Edging is a Chicago based four piece comprised of self proclaimed “Landscaper Punks”, who make (Ugly Hug proclaimed), really fucking awesome music. Yesterday, they shared “Scam Likely”, the single the latest addition to a discography packed with overripe frustrations, charged vocals, animated riffs, and plenty of innuendos. The unapologetically explosive “Scam Likely” is a vibrant punk track that confronts late stage capitalism and the piggish mercenaries upholding unjust systems that are, well, a scam. Lines of “You take what you want”, and “you wish I wasn’t born”, and “suck up all the money”, are whacked with charged repetitions “scam likely” that beg to be sung along to. Luckily, there are plenty of opportunities for this, as Edging leaves for tour this week supporting Lambrini Girls.
Recently, our photographer David Williams took photos of Edging in Chicago. Listen to “Scam Likely” and check out the photoshoot below!
“Darla is sort of like your alter ego… the person you thought you were going to be, but maybe you’re not.” Is it a love letter? A letter from a former enemy? Or maybe a reflection of who we want to be? Love, Darla, the newest release from NY-based duo Laveda, perhaps comes from a place of wanting. We reflect on choices we don’t make, wondering how our life trajectory would’ve changed. Filled with noise and the hustle of city life, this latest project aches to be in our headphones as we walk across streets and alleyways.
The ugly hug recently had the pleasure to sit down with Ali Genevich and Jake Brooks of Laveda, to talk about Love, Darla and more.
Photo by Julia Tarantino
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Who’s Darla?
Ali: Darla is sort of like your alter ego or maybe that person that you thought you were going to be, but maybe you’re not. It’s the person that you wish you were.
Jake: If you made other decisions in your life in an alternate reality. She’s definitely a badass.
Is she the narrator of this album?
Ali: I would say so! It’s not always in a first person or omniscient sense, but I would say so. I think every song has a different version of her.
I wanted to talk about “Strawberry,” your latest single. You guys talked about how it is very formative in the evolution of your creative processes, where it gave to a fully realized sound after being tested live. When did you know that the track had crossed from being a live track to being a fully finalized version?
Ali: I feel like it was on tour. At some point, we took it out in March of 2024, and we had it and “Heaven” sort of demoed out. And we had an idea of what we wanted to do for the next record, but most of it wasn’t written. And we were like, “Oh, we should take these two songs out on tour and see how they feel in a live setting and make some adjustments and put our own little flair on things.” And I think that “Strawberry” had a very natural evolution, where we would play it, and vocally I remember trying some new things and straying really far from the original vocal performance that I did in the demo. So by the end of the tour, we had a version that felt very different. And just the energy that it was evoking, I was like, “Okay, I think I want the rest of the record to sort of feel like this.”
Jake: I think we knew maybe after our tenth show in Austin.
Ali: We were playing a lot of shows in one week and doing the songs three times a day almost. So, you have a lot of time to think about the set and think about what you’re doing, and you have a lot of creative freedom when you’re playing that much. I don’t know if I would recommend it necessarily, but it was fun in some ways. It was cool to spend that much time with one set too. I think that was about the time we figured it out and then the rest of the record came later, but that definitely inspired everything else that came later.
You talk about a feeling – with the context of New York, it kind of feels like walking around at 4 a.m. maybe with some dark alleyways. What imagery do you invoke from it? Is it intentional at all?
Ali: Definitely walking, movement in some way, I think just goes hand in hand with the record. Whenever I’ve been listening to some of my favorite records since moving here, it’s been in transit. It’s just sort of that chaotic movement feeling and headphones specifically. I think it’s like a very headphones listening sort of record, so you can just be in your own world, while everything else is moving past you.
I love that. You also mentioned playing unfinished songs during your sets – did audience reactions ever shape how the songs ultimately developed?
Ali: Definitely. With “Strawberry” specifically, I think my vocal performance had a lot to do with what feedback we were getting at the end of shows. I would have people say, “By the way, I really like when you would scream during that one song.” And it would be something that I was trying out, and so I definitely think I took that to my heart for sure. And I was like, “Well, I like doing that too.”
You guys also mentioned digital burnout before. How does it feel to navigate the tension of needing to promote yourselves while also being drained by this personal burnout that you guys experience?
