Every once in a while, there’s the kind of band that kicks around in murky shadows, refining a mixture of sludge, grunge, and post-punk. Boston built an entire scene around that specific genre but the latest band to forge an identity on the back of that kind of darkly-tinted magic comes from Boston’s far neighbors to the (Mid)West in Chicago’s sewingneedle. The band’s been active for more than four years, turning heads at an increasingly rapid pace with a reportedly stellar live show and incredible new material.
“feel good music” is part of the band’s improbable run towards greatness, a song that was released simultaneously with an effortlessly captivating music video that touches on the kind of lurking anxiety that the band imbues into their music. The clip’s opaque, opting to strive towards eliciting an immediate, intangible reaction rather than going for something easily explained. Drone shots of a raft tethered to a journeying boat, men racing through a field, and urban sprawl all coalesce into a mesmerizing whole in “feel good music” which defiantly announces sewingneedle’s bid for something bigger.
Watch “feel good music” below and pre-order user error here.
Last Friday offered an extraordinary outpouring of new records with several of those releases seeming poised to be legitimate Album of the Year contenders. While those records hit hard, Half Waif’s Lavender hit hardest. A handful of the record’s songs have been featured here already but it’s the cumulative effect of the record that elevates the songs from heartrending to heart-stopping.
Nandi Rose Plunkett, Half Waif’s fearless bandleader, wrote Lavender in the waning days of her grandmother’s life and found a way to preserve her memory in astonishing fashion with Lavender. Imbued with familial love and meditations on the joys and consequences of mortality, Lavender ceaselessly finds ways to grapple with heavy burdens through a series of open questions, some unanswerable. The examination process is one that becomes intimately familiar to anyone whose ever had to confront the death of a loved one and it’s not hard to read into Lavender as a personal reckoning from someone in the throes of that journey.
It doesn’t take long for the ghost of Plunkett’s grandmother to find a home in Lavender, appearing as early as the record’s breathtaking opener “Lavender Burning”. That specific song is a perfect introduction to the record as it marks a slight — but distinct and extremely important — stylistic shift for Half Waif, who move into a more subdued realm that’s enhanced by a re-dedication to introspection, more naked here than at any point in their discography.
“Watching my grandmother walking her garden, she’s lost her hearing does not notice the cardinal”, Plunkett sings, cardinal breaking up into lilting syllables as the memory overwhelms. It’s one of many small vignettes that litter Lavender‘s landscape, flowers dead and blooming. It’s not long before the burden of knowing sinks in and cries of “Is this all there is?” ring out over lush beds of synth and intuitive instrumentation. Confined to a confrontational solitude, Plunkett starts wrestling with existential autonomy: a sense of place, the weight of decisions, and the fear that accompanies free will.
All of these questions, all of these backwards looks and sideways glances are more immediate than any single narrative Half Waif’s presented in the past. They’re also by far the most gripping, as the music Half Waif has afforded these moments is their most expansive, textured, and ambitious to date, leaning hard into the band’s more ambient sensibilities. Lavender‘s rhythm section pulsates with purpose, reverberating throughout the record with the clear knowledge that the stakes here are legitimately life and death. From start to finish, it’s a fight for the means to survival.
If Plunkett’s grandmother is the foremost figure of Lavender, New York City and Plunkett herself aren’t too far behind. The relationship between the two, specifically, anchors some of the record’s most breathtaking stretches, including both “Lavender Burning” and “Back In Brooklyn”, which the songwriter penned an incredibly moving essay for over at The Talkhouse. “Back In Brooklyn” is a song that lands with exceptional force for anyone who’s ever been wrapped up by the titular city’s formidable being and goes a long way in laying out Lavender‘s gently beating heart.
Not coincidentally, the song resides in the album’s central stretch, arriving just after “Silt”, the two constituting Lavender‘s most breathtaking moment. It’s here where Plunkett comes nearest to breaking down completely, stretching out a hand for guidance, assurance, or even just a small moment of clarity in the fog of uncertainty. The closing moments of “Silt” offer up one of the record’s most haunting moments, an outro that beautifully segues into the painfully gorgeous “Back In Brooklyn”.
Everything that leads up to those two songs makes their back-to-back even more potent, the themes splintering apart into what feels like a million pleas, some from the city, some for the city, some from Plunkett, some for Plunkett’s own well-being. It’s here where Lavender finds its path to becoming transcendental. Those two songs combine to retroactively strengthen the songs that have preceded them while setting up one of the most memorable closing runs of the present decade.
