Album Review: WOW - Come La Notte

Shadowy cinematic psychedelic pop out of Italy, that could have been written for a David Lynch film with ambitions for mainstream crossover appeal. Combining light oaky percussion, with ghostly synths, ambling guitars, and sultry vocals, the dusky ye-ye duo known as WOW cut an evocative and haunting sonic silhouette on their fourth album, Come La Notte. This is an effortlessly cool record that can be easily slotted into a late-night rendezvous with a good book or a long evening drive for an indelible interjection of je ne sais quoi. Opener “Come La Notte” has a somber spaghetti-western vibe to it, “Nina” adds some lush sweeping vocal harmonies to the mix, while “Morire Per Amore” has a timeless ‘60s psych-R’nB quality, and “Occhi Di Serpente” casts a deep and alluring spell with its trancey saturated bassline and tide-rolling melody. A truly strange and delightful listen.

Find more records to sink your teeth into from Maple Death. 

Interview: ESP Mayhem

Deploying a sonic barrage of culture-jamming ballistics from the savanna of perdition that is Neo-Melbourne, ESP Mayhem is the EVP of the ghost in the machine. On a day like today, and in an age like our own, we are all plugged in like flesh transistors neuralinked into a info-validating supply chain that stamps the leveled realities and hyperreal phantasms auto-generated by smiling maskless faces acting as temporary receivers of a transient silicon-threshed symbolic order with the briefest of imprint of our consciousness before consigning these bubbles of fleeting joy to the abyss along with a fragment of our souls- like gum smeared on plywood. ESP Mayhem extends themselves through the gates, ports and check-passes of the nauseatingly manifold mirage of digital excess and unclarity that define the quicksand-like qualities of the concrete world to bully the leveler pullers and burst the tension of the spell that's been cast over us- finding salvation through sublation and recuperating their humanity through agitated accelerationism. Their latest EP Cyber Bully emerged in 2024 to shake down crypto nerds and relieve them of the burden of their hallucinatory lucre while reshuffling the static of stultifying overexcitement that snow blinds our perception in the hopes that a dose of the right kind of chaos can produce an epiphany of eschatological significance... that and they really just like to fuck shit up. You can check out my interview with the band below; it reads a little like the manifesto of a terrorist sect that Johnny Mnemonic might have had to rely on in a pinch for information and logistics. It gets giga-gonzo, you've been warned. 

Who participates in ESP Mayhem, and how do they contribute?

Bruce - Synth; Clock - Vocals; K@rrl - Synth; Klown - Synth; Ralph - Drums. We might change the names and/or people around in the future.

What is the thesis or animating logic behind the group?

In our view, extreme music is an arms race. It's a race that can never be won because the escalation will never stop. The goal is to make the most unsentimentally rageous [sic] and mechanistically horny music we can. Even if we do something that reaches the goal it’s already history because it’s just a matter of time until it’s surpassed. The only options are to go even further or give up. Hyperextend until you explode.

How did you settle on your name?

We decided our logo should combine a metal band’s logo and a logo from outside that world. The combined logos had to form a phrase or word that worked as a band name independent of the source material, and the component logos had to have finger-snap recognisability. There was a very short list of bands, brands and logos that worked. We appropriated Mayhem and ESPN as a graphic shorthand for sonic extremity on the one hand, and the sublimation of violence through spectacle on the other. We chopped “ESPN” down to “ESP”, in the sense of “Extra-Sensory-Perception”, to underline the psychic dimension. Hence ESP Mayhem. The name means no distinction between our music and everything else in the product-scape, no brakes on our out-of-control hubris, and no limits on what we’re prepared to steal.

Why grindcore?

Grindcore is obsessed with aggressive hyper-velocity, instantaneity and disposability. It’s also very information-dense, lots of notes in a hyper compressed burst. Tension, information overload, everything moving too fast - those are the only things in our lives anyway so it’d be dishonest to fuck around with anything else. It’s no accident that mass-entertainment is taking on more and more grindcore-like proportions and gestures. Because everyone feels and thinks this way now. It’s basically the most realistic music of all time.

Are you inspired by the work of other metal performers, or do your influences lie mainly elsewhere?

Melbourne has produced some great grindcore bands so we were lucky to see the style played by some of the best to do it. That’s the foundation of how we understand fast music and how we think it should feel. But we always want something more absurd and more brain-cracking. So we also plagiarise from the most antisocially jacked up, hyperactive dance music - speedcore, anything out of Newcastle (NSW) etc. There’s some worthless computer-world dross mashed in as well, nightcore and ear-biting 8 bit arpeggiation, high-fructose trash sounds designed to fry your pleasure centres [sic] into pouring more money/time down the shitter. Other than that, we just regurgitate the rising tempo of the sensory pummelling we’ve endured our entire lives, in the same way you might make yourself throw up after ill-advisedly eating a mysterious wrong-address delivery meal you find on your doorstep. IE an unpleasant but necessary action to avoid shitting yourself later on.

Was it a deliberate choice to exclude guitars from your ensemble, and if so, why?

It was an accidental, revelatory, bad, great idea. We happened to plug a synthesizer into a guitar amp and discovered you could make noise that lands like a tungsten cube dropped from orbit. No nuance or warmth, just pure force. But none of us had any experience playing electronic music. We don’t really understand how the instruments work, and we’re all intellectually paralysed from too much high pressure/low duration media (grindcore and grindcore-ized media in general) so it’s nearly impossible for us to learn. But synthesizers are just too loud and we’re addicted to power so we can’t stop. If someone accidentally bumps their instrument it instantly blows everyone’s ears out and we all scream in pain. It’s awful.