Jake: I think it’s a never ending struggle. We’re on our phones a lot promoting. And I think that goes for everybody that does something that they like doing, I feel like American commercialism and capitalism bleeds into everything that we do. It sucks and it’s annoying. I think that digital burnout definitely is like the most modern way of experiencing being sick of capitalism. Music is supposed to be about hanging out with your friends and meeting people. That’s one of the things I really like about music, is that you go to all these small cities and towns and they welcome you into them, you know? And you meet so many cool people out of it. It’s such a local thing, playing music and going to different cities, you just meet all these people that are so present in their own reality. And so it feels weird and superficial to be doing stuff like that, and also having to be promoting yourself and selling a product. It’s a tough thing to navigate.
Ali: I’m excited that the label that we’re working with for this record were like, “Sure, selling records is good, but at the end of the day you should be focusing on the music.” It’s cool that they recognize it, whether or not we can do it. We all work day jobs, but I feel lucky to even be able to put out a record, and that people care about it.
I wanted to talk about one of your songs, “Cellphone.” I think that’s one of my favorites off your record. I got to look at the lyrics and I particularly like the repetition of, “I don’t need to know that my hair looks like a boy.” To me, it captures unsolicited critiques, projecting insecurity, narcissistic tendencies, and such. I was just wondering more about the story behind it.
Ali: Totally, I feel like you hit the nail on the head. It’s funny because when we first wrote that song, it was really just total gibberish that I was singing into the mic for the demo. And I just had this melody of “I don’t want to be your girlfriend anymore, I don’t want to be your boyfriend anymore.” And then I had the hair lyric, and was like “God, I should probably change that, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.” And then I remember for days, once the song was totally done, thinking I gotta come up with other lyrics. Then so much time passed and I was like, “I just can’t sing anything else there,” like it made sense to me and that’s what I was feeling behind it. It doesn’t matter what people say, but it’s just, like, why do we even need to think about it? It’s like, you’re upset about it, but you also don’t give a fuck at the same time.
You’re celebrating the record with a release show at Baby’s All Right – what does playing that stage mean to you?
Ali: We’re super excited, it means a lot!
Jake: We grew up as a band hearing the mysterious tales of Baby’s All Right and how amazing the place is. It’s kind of a milestone thing to play there. We played there once, opening for our friend’s band and now we’re excited to headline it.
Ali: The sound is so good there and the staff is so awesome. It’s gonna be the craziest Tuesday ever.
What do you hope people will carry with them about Love, Darla, especially after the show?
Ali: I hope they have fun! I hope they can release some sort of energy at the show, because the record is very fiery and a big release of energy. I hope they can let go of something and just enjoy themselves.
You can listen to Love, Darla anywhere you find your music as well as on vinyl and CD via Bar/None Records.
Written by Chloe Gonzales | Featured Photo by Mars Alba
“So hold on tight and see how they fly!” Time Thief is Providence’s new duo of Zoë Wyner (halfsour, zowy) and James Walsh (Dump Him, Musical Fanzine Records), who today share their debut self-titled mini LP via Lost Sound Tapes and Musical Fanzine Records. Wyner and Walsh last collaborated on dump him’s 2017 release Venus In Gemini, and soon after had a falling out and went their separate ways. But now starting fresh, bringing what they each know best to the table, Time Thief is a testament to both collaboration, friendship and the craft.
Reshaping their approach to song writing, Wyner and Walsh decided to switch off on vocal and instrumental duties for each track. What came out of that practice were six songs that flow like little doodles in a sketchbook, where people and places interact amongst the most nuanced depictions of the world and are never deterred to lead with a bit of whimsy. As the jangly instrumentation takes you for a light jog, keeping pace with the energy brought out from a beloved punk rock antiquity, Walsh and Wyner shine amongst their sweet melodies and intuitive harmonies. Although written with such care and experience, Time Thief bubbles like teenage daydreams, where moments of absurdity and humor weigh just as heavy as love, heartbreak and promises. And it isn’t long before Time Thief’s tunes stick to you like bubblegum in your hair and a skip in your step.
We recently got to catch up with Walsh and Wyner to talk about the new project, what collaboration means to them, and the album’s accompanying zine.
Having worked together in previous projects, but also coming from being friends to enemies back to friends, how does this project represent the spirit of collaboration in both of your lives? Do you find that collaboration in general has shaped the way you approach your relationships in and outside of music?
James: So, for context, Zoë and I played together in my old band, DUMP HIM, from 2016-2017 and made a record together then. For a bunch of reasons that we have since worked out and don’t even feel like my business anymore in the year 2025, that friendship ended really poorly and we didn’t speak at all for about 6 years.
