of Engineering out everywhere now.
Every Wednesday, the ugly hug shares a playlist personally curated by an artist/band that we have been enjoying. This week, we have a collection of songs put together by Colorado-Chicago-Seoul artist, Jeehye Ham of Precocious Neophyte.
Grounded in the antique foundations of shoegaze and the bewilderment of dream pop, Precocious Neophyte is a group that expands beyond the thresholds of what a bedroom artist can be. As a veteran of the South Korean indie music scene, having performed in bands such as Vidulgi OoyoO and JuckJuck Grunzie, Ham brings a type of ruckus and wonder to Precocious Neophyte, where tension and intuition are compelled to unite into moments of sincere power and tender understanding. The group released their latest EP, Stony, earlier this year.
Along with her curation, Ham shared this blurb as to how the playlist came together;
These songs are mostly by Korean indie bands, some who have been active for a long time and some who are new. Byul.org and zzzaam, two introverted, sad, and shoegazey bands who had not been active for a long time, just started releasing new songs, so I’m really excited to listen to them. But not all of the bands are from Korea. Sunshy are my favorite band in Chicago. They just started to perform last year, and I put their newest single, “are you still watching,” on the playlist. It is my favorite Sunshy song. I still remember hearing them play it for the first time on a Free Monday at the Empty Bottle last winter.
Written by Shea Roney | Feature Photo by Sara Thornton used with permission by Jeehye Ham
The Last Whole Earth Catalog is one of those prolific projects that redefines our expectations of what an individual can accomplish. With over twenty albums on bandcamp and an ongoing YouTube project of playing each song he has ever written live in chronological order, UK artist Dan Parr has returned with his latest album, We’re All Down The Rabbit Hole, self-released earlier this year. Venturing into the unknown and confusion of our innate obsessions, Parr explains that this album was written about someone who falls in and out of a cult, illustrating the characters’ struggling world view and deteriorating self-preservation as you tries to find his way back out again.
Although vast, the seismic catalog that Parr has built is not one of intimidation, but offers a safe point to jump in and experience his craft at any point in time. This is in part due to the timeless feel that these songs are molded from, where inspirations are voiced and personal visions are seen through with such intuition and commitment. Same goes for this collection, as “All Grass Seems So Green” kicks off the album with a whimsical and progressive folk groove as movement builds from a conversation with an ecstatic guitar, pushing the instrumentals to grow into a meticulous freak out. “Have You Ever” jumps out with choreographed guitar strings that lead with constant motion, never tripping over each other as they try to get to an unknown destination outside of our line of vision. “Until I’m Clear” simmers in a range of guitar tones, textures and dynamic moods as Parr’s musicianship excels in his transition from each new pacing. The album’s closer, “32”, is a light little love ditty – a break in layered stylings to a more conventional song structure that finds closure in its bashful lyrics and warm embrace.
Although the cult concept is not crucial to the overall experience of the album, Parr animates a classic archetype where obsession becomes both procurements of energy and devastation and our character has to take a fall in order to learn their crucial lesson. “With every headline I know the culprit / It’s society’s sickness and we all know / We’re stuck in the grind and don’t seem to mind enough,” sets us at our initial crossroads – where questions need answers but the tension reaches a breaking point as “If Only” erupts into a distorted drive of hopeful wondering. “I Don’t Want To Be Left Out” struggles with individuality held down by one’s own expectations, yet is dragged out by twinkling piano fills and a precarious mouth trumpet that dance around in freeform glee. The character reaches an awakening on “Reread My Life”, as Parr reflects, “Now that I know I can be fooled / Now that I know where I am weak / I’ll be careful when I have an option / When the intentions are not that easy to see”. It is one of the more sobering and grounded tracks in the bunch – a moment to stop and understand just how confusing and meaningful it is to be alive.
“In my mind there is not order / Only chance and what’s made for us / But in lasting memories I have to try and make a sense of peace”, settles in the heart of the story on “Every Single Little Piece” as a melodic guitar begins to swell with excitement as Parr’s demeanor grows in love and confidence. Although sometimes harsh, touching upon some of humanity’s most brash qualities and scapegoat tactics, We’re All Down The Rabbit Hole isn’t a project to relish in the flare-ups of despair, but one made to rejoice individuality, self-care, communication and unifying community, and in the whimsy of The Last Whole Earth Catalog, the rabbit hole is a welcoming place to fall down if you give it the chance.