What was the thought process going into your latest release, Cyber Bully?

We wanted it to sound like Megatron trying to auto-fellate and accidentally machine-gunning his own head off. More piercing sonic aggression, more jarring speed-to-dance transitions, more blatantly ripping things off, more gleeful mockery and disrespect, just more. There’s no point or really any possibility of subtlety or thoughtfulness now so we always want to go as far and fast in the wrong direction as we can.

What are your thoughts on the circularity of time and history?

Time and history are circular, but also linear. We have no evidence to back this up, we just infer it from the overall feeling of constant upheaval combined with total inertia.

How do the contradictory but intersecting modern phenomena of stultifying boredom and constant excitement and/or agitation play out through your work?

Things are so continuously exciting now that excitement itself has become experientially boring, because it never lets up. Like when was the last time you didn’t feel angry, horny, scared or otherwise wound up. And it’s not just you, everyone is sitting there in a state of private agitation. But it’s not like you can opt out of the situation, so why not go further. There’s an episode of the TV show Max Headroom, where watching a high speed advertisement is found to spike the viewer’s nervous system to the point that they spontaneously combust. Ratchet up the boredom, ratchet up the pressure until the whole thing explodes in media-induced, self-obliterating tedium. You should be trying to cross that line, one way or another. Extreme boredom makes extreme music.

How does your work draw attention to the invasive nature of technology and underscore our intimacy with it?

Our band setup is like reverse-cybergrind, we kept the drummer and replaced all the guitars with prosumer electronic equipment. IE more unwanted and unasked-for change for the sake of it masked as “innovation” and “development”. It’s like what we see with technology, but even more stupid. People don’t really want it but we keep pushing it on them and eventually they give in. A few people might say it’s good, they don’t really think that, we just shoved it in their faces til they thought they did. After we convince them, it's not too long til they think they convinced themselves. But unlike the technologists we make no claim to be improving anything. We’re making things worse and more difficult, so perversely actually making things better.

How do you think our interactions with information technology, particularly social media, transform and augment our sense of identity and place in the world?

The Self As Asset has been realised through social media - the kipple machine that crushes everything into advertising, as it simultaneously crushes advertising into everything. The term Personal Brand used to get thrown around but you don’t hear it now cause the concept has become so internalised that it’s redundant - of course a person is a brand, why bring it up. Between Personal Branding and Corporate Personhood a circle is completed - on the one hand people take on the characteristics of brands, and on the other corporations take the characteristics of people. We’re encouraged to understand ourselves through the language of therapy but we should use the language of marketing instead, it’s more accurate.

How does the concept of "junkspace" relate to your approach, outlook, and output?

Neo-Melbourne is a quintessential junkspace. It’s like living in a big cardboard box full of print-on-demand neon signage. All lowest-bid-contract dross stretched over the skeleton of a failed plan. Nothing rings true here and things don’t work out for the good. So ESPM makes something else from the junk. We grab whatever we like and use it however we can to advance our project. You see the bare bones of everything we ripped off and how starkly we smashed it all together, a junkspace aesthetic. But it conforms to our logic now. The incongruities made sense all along, we are just stacking the pieces up in a way that makes the pattern reveal itself.

What is the value of novelty in popular culture at this moment? Is it still attainable, is it worth pursuing?

It’s not attainable but it’s worth pursuing. With pop culture It’s more straightforward and more rewarding to repeat things, and in life it’s easier to do nothing at all. But tomorrow will arrive whether you want it or not. And you have to put an idea forward if you don’t want more of the same. If we have to live in a bullshit future then we’re gonna try and make it our bullshit, not someone else’s, stinking the place up. And everyone else’s bullshit is ours now anyway. Intellectual property is theft and anyone bristling at their art/bullshit being stolen is dumb for imagining they’re losing something and a cop for caring. All we have ever done is lift so many touchstones from the manic ends of popular culture and music scenes into the one mix, so there’s nothing really new. But on paper ESP Mayhem is a novelty act because of what we steal and why. We would go further and say that now, every act should be a novelty act, and this is the only way to stay ahead of the kipple machine. Realise your own delusions or steal ours and turn it into something else, we don’t care. But you are either a novelty act or you enter the kipple factory, that’s the choice.

What if any, are the beneficial and ethical uses for AI in art and creative endeavors at this stage of its technological development?

There’s no ethical use for AI because it’s a big machine for ripping things off. ESPM is in direct competition with AI in that regard. And we are winning. With all the money and raw intellectual horsepower sloshing around in the AI industries it should be the other way around but no, we can rip things off faster, more totally and more fluently than the stupid AIs. That’s where we’re at, historically speaking. The great white hope of technological advancement has been outperformed by a synthgrind band from the Cleveland of the southern hemisphere. It’s a grim outlook.

What does the term "cyberpunk" mean to you in relation to your work, if anything?

“Neo-Melbourne” alludes to the idea that all those old Cyberpunk stories have been more or less realised in our present day. But the term cyberpunk is historical now, it makes sense as a pinterest moodboard but doesn’t quite capture the flavour of this moment. We need a new anachronistic portmanteau to describe a world of grinning human sharks swimming upstream in a sea of techno-garbage. It should keep the “social technics vs music subculture” form of “Cyberpunk”, but instead blend the relentless pumping of uptempo hardcore, with overblown CCRU-style net-mysticism. Something like Xenodonk, or Deus Ex Makina.

What is the most dystopian part of living in Melbourne?

Smelling the countryside burn as you walk past 3-million-dollar townhouses in your old neighbourhood.

