Uncategorized | Heartbreaking Bravery

February 13, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (100%)

elaiza

The May 5-12 series served as my introduction to the music of 100%, a project intentionally cloaked in mystique. Ever since then, I’ve become increasingly absorbed in the frequently haunting worlds that 100% conjures into existence. The music the project creates tends to carry an undercurrent that not only begs but rewards return visits, even when it never fully answers some of the questions it presents. Deeply alluring and endlessly fascinating, it remains a project that feels inherently distinctive. With the guarded lengths the project’s gone to maintain some semblance of anonymity, it’s a privilege to get a glimpse into some of the more acute machinations that drive 100% via its influences. Find out what some of those influences are below.

Album: Sloppy Music to Feel Dreamy to (2003)
Artist: Wizard Apprentice
Track: Polyamory Anthem (Worthless)

If you slow this down and change the pitch lower by a hair on QuickTime, you can open a portal into your own heart. untouched, it still sounds pretty devotional. What a cool sonic/visual artist with lyrics that get right to my gut.

Although i can’t be yooourss alone, that doooesnn’t maaaake it worthless.

Album: Small Wind Power (2015)
Artist: Fraternal Twin
Track: The Loud Word

I slept on this album, maybe out of a subconscious effort to save it for when i needed it most. And then a night came when I wanted to vanish and track two was all I could listen to on loop. Don’t mean to be corny or dramatic, but it’s true. Saved m’dang life!

Album: Official Waste (2013)
Artist: Ancestral Diet
Track: Water Buries

Soundtrack to my eerie spring night bike rides home from the devilish depths of the library. Clare’s arrangements, subject matter, and overall demeanor were a huge influence on the music I made earlier in the year. Shrouds of mystery and images of water. Danger! I was looking for this album since winter of 2013(?) and it came back to me years later in the company of the person from whom i’d heard it the first time without getting a chance to ask who we were listening to then. I ended up telling her this story in person and it spooked us both. This stuff makes me tongue tied. approach with caution.

-Elaiza

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February 12, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Toby Reif)

toby reif

When I first found out about Toby Reif, it was through a staggering 2014 EP that blew me out of the water. I would quickly come to find that we had a handful of mutual friends and shared a similar musical perspective. In December of 2014, Reif quietly joined The Sidekicks- an event I’d only discover after being surprised by Reif’s appearance with them at the Silent Barn in August. What I didn’t know was that the events leading up to Reif becoming a full-fledged member of the band were fraught with a tumultuous uncertainty, even landing him in the hospital at one point. Here, Reif covers all that went into that part of his life and, now that things are on a more stable path, looks towards what might lie ahead. It’s an extraordinary story and a rousing look at personal perseverance, dumb luck, and an amount of sheer will and determination that’s nothing short of inspiring. Read it below and never stop fighting for the things you deserve.

I’m going to cheat a little bit here and make this more of a two-years-in-review. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, the “music scene” always seemed like a far off, unobtainable thing that people who lived in New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago got to participate in and people like me watched from afar via YouTube videos and message boards. I had played in small bands in Bellingham, WA for a few years, playing countless local shows to audiences of friends and always dreaming with bandmates about the possibility of touring, but the idea of going anywhere beyond our hometown seemed reserved for people already in those far off places.

January 2014 found me living on the basement floor of a four bedroom house in Seattle with old curtains stapled to the ceiling in place of walls and no furniture beyond a leaky air mattress (I would inflate it every night before going to sleep and wake up on the floor every morning) and a suitcase in place of a dresser. My band — The Palisades — had finally booked our first real tour, a thirty day trip that took us to the east coast and back, and broke up immediately upon returning.

During that month, we played a few good shows, a lot of really bad shows, totaled my parent’s minivan, and lost more money than I’ve had to my name since the tour. The move to Seattle was an attempt to “settle down”. Touring had been a fun little exercise, but at that point it felt like it was time to find one of those real jobs, the kind that provides silly things like a steady schedule, health insurance, and financial stability. As luck would have it, the job hunt went miserably and five months later I was still living in the basement (I did manage to get a good deal on a “scratch-and-dent” Ikea mattress, so I was off the floor).

I held a part-time job hanging posters for a small marketing company and even toured sporadically as a merch-guy/TM. It was around then that a friend of mine named Jason asked if I would be able to host a band from Ohio called The Sidekicks for a week or so while they worked on a new album in Seattle. I tried to play it cool, but I think I did a pretty bad job of hiding my excitement. Awkward Breeds, their third LP, remains one of my all-time favorite records, and the opportunity to be so close to the process of creating a follow up was not something I was going to pass on.