In terms of your question, there are a few things that come to mind. I think the way I have conceptualized collaboration has changed drastically since then, both artistically and interpersonally. In 2016/17, I was 20 and doing what I thought of as a “solo project that other folks played in” and wasn’t really recognizing how much time, effort, and energy others put into the project. Maybe I wrote the foundation of the songs, but none of those songs would be anything but me and a guitar without the parts that others wrote. It’s really important to me that I properly understand and acknowledge the contributions of others in everything I do from here on out.
When we started to write songs for time thief, Zoë and I had already talked a lot about what worked for us in the past (and what didn’t). It became clear that with this project, it was really important to both of us that neither of us would be the main songwriter, and we thought it might be fun if neither of us had a set instrument that we played – one of us brings a song in, and the other adds an idea on whatever instrument we feel like. We recorded all these songs for three instruments, and play as a three-piece live with one friend or another joining us on whatever instruments they feel like playing, which means we end up in different configurations from one show to the next.
Zoë: I’m someone who has really strong aesthetic sensibilities / a LOT of strong opinions and it has been a really big but good challenge to put some of that aside for this project. It has definitely resulted in some fun outcomes that are not what I would inherently reach for myself; I’m really proud of the music we’re creating together.
James: And naturally, the way we all approach our bands is going to reflect the way we navigate our interpersonal relationships, too. I definitely had a lot to learn about collaboration in a lot of different ways when we first knew each other. I certainly would have said back then that community and relationships were important to me, and I had read a lot of like, anarchist theory and DIY punk manifestos that talked about how to relate to others, but I don’t think I quite figured out how to live by my own principles to the degree I thought I had back then. I think the key to a lot of it was really just learning to listen to others without projecting, and coming to my relationships as honestly as possible. I’m still learning!
Zoë: I relate to this last piece in a big way and am definitely still learning too!
What aspects of your respective styles, processes and backgrounds did you want to bring out on this EP?
Zoë: I don’t think that we had a ton of clear goals coming into this project around what we hoped to reflect sonically. We did talk a lot about the music that we liked (we do this constantly), and things that we were most proud of that we had written/recorded before, but past that we let things happen pretty organically. I’m someone who often will say “I want to be in a band that sounds like x, y, or z” and it never quite works out that way. I was a big sing-in-the-car kid (like, would constantly write 20 minute long rambling songs while on road trips that had no clear destination), and I still feel like a lot of my writing starts the same way it did then. I have certain melodic sensibilities that make sense in my head and it’s really hard for me to get past those/emulate other things I love and would like to be associated with. This does sometimes leave me wondering where my music fits/who my audience is, but I’m not totally sure how to go about this any other way.
James: For the most part, I wasn’t thinking about what I wanted this EP to sound like while we were writing the songs. I know we both wanted to feel able to let ourselves make music that felt true to ourselves, and I knew I didn’t want to limit myself in ways I had in the past. We love a lot of the same bands, and there are also a lot of bands that I absolutely love that Zoë doesn’t get (and some that she likes and I don’t care about). I tend to vibe with stuff that Zoë might find too sing-songy on one end of the spectrum, or too aggressive on the other. She tends to gravitate towards stuff that is a little more musically complicated (one of her first favorite songs was Mother Whale Eyeless by Brian Eno and mine was Baby One More Time by Britney Spears, she was raised by an audio engineer/musician and I was raised by a Bon Jovi superfan, etc). We share a love of C86/Flying Nun/indie pop, ‘00s Australian indie rock, early music (except she’s more Monteverdi and I’m more chant), and Grass Widow. I don’t think that all came through here, but I don’t want to sound exactly the same as all the bands we like, y’know?
Otherwise, I think the most notable conscious change I made was my approach to writing lyrics. I got deep into music via hip hop, mostly a lot of conscious stuff, and then feminist punk. Lyrics were what really won me over, and I used to think really hard when writing them. Zoë is someone who can sing along to a song without even realizing what the words mean until it’s pointed out to her. And when she writes lyrics, it’s all really natural, but still can be really poignant. I took some inspiration from her there and let myself go with the flow when writing this time around.
One of the singles you released called “A Brief History of Ordinary Letdowns”, you said, showed a different side of your collaboration. What did this sentiment mean to this song and the rest of the EP? Where did your differences as creatives bring out these songs, and did it take this EP to places that you didn’t expect to venture?
