Uncategorized | Heartbreaking Bravery

February 8, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (David Anthony)

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Photograph by Dan Wilcox

Last year, David Anthony (pictured above, second from left) turned in a heartfelt piece about seeing The National with his mom for the first edition of this series. This year, he’s taken the time out of his busy schedule balancing time between fronting the excellent Birches (featured in the above photo) and relentlessly featuring bands over at The AV Club, where he works as an assistant editor, to spotlight another important person in his life: Jamie Coletta. Here, he covers the trail of events that ultimately led to one of 2015’s most exhilarating live clips and ultimately reminds himself to be thankful for his current position, doing work he genuinely loves. Read it below and then find a reason to celebrate the things — and people — that make life worthwhile.

The short answer to this question [what was the most meaningful moment for you in 2015] would be one name: Jamie Coletta. There are many great people who work in the music industry — and, though i hope they are being weeded out, a bunch of shitty ones — but few are as passionate as Jamie.

It all started when, in the winter of 2014, she emailed me about a tour she was working on, featuring Andrew Jackson Jihad, The Smith Street Band, Jeff Rosenstock, and Chumped. She asked if the site I work for — The A.V. Club — would be interested in presenting the tour and, given my love of these artists, it was an opportunity I was happy to jump at.

It’d be ridiculous for me to claim credit for Jamie’s work, as she did all the heavy lifting, but together we hatched a plan to get the bandsto do one giant, raucous session when they rolled through Chicago. The result is a wacky video that sees AJJ and Jeff putting together a mashup of songs previously covered in the A.V. Undercover series. While there have been many great Undercovers over the years, none mean as much to me as this one. There was such a pure exuberance in the room that emanates in the video, with the bands rushing through songs, switching instruments, and giving all of themselves in the performance.

This entire experience is something that still doesn’t feel real to me. Even though I only played a tiny role in making it all happen, I’m thankful every day for Jamie giving me the chance to work with some of my favorite bands on this wild thing. And, watching the video now, it still strikes me how lucky I am to even have the chance to work with such amazing people. It’s a feeling that I hope doesn’t fade any time soon.

-David Anthony

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February 7, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Bella Mazzetti)

Jawbreaker Reunion III

Back in 2014, Jawbreaker Reunion‘s unbelievable Lutheran Sisterhood Gun Club secured an impressive ranking on this site’s year-end list and landed “E.M.O.” (a song that can still manage to elicit chills after innumerable listens) in the songs list. In 2015, they secured a spot on the odds and ends list for their memorable split with PWR BTTM. This year, while still young, they’ve landed another potential year-end list contender with the extraordinary “Cosmos“, which is even more impressive considering they recently downsized to a trio following Tom Delaney’s departure. Bella Mazzetti, who has handled guitar, bass, and vocal duties for the band, is one of their driving creative forces. Last year I was fortunate enough to see Mazzetti play a few shows and take in a few shows as well. Below, she lays out the soundtrack of her 2015, month by month, pairing it with important life events. Read it below, listen along (bonus points if you can complete the seemingly impossible task of finding the stream for Flower Housewife’s “Hampton”), and then make your own soundtrack as 2016 pushes forward.

My 2015 Musical Calendar

Here is a list of songs, new and old, that defined my year.

January, “Party in the USA” by Miley Cyrus

The sound of dancing on a hardwood floor in Philadelphia. The sound of a flat tire on the way home.

February, “Know Yourself” by Drake

Sounds like releasing a split, celebrating Valentine’s Day, pretending to be happy about it. Getting pulled over in -10 degree weather to change a headlight and feeling an overwhelming sense of love for my bandmates.

March, “Puddle of Love” by The Bottom

Running away to basement shows in other towns. Meeting new people, making new friends, seeing old friends. Singing on stage with Eskimeaux and dancing my butt off to Crying.

April, “Broken Necks” by Eskimeaux

Crying in my carrel while listening to this song, breaking up, figuring out how to be my own person. Finishing and handing in a 90 page thesis, seeing Paul Baribeau with my best friends on that same day.

May, “sad cartoons” by No Friends

Celebrating my 22nd birthday by listening to this No Friends album and drinking in the sun. Being Taking Back Sunday for Punk Rock Prom and meeting someone new. Graduating from college. Fuck.

June, “Parking Lot Palms” by IJI

Sounds like playing the Northside showcase for Miscreant Records, driving all around the mid-Hudson valley. Breaking my tailbone while hiking.

July, “Be Your Own 3 AM” by Adult Mom

Being bed-ridden for the whole month and watching all of Glee. Being brought cupcakes and nursed back to health but still trying not to catch feelings.

August, “Better than Anything Else” by Paul Baribeau

Sounds like trying to record an album and playing shows in Brooklyn. Driving home from the city and listening to this song. Changing my mind.