I had hosted a few touring bands over the years and had previously met Steve, lead singer of the Sidekicks, when Saintseneca (which he also plays in) stayed at my house, also arranged by Jason. It didn’t take a huge amount of convincing to get my three roommates, all musicians themselves, to help host the band for that week. Serendipitously, every other house Jason had lined up for the Sidekicks to stay with ended up bailing, leaving the band on our couches and floor for the full five weeks they were in the city. By the time their record was finished and they went back home to Ohio, I considered them all close friends and our four bedroom house felt empty with only four inhabitants.

Through another strange stroke of fortune, a month later my roommates and I were unable to renew the lease on our house. It was around that same time that I was invited to fill in on guitar for a week of shows with another Ohio band called Signals Midwest. I had hosted them on their past two west coast tours and became close friends with them, so it took no convincing at all for me to buy a plane ticket to Cleveland. It didn’t solve the issue of not having a home, but it did manage to put off the need for one by a few weeks.

After the brief trip through the Midwest with them, they extended an invitation for me to come along on a month-long tour with them in Europe a few months later, which I promptly accepted. That whole real-job lifestyle that had brought me to Seattle in the first place was slipping further and further away, and September began with me on a plane to Germany with four friends from Ohio. I was laying on the floor of a cramped apartment in Hamburg, Germany, when I received a message from Matt Climer, drummer of The Sidekicks. Their previous guitarist and vocalist had just quit and they needed someone in Columbus by January to learn three records of material and tour for as much of 2015 as possible.

It only took two days of consideration to agree.

Upon returning to Seattle, I sold most of my belongings and in December I was on a flight to Columbus with a guitar, a suitcase, and a backpack. January 2015 found me living on a couch in Columbus, Ohio as a member of a band I had loved since I was in high school. The beginning of the year was not without it’s hurdles.

On January 10th, less than two weeks before we were due to start six weeks of touring in support of our new record, I collapsed on the floor of my room at 3am.

My roommate drove me to the OSU Medical Center Emergency Room, where six hours later a surgeon chopped my almost-exploded appendix out of my body. It was up in the air whether or not I would be able to go on the tour with the band I had just moved across the country to join. I was released from the hospital the next day, but a week later I was still struggling to hold a guitar.

The band was ready to find a new guitarist for the tour, but I assured them that I would be ready, and on the 23rd, I played my first show with the Sidekicks at a sold-out Baby’s All Right in Brooklyn alongside Cayetana, All Dogs, and Roger Harvey. I kept my guitar against my side for most of the show because it still hurt to have anything resting on my stomach and I was still taking pain meds, but I’ll never forget the feeling of playing some of my favorite songs to an audience I never could have imagined having a year prior.

The night was a blur, and the pace barely slowed for the remainder of the year. In the weeks following that Brooklyn show, we traveled with LVL UP through the Midwest and down the east coast, pursued by a blizzard that would end up chasing us all the way through Texas. When LVL UP finished their leg of the tour, we met up with Cayetana in Nashville and they joined us through the Southwest and up the West Coast.

We returned home from that tour and within two months were headed overseas for a UK tour with Great Cynics. After that, we set out for two weeks on the East Coast with All Dogs, three weeks in Australia supporting The Smith Street Band and Andrew Jackson Jihad, and then returned home to spend two more weeks out with Saintseneca in support of their new record. In what felt like a blink of an eye, that touring-band life that I had wanted for so long and had given up on simply fell into my lap.

January 2016 has found me in a new apartment in Philadelphia, where I’m finally learning how to balance having a life in and out of a band. I just found a steady job that allows for time-off to tour and has even mentioned the possibility of that grown-up touring musician holy grail: health insurance. In six weeks I’m leaving on another five week Sidekicks trip, this time with The World Is A Beautiful Place…, Into It Over It, and Pinegrove, and I am currently finishing up what I hope will become my side project’s first LP.

While I’d like to pretend like I have a firm grasp on my expectations for 2016, the past 24 months have shown me that I have no business pretending to know what will happen next in the next 12. At this risk of sounding exceedingly cheesy, all I can do now is thank the people that have helped me get to where I am now and look forward to whatever happens next.

-Toby Reif

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February 12, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Alisa Rodriguez)

apollo vermouth

Somewhere along one of 2015’s many digital roads I ran into Alisa Rodriguez. I don’t exactly recall how we first started talking but I do remember feeling a twinge of pride upon discovering that Rodriguez, the creative force behind Apollo Vermouth, was from Wisconsin. The music Rodriguez creates as Apollo Vermouth is deeply hypnotic and has the capacity to induce trance-like states of fugue. Here, Rodriguez celebrates the year a certain artist put together and singles out a record as a personal favorite. Find out more below.

My favorite person of 2015 was Benoît Pioulard. He put out four releases and each of them mean a lot to me. Stanza was my favorite record of this year. He self released it on his bandcamp and each track is hauntingly beautiful. I met him once in Kansas City in a venue called Record Bar a few years ago. He was down to earth and played a very low-key set. He dedicated “A Coin on the Tongue” to me and it made my week. Subconsciously, he might be the reason why I didn’t do much with Apollo this year. I was too busy getting wrapped up in his music.