Album Review: Pinky Lemon - Pinky Hell

Admitting this will likely make me sound completely unhinged, but whenever I order a drink at a restaurant or a kiosk, I have an irrational paranoia that the person preparing my order is going to bleed in it. This has never happened in experience (as far as I know), and it doesn't cause me much anxiety, but whenever I watch someone pouring coffee or dispensing juice, I can't help but think, "If they got a nosebleed right now, there is only about a foot between their nostrils and my beverage, and then my drink could end up with an extra-iron supplement in it." I can't account for this aspect of my psychology. It could be the result of some starved desire for affection (not that my conscious mind is aware of such a deficit) or the rendering down of the literal transaction occurring (me buying a coffee) into base biological terms (there is a fluid transfer from the barista to me in exchange for currency). Whatever it is, the reality of someone adding their own brand of syrup extract to my morning joe probably wouldn't be that bad for me- the iron would help me maintain my own hemoglobin and might even assist me in warding off restless leg syndrome. Now that I've put this out into the world, someone is probably going to pass me a pink lemonade that they flavored themselves just to vindicate me and my anguished fixations for no reason other than I was foolish enough to say something about one of my mild phobias in public. Oh well, I can always use more viscera to liven up my day- I seek it out in movies, video games and music, why not in everything I consume? Sometimes I think it's the lack of carnality that keeps me from celebrating the shoegaze "revival" as much as others. It's not that I never write about shoegaze bands... It's just that it can be a challenge to get excited about release after release of nearly indistinguishable waves of distortion and weightlessness, inconsequential vocal deliveries that all too often define the genre. D.C.'s Pinky Lemon feels like they are headed in the right direction on their 2024 EP, Pinky Hell, though. I would certainly describe the group as part of the footgazi resurgence taking hold in the corridor between Philadelphia and the Capitol at the moment, but like Soft Body 2, the distortion and feedback that they rely on is slightly more crystalized and concretely compelling than what you might find elsewhere, helping to further focus the sharply toothsome rhythms that they employ. The interplay between groove and texture is a very important sight of exploration for the band, with many moments on Pinky Hell conjuring for me something akin to the spooky, danceable crisis of an early '00s witch house mix, one that reinterprets My Blood Valentine as a sort of lost media artifact, reconstructed from scrapes and slivers extracted from the detritus of an abandoned vaporwave YouTube channel. Opener, "Floodgate" sounds strikingly blown out, saturating the senses with dreamy chords that cluster around the ears like stray daydreams, emitting strobes of brilliant variegated thunder before dissipating into a mist of nectarous talc. The following track, "1 MIL" confirms the overall embodied nature of the album, a suitably urgent pop-punk pounce that skitters on its nails like a cat on ice through portals of elegant clarity- a struggle for preeminence that it can only glimpse before collapsing back into its fleshy confines, and ultimately stumbling over the border of safety and into a discordant gap of mechanical cardiac cycles that is "Reuploading." The reverent plunge of "Cheer" sounds like the band slow-motion crashing a space cruiser they boosted from an Ultra Deluxe album's lore, only to survive their mishap by ruggedly reverting to a post-amplified state of acoustic punk, that graciously molts into a blossom of dissident Deftones inflected tweecore on "i died // nvm." Through all its changes and transgressions, Pinky Hell ultimately settles into its final form on "2 MIL," a breakbeat-backed soul-scrubber that feels like it's exfoliating a deep region of your essence with its raw, contorting chords and cooling scrapes of glassy-glinting synths that ends as abruptly as a title card reading "To be continued...". A sanguine parting note for one hell of an album. 

Album Review: Ails - The Unraveling

Ails was the second phase of vocalist Laurie Shanaman and guitarist Christy Cather’s life work of reshaping the American metal scene. The duo first played together in the phenomenal black metal band Ludicra, where they advanced a fresh take on the acidic hail-storm of second-wave blast-beats and tremulous, while adding a momentous sense of atmosphere and vamperic folk-rock, complemented by Shanaman’s amphibious growl and the occasional clean singing segment. Ails on their LP, The Unraveling, is a less straightforward rock project than their previous band. Here they double down on bleak, damp atmosphere, not in a metal hipster, “ambient” or shoegazey kind of way, instead embracing elements of death-doom a la Hooded Menace, while striving to write serrated, alienating riffs that fulfill the eldritch covenant of their Nordic forbearers. The harsh whirlwind of cresting tremulous, coiling grooves, acid-plaque feedback, and wounded female vocal squalls may not be welcoming to the uninitiated, but given a chance, these tortured missives can be a cathartic departure for you and your more adventurous listeners. 

The Unraveling is Ails’s debut LP released by the practitioners of dark, inscrutable sound curation over at The Flenser, and unfortunately, it may also be their last as it was released in 2018, and they have yet to produce a successor. Another vibrant alternative metal project, cut down in its youth by expositio, or maybe lack thereof...

