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 singer-songwriter, artist and teacher, Lindsey Verrill of the Texas-based folk project, Little Mazarn.
Lindsey Verrill’s songwriting is bare-bones, building from a skeletal structure that develops and consolidates with each connecting tissue and fiber of real life moments and relationships made along the way. Along with Verrill, Little Mazarn is composed by the characterization and companionship of Jeff Johnston with his singing saw and atmospheric animations that have defined their sound, as well as an occasional appearance by Caroline Chauffe (hemlock) in the full power trio.
Along with the playlist, Verrill shared a little blurb about collecting the songs;
I try to make a playlist once a month of music that comes to me or songs I get obsessed with. It’s kind of a private practice so this is fun I get to share it.
On Fridays, 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 and guitar phenom, Chris, shares with us a list of distorted dancers, apocalyptic stunners and heartfelt folk tunes to take into the weekend.
“Ginger Peachy” by Cheap City
“Ginger Peachy” is one of the tracks off of the Holyoke, MA band’s latest record, Blue Dancers, released in March. Cheap City has played a lot of shows with my band The Leafies You Gave Me over the years, so I’ve had the chance to see how they’ve grown as a band.
This album is by far my personal favorite and showcases them at their best as they blend catchy punk melodies and lush arrangements with experimental noise rock.
This song really captures the live performance spirit of Cheap City – a post-hardcore punk band with dancey riffs that throws you headfirst into the mosh pit with equal parts anxiety and blissful catharsis.
“Your busted heart just spent all night screaming at the moon/ In her reflection against the water against an overcast sky/ In the disappearing memory of the twinkling of an eye,” keyboardist and singer Clover Nahabedian belts with emotional energy that conveys a feeling of heartache mixed with longing. It never fails to draw me back to similar feelings I’ve had over the years.
“Devotion” by Daniel Ouellette
Daniel Ouellette is another artist that I’ve shared a bill with in the past. His music draws from a myriad of sounds – electro/ techno pop, gothy new wave, and new age/ world music. What immediately stands out about him is his iconically deep, intimate and resonant voice paired with synth pop beats that are absolute bops.
Ouellette is a multi-linguistic tour de force and sings in English, French, and Spanish on “Devotion” off his July release Otherworld (When the wolfbane blooms). This song encapsulates all the best of his 80s new wave and electro-pop influences; with shimmering synths parts and a groove-based beat that’s pure pop joy.
“Would you like to have a candlelight supper?/ Would you like a bottle of champagne?/ Is there a devil kind enough to bring you apples?/ Shan’t you learn when it’s time to scream?”
There’s a romantic sensibility that’s paired with a tongue in cheek fey-like playfulness to Ouellette’s music. You can find that among the many classic horror movie references in his songs that shows his love for all things campy and cult.
“Radiate a Smile” by David Keenan
David Keenan is an Irish singer-songwriter that I’ve been following over the years and his latest July release “Radiate a Smile” is a song that cuts through cynicism and annihilates nihilistic thoughts.
Keenan is an indie folk songwriter with a clear vision – a poet who speaks about the world around him. Characters are drawn from everyday life; it’s the people next door or who you meet by chance walking down the street. There’s a clear line that traces Keenan’s work back to literary giants such as James Joyce or Dylan Thomas.
On “Radiate a Smile,” Keenan presents a sprawling narrative on the song’s verses, capturing stream of consciousness, thoughts and imagery of the here and now: “Larry is heavy handed and gets in your space/ A space invader who’s deaf in one ear/ Scudders is still skulling bags Galahad/ oh, I wish I Galahadn’t last night.”
This song is all about living in the moment; all our thoughts, emotions, the people around us (for good or ill) are never static and always fleeting. It’s a good reminder that we’re all going to die someday, so it’s best to find the love and reason for being.
“Radiate a smile cuz we’re only here for a short while and I don’t want to miss a day because I’m missing you.”
“Runaway” by Hannah Mohan
Hannah Mohan (And the Kids) has always had a brilliant mind for melody and capturing emotions in her songs that resonate with listeners. That was clear when I first heard her more than a decade ago at underground venues such as a Western Massachusetts VFW hall and a pop-up DIY festival in the woods in Ithaca, NY called Sweater Vest Sweater Fest.
She’s come a long way since then – releasing three albums as the front person with indie pop band And the Kids. But in 2020, And the Kids ended due to the COVID-19 pandemic, while Mohan also started picking up the pieces from a breakup the year prior.
What emerged from this tumultuous period in her life is Mohan’s debut album as a solo artist “Time Is A Walnut,” which was produced by Alex Toth (Rubblebucket and Tōth).