-Alisa Rodriguez

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February 11, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Stephen Tringali)

Last year Stephen Tringali turned in a piece for this series about working on Chastity Belt‘s “Black Sail” music video. In 2015, he worked on a slew of new projects including his debut feature-length documentary Corridor Four, which centers around an officer from the K-9 unit — and military veteran — who was experiencing PTSD after the bravery he exhibited on 9/11, rushing into the Pentagon to attempt to save as many lives as possible. It’s a big leap from directing and serving as the cinematographer on videos for bands like Big Ups, Low Fat Getting High, and Roomrunner. Here, he talks about seeing Pile play for the first time, discovering Pill Friends, shooting their latest music video, and lists his top 10 albums of 2015. Read it below and hold onto the things you find inspiring.

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My first great musical memory of 2015 was finally getting to see Pile perform. I live in Los Angeles, and I don’t think the band makes it out to the west coast that often. When I saw they’d be playing Los Globos in late March, I marked the date on my calendar and prepared myself to turn down any gigs that might conflict with it. Needless to say, the show was excellent.

Pile, Los Globos – March 29th, 2015 – Ilford 35mm Black & White 3200 ISO Pushed One Stop

Later that year, I had the chance to make a music video for this group from Pennsylvania called Pill Friends. I honestly can’t remember how in the world I found their record Blessed Suffering, but hearing it brought me straight back to high school in Central Pennsylvania. Since moving to Los Angeles, I’ve grown increasing interested with nostalgia and childhood. What images bring up those memories. How to access them after a long time has passed. I wanted to somehow recreate that feeling of growing up in suburban/rural PA for this video.

The band didn’t have much in the way of a budget, so flying back to PA to shoot this video was out of the question. I decided instead to hitch a ride with a college friend on his way back to Denver, CO and stop off in this small town called Leadville, CO where another college friend was working. We spent 3 days filming the people in the town in a kind of documentary style. It was perhaps the scariest premise I could have come up with for a music video because there was such a huge chance that it would fail. What if no one there wanted to be filmed? What if the town didn’t really have the look I was after? What if we were snowed in for most of the time? There were a million things that could have gone wrong.

And maybe that’s why it’s one of my most memorable experiences from this past year. I wanted to make a video that felt less staged, more impromptu, and more genuine than previous videos I had done. Strangely enough, it worked out. There was something exciting about having no clue what we were going to film that day. Plenty of people said no thank you; please don’t film me. But there were other folks who were completely open to the idea. Mechanics, barbers, skateboarders, kids playing basketball. The result turned out to be a really wonderful portrait of the town.

LEADVILLE, CO – November 2015

And finally, I got to have coffee with Michael Sincavage of Low Fat Getting High. I made a music video for his band in early 2015, but all of our communication up until that point had been via e-mail or phone. It might seem a little strange, but I don’t actually get to meet many of the bands I make music videos for in person. I’m really proud of the video I made for LFGH and so thankful that Michael gave me an unusual amount of creative control. It was great to finally meet him in person and talk over coffee. There was just something so encouraging and positive about that experience—that I could make a new friend simply because we connected over e-mail and collaborated on a project together.

My favorite records from 2015:

1. Sleater-Kinney – No Cities To Love
2. Dilly Dally – Sore
3. Car Seat Headrest – Teens Of Style
4. Screaming Females – Rose Mountain
5. Built To Spill – Untethered Moon
6. Courtney Barnett – Sometimes I Sit And Think, And Sometimes I Just Sit
7. Yowler – The Offer
8. Ava Luna – Infinite House
9. Pile – You’re Better Than This
10. Protomartyr – The Agent Intellect

-Stephen Tringali

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February 11, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Gabriela June Tully Claymore)

gjtc
Photograph by Megan Manowitz

A few years ago I started noticing a lot of the bylines for Stereogum pieces on bands, songs, and videos I loved were consistently attributed to Gabriela June Tully Claymore. We started following each other on twitter, occasionally trading thoughts about bands or some of the other small things more enjoyable. She turned in a massive piece for this series last year on Bad History Month’s “Staring At My Hand”, demonstrating an intense care for the music she loves in the process. Last year, we met for the first time and then ran into each other on a startlingly regular basis, taking in countless shows in the process. Whether we were getting rained on at a pier in Manhattan and bolting for a Times Square diner or just winding down on the roof of DBTS, there was usually an underlying sense of adventure- something that informs Claymore’s personality. Here, she fondly recounts a moment at the Heptagames and celebrates some quiet adventuring in the process. Read it below and remember that the biggest rewards are usually reaped from taking risks.