James: Zoë said that about the song, so she’ll have to clarify, but I think “A Brief History” is a bit softer than the other songs. That was the song on the record that was most inspired by Sarah Records bands like The Field Mice. I always think of Sarah bands (and the label) as being super vulnerable while simultaneously operating in a way that is punk as hell, which is really inspiring. I think a lot of people conceptualize punk as stuff with raw energy or a certain sound or look, and I don’t – for me it’s more about the principles involved. That said, I still used to be really self-conscious about writing softer songs. Like someone was going to judge me for not being punk or whatever. Which has happened, and I really don’t care anymore. I have a Sarah tattoo now, fuck ‘em (i’m joking, kind of). Anyway, writing this song felt like I finally figured out how to access that mentality creatively. Like, I asked Zoë to play mellotron! There are no live drums!
Zoë: Yeah “A Brief History” is the one time thief song where I feel like some of the sensibilities from my other current project, zowy (pronounced the same as my name in case you were wondering), came into play in a way that I really like. I have played in other indie pop/rock bands that usually consist of more standard rock instrumentation (guitar, bass, drums) – zowy is the first time where I’ve branched out and allowed myself to explore the world of synths, vocal processing, and drum machines. It was really nice to be able to bring some elements of that into this project, if just for a moment. I also love this softer energy coming from James. It really feels like they are being true to a different side of their songwriting tendencies that is so special to see!
You also made a zine to accompany the physical releases of this record, going into some background of the band as well as how the recordings came to be. Why did you two choose to preserve and document this moment of collaboration and creative process? Especially considering it gets pretty specific into your recording setup and equipment.
James: This record came out on a label I do called Musical Fanzine. The whole idea of the label is to get bands to create more joint audio + zine releases. I got into collecting physical media in the first place because I wanted to learn absolutely everything about what I was listening to. I would buy a pile of CDs of albums I had already downloaded, hoping that they’d all have robust booklets – or at least lyrics inside, and I’d always be disappointed if they didn’t. Booklets are kind of like zines in a way – I mean, I’m thinking about the booklet for something like Bikini Kill’s C.D. Version of the First Two Records. It totally blew my mind with how thoughtful it was. In encouraging bands to make zines, I’m trying to do my part to keep physical media sacred in a really online world.
Zoë was pretty against having any lyrics anywhere in the zine (we are polar opposites in that way), and tasked me with all the writing (she did the layout), so I just wrote about what I knew – since I recorded the EP, I focused on that. As someone who has been teaching myself about sound engineering a lot over the past 5 or so years (after discouraging myself for about a decade before that), I do a lot of reading about the making of records. I always wished that info was more accessible. Sound engineering is something that can be gatekept, and really expensive to get into. I’ve experienced that a lot. It can be especially hard to work up the confidence to try or figure out how to learn that shit if you don’t come from money or aren’t a dude. I guess I just wanted to show that if my dumb ass can figure this stuff out, so can some other random queer kid, and here’s how.
You go beyond the band in your zine, mentioning both influences and recommendations in your local Rhode Island setting. What do these spaces mean to you as members of the community?
James: I moved to Rhode Island in a bit of a whirlwind time of my life; it almost felt like I ended up here by accident. That said, I’m so grateful I did. I grew up in Eastern MA, which is prohibitively expensive now, and Providence really feels like the closest I can get to it in a lot of ways. The music community here is so welcoming and creative and there are truly so many freaky geniuses that really think outside of the box – I’m really grateful to share space with everyone here, and I think we just wanted to shout them out.
Zoë: I agree with so much of what James said. I’m a visual artist as well, and this is the first place I’ve lived where I don’t really feel as though there’s a ton of competition within the various creative communities that I’m a part of. Folks are really supportive and encouraging, which has opened a lot of doors for me as far as pushing myself creatively goes. It is hard seeing the city shift and change, with more echoes of Boston apparent pretty much every day. As someone who used to live in Boston and moved to RI about five years ago, I’m very aware of my part in this. I just hope that this sweet city can retain its weird, unique charm and not just become another tech bro destination.
James: That too. We also spend a lot of time hanging out at record stores around here (and I spend a lot of time at the local vegan deli/ice cream shop) and we’ve gotten to know the folks who run all of those places a bit. When we decided to put together a playlist of our inspirations, it felt incomplete without including influences within our own community. Besides, so many bands skip Providence on tour and I think I just want to encourage everyone to come hang.
You can listen to Time Thief anywhere you find your music as well as order a limited-edition tape or vinyl which comes with a zine about the album.