Album Review: Michael Cera Palin - We Could Be Brave

I'd be very surprised to learn that any of the guys from Atlanta's Michael Cera Pallin could see another country from their house- even if they were to stand on their roofs and hike up on their toes. Atlanta's pretty far removed from most internationally recognized partitions, unless there is a micronation nearby like Petoria that I'm oblivious to.* But who am I kidding (Not you! I'm nothing but honest with you!), being part of a scene and a subculture can be like being a member of your own private nation in some ways- there are customs and borders, anthems and sites of worship, ambassadors and refugees, etc...-  so I guess you could say that they see another foreign provenance from their place of residence after all, observing the clueless barbarian roaming around the city gates of their polity, blind to the riches concealed from their line of sight. If you could count yourself so bold, curious, and gallant, then maybe you could find yourself an honored guest, or at least an unmolested tourist, within their domain. Personally, I'm taking MCP's debut LP We Could Be Brave, as just that, a summons to a world beyond my provincial purview. Take, if you will, the stocky punch and roll of opener "Feast or Famine," which mediates the strummy affectedness of Mom Jeans with an overhanded volley approach to PUP venerating melody, dipping around your defenses and rocking you with a stunning ploy of earnest reflection and whiplash-hooks- it's almost too insistent that you give into band's steering command- lassoing you with elastic rhythms and reeling you into a zone of near claustrophobic catharsis. The next track is even more emphatic, acting like a cyclone that siphons the grief, pride, and fervor of the Mid-West and Great Lakes regions and funnels them into a concentrated etching tool that the band uses to carve their debts and deficiencies into the sands of time, only to witness them being washed away by the ripples and tides their own presence produces in the waters of Chronos- wiping the slate as if it were marked with mere chalk and not the fragments of past selves. Elsewhere, a rain of fluttering portraits showers from above, scattering and plastering themselves against burning pillars of searching clarity caught in counter-currents of amplified distortion and clashing social principles on the flea-bitten stinger "Murder Hornet Fursona"- the high points of which are met with, almost like the repetition of a poem, in a variation on mood, in the audacious and post-punky dip and drag of the justifiably discourteous, twinkle-spark scan "Gracious." Later down the line, we encounter "Despite," which sounds like the afterthoughts that bubble up out of the slick of mud that's been washed off a clear conscience, followed by the bashy balancing act "Broken Face," which teeters on the margins of both self-help and self-implosion without any apparent indicators as to which demarcation it would prefer to land. It's fitting, but rarely encountered that an album will conclude with the title track, almost like a final curtain drop after the listener has been pulled up on stage to take part in the closing bow- this bow lasts for 11 minutes though, and transitions through several fiery build-ups and busts, making the conclusion of the album more like an obstacle course you run with friends rather than a soft breathy kiss goodnight (not that it doesn't contain an appropriate air of finality- the band just seems to have trouble letting you go by the end after having spent so much time to get to know you). There are those who are could be brave enough to be themselves and seek out kindred souls, and then there are those who are brave enough to step fully into such a commonwealth of kinship- I think, despite their modesty, Michael Cera Palin can be counted as the latter.

Big Scary Monsters, living in the milk crates in your closet, warding off the bad vibes that float in through the vents. 

*If memory serves, there was a breakaway sect of the Kingdom of Talossa that settled there at one point. 

Album Review: Earth Heart - Homesick

Digging into the back of my crates to find the unrequited relics of a previous eon of musical obsession. When my lungs look like two bowls of spilled porridge running down the rungs of my rib cage from breathing in all this disintegrated binding glue spewed from crumbling heaps of vinyl, I hope you kids will appreciate what I've done for you here... who am I kidding? I'd do this sort of thing even if it didn't pay!* Lock in because I've got a sleeper hit** for y'all, salvaged from the dumpster fire of 2016. A gem passed from one dying era to another. Buzzy, angular garage rock out of Boston, MA, that knows no limits, up to and including the maximum gain on their amps- torquing that sucker all the way over and then popping it off like a loose toenail. Earth Heart is the kind of stabby, rudimentary rock that was more or less prototypical indie-sleaze rock, released at just about the time that all the filth and vital furry had rung from that scene's collective amygdalas. Homesick is their debut and final LP, the end was the beginning, and the beginning was the end, and so on you see. Instrumentally, they're pretty much Joy Division meets the Thermals with surf guitars. Vocally, we have something like Cassie Ramone doing an Iggy Pop impersonation. Pitchfork would have rubbed themselves raw over this album had it dropped during the first Obama administration, but back in '16 they were too busy chasing ad payola and playing footsie with pop-star publicists to singe their prissy little fingers on Earth Heart's fire-digging frenzy. And now? Well, now they have better things to do, apparently, like pushing high gloss photos and premium cologne on a demographic that barely deodorizes and regularly wears Ts and jeans to graduation parties and family funerals alike.*** That's fine. Their loss. You're here and not there because you and I know where the goods are buried, and hate to get our feet wet- so we seek higher ground and avoid sinking ships. Speaking of high points, the songwriting on Homesick is as classic as it comes, simplistic, even riffy, and wonderfully uncomplicated with a reverb-y finish. My favorite track on the album is probably “Homesick” with its carefree air and stipulated jangle guitars, drawing lyrically from singer Katie Coriander’s years as a bald-headed vagabond, squatting across the country after spontaneously throwing away all her possessions and abandoning her apartment. I’d also recommend the stumbling, dark rockabilly cruiser “Burn,” and the rhythmic post-punky twirl of “Iron Lung” as good places to start. Really though there is no bad place to drop the needle on this one. Even almost a decade into its existence, Homesick holds up as a statement in its own right, as well as a final flaring whisp of a waning era- sturdy as it is stirring- dependable even as the passion it excuses threatens to burn the casa that it's raised down to the floorboards. 

* Which incidentally it doesn't! 