We’re All Down The Rabbit Hole is available on all streaming platforms now. You can order CDs and tapes here. You can watch Parr’s All Songs Ever series here.
iji (ee-hee) is one of those groups that can be described as “your favorite artist’s favorite artist” (Sasha Colby), and through fifteen years of sophisticated pop tunes and pure indie bliss, they have proven time and time again that making music can and should always be fun. Fronted by Zach Burba, iji returns with their latest record Automatically, the groups first release since their relocation to LA in 2020 and a revitalization of the creative spirit within. Having time to sit and wonder, bubble in the troubles of the pandemic and its shadowy afterglow, Burba took the time to reflect on what is worth saying in a world like this, where stripped back pop tunes and witty musings can be just as effective when radiating moments of essential joy, communal care, existential dread, childhood dreams and souring friendships become harder to define.
On the surface, Automatically revels in organic and articulated instrumentals that feel lighter than past albums by the rather adventurous group, yet at its heart, sing the praises of such charm and character that iji has defined throughout their rich history. With an array of collaborators of indie spearheads and hometown heroes such as Erin Birgy (Mega Bog), Adrianne Lenker (Big Thief), Nicholas Krgovich (Nicholas Krgovich) and many more, Automatically is the communal event that it was always meant to be. “First Lickers of the Rock” simmers on top of electric tinkerings, while songs like “Recycle Symbol” and “Worlding Way” bounce with melodic energy, where 70’s folk-pop renegades would feel seen, and then honored when provisioned in the charming little world that iji so notably crafts. “Confusing Questions” and “Fear of What” are deliberate mysteries, unsettling at times, mark their own territory on the rather wide-ranging and inclusive collection of stylings and sounds.
“I want to take it all back / Every line ever spoken”, opens the album with “Onomatopoeia”, a song that blooms from the stem of a folk groove, choreographed to Burba’s melodic intuitions and clever vocal harmonies that would trigger anyone’s own participation in the comradery. It may come down to the phonetics that feel the most fitting, “Only one expression remains / the onomatopoeia” becomes an expletive, a simplification of all the shit around us that feels impossible to describe. And to his credit, Burba’s often textured and far out lyrical comprehension grasps this need of purposeful communication. “Walk a little more around the block to see the Deadhead sticker on a Tesla truck,” he sings, highlighting the moral and political hypocrisy in late stage capitalism. “Holy Spirit, tie my show,” sets “Dominus Vobiscum” into a whistling whimsy – “around and over, under, up and through” as religion becomes normalized in selfish ways more and more.
Intuition meets introspection as Burba rears an ending to the journey of Automatically. “Professional Anything” floats to its own lighthearted pace, as expectations are broken and passion and creativity come out on top. “She Sees” weighs heavy as it lumbers through a sparse soundscape. Featuring Adrianne Lenker on backing harmonies, she hits a steady and ghostly bongo like a heartbeat, as Barbus and co. come to the finish line. Reaching this collective release that has been kept inside for too long, Automatically doesn’t revel in the disastrous and estranged for long – even when heavy moments arise, Burba feels the most comfort in letting it breath, making for a rejoiceful moment of creativity and community to fill in the grand scheme of it all.
You can listen to Automatically on all platforms now as well as purchase a vinyl via We Be Friends Records.
The tender voicings of New York-based project Adeline Hotel return today with their fourth and final single “Isn’t That Enough” before the release of their new album, Whodunnit, out this Friday. Fronted by Dan Knishkowy, Whodunnit so skillfully captures a snapshot of an individual’s journey to redefine joy in their life as the aftermath of an ended marriage begins to fade in time. “Isn’t That Enough” serves as the companion piece to the album’s title track as an emotionally freeing piece that circulates through grief, beauty, anger and understanding.