September, “Hampton” by Flower Housewife

Sounds like a new band line up. Starting a new job, becoming friends with this artist and then joining their band. Driving through new towns.

October, “Keeping Up” by Arthur Russell

Spontaneity. Driving to the city to see the Double Double Whammy CMJ showcase. Booking Meredith Graves to talk about restorative justice at Bard. Making plans. Spending Halloween drunk in Asbury Park with my best friends. Screaming Females covering X.

November, “You Are What Eats You” by Palm

Saying “I love you.” Actually recording an album. Playing with All Dogs and Long Beard. Feeling good about making music with people I care about.

December, “Time, As a Symptom” by Joanna Newsom

Seeing Joanna Newsom play this in Philadelphia. Preparing for JBR’s first tour. Dr. Lady. The best dang New Year’s kiss in the world. Looking back at the year that brought good and profound change. Thanks for sharing it.

-Bella Mazzetti

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February 7, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Amanda Dissinger)

Photograph by Dean Stafford

I don’t actually remember how I first met Amanda Dissinger but I’ve become increasingly grateful for that moment. Ever since that initial introduction, she’s been ceaselessly supportive of just about everything I’ve decided to do and has been a constant voice of reason. It’s why whenever I travel, I take the gorgeous collection of poetry she released last year, This Is How I Will Tell You I Love You, with me as a road companion. We call each other “the best” in an eternal loop with no trace of irony. If she sends me a promotional email for one of the several artists she does publicity for at Terrorbird Media, there’s a decent chance it’ll just devolve into a long string of short email blasts about what’s happening in our lives. For a very brief time, we shared door duties at Baby’s All Right and allowed ourselves to be inspired by the surroundings it offered. Not just one of my favorite authors but one of my absolute favorite people, it’s an honor to be hosting her writing on this site. Below, she tackles a night with Dilly Dally and Julien Baker that rekindled her love for the city where she resides. Read it below and then find a reason to celebrate your own surroundings.

2015 was a weird year for me. I wrote a book, fell in love, moved to a new apartment, recovered from a weird mysterious muscle illness, and got to work with many rad bands in my full time job. I made new friends, I lost friends, I traveled all over the country, etc. etc. Though it may sound cliché, music is mostly what got me through it all. This year, I got to see some of my very favorite acts in the whole world- from my high school loves Death Cab for Cutie, new favorites like Weaves, and dozens of amazing bands that I do press for from Heaters to Total Makeover to Keeps, and friends’ bands like Big Ups and Charly Bliss.

I got to travel to Toronto for NXNE (by myself) and become immersed in the awesome scene there that’s spearheaded by the amazing Buzz Records and bands like Odonis Odonis, Greys, and Dilly Dally (more on them later). I went with coworkers to Raleigh, NC for Hopscotch Festival and while I had no expectations going in about the town, I became enamored with it, and with its diverse venues and friendly natives. I fell head over heels for Austin, TX and the lively music scene there, encouraged by my boyfriend, a wonderful musician, and the venues he frequents- Cheer Up Charlies, The Mohawk, and Barbarella (for dancing to ’80s music only).

However, this year in music can be best summed up by one cold night in November, when I got to see two of my favorite new artists perform in a back-to-back marathon concert night. In 2015, all of my favorite albums were released by females or female-fronted bands. I loved Carly Rae Jepsen’s whimsical Emotion, the ass-kicking albums by Bully, All Dogs, and Hop Along, and the catchy-as-hell releases from Bad Bad Hats and Laura Stevenson. Above all though, two albums that represented the polarity of my feelings — and the two that I loved the most — were Julien Baker’s Sprained Ankle (representing my vulnerable, emotional and nostalgic self) and Dilly Dally’s blistering, raucous Sore, showcasing the assertive, in-your-face person that I aspire to be.

Miraculously, I got to see four of the artists that made my favorite albums in one week in November in a way that only New York sometimes operates- Tuesday: Bad Bad Hats at Baby’s All Right, Wednesday: Carly Rae Jepsen at Irving Plaza, and Saturday: Dilly Dally at Baby’s, followed by Julien Baker at Mercury Lounge. Though I was recovering from a gnarly cold that week, I still absolutely 100% needed to run around like a chicken with my head cut off and see both of these artists responsible for music that touched me so deeply.

Before that night, I had seen Dilly Dally about three times since 2013. My friends in Toronto who run the aforementioned Buzz Records release constantly hypnotizing and brave music from incredible bands (like all the ones I mentioned above- Weaves, Greys, Odonis and Odonis, as well as bands like The Beverleys, HSY, and so many more). They are all smart, incredibly nice and wonderful people. They’re also my favorite label and everything they touch turns to gold.

By now most people have heard the thrilling ’90s tinged Sore, and I’ve probably listened to it about 1000 times since its release in October. I was thrilled to see a headlining set from them after the album release, especially since I only caught a bit of them at CMJ at like 1am at Santos Party House. At Baby’s, they were at their best, impressing the really large and enthralled crowd who packed the small, sweaty room to hear melodic yet hard-edged tracks like “Green” (one of my favorites since their 7” of it), the pulsating “Desire”, and “Purple Rage”.