Deja Vu can be quite the restless feeling. When moments of wracking the brain for memories becomes a dialogue; longing for answers and building mistrust in any bit of reason as to why this feeling is so intense. But what herbal tea does on this debut album Hear as the Mirror Echoes is build upon this space; one that feels achingly familiar, but you can’t seem to pin down why. herbal tea is the project of British artist Helena Walker, who has spent the last several years crafting songs in solitude and playing with artists such as Gia Margaret and Advance Base on their UK tours. Now she shares her long-awaited debut album via Orindal Records and Gold Day. Recorded entirely DIY with her long-time collaborator and childhood friend Henry C. Sharpe, the two brought these songs to life out of various rented living rooms and bedrooms, filling each corner of the space with their intuitive folk-laden dream pop.
Like watching a line of geese cross the road, the stories that Walker entrusts in us take time, but there is comfort in the practice. One by one, each song disrupts the bustle of the outside world and marks her path through these intimate landscapes. The opening track “seventeen” toys with time as a coping tool, as Walker sings, “I’m inventing life again at seventeen / Dancing in a drawing room / like in a dream”, opening up to the struggles of trauma through shifting layers of cinematic synths and cutting distortion. This sentiment is carried through on tracks like “Grounded” and “Kitchen Floor (4A.M.)” as they become sobering moments of stillness, balancing how to effectively ground yourself while also longing for someone else to rely on in times when you can’t rely on yourself. “I don’t know what I’m worth, but I want someone like an old friend,” Walker sings on the latter track, allowing the melodies to wash over with such gentle motion.
Although these songs feel heavy, what Walker creates is a place to lean into this undeniable familiarity with both validity and inquiry; a piece of work that is just as much about discovery as it is about understanding why these feelings are here in the first place. “Submarine” creates depth amongst the many voicings that Walker and Sharpe explore, threatening to strain each choice as she becomes buried by intense longing. The standout track “Garden” revels in the delicate harmonies that seem to flow whichever way the breeze blows. Soon Walker’s singular voice becomes the benchmark for retainment and release. Growing out from planted guitars and light piano chords, the dream stops in its tracks as Walker sings, “I was born in a garden, when I liked being me, before the burden of my body.” The song speaks to the difference between growing wild and getting clipped from the stem to fit into a handpicked vase, but herbal tea refuses to be restricted as the instrumentation blooms in full color and variety.
Hear as the Mirror Echoes becomes a space in which themes of dissociation, longing and emotional anxiety are written about with such care. Where stories are rooted by intuitive soundscapes and ethereal vocal performances that each become empathetic to the other’s expressional deliverance. It’s easy to get lost in the malaise of self-doubt, but herbal tea gives voice to thought and comfort to dissonance. It’s a collection that moves at its own pace, and to its credit, the album’s greatest strengths come from those little individual blossoms of patient voicings and unconventional instrumentals that make this record feel so deeply human.
You can listen to Hear as the Mirror Echoes anywhere you find your music as well as order cassette and vinyl put together by Orindal Records and Gold Day.
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 Providence / Brooklyn-based band Dogs on Shady Lane.
Today, I found out I can fit three listens of Dogs on Shady Lane’s latest EP into my commute from Brooklyn to Midtown. It was not a calculated experiment, rather a product of the EP’s cunning structure and how its wistful textures pair so perfectly against a rainy New York morning. I was lost in it from the second I twisted the lock on my apartment door to the broody intro chords of “Knife (Lady)”, until the inflamed final moments of “Basement” accompanied my departure from frenzied train stop to umbrella-clad Manhattan streets. Fronted by Tori Hall, who started the project in 2018, Dogs on Shady Lane is a Providence / Brooklyn based four piece that now includes Evan Weinstein (guitar/synth/vocals), Calder Mansfield (bass/vocals), and Grace Gross (drums). It is impressive how deep cut their 2024 release, appropriately titled The Knife, manages to cut within a timeline just shy of 14 minutes (or 42 minutes depending on your self-control). As withering introspections surrounding a brittle heart tread in fuzzy alt-folk sea, Hall’s honeyed vocals are at times complemented by the twinkly instrumentals they coincide with and at times engulfed by fervent and frothy riffs. It is a stunning and cathartic listen, one certainly representative of the dynamic quality of Dogs on Shady Lane’s discography, the captivating nature of their live sets, and surely any future projects they may have in store.