“In a sympathetic world, I saw right through you and you saw through me,” becomes representative of the complex hindsight that Knishkowy paints throughout “Isn’t That Enough”, yet this lyrical curiosity, hanging on to each breath with a protruding edge, grasps the conversation as it catches up to where he is now. In a tender pacing, sparse and warm with an acoustic drone, the band begins to find a progression, growing in the slight sonic voicings that tinker and play underneath the heavy stanzas with heightened synths and harmonies that revel in the track’s depth as it moves forward. “Isn’t That Enough” becomes a story of a relationship left baron – where the ideas of people, places and things turn against each other in depravity and a chance to gain ground, where the question feels less inclined to ask ‘isn’t that enough’?, but rather ‘will it ever be?’
You can listen to “Isn’t That Enough” below.
Whodunnit will be released this Friday, September 27 via Ruination Records and you can preorder the vinyl here. Adeline Hotel will be playing a release show at Union Pool in Brooklyn, New York on Friday, September 27 with Sima Cunningham and Katie Von Schleicher. Get tickets here.
Written by Shea Roney | Featured Photo by Amghy Chacon
Twye is the solo project of Nashville-based multi-instrumentalist and songwriter, Jacob Grissom, who has made a career as a session and touring musician for acts like Kate Bollinger, Brennan Wedl, Heaven Honey and others through the years. Twye feels like a rather hidden project, and to Grissom’s own control, Big Sky marks his first leap into songwriting. In search of his own personal relationship with this new creative freedom came a collection of songs that represent not only his individual work, but a chance to rediscover his entire journey with music and collaboration to this point.
With unhurried pacing, charming melodies and an undeniable impression of nostalgia, Big Sky becomes a place to sit – breathing in and out of lush and thoughtful instrumentals that have you take in your surroundings wherever you may be. Written and recorded months apart from each other, these four songs don’t represent moments that just pass by, but were released already having been lived in. The textured layers of acoustic grooves, delicate harmonies and distinguished spouts of distortion colorfully animate the minute and tricky moments of comfort, love, anxiety and loss that becomes so familiar with each listen.
I recently got to catch up with Grissom, as we discussed what songwriting means to him, balancing distant memories in his writing and redefining his creative practice and trust through Big Sky.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity
Shea Roney: How has the album rollout been? It has felt very exciting watching all the shout outs and people sharing it.
Jacob Grissom: It was pretty low key which I sort of did on purpose. I didn’t tell anyone it was coming out, but a lot of people reached out and a lot of people listened which surprised me. I haven’t even put it in my bio or anything yet, which I probably should do, but it was just kind of a test run to see how I felt about releasing music in the first place, but it has been super encouraging.
SR: So you described Big Sky as your first rock n roll release. What made you want to take on this project?
JG: I’ve been making music for a long time, mostly just involved in other people’s projects as a drummer. I’ve put out electronic music all throughout high school, which is mostly scrubbed from the Internet, although I did put out an ambient project three years ago under the same name. I wanted to continue doing it, but I sort of lost interest in the long form instrumental medium. I’ve wanted to make rock songs for a long time and I’ve had a sound in my head for years now that I was hoping I could just find. I feel like I still haven’t found exactly what I’m looking for, but some of the music I’m working on now is a lot closer to that vision that I had and it’s been really exciting to get closer and closer each time and build a vocabulary musically that I can work with. I’m still a novice, so that process of exploring the instrument and my voice is really exciting because I think everyone is capable of so much more than they think they are. I just spent so many years trying to stay in my lane as a drummer, but I decided to let go of that and I became so enamored by so many artists who made these wonderful records when they’re teenagers and don’t know anything about guitar or singing or music theory. I realized that that is exactly where I fall, so I figured I might as well give it a shot.
SR: As you talk about this sound you have in your head, are there boxes that you check off as you feel like you’re getting closer to what you envision, but can’t quite articulate?
JG: I think a lot of it has to do with being able to write songs that I’m physically capable of performing. I have never done a live show and I don’t even have plans to yet, but so much of the music that I love, I’ll try to cover it, and I have a very limited vocal range so sometimes it’s just not even physically comfortable for me to perform them. When I do find a song that I’ve written that feels comfortable for me to sing and it has a pace that I’m comfortable with, that’s kind of where that feeling comes from. Everybody has a sort of built in natural tempo that feels comfortable to them, and as a drummer, I’ve always understood that. I really love songs that sort of meander and find their way to these different climaxes in incremental ways. But every week I hear a new record or rediscover something that I love and I want to attach myself to that musically somehow and so I have a list of like twenty different sounds and attitudes that I want to somehow combine one day. I’m still at the very bottom of this longer journey that I see for myself.