** A comatose hit, tbh.

*** Men! I'm talking about you, you shlubs! 

Album Review: Chancha Via Circuito & El Búho - Tenalach

Chancha Via Circuito is an Argentinian folk artist and hip-hop producer who I would have considered the tip of the cumbia music revival spear back when I first discovered him in 2018. I couldn't tell you if his stuff is still considered cutting edge in those spaces anymore, as I lost the pulse of where Latin folk meets contemporary electronic music about three years ago. However, I'm glad that I'm revisiting his work, as it's introducing me to his second collab with British-born, Latin-beat empresario El Búho, a bright and atmospherically dense EP titled, Tenalach. Chancha Via Circuito's music integrates a number of pan-South American influences into his compositions, including dancehall, Andean folk, and southern hemisphere house, all of which blend wonderfully with El Búho's skill for smoothing out rhythms and heightening the aura of a mix in order to embellish it's layered, furtive secrets. For Tenalach the duo leads the listener deep into the green hearth at the center of a cathedral made of lush living walls- the gate to a digital wilderness and sandbox of sorts where your body can become as weightless as a dancing leaf or as settled and firm as the trunk of a great tree- where the possibilities of adventure and etching one's own radical form of semiotics are limitless, but not as myriad as the furrows for acquiescence into the mossy, aboding logic of the lavishly and iconically abundant glade of this emaculatly cultivated environ. In short, it is what the soundtrack to EarthBound might have sounded like if it had taken a detour through the Serranía de Chiribiquete before hitting a sidequest in the Andes. There might not be any place like home, but there is truly no other place quite like Tenalach. 

Shake it more with Shika Shika.

Album Review: Shady Lady and the Malefactor - A Nickname

With the world perpetually feeling like it's about to lurch off its axis and go peeling off into the starry abyss, keeping yourself out of a state of delirium can be a full-time commitment. Like with any long-term obligations, though, sometimes you just need a break and to let yourself have a manic episode now and again- you know, as a little treat. That seems to be the angle Swedish synth-punks Shady Lady and the Malefactor are coming from, and it's working out just dandy for them on their peculiarly monikered debut EP, A Nickname. Sounding like a demented B-52s who have timeskipped backward from a S.T.A.L.K.E.R.-esque future hellscape to our present day, they embody a playfully antagonistic bacchanal of paranoia and tinfoil-chewing tenacity, folded into the ragged swaddle of siren-spiral sonics, lances of lysergic oscillations, and an afterburn of radiant space-aged sanguinity that's become twisted and scorched to the bone while plummeting through the acidic atmosphere of our waste-trap of a planet. Big proclamatory hooks hassle the senses and redecorate the interior of your headcase to make it ready for a host of unsettled moods, observations, and atypical trysts in a kind of inverted cerebral feng shui, digging out a firepit atop your brainstem in which a blaze of impish psychic turmoil can burn unobstructed. It all might be a bit much to swallow if it weren't so infectiously catchy, but there is no panacea for this kind of cognitive virus Shady Lady and the Malefactor are passing around- you just have to let this strain of rock and roll rubella roil until the fever breaks- which frankly, doesn't seem likely to happen any time soon. Get ready to spin-out in style! 

Album Review: Isiliel - 月虹創聖記

It almost seems like a lifetime since Myrkur released her debut self-titled on Relapse- 10 years might as well be a century the way things change in music, but I still recall the weird and contentious debates around that record's cross-pollination of black metal, folk, and pop like it was yesterday. People can be very protective of the things they care about, and music is no exception, especially when you start mixing fruits and porridge- regardless of how delicious the results may be. Myrkur has since gone strictly folk, which suits her, but it leaves room for others to take the spotlight in her stead. I'm not saying that Japan's Isiliel is an exact match for the absentee Myrkur, but she indeed represents a compelling condensation point between many of the same sonic trends- although manifesting in a more heroic overall embodiment of their provocative virtues. On her debut 月虹創聖記, Isiliel dons the persona of a warrior-priestess, a triumphant pillar of dark, feminine strength- as sturdy as a mountain and twice as imposing. Representing here a deified personification of elemental forces, I have no doubt that if her (hypothetical, or actual, as the case may be) daughter were kidnapped by the lord of the underworld, she'd almost certainly be capable of storming the gates of hell and rescuing her offspring on her own, but would probably bring to bear 6 months of winter to blight the land afterward anyway, as a show of strength and a warning to any deviant daemon who might try to pull the same antics as the last chump. While she may appear like an icey demoness to her foes, hyperborean sleat is not her only, or even primary weapon, as Isiliel could effortlessly melt a glacier with the force and heat of her voice alone, meaning that whatever cold snap might be gripping your heart when you put on 月虹創聖記 has about a snowball's chance in hell of surviving until the final crescendo. Strength alone does not carry the day, though, as it's not simply the power of Isiliel performance that makes it remarkable but also its dexterity, as it deftly weaves between cutting glances of tremolo guitars, above galloping blast-beats, and around an outcropping of traditional instrumentation like an arrow guided by the preternatural-skill of a master archer, curving betwixt trees, rocks, and other natural obstructions in order to strike at the center of her enemies' breast. Verily, Isiliel could be your worst nightmare or your greatest ally; it all depends on how much due deference and adoration you bestow on this lady of snow and steel. 

Isiliel rides on but one chariot and its name is Imperiet IV. 