“Runaway” exemplifies the core of Mohan’s songwriting: an emotionally complex breakup song that’s uplifting as it examines the contradictions of loving and hating someone in the same breath. “You screwed my world/ And then you put it back together/ Now I have to thank you.”
With its lush production, droney synths, breathy backing vocals, punchy percussion, soaring lead vocals, and even a penny whistle, “Runaway” strikes me as a song that cares as much about its pop hooks as it does about its lyrical/emotional impact.
“The Feminine Urge” by The Last Dinner Party
A lot has already been said about The Last Dinner Party – by music writers far more eloquent than I – after the band took the music world by storm earlier this year with their debut album “Prelude to Ecstasy.”
For myself, the UK-based musical ensemble The Last Dinner Party is where all the right elements come together perfectly. There’s expressive and emotional lead vocals and harmonies, a tightly-knit and creative attention to detail in their production/ arrangements, brilliant pop hooks, and lyrics that linger in the mind; begging for repeated listens.
With “The Feminine Urge,” the band’s blend of glam rock, progressive/ baroque pop, and post-punk take the song to grandiose heights. This is a rock anthem on par with the likes of Kate Bush or David Bowie.
“I am the dark red liver stretched out on a rock/ All the poison I convert it and turn it to love/ Here comes the feminine urge I know it so well/ To nurture the wounds my mother held.” Those are lyrics that cut through the bone, driving right to the heart of the band’s ethos of empowering femininity.
“I don’t know, it kind of goes back to, ‘why do you listen to depressing music?”, Kauffman brings up. “I think it’s more about a connection. If other people are feeling that, and you know that, why not talk about it?”
Last month, Abel released one of the most brash and heartfelt records of the year in Dizzy Spell. Fronted by Isaac Kauffman, the Columbus-based band took a much more collaborative approach to writing and recording, developing their sound further into a collective mix of brutal distortion and folk solidarity that reaches to the heart of the Midwest underground.
I recently got to catch up with Kauffman to discuss the record, shuffling through the teeth rattling noise, broken pop hooks and heart wrenching sincerity that makes Dizzy Spell a record worth holding on tight to.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity
Abel
Shea Roney: Dizzy Spell marked a much more collaborative approach to anything Abel has done before. Where did you see shifts in your process? Did you find any hidden strengths when collaborating as a full group?
Isaac Kauffman: Just in terms of sheer layering, I think there were a lot of shifts, because I think in the past it’s been pretty cut and dry (4 track type recordings and stuff). But now there’s room for so much more play, and honestly, I feel like if anything, the more we implement collaboration, the more and more we’re figuring out who should be doing this and who should be doing that, and who’s really bad at this, and who’s really good at that. So I mean, I guess both strengths and weaknesses, but I’d say we’re learning a lot about our strengths in terms of ‘can we riff on something?’ or ‘can we actually improv or not?’, that kind of thing.
SR: These songs are a mixture of both songs you have been playing for a few years now as well as newly written ones. How did this collection come to be? Where do the older songs sit with you now as they are finally released?
IK: First and foremost, there was “Rut” which we originally dropped back in 2021. That just kind of started this phase where I wanted to create more gazy atmospheres and just really see what I could do with distortion and producing distortion. In the past, we’ve been really clean cut, and after “Rut”, we were trying to figure out where to go. I feel like that’s kind of where this came about, because we definitely had the itch to make more singer-songwriter type songs, but I think more so, we just wanted to really advance our live sound to a studio and to tape, you know, to something final. The past two years we’ve done a few tours and just doing that made us realize that we’re more so of a live band and we want to make sure that that comes across in our recordings.
SR: So has playing these songs live help develop and flesh out what we hear on the album? How quickly do you begin to play a song live once it has been written?
IK: We usually play stuff pretty quickly. We’re already playing shows where 70% of our set isn’t even Dizzy Spell anymore. Most of these songs we were able to develop live except for “Wanna”, just because it was originally released two years ago before that EP (Leave You Hanging) with Candlepin and it was way more hyper-poppy. So playing that live I think we realized that we wanted to go a more noisy route; like blow up our speakers type deal at the end. When Brynna [Hilman] joined the band, we decided, ‘okay, we need to sit back and actually figure out how to make the EQ spectrum work on all of these amps’. So I think “Rut” evolved simply because we got to evolve our tones.
SR: After the album was released, you said on an Instagram post, “I hope you find peace within the noise”. I find that to be a very deliberate and understanding statement towards these songs as a listener who gets to experience them, first from a distance, and then fully enveloped. Where do you find peace in the noise?
IK: I appreciate that first off. Secondly, I think I just find peace knowing that I was able to create something and was able to get any emotion outside of my body. I think it’s very peaceful to be able to play any instrument, or even sing. I think that always just brings peace to most creative, or at least musically inspired people. So yeah, in the process of creation, I found a lot of peace.