Heptagames, 7/19/2015

Summer softens me. Something about humidity and sweat and sticky hands makes me feel like I’m crawling out of some great big New York City womb every morning and into a very different kind of urban space. People slow down in the summer, they take their time, they hang out more. Summer makes me feel nostalgic for places I’ve never been to, for oceans I have yet to swim in. This is corny as hell to say, but it makes me feel like literally anything is possible. It’s a needed reminder that I am actively living a life and not just existing in one that someone created for me.

This particular summer, I joined the eclectic group of artists-in-residence at the Silent Barn, and it was one of the best experiences I’ve had in a long time. One weekend in July, a huge group of people traipsed upstate to a retreat in Franklin, NY called the Heptagames. There we spent two days swimming, hiking, meeting new people, and eating. Ironically, it felt very freeing to go hang out in the woods with a bunch of people I didn’t know well with no means of escape. On the last day, everyone hiked up a trail to the top of a little hill, following my friend Noah as he played the flute.

He was the pied piper. We sat at the top of the hill in silence as Noah performed some of the music he makes as Cuddle Formation. At the end of the short set, he pulled out a telephone receiver connected to a looping pedal, and cooed into it quietly before passing the receiver on to the nearest person in our fairly large group. They passed the phone on to the next person, then the next, as Noah recorded each of our individual songs. Together, as a group of familiars but not necessarily friends, we made a song out of “oohs” and “aahs” and “hellos” and “ribbits.” It became a noisy, joyful chorus, and people around me giggled as it played throughout the shallow valley.

It was a simple, participatory moment that reminded me of something that I shouldn’t really have to be reminded of: Being present is important. Sharing never-going-to-happen-again experiences with people and recognizing that they are special as they are happening is important. Letting your guard down, all the way down, is important. Giving a little bit of yourself to the Bigger Picture is important. Watching a stranger’s back as closely as you watch your own is important. Staying playful, no matter your age, isn’t just important; it’s necessary. Because sometimes, even though the state of the country, the world, breaks my heart every morning when I scroll through the news on my way to work, I need to cling to my truth: That it really is just small interactions that hold us — you and me and everyone we know or don’t know, or may never meet — together.

-Gabriela June Tully Claymore

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February 10, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Megan Manowitz)

Megan Manowitz
Photograph by Stephanie Griffin

On my first full day in Brooklyn, I woke up and drank tea on the roof of DBTS with Greg Rutkin. We talked about life, what I wanted to achieve while I was in the city, DBTS, nearby places worth frequenting, and the plan for the day. A few hours later, we hopped on the M train to get to SoHo to pick up a pair of glasses. As soon as we hit our stop, we ran into Silent Barn resident Megan Manowitz. She was the first person I met outside of DBTS and greeted me warmly, taking interest in how I wound up in the city. She was also the first person to ask if I was “Heartbreaking Bravery Steven”, which wound up being a weirdly memorable experience. I would soon come to find that Manowitz admirably put in a tireless amount of work at Silent Barn, whether booking shows, running the booth, bartending, cleaning the space, promoting, or doing any number of tasks that most people would find utterly thankless.

Over the course of my time in the city, we’d run into each other every now and then, occasionally striking up conversations about little things that were happening in our lives. Then, in late September, tragedy struck: Silent Barn caught fire, displacing its residents and throwing kinks into several of the venue’s planned shows. Watching everyone come together to fight to rebuild and preserve that space was nothing short of inspiring. Here, Manowitz takes us through the struggles surrounding that time of her life and the show a lot of people worked especially hard to make happen: Krill’s farewell. It was a show that wound up being far more than a simple goodbye. Read about those events below and remember to always fight for the things that matter.

Self-Hate Will Be the Death of Youth Culture but Thankfully Krill Existed and Now I Love Myself and All My Friends

I’m writing this while sitting in one of the empty apartments above Silent Barn. The Silent Barn residency is where I call home, and Silent Barn where my allegiances lie, and ever since the fire back in late September when the other residents and I were displaced I’ve been hopping around a few different spots in Brooklyn. Lately I’ve been feeling so homesick that I’ve gotten into the habit of dragging this shitty Ikea desk that was left behind into the middle of my apartment and doing work there.

It’s quite the spectacle- the apartment is covered in drywall dust and there’s not a single surface I can touch without getting coated in white powder. The only contents of the apartment other than me, this desk, and a folding chair are big, black contractor bags filled with ceiling, along with a scaffolding and some ladders. The fact that I’m choosing to do work up here says a lot about my recent head space and my anxious desire to get back home.

It feels like this shit is never going to get finished and that my self-appointed role of Silent Barn Ghost who wanders amongst the rubble will become a permanent one, but I know deep down that it’s getting better, that it’s so much better than it initially was. The day after the fire we had a collective meeting that was initially supposed to be about the Silent Barn becoming a non-profit but ended up being about the incident and how to rebuild, and I very vividly remember feeling like it was the end of the world.