It’s here where the allusions stop becoming guarded and are faced with no hesitation, Plunkett seemingly locked into a white-knuckle grip on the legacy of family, self-understanding, and the trials of knowledge. The latter of the three has one of the more potent dichotomies and that scale is explored through the framing of the former two. It’s that dynamic which makes the final quarter of Lavender so harrowing and so beautiful, the acknowledgment of the necessity of the scars and bruises that allow us to move forward towards our own destiny and towards the same fate that will take everyone we’ve ever loved.
Rather than waist time on hypothetical situations, Plunkett discards them in the service of realism and a commitment to the bravery the bandleader strives for on “Parts”. There’s a dissection of shame and anxiety in that song, one that resonates through to Lavender‘s end, before the tacit acceptance of the fearlessness required to continue existing. By the record’s end the only home Plunkett seems to have is forward motion, abandoning cities, clinging to friends, family, and lovers, doing whatever it takes to find a measure of peace in life’s restlessness.
Lavender‘s final verse acts as a summation of the themes Plunkett can’t escape through the course of the eleven songs and diverts them in a fruitless bid to forget what most of the record has exhausted itself in staring down before its final, heartbroken declaration: I don’t wanna know this/I don’t wanna know how this ends/In the grand scope of things/I know. It’s right then, in that last word, Lavender becomes complete. Not just a record about confronting death, Lavender is a record about the allowances of life, the difficulties that make it harsh, the people that make it worthwhile. In the end, when all is said and done, what’s left is the weight of knowing, and allowing it to sink to oblivion or float just a little while longer.
Listen to Lavender below (and watch a packet of live videos beneath that) and pick it up from CASCINE here.
The last week ended strongly, offering up an absolute treasure trove of full streams for a host of records that may find themselves being discussed again in December. Speedy Ortiz, Double Grave, Rachel Angel, Spielbergs, Holy Now, Anemone, Sibille Attar, Launder, Porlolo, and Grouper were all artists that played a part in that outpouring (as did the just-featured Forth Wanderers). Still, the focus of this post falls to an entry in a different format entirely: Snail Mail‘s elegantly crafted and surprisingly pointed clip for “Heat Wave”.
The solo project of Lindsey Jordan, Snail Mail has been making a series of incredibly smart decisions over the past year, including their partnership with Matador Records. Another one of those decisions was enlisting Brandon Herman‘s talents for the clip, allowing the filmmaker to handle directorial, editorial, and DOP duties with aplomb. The project and the filmmaker have delivered a carefully constructed metaphor for the importance of fighting for yourself, even in the face of unfavorable odds and seemingly insurmountable pressure.
“Heat Wave” finds clever ways to make its timely heft an incredible amount of fun (without sacrificing an ounce of integrity). Centered on Jordan, wrapped up in a hockey-centric escapist fantasy, “Heat Wave” refuses to pull punches throughout a range of exceptional moments, from an anxiety-inducing confrontation to some cathartic moments of unbridled rage. By the clip’s finale, Jordan’s made sure that absolutely nothing’s left on the rink and that the songwriter can escape with both contentment and a touch of pride.
Uplifting and upsetting in turns, “Heat Wave” is an effective portrayal of the themes frequently deconstructed by the clip’s protagonist. It’s a gentle reminder of societal culpability and just as effective as a demonstration of how our own convictions are necessary for not just advancement but survival. The song’s a new highlight for the project and the clip is its best to date. We should all be grateful that Snail Mail’s being given the chance to accelerate.
Watch “Heat Wave” (and a live performance of the song) below and pre-order Lush from Matador here.
The last several days of this week brought noteworthy music videos from Sun June, Dead To Me, Acid Dad, IV League, Annie Hardy, Self Defense Family, Joan of Arc, and Brent Cobb. Additionally, that span of time saw the release of more than a dozen records worthy of highlights but that’s a subject for a later post. Here, the headline belongs squarely to Forth Wanderer’s astounding self-titled, which has the potential to catapult the band from a buzzy staple to much wider recognition.
Sub Pop signed the band for the release and less than halfway through the first listen, it’s hard not to imagine they won an aggressive bidding war to release Forth Wanderers because it’s an absolute behemoth of the record that finds the band in the sharpest form of a young but already impressive career. Virtually every track that came out in advance of this self-titled was featured on this site in some way and led to stratospheric expectation. Improbably, Forth Wanderers actually finds ways to surpass those expectations, resulting in a record that leans more closely to essential than merely exceptional.