I caught most of their set and hopped over on the train with a few people I ran into at the show to see Julien Baker, whose album absolutely devastated me like nothing else I can remember, both on first listen and the many subsequent listens. Singing about addiction, heartbreak, and loneliness, Sprained Ankle stops you in your tracks- after I heard the whole thing in mid-October, I couldn’t listen to anything else.

Once Baker started her set at Mercury Lounge that night, the crowd went so silent that you could hear a feather drop in the room. Her songs were filled with lust and love and memories and I stopped breathing, I’m sure. Her songs are meandering and honest and fearless. In one of my favorites, “Everybody Does”, she sings “you’re gonna run/it’s alright everybody does/you’re gonna run when you find out who I am.” Though her set was too short, I was already 100% certain that everyone I know needed to see her live and hear her album and I am 100% certain that her performance broke my heart.

While it’s a bit sappy, the night reminded me of the reason why I moved to New York. Though I’m still relatively young, I recently lost interest in going out as much as I did when I was 19 or 20 and hopping to two or three shows a night. I felt alienated from the crowd and from the people around me, people who I used to be friends with and see all the time. Before that night, I would go out, stay at a show for an hour or so and immediately go home, lonely and disinterested.

That night in November reminded me of why New York can be so magical, and it gave me something I really needed. It made me realize that sometimes cool things don’t have to be terrible, and sometimes things can change, and the music, the people, and you can all be better than ever.

-Amanda Dissinger

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February 6, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Ben Grigg)

ben grigg
Photograph by Mark Federighi

We lost a lot of great bands in 2015 to varying degrees of mourning and despair. Krill’s final bow obviously struck a nerve but it’s important to remember that they weren’t the only band to step down. While Ovlov managed to find a spiritual continuation via Stove, Geronimo! — who I penned a hybrid eulogy/review for back in March, just a small handful of months after they played this site’s first showcase — have taken a somewhat different path. Guitarist/vocalist Kelly Johnson and keys master Ben Grigg have been devoting their time to various new projects. All of them will undoubtedly be worth hearing. Grigg was kind enough to reflect on the loss of Ovlov and what it meant to him to be at their final show. Read it below and make sure you see your friends’ bands while they’re still around.

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2015 was a year of change for me. Every year changes people, but last year was a big one for me. The band I had played in since 2007, Geronimo!, called it quits, I left the comfort of a familiar job for the intimidating challenge of a new one, and I moved into a house far from my old neighborhood to the west side of Chicago. The good thing about change though is that it usually forces growth. You lose some comfort for the sake of coming closer to who you want to be. That’s the hope at least.

Pretty soon after our band played its last show, the realization set in that I had no plans for my free time. Intellectually, I had known the that this would happen, but I was not prepared for the reality of it. I would come home after work and have nothing to do. Every day of the week. I found myself contemplating what the hell I was doing with my life. Shit.

Suddenly, amidst all the free time and emo soul searching, I developed an itch to get a plane ticket and travel out to Brooklyn for a weekend. It became imperative. At the time, it wasn’t clear to me why I had to do this. But, with some distance, I can see what was going on in my head. Without playing shows, I wasn’t getting out east to see the friends I had made through past tours. I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to get out there again and somehow it seemed like a way to get some closure on that part of band life.

As luck would have it, some pals of mine in a band called Clearance from Chicago were playing in June at Shea Stadium. It seemed like as good a time as any. I joked to the guys in Clearance that I’d see them In Brooklyn but I doubt they believed me. A few days later, Ovlov announced that they would be playing their last show that same weekend, also at Shea. That sealed the deal. I bought plane tickets.

Getting to see Ovlov one last time was especially meaningful to me.We first played with them back in 2011 on an east coast tour and got along with them pretty immediately. On that tour they invited us to their friend’s beach house in Rhode Island. Drinks that night famously consisted almost entirely of Beer 30. We had to leave pretty early the next morning for a long drive to the next show, but awoke to find a bunch of groceries meant for us and a hilariously illegible note from Ovlov and their friend Gator. It was about the coolest thing that had happened to us as a band. Over the next four years, we played with Ovlov many more times and got to know them. They felt like our first real band friends.

I don’t have too many vivid memories from watching them play that last show at Shea. It’s more of a mixture of visceral fleeting moments. Feeling the floor moving, getting my ears blasted, chanting along to “I can’t wait to watch TV”. It was the perfect goodbye to Ovlov, and somehow, in the most cliche way possible, a goodbye to a part of my life. I’ll be in other bands, hopefully I’ll come out to the east coast again and see a lot of the same people. But, that experience, that specific part of my life was gone.