I wasn’t able to sleep the night before and I remember sitting in the yard surrounded by people who care so deeply about the space and not even being able to talk, only being able to cry and smoke cigarettes and look down and do nothing. I didn’t change my clothes for six days. Looking back I was very much preserving my trauma, truly becoming a ghost of the fire- returning back to the spot where it happened day after day, same clothes, crying, nothing changing. I couldn’t interact with the real world, I couldn’t talk, I could only be present as some sort of effigy of myself to serve as proof of what had happened.

So we had this meeting to talk about what was next, what the fire meant for the immediate future of Silent Barn. At that point I hadn’t even thought about Silent Barn closing temporarily, not to mention permanently. It was suggested that we move all shows that were scheduled in the upcoming weeks. It felt insensitive to talk about shows when there were people who had just lost all of their belongings, but the lack of shows threatened the space being able to reopen. I remember hearing someone say, “but it’s Rocktober…” Rocktober – the month where Silent Barn does well financially due to unofficial CMJ shows and a slew of other events that are sure to be “bangers.” I quickly ran through what events I was in the process of booking for the month of October and remembered the Krill show.

The fucking Krill show.

I turned to Stephanie, my close friend and a Silent Barn collective member, and all I said was “the Krill show” and we both started crying, I’m not even joking. This shit was so dramatic. We were all so broken down and every small thing felt like such a huge loss. And it was a huge loss- these shows, this space, it’s where all of our energy lies. We put work and time and emotion into this space and these events and the Krill show was a huge one- Liz, Stephanie, and I had been planning it for the past month ever since Jonah sent me a cryptic Facebook message about a “super secret Krill show.” Having the last Krill show at Silent Barn felt like this sort of badge of honor.

Stephanie made sure to tell everyone within earshot that we had to be open by the day of the Krill show and I practically barked whenever anyone asked me whether or not I knew if the show would be able to happen. We were spending our days ripping out the ceiling of the main space and the estimated finish date changed every other day. Aaron and Jonah were there a lot. They both took me to a storage space with my belongings the initial days after the fire, at a point where I was too much in shock to hold a conversation.

Jonah helped me scoop up mysterious animal shit found on my roof during what I’m certain was a hailstorm, and Aaron spent an entire day removing screws from the ceiling of the main space wearing goggles that were impossible to see out of, making the act of standing on top of a 12 foot ladder while holding a power drill much more daunting. Their presence made it so much more pressing to have this show at the Silent Barn, for the sole purpose of us having a night to celebrate what we all have a stake in and what we have built together. Krill is a part of this space, they literally helped us build it.

A few days after the fire I had a conversation with a person who has a studio space at Silent Barn about how this place functions as its own kind of temple, it’s our sanctuary and it’s where our spirits reside and it’s where we recharge and get our energy from and it’s true, it’s so true. This shit is spiritual, it’s all so much more than just a concert. Shows like the Krill show are healing because they serve as a reminder of what we’ve all created and are continuously creating and what we are all in together. And the show happened, and that’s what it was, a ceremony of rebirth and love and affection and really celebrating what we all have stock in.

This space, this community of people. Frankie Cosmos played and Greta was there the day after the fire with donuts and packing tape. Big Ups played and Joe was there both the night of the fire and the day after, packing my belongings into his car and taking them to a storage space. There’s no way this night couldn’t be charged with the energy of what had happened and the work that was put in to building it back up again, and it was palpable. I was rolling in it. I hope everyone there could feel it.

I love Silent Barn. I love Krill. I love my friends and I love the community we’ve created here. No one can ever say that the scene is over or DIY is dead or whatever people say on their shitty websites because I saw it and I’m living in it, and I’m grateful every day for it. 2015 kicked the shit out of me and everyone I know but I left with the strong sense that we’re in this together and that has made it all worth it. That’s what the Krill show was about. Krill is forever.

-Megan Manowitz

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February 10, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Cole Kinsler)

cole

Several of this year’s contributors have mourned the loss of Krill, celebrating their legacy along the way. A handful have run and a handful remain unpublished. The band’s dissolution was an event that had an effect on a lot of this site’s readers and writers that was as powerful as the music they left behind. For the latest eulogy, returning contributor Cole Kinsler offers up some of his thoughts on the band’s role in his life. From developing his songwriting (Kinsler’s the creative force behind the excellent Space Mountain) to his musical community, the band’s significance — both on a broad level and on a personal level — remains undeniable. Read his piece below and remember to celebrate meaningful artists.

Saying Goodbye to Krill

I had a feeling that a lot of contributors in this series would be pining over the loss of Krill, but for good reason. Krill managed to become a really important thing to a lot of folks within a few years’ time. While reflecting on the year, I realized that their break-up was probably the most significant music-related event for me as well. They were the first band I got into when I moved to Boston in 2013, so they hold a special place in my heart. I’m gonna miss ’em.