Forth Wanderers’ compositions sound more inspired than ever — which is no small feat — and Amy Trilling ensure the lyricism takes that same step forward. A record that explores the various facets of uncertainty in every day modern life, the sentiments that riddle the record have taken on a considerable amount of weight in recent years. Questions are raised with frequency throughout Forth Wanderers but they come from a thoughtful perspective, weighing things like how far does one have to be pushed to stop being complacent (“New Face”) and how to navigate the spectrum of expectations (“Temporary”).
The record’s greatest trick might be its own assurance in the face of those questions, wondering aloud about their implications with the type of assurance in those pathways that makes the listener certain they’ll find the answers. Of course, those narrative moments are significantly elevated by some incredible, across-the-board instrumental performances. Everyone here seems to be embracing their voice with a newfound confidence, not just Trilling, and it’s exhilarating to hear it all unfolding.
Forth Wanderers aptly acts as its own summation in “Taste”, as Trilling exclaims “I’m the real deal”. After just one listen, it’d be hard to argue that sentiment but after multiple spins — where the record unveils a surprising amount of additional nuance embedded through its many layers — that statement becomes impossible to argue. In addition to being one of the genre’s best offerings in years, it stakes its claim as simply one of the best records of the past few years as well. Volatile, weighty, affecting, and unfailingly sincere, Forth Wanderers is nothing short of a modern classic that deserves a spot in any music lover’s collection.
Listen to Forth Wanderers below and pick it up from Sub Pop here.
There’s an engaging palette (the pale blues at the beginning are especially mesmerizing) that morphs as the song barrels along, matching an impressive range of motion for both the camera and its subjects. “Colour of the Outside” also offers up a masterclass in lighting but those small, significant details would be lost without engaging core performances from the band members. Casper Skulls have given notable performances in their clips before but deliver here with some extra weight behind their conviction, making “Colour of the Outside” a testament to their growing confidence. Tethered together, the cumulative effect is spellbinding, pushing the band to an unexpected career highlight that’s massively satisfying and imparts a sense of excitement for whatever Casper Skulls decide to do next.
Watch “Colour of the Outside” below and pick up a copy of the band’s recent Mercy Works over on their bandcamp.
It’s an announcement that comes hot on the heels of the band’s Dirtnap 7″, The Pain of Loneliness (Goes On and On) b/w Go Easy, which was featured here last week. That review touched upon the band’s identity, something that “Leaf” helped form in their earliest stages. There are certain songs that have the power to make you believe in a band from the jump and, even more rarely, there are songs that can rip through a person so forcefully they’re left on the verge of tears after one listen. “Leaf” is both.
The first song pianist/vocalist Julia Blair wrote for the band, even in its earliest iteration and was the kind of song that had the capacity to level crowds, leaving more than a few people breathless. In the four years since the song was released on their demo, “Leaf” has evolved with the band, the edges of booth smoothed out and refined. There’s a tender sheen “Leaf” carries, indicative of the care that’s been poured into the song over its journey to a proper release.
Now, the song has a video to do it justice, courtesy of Finn Bjornerud, who’s handled the band’s other clips (and a handful for bassist/vocalist Amos Pitsch’s flagship project, Tenement). Anchored by lived-in performances from Rachel Crowl and Helen Kramer, the clip pays tribute to the song’s narrative while offering up the quiet visuals that define life in small-town Wisconsin (and a host of other small towns the country over). Still, Wisconsin feels specific to the band’s music and that kind of celebration is always worth noting, especially when it comes from unexpected places that are too-frequently glossed over or discarded in the pursuit of something bigger.
It’s that kind of dedication and sense of place that’s informed Dusk’s music from the onset but it’s never been extended to their visuals as beautifully as it has with “Leaf”. Landscapes both wintry and autumnal switch back and forth, tethered together with a warmth and determination that the cold seasons seem to bring out in Wisconsin’s citizens, “Leaf” finds its source of life in the smallest moments. Grocery shopping, chopping wood, loving greetings, and prep chef work all play parts (as, of course, do shots of hard liquor).
At every second, in every frame, there’s a resilient grace and a sense of affection on display. That level of welcomeness has been the band’s modus operandi since their formation and it’s only strengthened over time, a sensibility that’s escalated in their music as they moved forward. It hits its current apex here with “Leaf”, Blair’s overlaid harmonies acting in accordance with meticulously crafted visuals, creating the kind of warm blanket that the band extends to its listeners at their best. And make no mistake, “Leaf” earns a spot in that pantheon. This is the type of release that’s worthy of remembrance.