That night, I stayed up with friends waiting until the wee hours of the morning when my flight left LaGuardia. These are the kind of friends that I had the privilege of making from being in a band. The kind that will stay up until 5am after a show to see you off. It was the perfect end to the weekend. All things told, I got to reconnect and hang out with a ton of people that had made my experiences playing in Geronimo so meaningful. It was all I could have hoped for and it made me feel so damn thankful to have had the opportunity to play music and meet all these great people.

By the end of the year, I was back playing music with friends in Chicago. With any luck, 2016 will be a year of first shows, not last ones. New growth. Every year can’t be a 2015, but it’s good to have them every now and then.

-Ben Grigg

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February 6, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Sami Martasian)

sami1
Photograph by Nina Corcoran

In 2014, I was fortunate enough to spend a week in Toronto with Christine Varriale, who has since introduced me to some of my favorite people in music and music writing. One of the more notable introductions was that of Sami Martasian, who was writing alongside Christine at Allston Pudding. Later on, Christine would join Martasian’s folk-leaning project, Puppy Problems. Somewhere in between all of that, I was fortunate enough to get to know Martasian a little better, and it quickly became clear that she’s the type of person that elevates anyone lucky enough to be pulled into her world. It’s a genuine privilege to have some so unfailingly kind, generous, and enormously talented be involved in this project. Her piece for this series is both a celebration of her friends and an examination of an unexpected moment that felt like a small victory for Boston. Read it below and then go spend some time with the people you love.

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Christine and I were working at Boston Calling almost with the sole purpose of catching Krill’s set. They all played a great show but the sound was funky and there was this huge reverb, and when I say huge reverb I mean: extremely fucking huge reverb. I think we were all a little bummed because it was such a big stage and we were so excited for them to be there and we honestly just wanted people to be really into their set (and a lot of people were- it was by no means “bad”, just a little weird).

So the last day rolls around and some of the Allston Pudding bunch and I wind up sticking around after our shift at the festival so we can see Tenacious D and the Pixies. Tenacious D ends up being unexpectedly emotional for a lot of us and kind of takes us back to being in middle school or what have you and getting into music for the first time and I mean come on its Jack Black in person! We’re all tired from working the fest for the past few days and he gets us laughing and a few of us crying like we’re kids again. Soon enough it’s time for the Pixies to play and Jack Black starts hyping them like crazy.

He shouts “WITHOUT THE PIXIES, THERE WOULD BE NO NIRVANA” and the crowd goes totally wild.

He shouts “WITHOUT THE PIXIES, THERE WOULD BE NO WEEZER” and again the crowd goes nuts.

Then Jack Black shouts “WITHOUT THE PIXIES, THERE WOULD BE NO KRILL” and we all just look at each other and lose it.

We’re all practically chanting “holy shit Jack Black said Krill” to each other. The best part of this was knowing that the Krill guys are enormous fans of Jack and that this must have been an incredibly cool moment for them to experience. I think it felt so good because Krill was like this really personal and important band for all of us in different ways- and for someone a lot of us grew up watching, who’s a really big deal in the world, to recognize these hometown heroes felt like a strange victory for our community. We were all messaging Jonah and our friends who weren’t there. It was probably the feeling sports fans get if their team wins.

I remember calling my mom to tell her “mom, okay, do you remember Jack Black? Yeah, think really hard mom…yeah, that guy from School Of Rock… yeah, it was a really good movie, you’re right, but check it out: that guy said ‘Krill’”.

My mom was really happy.

-Sami Martasian

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February 6, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Jessica Leach)

jessica l

A while back, I came across the Basement Babes zine and was immediately floored by the work that was being done. Personal essays about feminism, challenges that still exist because of the arbitrary borders of sexism, and identifying as LGBTQ bled into coverage of Boston’s emerging artists. Smart, nuanced, and important, it’s only managed to get progressively better — and bigger — since its introduction. One of its co-founders, Jessica Leach, was kind enough to submit a piece for this series and zeroes in on how 2015 felt like a step in the right direction for inclusiveness while acknowledging there’s still a lot of work to be done. Read it below and make sure to support the artists who have, historically, been disadvantaged for reasons that don’t even relate to music.

The Voices of 2015

It’s been an incredible year for music overall, but more so, I think, it’s been an incredible year for new voices. I feel that this year has been one of turning the mic toward others, to listening to stories that need to be heard. In admiring that progress, I feel a pang of insecurity. Since I started making this zine called Basement Babes, I’ve made it my mission to see as many female musicians as possible. To learn about all of them and surround myself with the positivity of women making art. I wonder, though, if that’s enough.

In this year, I’ve watched hundreds of shows with the same uncontrollable jealousy. I wish I could make my words loud. I wish I could shout them at crowds, unabashedly. I wish I could be unafraid to cry and stitch my heart to my sleeve. But I am removed. I am far away. I am invisible. I am one head of many, bobbing back and forth, seemingly lost in the music but actually caught in a frenzy of thought and hyper self-awareness.