Album Review: Meatwound - Culero

Meatwound... what a fucking name. It could either be a butcher's term of art or a tactless way of describing a condition that will require half a dozen stitches and a trip to the ER... in either case, it's most certainly a name befitting a sludgy hardcore band out of Florida. Meatwound haven't been particularly active since 2019, but that was a big year for them, so I suppose they've earned a vacay (or a dirt nap). Why was it so eventful? Well, it's the year they released their most ambitious album to date, Cularo, a menacing slab of boggy, strong-arming putrescence that will slap across your soon-to-be bruised, fat little cherub cheeks like it was made to order. Culero (“coward” en español, but can mean much worse things based on the context) is slightly more atmospheric than their 2017 LP Largo, but maintains the sludgy, Helmet meets Unsane strain of punk the band has cultivated since 2015's Addio. Heavy, caustic, unbalanced hardcore with deliberate and dynamic rhythms and concrete cracking beats, their sound on this LP is not quite as methodical as Fistula, and not nearly as adventurous as Unwound, but manages to be just potent and weighty as the former and exciting in execution as the latter. This freshly elected atmospheric direction the band has taken to slithering down is best exhibited on the acid mist psychedelic organ-driven odyssey of “Elder,” which introduces some Hawkwind-esque space rock explorations to the group's spiteful oeuvre. Dummy-hard haymakers like opener “Void Center” and the doomy downpour of “Fist of God” deliver the punishing gooey noise-core the band is best known for, while closer “...In the Fields with the Beasts” leans towards surging fast-core with lyrics liberally (and lovingly) cribs from the works of Ray Bradbury. No matter where you find yourself in the claustrophobic grooves of Culero's interior, there is nowhere to run and even fewer places to hide from Meatwound's flesh-scaring fury. 

Released on Financial Ruin Records (it is unclear to me how literal this name has become for the label).

Album Review: The Atlas Moth - Coma Noir

Named for the enormous but short-lived Southeast Asian Lepidoptera, Chicago’s sludgy post-metal pioneers spread their powerful wings and take flight like the mighty Mothra, doing battle with and slaying the stellar expectations set by their previous three albums. Coma Noir improves upon the band’s winning kaleidoscopic interchange of influences and sonic touchstones, notably combining the pooling groove grind of Neurosis with the celestial psychedelics of Ufomammut, and the agonizing and lamentful atmosphere of Paradise Lost, a kaiju-sized force of pure contempt fortified and propelled by a driving head-long hardcore pummel. While not as technically proficient as fellow local post-metallers Pelican or as brooding as doom dreadnought Bongripper, The Atlas Moth excel in song craft, with lyrics that address issues both societal and existential using dynamic compositions that effortlessly thread influences with memorable chord progressions that shift tempos and transition melodies without losing momentum or sacrificing the adrenalized mush of each cyclopic rhythm. The white-phosphorus glare of the riff bombardment of “Coma Noir” burns hot with fury, while the trippy post-hardcore space rock of “Last Transmission from the Late Great Planet Earth” threatens to put a dent in the axis of the lonely spinning island they share with us, later the irradiated electro riff-rock of “The Frozen Crown” groans with the crushing weight of a cold blighted anguish which anchors its grudging resolve, and finally concluding with the fatalistic doom metal noir of “Chloroform," a terminal and caustically conclusive knock-out. A rustle in an alley, a bird drops dead from the sky, a pair of glowing eyes in the distance- unsettling emblems of foreboding pour into your head like dirty water circling a sink drain, filling you with fear to the point of bursting- stir and strain, but there is no waking from the depthless sleep that has overtaken you, a fit of nocturnal torment monitored from under the brim of shadowy wide-brimmed custodian's gaze, a constant presence of ambivalent chaos. 

Don't fake it, make it (Prosthetic Records)

Interview: Career Day

Had the pleasure of connecting with Desmond of NYC emo outfit Career Day to talk about their 2024 EP I'll Always Be This, and just life in general. I did not realize how much hockey meant to Desmond before we got into our dialog or how deeply involved he was in activism out East. This conversation was more or less destined to happen after I wrote a very positive review of the band's EP Pride Was Somewhere Else for New Noise back in 2021, and I'm stoked that Desmond and my mutual appreciation of each other's work eventually led us to have such an in-depth discussion about his life journey, band and career. I didn't think it was possible, but I definitely admire what Desmond and the band are doing more now than ever. 

Listen to my interview with Career Day: 

Hear their latest EP I'll Always Be This:

 

Album Review: Cocojoey - Cocojoey's World

I am thoroughly convinced that Chicago-based producer Cocojoey's LP Cocojoey's World is the product of a stand user. What else could explain its crazy dynamism, a tendency towards preternatural mutations, and indomitable fighting spirit? The record seems to burst, almost fully formed, like a xenomorphic tapeworm from its creator's psyche, like a beautifully twisted bassline braided from the spectral tendrils of their very soul. Sure, that may be a gruesome way of describing such a peppy collection of cyber-centripetal cerebrally-embellished electronic music. Still, it would be a shame to let go understated the visceral, gooey aura of this assortment of aural vignettes- from the opening littoral tunnel crawl of "Cocojoey's Theme" to the asteroid belt hopscotch R'nB of "Out There," the listener is drawn through the gravity and magnetism of one acid-fusion framed portal after another, encountering fully defined galactic planes and graced to witness feats on the scale of Fire-Toolz performing a Voltron like transformation sequence with Blind Equation and Frank Javcee achieving a Genocyber style, full body molting after tasting the tainted backwash in a Big Gulp they shared with BBBBBBB. In its exploration of the fringes of cybergrind and subterranean production ethos that came to fruition after the crest and consolidation of the '10s vaporwave scene, Cocojoey's World feels like such a personal and bespoke instrument of expression that to take it on its face is to more or less to plunge, cannonball-style, into the subliminal brine of its creator's cognitive soup. Again, I'm convinced it's the work of a stand- a paranormally manifest eruption of fluid sonic geometry that flows from the soul-made flesh, a feather-light psychic golem awakened via celestial intervention. Either that, or Cocojoey is just really talented and has a perfect grip on the aesthetics they are pursuing. Hear it for yourself and draw your own conclusion. You already know how I feel. 