As the dog days of summer have come and gone, the newly formed Bloomington-based band Just Penelope is here to stay as they share their debut single “June, July”. Just Penelope, consisting of University of Indiana classmates Ella Curiel (vocals/guitar), Ethan Cantrell (drums/vocals) and Drew Goforth (bass), recently signed to Angel Tapes, the Chicago-based imprint of Fire Talk Records. Upon the release of their new single, Just Penelope lay it all out within their type of midwestern exceptionalism, where the blend of dynamic noise and earnest storytelling find revelries in the caricatures that live and foster life in the middle country.
Singing the praises of the power pop connoisseurs and starry-eyed romantics alike, Just Penelope enters rattled, but not deterred, as Curiel breaks ahead, singing “June, July / My shoes untied”, and leading the calloused guitars and clotted percussive motion on a mission. Written about a skateboarding injury following a parental spat, the song levels that teenage potency, where emotions feel too big to put into words and heavy distortion and scrapped knees both hold a place of fondness for rebellion and self-determination. As the song builds, embracing the heavy undertones and the melodic strains, the break in the song’s dynamic pacing showcases the intentionality behind the gives and takes of our day-to-day actions, throwing caution to the wind as we relish in that invincibility we feel in the moment.
Watch the music video for “June, July” directed and edited by Keegan Priest.
You can listen to “June, July” out everywhere you find your music. Keep an eye out for more to come from Just Penelope.
Written by Shea Roney | Photo Courtesy of Just Penelope
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 New York based project My Wonderful Boyfriend.
Today, My Wonderful Boyfriend shared new single, “I’m Your Man”. Before listening, I speculated it might be some sort of redemption for the penultimate track on An Evening With…, the EP that the Brooklyn based four piece shared earlier this year. That track – titled “Here Comes Your Man”, is a yearning drenched unraveling that pulls from the perspective of, well, not being someone’s man. My Wonderful Boyfriend has a knack for attaining sincerity through those charmingly arbitrary slacker-rock song structures, generating emotional friction through cavorting melodies and raw vocals prone to bouts of excessive repetition. This spills into “I’m Your Man”, leaving the contents of the track a lot less absolute than the title may suggest.
Despite its lyrical ambivalence and housed introspections of “I’m shaky because I’m not quite sure I’m your man”, the track in itself is far from timid. “I’m Your Man” starts on a punchy, over-caffeinated note and still manages an impressive build up over its five minute life span. It’s cushioned with charged da-da-da-da‘s and a stint of hallelujah’s, of which ultimately lead to MWB cramming twenty-and-some-change declarations of “i’m your man” within the track’s final thirty seconds. Whether “I’m Your Man” is a redemption or a continuation or ultimately entirely unrelated to the pining found on their January release is not something I can confidently conclude. What I can tell you, and with confidence, is that it is a damn good song. However, if my opinion is not enough for you to give it a listen (fair enough), then the track’s inspiration playlist – which jumps from Jane Remover to Playboi Carti to Pulp to Wilco – should do the trick.
About the playlist, My Wonderful Boyfriend shared;
“We started out trying to build a playlist of direct influences on “I’m Your Man,” but I guess had too much fun and went with more general influences and songs that make us excited to play, write, and listen to music.”
“I’ve tried playing football, soccer, baseball, and tennis. I even tried trap shooting for a little bit,” Ryan Walchonski lists out. “But I could never find anything that I was really good at. I think through my experience with Feeble Little Horse, I was like, ‘okay, maybe music is something that I am good at.’ That was pretty empowering to feel.”
Walchonski is the founder of the band Aunt Katrina, first a solo project now a full band based in Baltimore, who recently shared their debut LP titled This Heat Is Slowly Killing Me. After many personal changes, moving from D.C. to Baltimore and parting ways with his previous band, Feeble Little Horse, Walchonski began to look inward, redefining his placement in his own practice and in the communities that he both came up in and inhabits now. Jumping right into the project, Aunt Katrina released an EP titled Hot back in 2023 via Crafted Sounds. Embedded into the oddities of surrounding noise, Walchonski’s style of glitchy electro-pop and lo-fi folk fixings linked arms to combat the very mundane that we so badly want to resist. Seven songs in, Hot was a taste test into Walchonski’s fluency in songwriting, leaning heavily into sound production and the personal victory of releasing something entirely of his own.
But This Heat became a fixation to Walchonski as he worked to push the bounds of his own songwriting abilities, while continuing to explore the avenues of what he does best. At its core, the album sits amongst pop-song antiques, relishing in the delicate, yet damaged instrumental layers that are as unpredictable as they are inherent to the grace offered amongst the worn in melodies and personal stories that they are written from. But what cuts through on this album is a newfound presence that Walchonski now leads with. There are moments that brush past bits of our own internal dialogues – anxieties, doubts and memories that each take their turns in the queue. They don’t represent moments that just pass by, but rather the stories that he needed to tell and the healing that he needed to feel that soon became synonymous with a musical progression and identity built on embracing personal trial and error.