I have been the girl standing awkwardly in front of the merch table, hoping I seem cool enough. Hoping I don’t say the wrong thing. I have once or twice been the girl behind the mic too, timidly thanking a basement of drunk kids for contributing to a scene that they may care less about than I give them credit for. Being the dutiful emcee to the real artists positioned behind me. Wishing I could give them more of myself but always stopped in my tracks by the anxiety of not being enough.

I make my zines and hope it’s enough. But I watch others with my jealous eyes, and I wonder if they’re feeling what I feel too. If they feel suffocated by the inherent competitiveness of music, of making space, of having your voice heard. I’ve been the girl in the basement at a punk show, knocked over by a man who’s far larger than I, whose carelessness comes from liquor and privilege. I’ve been the girl whose contributions were overlooked, whose presence was rarely acknowledged, dismissed as “probably just someone’s girlfriend.”

I’ve been one of so many girls who’ve encountered sexism in the DIY scene. I hear voices preaching “safe space” and “equality” but no scene is exempt from the poison of it. Boston’s scene isn’t somehow better than others. I am the girl who’s still watching her beer, who’s still listening to her friends talk about survival, who’s still hearing voices that describe fear.

I worry about giving enough, but I also worry about giving too much. I know that I am not alone, despite feeling alienated. I know that my story is still wrought with privilege, despite also being tarnished by disadvantage. But, I see how my peers have made it a mission to give me a space and hear my voice. So, in spite of fear, I am proud. I am proud of all the good things that have happened this year, in Boston and all over the country. I am beaming.

It would do all these accomplishments a disservice, though, to list them as if they were quantifiable. As if I could compare them side by side to other years, measure a time that was more progressive, more worthy of praise, than another. The point of progress is that its imprint is everlasting. The voices we’ve heard this year, whether in music or politics, that have indelibly made us better or worse, their effect trickles into the next year, and the year after that. Every moment in time is just a reincarnation of the one before it, and so I look forward, because all these moments in 2015 that I’ve so cherished are just waiting to be pushed on into a new year. So, 2016, you’re next. Do me proud again. Maybe someday I’ll feel like I am enough. But maybe it’s better if I don’t.

-Jessica Leach

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February 5, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Isabel Reidy)

izzy-true

Troll, Isabel Reidy’s first EP under the Izzy True moniker, was a record I found myself returning to countless times throughout the course of 2015. For whatever reason, those six songs wound up resonating fairly heavily and it was impossible to escape their grasp. Part of it may be that Reidy’s brand of songwriting is so distinctively plaintive but still manages to contain multitudes of acutely realized personal discoveries; it boldly eschews trends and embraces flaws. Incredibly well-versed and ceaselessly intriguing, it’s rewarded every return visit, continuously unfurling its own peculiar world. Reidy maintains full creative control for the piece below as well, recalling the tour stop that served as the introduction to the music of Bryan Reynolds. It’s a fascinating account of the type of moment that makes getting two hours of sleep a night for a few weeks straight completely worthwhile. Read it below and go looking for your own story from the road sometime soon.

Early this spring my buddy Joe (Modern Hut) and I played a show in Providence, RI. It was the final night of a little weekend tour we’d been on. We had just lost almost all of our gas money somewhere between Brooklyn and Rhode Island because Joe said, “let’s go to the casino,” and I said “okay, yes.” I said “okay, yes” because I am learning how to be a ROAD DOG and I believe that is how a ROAD DOG unwinds. Joe is a seasoned ROAD DOG with a deep, unwavering commitment to vice. He was teaching me all he knows. A ROAD DOG knows that throwing all of your money into the trash is a karmic investment towards your future, so it was no surprise that that evening ended up being a very special one. That was the night when we first saw Bryan Reynolds.

Bryan is a tall dude in his twenties with wide set eyes, an angular face, and a big mustache. He was dressed like a gym teacher going to church. It’s hard to remember exactly, but I think he wore a crisp pair of slacks, dress shoes, and a track jacket. There was an odd tension between the way he was dressed and his age- it reminded me of a time in high school when my friends and I shaved a bald spot into my friend’s head, dressed him up in my dad’s clothes, and made him try to buy us beer (mysteriously, this worked). His powers were immense- I could sense that immediately.

The show was held in a warehouse; lamp-lit, vast, and populated with couches in various states of dankness. We drank the $1 tequila and something-or-others from plastic cups while the first band played their numerous instruments for a small eternity. Towards the end of their set I crept into the kitchen to write a set list. There was the mustachio’d Bryan and his personal bottle of whiskey, doing the same. I peeked at his list. Some song titles I remember: “I Smoked Pot”, “Mr. Good-times-roll”, the mysterious “Cucumbers(?)”, and “King of the Road”. I have loved Roger Miller since I was a child. Good omens. My childhood friend who I hadn’t seen in years was there, evidently Bryan was his roommate at the time. Good omens.