SR: As the primary producer and writer, did you find it important to play with the different dynamics and styles throughout the album? What was the thought process of going from shoegazey walls of sound to twangy acoustic porch tunes?
IK: Oh man, it was definitely a challenge. First, I think it was just a matter of really trying to figure out where vocals laid. I think a big part of Dizzy Spell was finally being confident with my voice and figuring out how to use it. I feel like in the past, especially in a live setting, I was very uncomfortable with my voice, but once we got to these songs I was very comfortable and I wanted to call that out in some points and really push myself vocally on this.
SR: We are big fans of Mark Scott and the whole villagerrr crew over here at the hug. He is featured on the song “Placebo”, which is quite a shift in the overall sound and experience of the album. Can you tell me about that song and how that collaboration came to be?
IK: There was a point in time where we still didn’t know how many tracks we wanted on the album. I think I just wanted everyone to weigh in and John [Martino] just ended up expressing that he wanted to potentially write something. A week or two later, he sent me a voice memo and it was just that guitar riff with that main line over it. I was like, ‘okay, this is cool, I also hear Mark on this.’ That was like a week or two after I’d already reached out to Mark just in terms of collaboration, because I wanted one or two other local artists on this. I had shown him a few of the tracks, and he was like, ‘I don’t really know where I’d fit at all on this’, and then John sent me that track and it worked out.
SR: There are a lot of moments where you describe global issues told through your own point of view and observations. Was approaching this writing lens through your own critical life moments a challenge?
IK: That’s a tough one, because I feel like I tried to, in the grand scheme of things, distance myself from my lyrics, and I try to see my lyrics as more of a way for others to interpret it however they want to interpret it. But I think over time, I also look back on my lyrics as more of, not a journal or diary, but kind of just like a placeholder and time of emotional check-ins with myself. A lot of these songs are framed around very specific mindsets and moments that, in passing and reflection, aren’t that heavy, but the heaviness comes from the repeated listens. So I think with time, I’ve grown more attached to some songs, and others I’ve almost outgrown. I think it kind of speaks to the broader idea that you’re speaking to where it just seems like there’s always distance involved. It’s my brain’s simplification of feeling lost in the modern day world and I think we’re all just feeling very disconnected from everything.
Abel
Do you guys have anything coming up that you are excited about?
We’re working on a tour in October which will just be a little 5 day tour with Devils Cross Country out of Cincinnati. We’re playing with Dogs on Shady Lane on August 28 at the Basement. Other than that, we’re playing new songs. We’re writing stuff all the time. I’ll probably release another rat race ∞ type thing with more poppy songs or just stuff we’re not as final about. Definitely lots going on.
Written by Shea Roney | Feature Photo by Dylan Phipps
Eye contact with a specific person setting your heart on fire? Life suddenly feeling infused with color and meaning and an unprecedented vitality? And has your hand recently grazed another hand on accident and was it far truer than time and space could ever be? You might have a crush. And the remedy might be “Be Here” by Oceanator, a recent single off of the band’s upcoming record Everything is Love and Death.
Introduced by a fantastic cascade of instruments, “Be Here” immediately rushes towards us with an indie rock texture so effervescently full of summer desire that it could be a theme song for an 80s movie about late nights of ecstatic dance and true love*. Elise Okusami’s voice rings out after a shimmering guitar and a radiant synth riff, collecting the story in her own words. She’s here to observe the kaleidoscopic and meteorological event that is falling in love.
“Be Here” is about the first really long hangout/all night chat moment,” Okusami wrote on a recent Instagram post. Oh, the treasured all-night-chat-moment and its relentless intrigue. Many of us have been there, swept up in the push and pull of technicolor moments and anxious assessment. “I could be here with you,” she remarks amidst mentions of sparks, blazes, and clock-stopping chemistry. Could be. Perhaps ‘being here’ means acknowledging the parts of us that are hesitant to go all-in. This hesitation is nowhere to be found musically, however. Okusami sings about something delicate with a celebratory exuberance. Kind of like Bruce Springsteen**.
I saw Oceanator perform in 2018 (when they were on tour with the band Groupie). In that dark Rhode Island lounge, Okusami had the same punchy clarity, the same exciting ability to assure the audience that they are watching a masterful performer. In my mind, the fog in the room literally lifted as she shredded. Oceanator’s vitality has always been memorable. “Be Here” is no different.
“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you,” Okusami admits towards the song’s end, weaving an even more vulnerable confession into the luminous panorama of notes, hopes, and accolades. After a magnificent moment where each instrument*** seems as if it’s climbing towards the sun, the glistening scene dilates into a vibrant polyphonic outro. “I could be here / I didn’t mean / I could be here / with you / to fall in love with you.” It’s as if she’s accomplished her goal: showing up to the feelings that matter. “Be Here” is a crush anthem and an aspirational coalescence of desire.