Album Review: Samara Lubelski - Flickers at the Station

I'm trying to get back in the swing of writing about albums consistently in 2025, so I'm going to take it easy on myself and look back at an old favorite. Flickers at the Station is a 2018 album from Samara Lubelski. Samara is a multi-instrumentalist who was residing in Soho, NYC, at the time of Flickers's release (not sure where she is now- she may be rooted to the concrete of a rent-controlled brownstone, or may have drifted off over the salty sea in search of enlightenment like a fabled seabird- I'd be credulous in either scenario). Starting out as a professional violinist, she quickly transitioned to guitar, bass, and cello, and in the process, became a go-to studio musician for the likes of Thurston Moore, the Fiery Furnaces, and Body/Head’s Bill Nace, among others- but that's all flavor text- where's the main dish? Between her 1997 solo debut, In the Valley, and 2018, Samara became known for her prolific output as much as her skills as a musician capable of capturing the drift of the unknown with a sort of rapt immediacy. Flickers at the Station is her ninth LP, seeing her stick mostly to guitar and vocals to craft intricately layered, jangly, and somewhat avant-garde baroque pop with a whimsically nostalgic centripetal core. The album was recorded in the German countryside, backed by her folk popper friends and frequent collaborators, the Metabolismus, the setting bequeathed a certain pastoral wariness to the urbane ye-ye flush that ripples through the album and breaths life into the dazzling wilt of its pilot light, like a retreat into a thalassic pool of nameless earthen shapes, whose overlapping embrace and comingling patterns inseminate the synapses with variegated parturition of offspring who speak in a language of life beyond mere sensory intuition. Don't be remiss; that flickering in the distance is your stop- an egress point into a cenote of contemplative configurations that you'll know before you endure and endure like a ray of sunshine coursing down your crown. 

Pull up a chair and have yourself a listen- Drawing Room Records.

Album Review: JER - BOTHERED / UNBOTHERED

I'm hesitant to share my appreciation for ska on this blog. This is partly because I don't listen to as much of it as I used to, but also... I'm sort of gun-shy about it. Back in high school, I committed the terrible, unforced error of mentioning to the guy who ran the local record store in my "quaint" little hometown that I may have enjoyed going to see a semi-local ska band by the name of The Invaders, and that I've been known to appreciate a Reel Big Fish record from time to time... he took it like I had kicked his dog. Having evidently outed myself as a poser and having revealed my character to have been deeply flawed, he proceeded to debate me on the merits of ska and how liking it made me a pariah every time I entered his store (which was often, because I was a music lover even then, and my town only had one f*ing record store >.<). As you might expect, this was a debate I always lost- it was his store and the outcome of our conversation was predetermined. After all, it was his world- I just exchanged currency for goods in it, and the only rule in that ratty little fiefdom of his was that "ska sucks," and I would do best not to forget it. Needless to say, I don't talk much about ska anymore. Actually, it seems like most people don't. Ska doesn't have the purchase or visibility that it once did in popular culture (the reasons for which will not be speculated upon here, but I have my theories*). Those who do keep the genre alive like Kill Lincoln and Catbite, sort of do so in the shadow and sustaining influence of Jeff Rosenstock, whose run with Bomb the Music Industry, as well as the echo imprint it has on his solo work, has had a profound impact on the sounds of the current underground to such a pervasive extent that it nearly impossible to quantify. Speaking of Jeff's contributions- he has a habit of being a guest musician on a lot of record by artists who count him as one of their influences- including ska artists... Artists like Jeremy Hunter, or Jer for short. Known alternatively as Skatune Network, Jer made a name for themselves, didactically exploring and proclaiming the gospel of two-tone to a young and curious audience of budding music aficionados over on their YouTube channel. Inevitably, their love of the genre and clear demonstration of ability (their channel 70% ska covers and they are all rock solid) would result in a record 2022's Bothered/Unbothered. It's a phenomenal LP, just indisputably, from the polish of its songwriting to the bounce of its grooves, tied off with catchy hooks, memorable lyrics, and of course, bossy bad-ass brass sections- and it's been rightly and admiringly praised by a number of outlets that normally don't cover ska, let alone have very nice things to say about it.** And you know, beyond just being a great ska record, I like to think it helped to break down some of the build-up of apprehension around the genre that's accumulated over the years. Like I admitted early, even casually enjoying a skankable beat or an upstroke guitar chord within the last two decades could single you out for ridicule in many music circles, and it's really refreshing to see a record so unabashedly embrace a style with the confidence and conviction that the love that is put into it will be contagious to the listener, regardless of whether or not they are primed to accept. There is, of course, a lot more to the record, sonically and thematically, other than simply the love of the game, so to speak, as Bothered/Unbothered also deals with some pretty stark and indisputable realities concerning justice and representation for people of color in a place as unequal as the United States, and drills down deep with its criticisms, not sparing primarily white cultural spaces- like most punk scenes- in its exacting assessments. But as real and heavy as things can get, the strength of the infectious joy that runs riot through this dancehall crashing cascade of a release never lets the bastards grind Jer or the vibe of the record down. It's why Bothered/Unbothered is such a perfect name for this LP- because even though the whole damn world seems (and often is) conspiring to gang up on you, survival means dodging and rolling through the punches until you're in a position to do something about it. The world is a wild place right now, and it's only going to get wilder, and you have to do what you can to cut through the gatling pulse of blows headed your way. Because the least of my or anyone's worries at the moment is someone trying to take a piss on you because of the music you like- there are bigger issues at play, and if the least you can do is accept yourself and be unbothered by others unsolicited appraisals of you and what feels right to yourself, then that's just the first big step you have to take in proving your inner truth to the world. I feel like that's the story of ska right now, a sliver of insight into this record and the formidable storm of clout Jer has been able to amass around it, as well as just being an essential lesson in life during trying times. When you can't do anything else, at least make art that brings you and others like you joy***... When you can do more, you can do that as well, and then you just keep kicking ass until you're sick of kicking so much ass. That's the best and only way you prove the haters wrong and put them in their place.    