There were about ten people at the show, not including the bands, certainly including the people who lived in the space. This was about the speed of all of the shows on that tour. I played. Applause, milling about. Joe played. Applause, milling about. Out came Bryan. He pulled a child sized classical guitar out of a brown paper Stop ‘n’ Shop bag and proceeded to play one of the best shows I have ever seen.

There is no way I can adequately describe what happened that night. So much about the show, when reduced to words could sound calculated, but Bryan’s spirit is pure. I’m certain of that. His songs are deceptive simplicity, but he is an extremely skilled musician. He sings with a rich, clear, tenor croon. Lyrically, he’s cruising at Michael Hurley’s altitude- in terms of performance, he is a spooky Jonathan Richman. For the record, those are my two favorite musicians of all time.

I remember when he busted into “I Smoked Pot” his voice warbled and quivered and peeled out beautifully. When he pulled out a little doo-wop “shoop-shoop-shoop” I had to work very hard not to laugh. Bryan delivered those scat lines with such sincerity that it wasn’t clear whether laughter would be appropriate. I ended up with ache-y smile face. At one point during the set Bryan seemed to get stuck on one chord- he played it over and over and over, eyes closed, rocking back and forth.

He did this for what was probably about five minutes.

It got to the point where I thought he might actually be having some kind of seizure or stroke. I felt genuine fear. I thought about calling an ambulance. Suddenly, seamlessly, he jumped right back into the song. Joe and I kept turning to each other and exchanging “Is this really happening???” faces.

The set ended with “Black Magic”. Bryan was joined by compatriot Adam Souza who was playing the Otamatone, an anthropomorphic musical note shaped instrument which sounds like a ghost type Pokémon dying. Everyone in the crowd knew the words and sang in three-part harmony. I felt like I had stepped into some alternate universe where this guy was a huge celebrity, or a religious figure (or something).

A really talented performer has the ability to transform the atmosphere of a place. The space that Bryan created that night was tense and immense. I know all of this sounds completely hyperbolic, but I really mean it. I walked away feeling deeply confused about the world, like maybe it had been some elaborate prank. I couldn’t tell what was real. That show changed the way I look at performance. I didn’t know it could be so much. Me and Joe have been talking about it ever since. If you are ever in Providence, you have to see this dude.

-Isabel Reidy

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February 5, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Phil McAndrew)

Photograph by Shauna Roloff

Last year, Phil McAndrew (pictured above, behind the kit) delivered a heartfelt piece to the first edition of this series. At the core of that piece was a celebration of his younger brother, Ray, and the music he was making with Perfect Pussy. A little while later, he’d become much more than a supportive voice in the audience and create the distinctive comic accompaniment for Astonishing Adventures!, Perfect Pussy’s ferocious split with Joanna Gruesome. It was another small moment of brilliance in what’s turning into an illustrious career in animation. Even while registering credits for places like MAD Magazine, IFC, Cartoon Network, Random House, and Workman Publishing, McAndrew’s found time to join a band and catch a slew of shows (a few of which I was fortunate enough to be able to take in with him). Below, he covers some of the artists that meant the most to him in 2015 and explores his reintroduction to making music. Read it below and then indulge your own creative sensibilities in any way you see fit.

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2015 was kind of a strange year with lots of ups and downs and sideways and diagonals and such. But if we’re talking strictly music stuff, it was a really excellent year, filled almost entirely with ups.

Thinking back on 2015, I’m flooded with music related memories that felt meaningful in one way or another. Scribbling drawings of my brother Ray and our friend Garret as they started writing the next Perfect Pussy album in my childhood bedroom. Directing a music video for my old friend Jeff York’s new band, Major Player. Hanging out alone late at night and turning the volume way up on new tunes from my brothers Tyler and Ray, who make music together as Toxic Parents and separately in a variety of bands and solo projects like Wealth, Crusher, Perfect Pussy, and MKSEARCH. Getting back into drawing weird flyers for bands my friends play in.

Getting to watch Sleater-Kinney play from backstage at Irving Plaza. Seeing more great shows than I can even count, in huge venues, in small venues, on a pier in Manhattan, in an old car wash, in burrito restaurants and skateboard shops and art spaces, and in basements in my neighborhood…. Sheer Mag, All Dogs, Rainer Maria, Destruction Unit, Really Big Pinecone, Izzy True, Downtown Boys, Fleabite, Harmonica Lewinski, Deerhoof, Warehouse, Pretengineer, Arm Candy, Speedy Ortiz, Olivia Neutron-John, Big Ups, Pity Sex, Aye Nako, Nine of Swords, Waxahatchee, Mannequin Pussy, and dozens of others.