*= Footloose (1984), anyone? **= Personally, I thought of “No Surrender” ***= Okusami is an accomplished multi-instrumentalist - it’s extremely worth noting that she plays every instrument on this track.
Everything is Love and Death comes out on August 30th, 2024.
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 Sleep Habits.
Sleep Habits is the New Orleans-based solo project of Alan Howard, who, through an impressive catalog and countless collaborations, has become a staple in the Louisiana scene and abroad. With a knack for twangy instrumentation and a heart for genuine connection, Sleep Habits is both an underground spearhead and collective curator of folk and alternative music. You can also find Howard playing with other artists such as Wesley Wolffe, Mariah Houston, Noa Jamir, Thomas Dollbaum, hemlock and many others.
Along with the playlist, Howard shared a blurb as to how it came together;
Sitting in the living room listening to cd’s with my family was one of the first ways that I connected with music. Recently I felt a desire to return to listening to music in that way so I started a cd collection of my own and began connecting with albums that I had only listened to on streaming platforms in a whole new way. It’s so satisfying to me to pick music from a physical library and look through photos and info from the booklet while you listen. I made this playlist using only songs from cds that are in my collection (except trinkets and horses which will be on cd soon hehe).
Trinkets and Horses, a collaborative album with Brooklyn-based songwriter, Mariah Houston, is celebrating its one year anniversary with a run of CD’s put together by Kiln Recordings.
Sleeper’s Bell, the Chicago-based folk duo of Blaine Teppema (guitar, vocals) and Evan Green (guitar) have shared their new single, “Road Song”, today. This release comes after the reissue of their debut EP, Umarell, via Angel Tapes / Fire Talk earlier this year, which included a separately released bonus single, “Corner”. Umarell, both concise and inviting, found Teppema in a place of still observation – where moments left open to breathe were both purposeful and reflective. Bringing her initial vision for the project into fruition, “Road Song” finds the duo in good company of collaborators, bringing out Green’s artistic production and Teppema’s open-ended lyricism with an array of cacophonous instrumentation and deliberate storytelling.
From the very click of the drum sticks, you can tell this isn’t going to be your grandmother’s Sleeper’s Bell track. Above a light instrumental shuffle, Teppema sings, “Spent so long on the road / I forgot there was somewhere to go,” as the chord progressions lean into minor tonalities – finding an edge that feels both strikingly new and incredibly fitting for the minimalist group. It isn’t long before a saxophone, played by Rufus Parenti, grumbles for resolution, bringing stamina to the emotions in Teppema’s wandering mind. “I caused another bitter end / ‘Cus all I needed was a friend,” she sings, giving a voice to the thoughts that lead when there is nothing left to entertain, just before the song comes to its abrupt and inevitable end.
About the song, Teppema shared in a statement;
“It’s partially about the sunk cost fallacy — you put so much time and energy into something that you forget you’re allowed to try something new. But then, sometimes, you put so much into something and then you’re a long way from where you started, and you have to figure out how to get back, or how to pivot.” She continues, “It’s also just about being a kid. I miss how visceral all my feelings were. I feel everything like that again when I’m driving long distances. And I listened to a lot of Townes as a kid, in the car with my dad. ‘Nothin’ was one of the first songs that ever made me feel sad. So I ripped that line from him and made it about me.”
Sleeper’s Bell will be performing in an Elliott Smith tribute performance on August 6th at Schubas Tavern in Chicago, IL. They will be performing alongside other Chicago acts such as Minor Moon, Half Gringa, Wet Skelly and Plus Plus.
“I almost forgot,” Olivia Wallace blurts out towards the end of our conversation. “I made a list of a couple local bands to shout out.” Reading from a prewritten list of local Chicago bands that have sparked some excitement for her – a moment of true music fandom;
“Well, Precocious Neophyte, they’re a shoegaze band from South Korea that lived in Chicago for awhile, but I think they’re moving away to Denver soon. They’re so good, they’re my favorite. Julia Morrison is a singer-songwriter I saw the other day. She’s so unique and unexpected in her vocals and lyrics. And then another local person I really like is Girl K, especially their foray into more pop oriented music. Super good.”
Olivia Wallace is the backbone behind the Chicago-based pop-rock project Sick Day. Earlier this year, Wallace and co. released their latest EP, Overexposure, under their new label home, Substitute Scene Records. As the follow up to 2022’s debut full length Love is a State of Mind,Overexposure rattles to the brim with soaring guitars and distorted anxiety. But cutting through the noise is an institution of pop melodies, as Sick Day turns moments of doubt and anguish into catchy one liners, relatable anecdotes and a pure enjoyment for loud music.