Watch “Leaf” below and pre-order Dusk from Don Giovanni here (and if you’re one of the first 300 to reserve a copy, you’ll receive an additional bonus 7″).
In the closing stretch of last week records from Karen Meat, Blues Lawyer, DEEREST, Mind Monogram, and Say Sue Me all found ways to make an impact. Another piece of music that found release in that time was Yowl’s “Warm (in the Soft White Fire of Modern Living)”, a dynamic slice of post-punk that veers back and forth between a probing, mid-tempo verse and an extremely explosive chorus that suffuses the song’s narrative with some crushing realism.
Shades of Pavement are as easy to pick out as references to their contemporaries in Car Seat Headrest, but something about “Warm (in the Soft White Fire of Modern Living)” feels singular enough to separate Yowl from any comparisons to those two acts (or any number of Flying Nun projects). There’s genuine conviction in this songwriting and the band have sculpted a composition that allows both the lyrics and music to heighten each other, rather than taking a more ancillary role. It’s an incredible track that finds Yowl well on their way to entering bigger discussions. “Warm (in the Soft White Fire of Modern Living)” is the kind of statement track that deserves — and seems poised to earn — a much wider audience.
Listen to “Warm (in the Soft White Fire of Modern Living)” below and keep an eye on this site for more details on the band in the future.
“Kicking In”, an album highlight from Recreational Hate, finds the band expanding on their classic country influences, conjuring up the kind of wide-open imagery perfectly suited to a music video. The band capitalized wisely, moving to the desert for a satirical deconstruction of the music video process. It’s an exceedingly clever conceit that takes a turn towards the end and offers up a heartwarming resolution to the difficulties and interpersonal conflicts — and petty resentment — that can drive wedges between cast and crew on adventurous shoots. A note-perfect testament to the band’s legacy, “Kicking In” is about as perfect of a music video as Lemuria could have crafted. Just like the band’s music, “Kicking In” is a welcoming invitation to come in, get warmed, and enjoy the party.
Watch “Kicking In” below and pick up Recreational Hate from the band here.
Teeming with imagery that hosts a handful of connections to other iconic visuals, the band completely eschews any inhibitions of operating on anything other than a ridiculously grand scale. That grandeur pays dividends, ushering in a bold new era for a band that once seemed content to operate on nearly anarchic terms. In “The Day The Music Dies” they take their mission to the church, light some fires, present a united front, and preach from a pulpit.
All of the confrontational immediacy is escalated by the track itself, which is lent a surprising amount of heft by some incredibly effective horn charts. Fascinating at just about every turn, riddled with allusions to Gothic-tinged entertainment (Paul Thomas Anderson’s There Will Be Blood acting as a more recent reference point), “The Day The Music Dies” finds Iceage comfortable in continuing to expand their boundaries, making Boundless — the band’s forthcoming full-length — one of the more intriguing prospects on the release calendar. The ride to get to that release, should “The Day The Music Dies” be a solid indicator, will be worth taking.
Watch “The Day The Music Dies” below and pre-order Beyondless from Matador here.
Last year, Surrounder released Surrpiounder, a record that helped the trio forge a name for themselves. They’ve been playing shows in support of that record since it’s release and word-of-mouth has been kind about their live capabilities, leading to an escalating interest in the band. This might be the simplest explanation for the band’s decision to put out Surrpiounder on cassette nearly a year after it’s release. If recent trends hold, it’ll mark a strong step forward for the band that capitalizes on their growing momentum.
Stoking the fires of anticipation for Surriounder‘s tape release is the music video for “Hyper-Monotony (City Folk)” which is premiering here. The clip finds the band front and center of a playful, board-game driven narrative that intentionally verges on the nonsensical as it explores the monotony of modern living. It’s a clever metaphor and an apt fit for the band, who frequently take a confrontational role as story-tellers alongside their wildly unpredictable music that touches on everything from post-rock to art-punk.
The game that the band plays in “Hyper Montony (City Folk)” may end with a push of a button that leads to some unexpected violence but it’s hard not to think that they’ve hit a switch of their own. The band’s surging towards greater (and well-deserved) recognition, thrusting validating offerings like “Hyper-Monotony (City Folk)” out in the blink of an eye. Poised, confident, and ready for their closeup, Surrounder’s a band to watch as they take meaningful steps towards making an incredible impact.
Watch “Hyper-Monotony (City Folk)” below and keep an eye on Surrounder’s bandcamp for the cassette release for Surrpiounder.
Heartbreaking Bravery 