The most meaningful thing that happened for me this year was that I myself started playing music again after a very long hiatus. I hadn’t played drums since sometime in 2010, when jobs and grad school and relationships scattered the members of the bands I used to play in to different states. Five years and two cross-country moves later, my friend and old next-door neighbor Mim asked if I’d be interested in taking over on drums in her band, The Nudes. Right around the same time, my friend and current roommate Shauna, started playing bass in the band (they’d never had a bassist before). I’ve loved The Nudes since I first saw them play when I moved back to upstate New York from Southern California in 2013, so I was pretty thrilled to be asked to play with them.

We’ve played a lot of shows since I joined The Nudes over the summer. My favorite show was here in Syracuse in October with local favorites Malvinas, fellow upstate New Yorkers Green Dreams, and the great Worriers, whose most recent album I can’t stop listening to. The show was packed and everyone was in high spirits. I saw so many smiles at this show. I saw people of all sizes and genders bouncing around together as the bands played, getting wiggly and weird and laughing. Nobody was dancing like a violent psychopath. Everything about this show felt right. It was all of the good things that I missed about playing in bands.

2014 was all about watching my brothers and friends do cool things and conquer the world, only participating in the music scene in my own small, non-musical ways. That continued into 2015, but to get back into playing music myself in a band I love with people I love was nothing less than magical.

-Phil McAndrew

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February 4, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Fred Thomas)

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No song in 2015 hit me as hard as All Are Saved‘s lead-off track, “Every Song Sung To A Dog“, a devastating eulogy from Fred Thomas that was addressed to the dog that inspired his preceding record, Kuma. That song, a startling highlight from a brilliant record (and a personal pick for one of 2015’s best songs), cuts deeply in a way that feels bravely unapologetic. It’s told with the acute attention to detail that drew me to Thomas in the first place back when he was still making music with Saturday Looks Good To Me, a band that remains fiercely beloved by a small (but thankfully growing) group of people. So much of what Thomas is able to convey in prose is so firmly grounded in (frequently mundane) reality that the angle he takes for his piece here probably shouldn’t be too much of a surprise. Below, Thomas takes on the decision to leave his job to open up creative doors and the ways that decision has been paying dividends on a personal and professional level. Read it all below and remember to never give up on the things you love.

At the end of 2011, I got my first “real job”, the kind with a desk and insurance and a water cooler with beleaguered co-workers standing around it waiting for the weekend. This came well into adulthood and after years of opting for part-time employment at record shops, DJ gigs, service jobs or anything else that could be left with almost no notice when it was time to go on tour for six weeks or skip town to work on a record.

It was an almost by-the-numbers cliché of the struggling musician lifestyle, but I’d been noticing less and less of the people I’d started down that road with sticking it out like I was. The line between chasing the dream and spinning the wheels was always blurry, and this job– as cool of a straight job as one could get, writing record reviews for the longest running internet music database– represented a manageable way out of the uncertainty I’d been living with forever.

At the bar a few nights before I was to start this new 40 hours a week regular gig, I got some skeptical feedback from a friend who was always good for contrary perspectives, but sometimes not far off the mark with his snark. “I don’t know, man. Seems like you’ll be fine sitting around writing about music but after a while you’re just gonna want to be out there making it.”

The next three and a half years were basically a protracted pause in that conversation, ultimately ending with me sighing loudly and replying “Yeah, you’re right.” By the start of 2015 I’d made my place at this corporately-owned little music site, growing accustomed to rush hour, performance reviews and all the other Office Space shit I’d never given a thought to before. I’d also managed to stay remarkably active in the punk world I thought I was leaving behind, playing upwards of 80 shows a year, even if they were mostly local jams and doing more with my tape label and zines than ever.

When I started the job I was excited about slowly disappearing from the culture I’d grown up in, romantically imagining the handful of people who were interested in my music wondering where I’d gone. For a time, I worked on making that self-centered fantasy true, putting out a vibe that playing shows and being part of the music community wasn’t really where I was at anymore. I talked with wide-eyed longing about starting a small welding business and putting all my energy into that.

Regardless, however, of everything I tried to talk myself into, there was always more creative work to do and it was always more important than clocking in on time on Monday morning. Quitting my first “real job” in April of 2015 was as much of an afterthought for me as walking out on numerous dishwashing jobs had been a decade beforehand. I put in my notice after coming home from a tour of the south with Deerhoof that ate up my vacation days and required six different documents approved by a chain of management.

I woke up on my last day sick as hell, having stayed up all night recording a sludge metal band at the studio I’d been moonlighting at. It would have been hilarious to call in sick, but I went in anyway. I was leaving for a month of shows again in a week and needed to use the office copier one last time to make free color copies for the tapes I was bringing on tour.

2015 ended up being one of the most important and intense years of my life, with more changes and personal growth than any time before it. More things in my life moved forward than I could even get into in this space, and almost all of it was helped along by quitting my job to focus once again on making music, art, and the art that is being out in the world talking to other people who are also trying to find a way that feels like their own.