Whether putting together stacked local bills, hosting songwriting groups or photographing events, Wallace has a deep love and respect for the Chicago scene and the people who build it up. The conviction to relatability is crucial in her work – personifying, articulating and inviting shared experiences is not only a marking for mindful involvement, but a gesture to the community that Wallace wholeheartedly promotes. Made up of other Chicago musicians, Sick Day has become a local hub of heavy hitters and rock n roll softies alike, collaborating with artists like Ryan Donlin (Red Scarves, Chaepter), Jen Ashley (Cruel) and Robby Kuntz (Red Scarves, Old Joy) on drums, as well as a rotating cast of live players including Chaepter Negro (Chaepter) on cello and Kaity Szymborski as the groups new bass player.
Wallace and I recently got to catch up over coffee and a banana cream Danish to discuss the community that holds up the Chicago scene, the evolution of the Sick Day project and the importance of exposure in her songwriting.
This conversation has been edited for length and clarity
Photo by Tracey Conoboy
Shea Roney: You’ve become a staple in the Chicago scene over the years, playing shows, collaborating with other artists and just being a big proponent for the community. What was your first exposure to local Chicago music and what stood out to you?
Sick Day: I didn’t start doing music for a few years after I moved to Chicago, but I feel like I didn’t really start to build that community until after COVID. It took me a while to, well, network is not the right word because it doesn’t feel like networking, but just becoming friends with people in the scene. Places like the golden dagger (RIP), friends’ house shows, and songwriting meetups that I had going a while back really helped.
SR: As someone so involved within it, where have you seen smaller bands struggle in this expanding and profit-driven industry?Are you still able to find hope in it all?
SD: As more and more of our public life takes place in online spaces mediated by tech corporations, it’s more important than ever to create real, personal community around the arts. Music is much more than a metric used for advertising and I’m somewhat afraid that musicians have internalized the backwards messages that apps like Spotify and Instagram have pushed upon us. The races for likes and streams and manufactured scarcity of popularity that leave people feeling atomized & undervalued. It’s so important for musicians to forge real-life connections because music isn’t about ego. It’s an extremely powerful spiritual force that makes the online narcissism factories look laughable. I do think the diversity of the music ecosystem is endangered, but I’m seeing more and more people craving real community in the arts, and that gives me hope!
SR: You have described yourself as a more solitary writer, but since the formation of the project, Sick Day has seen additions to your recording and live roster. How did this culmination of artists come to be?
SD: It takes a certain headspace of focus and like vortex of thought for me to really get into the songwriting space. So I write alone. The people on the EP are Ryan on lead guitar, who I’ve collaborated with a ton before, Robby on drums, and Jen on bass. I’ve played with them a lot in the past, and they’re amazing instrumentalists in that they pick up on songs so quickly. The final version of the song “It Hurts to Try” was probably Robby’s first time playing that song right before we went to the studio that day.
SR: There was a two year gap between the release of your debut LP Love is a state of Mind and Overexposure, marking a clear difference between the sonic build ups and performances in each. Did you find your writing or influences change between projects?Did your writing and recording process shift at all with more voices involved?
SD: Love Is a State of Mind was released in September of 2022 and we recorded Overexposure maybe six months later. It just took a while for the label to gather all the materials and set a release date, but I was recording pretty continuously in that time. Love is a State of Mind was all home recorded, and then we recorded some with Danny from CalicoLoco – it was all very homespun. Some of the songs were just demos that I recorded during the pandemic and it was just going to be raw, compared to my previous EPs, Deja Vu and Sleeping in the Dark, where I strove for a more professional sound. Overexposure was a bit of melding the two together. And I think Henry [Stoher] (Slow Pulp) and Keith [Douglas] were really good at capturing that idea amazingly. Keith was so professional when we were recording and then I worked with Henry via email, and he just has a gift for mixing things that sound both raw and so professional at the same time. I don’t know if it was a shift so much as a shift in how we recorded it. We recorded it all at once and I didn’t consciously think, like, ‘oh, I want to make a shoegaze record, or I want it to be grunge’. It’s just kind of how it turned out and evolved.
SR: Was there significance in revisiting the song, “Meet Me At The Park” a year or two after it was originally written? Does it sit differently with you now having worked on it twice?
SD: My friend Danny convinced me that this song has to be recorded with a full band. That first recording on Love is a State of Mind is something I just did real quick in my room. I appreciate both of the versions, but the full band version has so much life to it. The guy from Amplified Magazine said the demo version of “Meet Me At The Park” sounds like maybe I didn’t meet them at the park – then the full band version sounds like I met the person at the park [laughs]. That was definitely the simplest song I’ve ever written. It’s basically just a few chords, trying to be more hooky. I sometimes think about cognitive biases and psychology – there’s a thing called the mere exposure effect, which means the more you’re exposed to a certain stimulus, the more you just generally like it. And so applying that to songwriting, if you just repeat the same thing a lot, it’ll get more stuck in people’s heads. I’m not trying to like wield psychology [laughs], but it’s good to keep in mind.