Krill’s music hinged on oppositions that worked in really exciting ways for me. Lyrics are often challenging but also overtly approachable. Songwriting is crooked and catchy. Krill albums are immediately relatable, but also deeply rewarding upon further listens. Many fans, including myself, found catharsis through the stories told in Krill songs. I think the band also fostered a strong sense of community within the Boston scene, even if they didn’t realize that was happening. They had a down-to-earth attitude as a band that a lot of people found refreshing.

These sentiments culminated in their final shows. Although they were solemn gatherings, the prevailing feelings were certainly of celebration and pride. Krill’s presence in Boston made the town feel a little more special. I’ll definitely be listening to their albums and subconsciously ripping off their music for many years to come.

-Cole Kinsler

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February 9, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (John Rossiter)

Young Jesus

Ever since the year of its release, I’ve been confidently referring to Young Jesus‘ staggering Home as an untouchable masterpiece. In the time that’s followed since its release, the band relocated from Chicago to Los Angeles, shifting its core lineup in the process. Guitarist/vocalist and principal songwriter John Rossiter (pictured above, bottom left), remained the band’s driving force. Last year, the band released the outstanding Grow/Decompose — one of my favorite releases of the year — a record that I was very fortunate to be running premieres for in the lead-up to its unveiling. Towards the end of 2015, they swung through Wisconsin and delivered a set that left me absolutely floored. I met Rossiter for the first time that night and we exchanged road stories before parting ways. From that meeting alone, it was readily apparent that he was a genuine, kind person in addition to being an obscenely gifted songwriter. Those are just a few of the reasons that I’m thrilled to be bringing him into the fold of this series. Here, he recounts a show Young Jesus played in Gardena that left a lasting impression on more than one person. Read it below and stay safe in the pit.

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Gardena Utopia House Show

In early summer, I played a pretty fun set, lots of teens and SoCal punk dads hanging in this backyard in Gardena. While I was having a drink by the hot tub (cover on), a dude who must have been fourteen said, “you drink beer? Nice. I can’t wait til I have a beer today, haven’t had one since yesterday.” Which reminded me SO MUCH of being an awkward 14 year old trying to fit in I really felt an immense sense of empathy and joy.

The kids passing around the Svedka bottle intermittently making out, the mohawk’d kid with the Crass patch sewn on (in response to a punk dad asking, “nice patch, but what are you doing for change?” The kid says “EVERYTHING“). All the bands we’re introduced by a couple of adorable and shy 6 year olds. Somewhere between a house show and a suburban barbecue. Chips and guac. So many dogs on the grill. Dad going up to the mic saying “I got extra dogs up here if anyone wants more.”

The locals, this cool Cap’n Jazz/Do Make Say Think-sounding band Cotton Ships, closed the show, sun just went down, summertime in Los Angeles. People we’re psyched, some moshing, more making out, smoking cigs. Really idyllic movie start of summer high school/college hangs. Total romance/bliss.

For their closer/encore the band breaks into a super heavy rap-metal cover and immediately EVERYONE starts moshing. We’re just in total shock, all smiles. Eric (our keyboard player) flies into the pit looking like some indie Cosmo Kramer/Eric Wareheim combo bouncing around laughing hysterically. The mosh kinda breaks apart when a bunch of people fall down. The music stops. One kid is just lying on the ground repeating “ohmygod/ohmygod/ohmygod.” Some other kid walks away saying, “I’m gonna throw up, I SAW THE BONE DUDE!” The injured party looks at our guitar player and yells “THERE IS NO GOD!”

Kid had broken his leg, a decidedly cool ass way to start your summer.

The kid and his leg are fine. Saw him a month ago at our show at The Smell. Very sweet guy and absolutely confidently bipedal again. Not sure if he knows how rad I think his Gardena scene is. How perfect that night was. It’s rare to go back in time for a moment, glad I got to live in that Gardena Utopia Doghouse though.

-John Rossiter

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February 9, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Chris Sutter)

meatwave

Very few bands have meant as much to me as Meat Wave, who I’ve written about over and over on this site and in other corners of the music world. Their self-titled debut remains one of my favorite records of all time and is still the only cassette that I’ve listened to so much that some sections of it are damaged (a modest estimate would put the number of plays at over 200). In 2014, they played the first Heartbreaking Bravery Presents showcase (their set that night remains one of the most meaningful moments I’ve experienced in music) and I got to know them as individuals a little better, which, on a personal level, made their 2015 run feel even more celebratory. Last year, they signed to SideOneDummy, released one of the best records of the year, one of the best compilation EP’s of the year, and toured the world. They made their name known but retained their humility. Here, guitarist/vocalist and principal songwriter Chris Sutter takes a look at an extended moment he experienced with Drive Like Jehu at the Denver Riot Fest stop that reminded him of the importance of music. Read it below and remember to hold onto the moments where everything clicks into place.