SR: Can you tell me about the musical relationships you have made that helped with this record? Is collaboration something you are drawn to? Are there things about your own process within a solo environment that you learned when working with others?
JG: Because this is the first time I’ve really been in the studio and been the boss, I think I kind of took advantage of that a little bit and tried to stick with my vision as much as I could. But I made it a point to surround myself with people that I really trust and have worked with for a long time. A lot of the songs that were released were pretty close to the demos, except instrumentally, because the voices that my friends have on their instruments definitely take the song to a different place. I think when I started this project I wanted it to become more collaborative, and then, as I started to write songs, I found that it was fulfilling to not ignore these really specific ideas that I had that usually get left behind when you go into the studio. So a lot of them I did work on after I would record them. I’d come home and add stuff there, and there were several instances where I took little artifacts from my demos and superimposed them onto the other recording, because that version of the song is what made me want to go in the studio and record it in the first place.
But the people that worked on these songs are irreplaceable, and I couldn’t have made any of it without them. There were times where I just handed it off to the musicians and said, ‘do your thing’, and then there were times where I had to do a little bit of revision. It’s been a slow education trying to figure out how to manage a recording session. I read this interview with music producer, Andrew Sarlo, and he was stressing how important it is to bring other people into your creative process if you want things to be complete and to feel complete. There were times where I thought about just trying to record it all myself, which I think I could physically do, but having other people involved who are excited about it really kept me pushing forward.
SR: I guess I’ll ask you this following Sarlo, now that it’s out and you’ve had a few weeks to sit with it, does this EP feel complete to you?
JG: It feels a lot more complete than I thought it would. One of my biggest insecurities about it before I released it was how different the songs sounded to me sonically because they were all recorded in different ways, with different people in different studios and different times of the year, even different points in this journey of trying to learn how to write songs. So I was worried that it wouldn’t feel cohesive and I also thought that four songs was a weird length for an EP. There are parts that it does feel a little bit incomplete because I know that I’ve left behind some songs that I was once excited about, but it definitely feels like each song on there is sort of my own little success in some kind of way. I wanted to incorporate songs that were meaningful to me, and I wanted to write songs about my family, and where I’m from and I think they all represent different ambitions towards songwriting to me. But I think moving forward, I want to try to create more cohesive bodies of work. My goal is to be more prolific and just release a bunch of songs and continue writing, to where the distance between the releases is much shorter. That way I can represent different stages of my life.
SR: As you travel, recording portions of these songs at different times and in different places, and even including a lot of samples that you recorded in your bedroom, what was your intention for piecing together this college of recording techniques and sounds?
JG: I think I originally viewed it as something that I would try to disguise as much as I could. When I was in the studio none of the vocals were done at the same time as the instrumental tracks. I’m not a trained singer, I’ve never sang on stage, so coming up with melodies is hard enough, and recording the vocals is an excruciating process for me. I found that the best performances for me were when I’m up here in my room and no one can hear me and I can explore different melodic things and sound silly. I wanted there to be a lightness when I’m recording, and anytime I start to feel this sort of pressure to produce something that people are gonna appreciate, I lose my inspiration. So I think anytime that I’ve flown the recordings out to add stuff elsewhere, it’s come out of this need for the recording process to be a fun and innocent experience. As much as I wanted everything to be done at the same time in the same headspace, sometimes I would lose that headspace and have to get it back later when I was in a different setting.
SR: I do find some lightness in the stories that you tell lyrically, even though you’re touching upon moments of lost memory or friendships ending, you create your presence in these songs, making them extremely approachable. Being primarily a drummer, was writing lyrics a new task for you to learn?