-Fred Thomas

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February 4, 2016

2015: A Year’s Worth of Memories (Tica Douglas)

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One of the quietest surprises of 2015 was a miniature masterpiece of self-dissection offered up by Tica Douglas in Joey. A masterful take on gender and general identity that was laced with as much endearing self-deprecation as bruised hope, it remains a startling listen (and few records packed a 1-2 punch as powerful as “Black & White” and “All Meanness Be Gone“). Easily one of 2015’s most notable — and heartening — records, it also expanded the attention Douglas’ music was receiving, both on a critical and commercial basis. Below, Douglas talks about rediscovering some childhood advice to find the courage to perform some extremely personal songs in front of a group of people who’d been there since the beginning. Read it all below.

Last June I booked a tour to celebrate the release of my newest record, Joey. Compared to my last tours, this one was short and sweet. The whole thing took only about two weeks and the farthest North I went was Portland, Maine — my hometown. Joey’s my most up-close-and-personal record yet; it explores the joy and melancholy of my lifelong gender confusion. I hadn’t really thought about what it would be like to play these revealing songs live in front of my family and friends until the drive north, the day of the show.

I was hungover. I’d played Burlington, VT the night before. It turned out that my cousins who lived there worked at the big sports bar right in the center of town. They were kind of the dual queens of the whole operation. That meant that after playing a low-key set at the quiet art gallery next door, I sidled up awkwardly with my guitar between dudes playing Buck Hunter and Darts, and watched as my cousins gracefully fielded this crowd, handing me free shots and beers in between quick catch-ups.

The next morning, Andrew drove while I sat in the passenger seat, my head swooning in and out of nauseous aching. What a weird scene last night, I thought. Andrew interrupted my stalled thinking, asking if I was psyched to play Portland tonight. My stomach twisted a little. I remembered a text message I got from my mom earlier in the week: “excited 4 show. all aunts r coming, grammy too. plus gina told everyone. should be a big turnout!!! ms. fox will be there.”

I closed my eyes and placed my head against the cold window. Suddenly, the full weight of what was about to happen descended on me. I would be onstage alone, without a band to hide behind, singing personal details about the complexities of growing up in-between to the people I grew up next to. I don’t exactly know why that prospect was so daunting, but it was. I’ve always found it easier to play for strangers.

Luckily, I was too brain-dead at the moment to overthink it. Mile by mile we got closer to home, while Andrew and I flipped through his middle school CD jacket.

But as we drove over the big green metal bridge, the only southern entry “To All Maine Points,” my body faced what my brain wouldn’t, every part of it tied up with nervous energy.

My anxiety peaked as we loaded into the venue. I called Gracie. I told her I didn’t know if I could do this. I didn’t know if I wanted to. I wasn’t even sure why. It just felt loaded, and really awkward.

I paced back and forth outside a bit trying to calm my body down. I smoked a cigarette in secret. I talked to myself. I focused on my breath. Then, right before it was time to go on, I remembered some advice my mom gave me when I was a kid. I had terrible separation anxiety and I was scared to go on a field trip with my class. She told me: whenever you start to feel anxious, like you’re spiraling, focus on someone else. Do something for them, make them feel better. It will take your mind off you. It will help.

It was time to go on. I went to the stage and looked out at the crowd. My family — old teachers, middle school and high school friends, people I hadn’t seen in years — they were all there, smiling up at me, yelling little cheers, whistling, waiting for me to start. Things moved in slow-motion in those first seconds, as I scanned the crowd and saw each of the many faces in perfect clarity.

It hit me that these people are the reason that I, in all my mixed-up in-between-ness, have been able to access joy in my life. Whether or not they knew the details I was about to sing to them, they always understood me, always loved and encouraged the me that I was. I know how lucky that is. This performance wasn’t about me, it had nothing to do with me. Fuck feeling awkward. What a small feeling. This was about expressing my deepest gratitude to my home, to the people who raised me, who allowed Joey to exist.

I was momentarily and unexpectedly overcome with emotion seeing these faces. Especially my mom’s. When I was five, in the car on the way to my first day of kindergarten, I confessed to my mom that I felt like a boy, without fully even understanding what that meant, and I asked her if that was okay. She didn’t seem caught off guard. In fact, it felt like she’d been waiting for this question my whole life. She told me: It’s more than okay. It’s a special gift. Even though it will be painful at times, always know it’s a blessing. You were made special. That moment determined the rest of my life. My mom made me feel special and not shameful about how I didn’t quite fit, and I’ve carried that confidence alongside my confusion everywhere since. I’m thankful for this moment everyday. I recognize how incredibly rare it is.

I closed my eyes and started playing. I thought of my mom. I thought of everyone in the audience. I tried to give them this performance in my deepest thanks. My anxiety disappeared. It was the best show I played on tour, possibly all year.

-Tica Douglas

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