2015 was the craziest year of my life. The epitome of bittersweet. Life is very mystifying. I’m half-trying to figure out how it all works, half-trying not to disturb it and let it do its thing. The latter has worked out for me more thus far. What makes us all so drawn to or obsessed with music? Or anything for that matter? And how is it that music has provided me with so many amazing opportunities and experiences? I think that you can’t expect anything from it, and in that it presents things to you. That’s how it works in the Meat Wave camp, keep your expectations very low and usually it’s a lot better than what you thought it’d be.

Before the year began, we more or less agreed that we would focus more than ever on traveling, touring and playing well. Because why the fuck not? Yolo. So that’s basically what we did. We released an album in September. We toured the UK and Europe three times(!). We went to fucking Iceland. Toured the US and Canada. We got a beer and a sandwich named after us. We saw so many bands we respect and love. Met so many amazing people. Basically, if we did this, it’s proof that literally anyone can do whatever the fuck they want if they work hard, sometimes make some sacrifices and just really want to do it. We are the luckiest people. Purely. Undeserving, really.

In late August, we drove to Denver, Colorado to play Riot Fest. A mixed bag of bands and artists, with some real gems thrown in. We had no idea how people would respond to us, whether we’d get a good slot, etc. (remember, low expectations). We made a long weekend out of it and brought our friends Andrew and Jonathan with us, which sweetened the deal so much more cause they’re the best. Upon traveling to the fest we were informed that we’d be opening up one of the main stages, essentially opening for Drive Like Jehu and the Pixies, two of my favorite bands ever. Fuck.

That morning we arrived we were golf carted by our liaison to the stage to soundcheck (this never happens). It was the most gorgeous summer morning, a cool breeze mixed with hot-ass sun rays beating down. The fest took place in an open-air arena/jumbo parking lot where they do rodeos. As soon as we got to the stage we realized we were surrounded by all the Pixies gear and they had just soundchecked (WTF).

A couple hours later we played, real early in the afternoon. T’was good. The rest of the day proved to be really bizarre and fun. I was just kind of geeking out the entire time. “Oh shit, there’s the motherfucking GZA eating” or “Captain Sensible just came in to our dressing room (never happens either) and woke Joe up to give him a beer.” We met Andrew W.K. We got up so close to see Iggy Pop, suddenly I turn around to see Thurston Moore, excited as I am, both of us taking pictures of Iggy and his leathery-ass chest. We saw the Pixies, Modest Mouse, Bootsy Collins, Dead Milkmen, Tenacious D, and Snoop Dogg that night. But nothing compares to Drive Like Jehu.

I thought I’d never in my life be able to see Drive Like Jehu. Those guys’ bands influenced me so incredibly much. Just the epitome of badassery. So at the risk of seeming like greedy little snobs, we asked the super generous stage manager Keith if we could get on the side of the stage for Jehu, to which he obliged. So there we were, on the side of the stage as the sun was setting watching Drive Like Jehu expertly put everyone to shame. Tear-inducing. Pure power.

About midway during their set, I look over and there’s fucking Jack Black standing right next to us watching Jehu. WTF. How did we get here? I drunkenly and idiotically said hi to Jack Black. He gave me a thumbs up. But seeing Drive Like Jehu that night was life-affirming. Throughout the year, I’d been wrestling with the prospect of putting so much time into music and sacrificing a lot to do it. Is it worth it? Is it too self-indulgent? What about my future? But it is this moment in seeing Drive Like Jehu and many other moments over the course of the year that slapped me in my dumb face and clearly stated “yes, this is right. Nothing else matters if you have a deep love for something.” Very cheesy, but actually true as hell.

It’s proof of not only music’s, but life’s mystical powers. We’re just huge fans and nerds and students of music, and in that found ourselves surrounded by so many people we had respected and loved for years. It’s given us the opportunity to play to and meet amazing people all over the place; the restoration of my faith in humanity! 2015 kept reminding me of this and how lucky we all are to be able to share and experience in this era of art and music.

-Chris Sutter

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February 8, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Jamie Coletta)

One of the people that I bonded with the most over a sheer love of music was SideOneDummy‘s publicity genius, Jamie Coletta. Connecting over everything from our incredibly extensive appreciation for Meat Wave to things as trivial as The Office’s use of silence, it’s been a joy to get to know her over the past year. The world could stand to use more people with her levels of passion and understanding. Having just run David Anthony’s piece on Coletta, it felt appropriate to run her piece for this series next. Here, she reflects on becoming Microwave‘s manager and her appreciation for her family. Read it below and continue pursuing the things worthy of your unfettered belief.

Taking Chances

Last year, with the help of Brian Kraus at Alternative Press, I stumbled upon a band from Atlanta, GA called Microwave. All it took was one night and a gram of California’s finest for me to fall completely in love with their debut album Stovall. I remember sitting on my bed, stoned to oblivion, realizing I had just listened to the entire album without stopping once. You guys realize how terrible most bands early/self-releases sound, right? Usually you get through a couple songs and keep their name in the ether of your memory but that’s about it. You never listen to the whole thing without skipping. That’s just ludicrous.