SR: I find that psychological interpretation very interesting, it makes sense when it comes to melodies, but I can find it in your lyrics as well when you write about common struggles and the stimuli we get from them. In a way, that is another mere exposure effect, as you kind of highlight things that people experience day to day, building a personal attraction to your songs. This is brought out very well in the “Overexposure” music video.What were the ideas behind that video?
SD: I outsourced the music video to Kaity [Szymborski] who was super enthusiastic about making a video and she put her own spin on the meaning of overexposure. I love how she kind of parsed it down to a really mundane seeming detail, but it’s so relatable. If I was making the video, I might’ve gone for grander ideas or something, but it probably wouldn’t have hit as much as Kaity’s idea. And shout out to Lola’s Coney Island for letting us film there and being super nice and enthusiastic about wanting to be in the video.
SR: Does your own interpretation of the word ‘overexposure’ differ from Katie’s interpretation that is highlighted in the music video?
SD: I think it’s been hard to answer questions about the meaning of overexposure because I kind of channeled the song and wrote it in like 15 minutes. It felt really real and right and meaningful to write the lyrics and melody, but it’s strangely hard for me to put the meaning into prose. I wrote it more as a poem that is, in a way, rich with meaning but also it’s a song that I want the listener to feel, and interpret, on their own. It’s a different mindset and I try to make something really deeply relatable and also a little bit of amalgamation of experience, not just one detail of my life, but something that both resonates with me, but also with a potential audience.
SR: Since it’s been a few months since its release, what has it been like to play these songs live? I know you have a show coming up in Madison where you are only taking two cello players as opposed to your full band. Is there a formation that you feel brings out the songs better?
SD: They’re just totally different experiences. I played a strip down set with just me and Ryan the other day at a bar called Bernice’s and I was not expecting anything. I was thinking, ‘okay, we’re going to play and the people are just going to talk at the bar,’ but when we started playing, it was like a vortex that sucked the attention to the music. It was such a cool experience. But I think the main difference between full band and playing a stripped down set is that when with the full band, the lyrics sometimes get a little buried, but the spirit of the song really comes alive. Whereas when I’m playing stripped down, the lyrics really shine through and people can really hear each word and that’s really nice.
SR: Anything you have coming up that you are excited about?
SD: I’ve been recording an EP with an artist named Snow Ellet, which is a totally different process, just me and Snow Ellet to a click track. And then I’m trying to record an album of my earliest songs from when I was in my early twenties.
SR: Are you going to keep them as they are?
SD: I’m going to keep them as they are, but plan to just make the most of them. But yeah, my music from back then is not at all the same. It’s not worse, maybe, I don’t know [laughs], it’s got its own charm that’s just a little different.
Photo by Tracey Conoboy
Sick Day will be playing a full band set on August 10th at the Beat Kitchen along with All Weather Sports, dmb the etymology and Oyeme. Sick Day will also be headed to Madison, WI on September 13 to play the Snake on the Lake Festival (free of charge).
Written by Shea Roney | Featured Photo by Tracey Conoboy
Brooklyn-based multi-disciplinary artist and queer flutist Cal Fish’s music is, perhaps predictably, eclectic. Aptly coined “flutegaze” on their Instagram, it calls to mind more organic strains of house like Call Super or Octa Octa, while at others it presents itself as a minimal art-pop sound most closely a la Bullion’s more recent works. Shades of Fifth Wave Emo’s experimentation also lend themselves to the project, with acts akin to Glass Beach and nouns seeming to share some DNA albeit with more angst and edge than Fish’s serene, self-assured delivery. Don’t let these cognates fool you, though: Fish’s music is wholly their own. They infuse this amalgamation of influences with a paradoxically shy take on maximalism– I probably shouldn’t add one more layer, but a flute solo mixed as if heard from two high school band practice rooms away would go stupid hard here, they seem to say – and the result is Cal Fish’s most recent album, Indecision Songs, a project that defies any presumptions of pretension by being tasteful, expressive, and just plain fun.