JG: Definitely a new task for me. I have always been a secret writer, nothing that I ever felt like publishing, but writing songs and melodies was new to me. Writing lyrics wasn’t necessarily an afterthought, but I figured I might as well just pile it on to the list of things that I’m trying to learn how to do. I eventually did start to find a lyrical pace that I felt was genuine, even though some of those lyrics were heavily revised. I found when I started writing, I was trying to write love songs, you know, and I really just could not figure out how to express that in song. I think the oldest song on there is “Hollow” and I made a point to just write a song about my buddies and people I grew up with at the skatepark. It was more freeing to write about these people in my life because when you write a love song, you kind of expect the person you love to listen to it and I think that held me back a lot when I was trying to do that. So I figured, if I’m just writing about people I grew up with, it was easier to find this sort of nostalgia that goes back further into this larger pool of inspiration and memories.
SR: One thing that I was drawn to in your lyrics is that in a handful of these tunes you animate this feeling of distance, whether on “Hallow” about a shifting relationship or “Annie” illustrating a gap in memories. Were you hoping to find answers, or at least bring something close to an answer more in reach when characterizing this complex feeling within the minute details?
JG: None of the songs were written as an immediate response. I mean, “Annie” I wrote maybe a few months after my grandmother passed, but all the memories that I’m recalling are from childhood basically — it’s just funny how some things will stick in your mind and you can’t really anticipate which memories are gonna resonate with you in the long term. I think a lot of the stuff that I found easy to write about was a result of this mysterious perspective that I end up with and I find it easier to write when I sort of distance myself from these memories. It’s more about what was there and what I saw, and not exactly what my relationship was or how I felt at the time. There’s certainly exceptions, but I think the way that certain memories will stick around is kind of inspiring, and I think it always means something when you have this really random memory from childhood that is totally inconsequential to your life or any other event that happens, so it’s always worth writing down at least to try to see what kind of meaning you can gather from it.
SR: Do you have anything coming up that you are looking forward to?
JG: I’ve recorded a handful of songs with my dream team of buddies, most of whom were involved with what I have recorded already or have released. I think I’m just excited to keep trying to get better at writing and to try to have my voice come through more clearly. Like I said, I have a couple of songs that I’m working on that I feel are closer to the vision that I have, and that’s such a good feeling. I feel like I’m just sort of chipping away at this enormous boulder, and it doesn’t matter if it ever goes away, it’ll just keep getting smaller. I don’t really see songwriting as a lifelong adventure for me that I really have any plans for other than just improving on it. Since I’ve been a working musician for many years now, touring, recording and presenting myself as this professional musician, it’s really fun to have this relationship with music again that feels childlike. I love feeling like an amateur at what I’m doing, and still get away with it somehow. I want to maintain that kind of innocence as long as I can because I think that is what makes music worthwhile to make and to listen to.
You can listen to Big Sky out on all platforms now.
Written by Shea Roney | Album cover by Claire Adams
Based in Brooklyn, New York, Youth Large is the solo project of Em Margey, who has returned today with a new single, “Warn Me, Hold Me”. Previously known as Emma Blue Jeans, Margey has become a staple in the intimate BK scene, both through their musical projects as well as coordinating and curating a monthly queer residency at venues such as Purgatory, Nublu, Trans Pecos, Rockwood Music Hall and more. Upon this return, Youth Large plays with articulated patience as they strip back their sound into a methodical burn on “Warn Me, Hold Me”.
There is an immediacy to the tension that “Warn Me, Hold Me” contrives, as it brings notice to the conflicting emotions within a relationship. The heavy thuds of a drum are deepened by the sparseness of instrumentation, as Margey’s instincts look every which way for a deliberate and cathartic release, singing “And every week / It creeps around the corner / we’re just saying things / you warn me, hold me.” The track’s emotions hit a peak as a harsh and swirling guitar rips through the space, as Margey repeats the very utterance, “warn me, hold me” – a clash between comfort and self-preservation as the song slowly burns out.
“Warn Me, Hold Me” is accompanied by a music video directed and edited by Margey. As a fun exposure to the rather melancholy track, the video plays with humor towards New York’s macho skate scene, even including a mustached stunt double filling in when needed.
“Warn Me, Hold Me” is Youth Large’s first release with New York-based tape label Toadstool Records and the track can be streamed everywhere now. Earlier this year, Toadstool Records also released a bandcamp compilation where all proceeds will be donated to The Freedom Theatre in the West Bank, Palestine, which you can purchase and listen to now.
the ugly hug 