Well that night, I did.

I immediately scoured the internet assuming I’d find one of my A&R peers already on the case, but as you likely know the end of this story since I’ve told it about a million times, I found nothing. I started talking to them casually a few weeks later (truth be told, it was a conversation about The Office that sealed the deal) and before you knew it, we were family. They performed on Audiotree Live in December of 2014. Up until then, things seemed to be moving at a normal pace for a band of their size, but once the Audiotree session went live, everything changed.

All the labels and managers I thought would have initially been interested started calling, and I encouraged the band to feel out all of their options. I knew I wanted to sign them to SideOneDummy but wanted to make sure they felt comfortable before making a decision. At that point, I had never even considered managing a band before. The idea was just so far from my brain.

I met Microwave at SXSW in Austin, TX in March of 2015. We met the first day I arrived and spent every single day of the festival together. I’ve met a lot of people in my life but never have I clicked with a group of people as fast as I did with these guys. That week ended up being crucial in our future as a team. They locked in their booking agents and we started talking about bigger picture goals together.

Before we parted ways, it was like we all just knew. Still, I hadn’t even muttered the words “manager” yet. I sat in the airport waiting for my flight to depart when a manager friend of mine called to ask about their situation. It was the light bulb I needed. After reflecting on that week together and re-listening to Stovall another couple hundred times, I brought it up with the guys and that was that. The adventure of my life began.

Since then, I obviously signed Microwave to SideOneDummy Records. I worked with them to release a split 12’’ with a band from Buffalo, NY called Head North, their first proper release on the label. I also confirmed their first full US support tour with Have Mercy, Transit, and Somos. By the end of 2015, I locked in what will be their biggest touring opportunity to date, supporting The Wonder Years and letlive. this spring.

If you had told me a year ago today that I would start managing a band and help propel them towards this kind of success by years end, I wouldn’t have believed you. This whole process has taught me the importance of stepping outside of your comfort zone, and I can’t wait to step even farther with these guys in 2016.

Feeling Whole Again

Let me preface this by saying that my family has always been incredibly supportive of me and my endeavors. While at times, especially the beginning, I’m sure they felt skeptic and fearful as I boarded a one-way plane to Los Angeles to work in the “music business” with “punk bands,” they’ve always shown extreme pride and enthusiasm for the life I have built here. But this year, two of them in particular stood out to me in their unwavering display of support.

My brother is four years younger than I am, studying to be a physician’s assistant, and lives in Coventry, Rhode Island. He has two fantastic dogs, a Siberian Husky named Luca (yes, he named his dog after a Brand New song) and a White German Shepherd named Jet (okay, to be fair, this is my mom’s dog but my brother moved and couldn’t bare to separate him from his best friend, Luca). He’s almost as obsessed with The Office as I am, which makes for the easiest gift-giving process of all time.

Like the rest of my family, my brother has always been supportive but this past year, he really took it up a notch. He joined the SideOneDummy Vinyl Club, pre-ordered records (even bought multiple variants of some), stopped into his local record store to check for our releases, and decorated his home with some of his favorite S1D releases. I can’t really explain why but this has had a profound effect on me this year. Every time our warehouse manager would tell me something like “Jamie, your brother just bought two flags and another Microwave variant,” I felt whole.

My sister is two years older than I am, works in social media marketing, and lives in Seattle, WA. She has an incredible wanderlust, having traveled all over Europe and about to embark on a three week solo adventure to Australia and New Zealand. For all intensive purposes, she is my polar opposite in life. As we grew up, we started to notice our characteristic differences, and at times we let it get the best of our relationship. But today, as adults, we find our common ground and a lot of times, it’s music.

My sister almost never misses a SideOneDummy band when they come through Seattle. She’s even gone to see bands she barely knows. She lets them sleep on her floor and get bitten by her dog. My bands are like extensions of my family. They’re my best friends. So whenever I would get a text from her with a photo of them on stage, or hear from them saying that she was super cool and welcoming, I felt connected.

You see, I have this picture (see: the photograph at the top of the page). I’ve kept it in my wallet for years. There’s my older sister (left) and I with our baby brother. I grab it at times when I feel scared, alone, homesick, nostalgic. I hold it in my hand all folded up and squeeze it tight. That picture makes me feel whole. It takes me back to a time of innocence, a time where even if things may not have been so great, it didn’t matter. I had them and we had each other. When you live 3,000 miles away from your family, it’s these little moments I hold onto the most. So sure, my brother simply buys stuff from the record label I work for and my sister steps over sweaty dudes to get her coffee. To anyone else, this may mean nothing. To me, we’re back in that picture again, arm-in-arm, without a care in the world.

-Jamie Coletta

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