On the album’sopener “Twirling,” their voice is disarmingly plain in that enchanting sort of way some of the best indie singer-songwriters are. Snug as a bug, the vocals nestle between modular synth squelches, flights of flute, and warm subtonal bass that warps under the weight of the jam-packed mixes’ incidental side-chaining. I’d be remiss not to note the various Pokémon cries sampled that, somewhat unbelievably, subvert kitschiness altogether. The reedy, echoey Zubat call in particular sounds super dope, even in spite of the flashbacks it evokes of being perpetually confused in caves (because wild Zubats are the worst and also big stupid meanies). This Pokémon motif is pleasantly augmented by a heartfelt interpolation of the original TV show’s theme song. Rather than Pocket Monsters, Fish is concerned with “love and tenderness,” sweetly singing, “to forget them is my real test / to gain them is my cause” – a line that would strike the listener as cloying if Fish didn’t seem so dang genuine, or the surrounding sound wasn’t as phenomenal as it is. In all, the opening track is a cartoon maelstrom of raw creative expression, neatly tempered by a skillful sense for aesthetic and composition alike.
In a purely technical regard, Fish’s vocals are admittedly somewhat raw – but the distant, softened mix on them often suits their limited range well, and I found Fish’s delivery to be a perfect match for the tender lyrics and their instrumental nests beside. “2 Way Path (the dream is within u)” stands out in this regard, alliterative lines like “Heavy hearts, hurting hands / hungry for holding” a natural fit for Fish’s earnest delivery. “Patience flows / like muscle memory” is enveloped in a bashfully funkadelic house beat just before featured vocalist hi im home’s delightful hook, the title of the song’s parenthetical making for a perfect mantra. It’s all humbly wonderful, the way a recipe for brownies your family has made for about two-and-a-half generations comes out simply divine every time. So too does “When a Thought (feat. Alice Does Computer Music)” engage with this curated sense of sentimentality, aided by candid pop refrains generously layered in parking garage echo. A whimsical backing track highlights digital bells’ enchanting cerulean, paying homage to Super Mario 64’s “Dire Dire Docks. The tranquility is further enhanced by Becca Rodriguez’s vocals and their mixing. They’re lovingly tuned so as to not quite be swallowed by the surrounding colors, though only barely lucid and only at times. I’m reminded of grasping at diaphanous wisps of dialogue, remembered or confabulated, desperately trying to recall some fast-escaping dreamscape in the earliest moments of a morning.
Another highlight is the charmingly named “Big Bad Blanket of Protection.” As a noted weighted blanket enjoyed myself (sleep paralysis shmeep shmaralysis amiright), I was entranced by the track’s weighty, Cologne dance floor kick worthy of my blanket’s 8-pound heft, around which dance chiptune-adjacent synths and anon slaught of percussive stabs and hats. Caught in the song’s swirl are bit-crushed snippets of conversation, the pitch of which lends nicely to the sonic canvas, creating a lackadaisical sort of balance between the highs and the lows. The timbre and inflection of these vocals remind me of claire rousay’s introspective musings – an analog only strengthened by the following track “Longest Night of the Year” and its use of text-to-speech, notably used in a similar fashion on rousay’s excellent it was always worth it EP. But whatever sentiment present in the vocals here resting beneath the song’s sediment as they are, is ultimately indiscernible. The decadent leads and indulgent kits obfuscate the words’ edges, rendering them unintelligible – that is, until the last minute and a half or so of the song. The tempo suddenly dips, submerging the cacophony under distant David Wise-esque harps and the white noise of waves and thus allowing the delicate vocals to just barely rise to comprehension’s surface. Those too eventually fade out of sight, until all that’s left is the mundane found sound of a children’s toy that leaves me feeling forlorn, somewhat unsettled, and yet utterly satisfied. The song’s six-odd minutes fly by, time itself bending to the frame of a song with a title that sounds more like a homebrew DnD item than anything. It is, in a word, superdupercool.
Fish makes an impression with more than just their music. Their website greets visitors with impact font menus adorned with technicolor drop-shadows that coalesce Fish’s various creative endeavors. These include (but are certainly not limited to) clothing and sculptures for sale or commission and public sound installations. I thought their “Dynamic Listening Instrument” was particularly cool: It consists of a jury-rigged 8-track recording device mounted on what appears to be a car battery, all of which is in turn linked to several lengths of copper wire decorated with various pastel patterns. In the embedded video, Fish explains that a magnetic field generated around the lengths of wire allows for a white plastic bucket with a speaker mounted to the underside to play recordings as it swings through their area of effect. It’s a lot to take in, to be sure, and the slapdash appearance didn’t exactly inspire confidence–– but the device worked like a charm, reminding me of a room-sized, modular theremin, only controlled by the bucket rather than hands. The potential to program unique sounds or samples to each coil elevates the instrument far past mere gimmickry, in my opinion, and I found myself thrilled by the tech’s possible uses in larger scale sound installations such as those by Swiss artist Zimoun, or Aphex Twin’s swinging piano. If any of these ancillary projects were undertaken with even slightly less energy, creativity, or competency, it’d read as twee or eccentric; instead, Fish’s oeuvre is profoundly endearing and impressive to boot.