We recently got to ask Walchonski about the new record, self-releasing and finding his voice as a songwriter.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
With your debut LP now out, how is it sitting with you? How are you feeling?
Feels good. The EP was kind of a trial, I would say. I really wanted to have this album out so I could have things that I feel like were more in line with what I wanted our music to sound like. Mostly relief, I would say. It’s been a long time coming, releasing an album, especially when you’re just kind of doing it yourself. There’s a lot of work that needs to be done.
You did decide to go the self releasing route. What was that like for you? Does that practice reflect the way you want to view this project that you have?
I can be wary of the music industry and record labels. I’ve worked with a lot of good labels in the past, but I think I don’t like answering to other people. I think that a big part of it was just that I don’t want anyone to tell me or my band that we have to play shows, or that we’re not playing enough or do something that I don’t really want to do. I don’t know what the future will hold, because self-releasing an album can also be expensive. So maybe I’ll need someone else to help pay for it in the future. But, at least for this one, I wanted it to just be uncompromising. I didn’t want anyone else to really have a say in what we are doing and how I was releasing it.
This album has been a few years coming for you. You’ve since moved from DC to Baltimore and went through a lot of personal and creative shifts. Where did these songs fall in that timeline? How did this shift impact the way that you wanted to continue this project as you further defined it as this entity that is yours?
I would say these songs were finished about this time last year. It was really just about trying to stand on my own two feet, I guess. Prove to myself that I can write songs. I feel like every subsequent song I write feels like it is the last one, like, that was just a fluke. But I think Aunt Katrina, to me, is a continuous form of proving to myself that I am capable and that I can write songs.
It does feel like a lot of playing with your own expectations. So as you try to progress yourself as a defined songwriter, what sort of things were you trusting that you were coming out of this process that made you feel like a songwriter?
It’s tough, because I think I’ve always been pushing myself to try to be a songwriter. First and foremost, I started music by playing guitar, but I think where I really wanted to find myself was with songwriting. It’s a matter of trusting the process, as corny as that saying has become. I love writing music. I do it all the time. The trust is that it’s the only thing I’ve ever done in my life that makes me feel good. That’s hyperbolic, but as far as hobbies or jobs go, I feel like I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried sports. I’ve tried other artistic endeavors. Music is the only thing that I come back to that gets me up in the morning. It’s something I’m excited to do which I think can be really tough to find as a human.
So as you start to find your footing, proving to yourself that you are a songwriter, how did you rein in the experimentation that the first EP represented into what you would wanted this album to be?
The EP was kind of my experiment with writing songs outside of the context of Feeble Little Horse, but with the skills and tools that I had developed being a part of that band. It was really like, ‘Okay, I see that I can write songs collaboratively with this band. I want to explore that personally with myself. Let’s see if I can write 5 or 6 songs that are just me and see if I could do that period and then take those songs and turn it into a band.’ Because what I missed was playing in a local band. I think it’s a really rewarding experience. Everyone wants to get to the next level, but being in a local band is cool. You can hang out with your friends for like four hours on a Tuesday night and drink beer, play a show, make no money, and then go home. And you’re like, ‘that was the best time that I’ve ever had’.
So, with the album, I had this initial proof of concept with the EP. Those songs are cool. But I really want to write the best songs that I can and continue to apply the skills that I’m learning and grow my strengths as a songwriter. This album, to me, is much more personal than the EP. I wanted to write a full-length album. I wanted to write better songs. I think there’s a bit of a less reliance on digital flourishes. The EP also came around the time when I was really experimenting in Ableton. It felt almost like playing another instrument. Learning how to use the software that you record is not necessarily conducive to writing good songs, though it’s just like an instrument that you can apply to your sound.
Because this was a strikingly personal record for you, a lot of these songs get lost in all this disillusionment from all these personal shifts. As you were starting to get your footing as a songwriter, do you think that allowed you to get more personal in the stories you told? Do you feel like there was more of a foundation that would back you up?
I think I felt more empowered to think, ‘how can I write a song that really expresses how I feel?’ I already did the first thing; I put something out. That’s great. But how can I write an album that really feels personal to me? I think I felt empowered to write about more personal, oftentimes negative feelings that I was having, because I felt more confident in myself as a songwriter.