It’s these novel approaches to familiar realms of sound that seem to inform Indecision Songs as a whole. No better illustration of this exists than the penultimate (and my personal favorite) track “Rise Again (i knw u c what dreams are made of).” With an intro that wouldn’t be out of place on any of the late great Mille Plateaux’s “Clicks & Cuts” glitch compilations, it’s no wonder that an ethereal interpolation of the theme song from Nickelodeon’s iCarly is somewhat unexpected. But Fish doubles down: amidst fragments of bashful laughter, the track transitions into a ghostly rendition of Hillary Duff/Lizzie McGuire’s anthem “This Is What Dreams Are Made Of” and back again, the sitcoms’ melodies perfectly harmonizing with the inner child. It’d all be ridiculous, juvenile, or simple nostalgia-bait – if it weren’t for both Fish being so obviously and awesomely sincere. It’s a microcosm of Indecision Songs’ strengths, exemplifying Fish and their music’s remarkable ability to duck past saccharinity and successfully tap into those feelings of wistfulness, while still being upbeat, sweet, and forward-thinking.
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 Travis Harrington and Kameron Vann of Truth Club.
Based in Raleigh, North Carolina, Truth Club released their critically acclaimed sophomore record Running From the Chase late last year, showing both individual and collective growth for a band revitalizing their creative process and collaborative instincts. Through dark interludes and commendable twist and turns, Running From the Chase is patient, building tension from restraint and release from introspection. It’s heavy, smart, fresh and fulfilling – a NC album through and through, embracing both a community and a band at the top of their game.
To accompanying their playlist, Travis shared a statement about how the songs came together;
“I’m pretty uninitiated when it comes to curating playlists and unfortunately am the kind of person who is on my phone in traffic searching for songs, but this was fun to put together! Kam and I are moving in with Yvonne right now, so we’re kind of scrambled. These are some songs we’ve been bumping around the house while lifting furniture and unpacking boxes. Good kinesis embedded within, lots of push and pull.”
Jeremy Mock has been a secret weapon to many bands up and down the East Coast (Bloodsports, Wesley Wolffe, Antibroth) for some time now. As a classically trained guitarist, Mock has offered performances ranging from clicky math rock riffs and rippers, acoustic runs and arpeggiated folk pickings to brash punk-loving, muscle-spazzing noise rock that adds texture and context to each band he plays in. But on his debut self-titled album, performed under the moniker of his Brooklyn-based solo project, face of ancient gallery, Mock plays to the somber intricacies that relish in our stillness, as his musicianship and storytelling filter through the bliss and anguish of day to days.
Although sparse in complexion, Mock pulls every emotion out of the simple atmospheric backdrops he conjures. With loose and alluring melodies and incredibly articulated guitar parts, Mock embodies the cerebral functions that shiver when left unattended. The steady guitar runs of “peregrine” and “laundromat” are haunting, but ground themselves in the physical foundation of the song – finding a balance between both the heavy intervals of loss and the honest reflection of healing. “Holding” is lighter, as distant synths build a natural, almost minstrel-esque affair of feeling stuck. “untitled” germinates with a steady eeriness, enticed by a lucid cello played by Chaepter Negro. The song soon blooms into a beautiful decree of self-prescribed patience, a recounting of one’s ability to be grounded within their changing surroundings.
“He took a face from the ancient gallery” always felt like a remarkably potent line written by Jim Morrison, muttered at the midpoint of The Doors’ epic album closer “The End”. Told to be following Oedipus Rex, a story foundationally flawed and greatly recounted, face of ancient gallery becomes a retelling, recounting that fine line between a fated fall and the path of free will that got you there. “infinity speak” toys with the word forever, when left to its own accord, can lose the weight of its very meaning. Even the album closer, “i’m going to go back there someday”, originally made famous by The Muppets, finds Mock’s presence immovable – the simple chord progression and shaky melody feels to slip away with each breath, but the gasps soon mark an individual effort to make it back.
Face of ancient galley is a perception – moments where constructed time doesn’t matter much anymore, but rather the shifting souls that live within these songs are the markings of presence. The opening track “Fever Blue” was written back in 2020 when Mock was only 19. Years later, the song is no longer attuned to his current worldview, yet keeping the original lyrics is a plea for honesty, a portrait that this project will learn to represent for years to come. In a gentle and earnest melody, “fever blue” is sobering – love in the face of an inevitable end, and in the wisp of Mock’s musicianship, it is a very welcoming place to be.
face of ancient gallery will be celebrating the release of the debut record with a show on 7/28 with Paint Horse and Alice Does Computer Music at Kaleidoscope in Brooklyn, NY.
the ugly hug 