Did it become an escape from this disillusionment that you were feeling, or more of a way to sit in it and grant yourself the time to understand these feelings?
I’ve always leaned into songs that I feel can put words or sounds to the way that I’m feeling. I latch on to very specific lines in songs that I have stuck in my head. I wasn’t writing it to be like, ‘Oh, man, I feel bad. I have these negative emotions. Let me try to write a song about it.’ I can talk about when I feel happy or excited about something, but it’s harder to talk about something that I’m struggling with. And the songs were, in a way, more like diary entries than a purposeful, ‘I’m going to write a song about what it feels like to me to have anxiety and suffer with that’. It was more so, ‘I feel like shit. I’m going to write a song. And somewhere within the subconscious of my lyric writing process I’ll express these negative emotions without necessarily trying to do it’.
These songs do play with a lot of sonic tensions and inherited emotions. What is it about that blend of feelings and styles that felt right in this writing process?
It definitely does. I think part of it is that I write the music in ways that I like music to sound. So usually, that’s stuff that is catchy or rhythmically interesting, or just fun to listen to for your ears. And then the lyrics, it’s almost like I can’t help myself in writing – I don’t know, it’s almost like some emo music where the instrumentation is not necessarily depressing but the lyrics are. I wasn’t inspired by emo, but I think there’s some through lines.
That point of making music that sounds fun, I feel like that really falls into the way that you’ve approach cherishing the community around you, because it’s fun. Where do you remind yourself that this is supposed to be fun, especially when you feel like shitor are doubting yourself?
Yeah, I mean, that’s kind of what life is. We’re kind of cycling between feeling like shit, and also like having fun, right? That’s also what’s so beautiful about music to me. It can be so fun, but it can also be so personal and challenging. That’s why I like being in a band. That’s why I like making music. It’s something that is so personally fulfilling to me, it’s just a reflection on life and how that makes us feel.
You can listen to This Heat Is Slowly Killing Me out everywhere now as well as order a vinyl or CD made with the help of Crafted Sounds.
Written by Shea Roney | Featured Photo by Julia Hernandez
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 Brooklyn-based band Ringing.
If you are fond of distortion and reside in New York, chances are you have caught a Ringing set. The Brooklyn based four-piece has a knack for bathing introspective lyricism and spiraling melodies in rich sludgy atmospheres — a feat found in their live shows as well as their 2023 EP, Is It Light Where You Are?
Listen to Ringing’s playlist here!
You can check out Ringing on Bandcamp below!
Written by Manon Bushong | Featured Photo by Avery Davis
The first time we featured Lefty Parker in the Ugly Hug, it was for his visual art. He shared a few posters in a show flyer feature of our Newsletter, done in his medium of choice – Etch a Sketch. Its a creative tool that certainly garners novelty points, and anyone who has dabbled in one of those red boxes in their lifetime can attest to the fact that creating anything legible on there is an impressive feat in itself. But what Lefty is able to do on Etch A Sketch, and his ability to hone so much life through mere two dimensional scratches, is breathtaking. In a world pulverized by stimulation, it can often feel the price tag to attention is a never-ending slew of hollow maximalism. It’s exhausting, which is why I think today more than ever, we crave art that subverts excess. Art that is grounded in imperfection and art that takes a step back. I think that is what makes the “Etches” Lefty does so moving; the depth of sensitivity found in a portrait or animal or shower head juxtaposed against the perceived limits and simplicity of the medium. I would urge you to check them out if you have not yet.
This post is about Lefty’s music, but I choose to lead with that context because I like the parallels between his crafts. Today, Lefty announced his forthcoming record, Ark, sharing lead single, “Illusions”. It’s a story of staggering heartache through a deeply human lens; of asking the sky for answers, of the achey impacts of a memory saturated town, of the inescapable wear and tear that comes with being alive. Featuring Buck Meek, “Illusions” leaves a stubborn mark in the same way that Lefty’s Etch A Sketch pictures do – as tender vignettes unravel on a familiar folk canvas, the track is profound and touching without any sort of gimmicks. It rewards intentionality; with each listen the soft woodwinds and warm twangy melodies grow in beauty while the harmonized somber vignettes cut deeper. By rooting itself in an earnest simplicity, “Illusions” captures yearning in its most honest and delicate form. It’s refreshing and complex, and a lovely sliver of the kind of calloused storytelling we can expect from Ark.
Ark will be out October 24th. You can listen to “Illusions” now.
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