Out on Bad Time Records (most misleading name ever).

*Ok ok, I'll give you a little taste. I think it's, in part, a practical thing- Ska bands usually have more members than regular punk bands, and it's not as easy to organize people as it used to be- despite everyone having a node of an interconnected social/cyber web in their back pocket. People just have less free time and more distractions available to them than they did in, say, the '90s... that and at some point in the early '00s people decided that having fun was lame and they'd rather sit alone in a basement and weep quietly to themselves while updating their LiveJournals. 

** Pitchfork, Needle Drop, etc... all the usual harbingers of the decline of civilization as we know it. 

*** Me, I write a blog. Some people like it. You, probably have some real talent. Don't let it go to waste.

Interview: Deludium Skies

Now I'm not an expert in geology or ecologist, but I'm fairly certain that there are no deserts in Austria. I get my confidence in this claim coming from a country that has a lot of dusty planes within its borders. So I'm pretty impressed that a guy like Karl, an Austrian guitarist whose project Deludium Skies has developed from a simple droning tonal experiment, into a hauntingly doom-laden descent, can capture the essence of those endless empty steppes and vast overbearing sheets of sky of my homeland in a way that kind of makes you feel like you're on an empty highway, driving endlessly, cutting through a looming nothingness and overcome by its enormity and the boundless breadth. His guitar work has a crushing softness to it that resembles the incremental weight of a thousand grains of sand gradually pooling over your feet and between your knees- immobilizing in its casual accumulation of presence and patient-fated tumble. It's not the kind of blues you'd hear in a Tennessee gin joint- more like the kind someone might coax out of the dark as they watch said watering hole burn to the ground from the vantage of a seedy hotel. There may be something that only someone on the outside of this house of tinder and yellowing playing cards we call a country that can only truly be captured from a distance... I needed to know, so I asked Karl... what is illuminated under the rolling thunder of those Deludium Skies?

How long have you been working on Deludium Skies as a project?
Should be 15 years by now. I started with the first tracks in late 2010 and then released two EPs in 2011/2012 with relatively raw drone stuff done only with guitar and occasional synths. That question made me listen to some of those tracks for the first time in many years by the way; there are still some cool parts here and there, but all in all I'm not too happy with the sloppy transitions and the production value in general...

How has the project changed over the years?
It started with lo-fi doom/drone/ambient soundscapes, later evolving into more refined and versatile, often melodic, tracks, mixed with much more influences like folk, jazz, blues etc. - also a broader range of instruments.
I guess Aspirations from 2018 was the first major step towards the current style of DS.

Has it always been a solo endeavor? When do you feel compelled to rope in collaborators?
Yep, it started as pure solo project. More out of lack of opportunity, living in a small town with a few thousand people, not knowing anyone personally who actually plays an instrument and is into the more experimental side of music. There's always been guests on the albums in the last five years, though.
Not sure if "compelled" is the fitting description there... I always love to bring in external creative input and many different instruments, especially those I absolutely can't play, like all kinds of wind instruments.

How did you learn guitar, and who were your primary influences?
I got my first e-guitar as young teen (cheap brand strat-type) in the 90s, but wasn't too motivated, I was almost twenty till I approached it more seriously, learned at least a few chords and basics from one of those beginner's books. I still don't know that much about music theory to be honest, I prefer to just fiddle around and come up with something by myself. That's why I never invested much time in learning other's songs either, which makes the external influences hard to pin down, but I guess I was mostly into metal back then, mainly goth/doom/black.

How were you introduced to the blues?
I started to really appreciate it in my mid twenties, when I dug deeper into 60s/70s folk rock releases, they're heavily influenced by blues, like Bob Dylan, Davy Graham, Tim Buckley. Then soon stumbled over some cool more recent blues infused stuff as well, like Mark Lanegan and Songs: Ohia.

What would you consider to be your major influences, music and otherwise?
Like already mentioned, it's not so easy to exactly pin down. I love to listen and discover various forms of music, probably many of them had a bit of an influence, direct or indirect. A selection of artists I always come back to, aside from the already mentioned: Tom Waits, Pink Floyd, Bardo Pond, Portishead, Esbjörn Svensson Trio, CAN, Black Sabbath, Miles Davis.
I also do enjoy a lot of movies; Cronenberg, Miyazaki, Gilliam, Malle, Melville, etc.

Would you consider what you are doing "metal"? If not, how would you best describe it to the uninitiated?
Well, there are a couple of quite thick and heavy sounding tracks that might as well pass as doom(ish) metal, overall I'd see it more as heavier experimental rock, or drone rock.

Is there precedence in Austira for your style of playing and approach, or do you feel like you're breaking fairly fresh ground?
I don't think there is, in fact the only other Austrian drone act with a heart for experiments that spontaneously comes to my mind is Goddess Limax Black. No wonder, it's a usually a monotonous and minimalistic style, not exactly predestined and known for getting too adventurous, so there won't be that many comparable acts on an international scale either. I'm like a tiny niche inside already niche music - hence the huge success, I guess...

How does the symbolism of mountains inform and elevate your latest release, Stardust Echos?
Sometimes I got a distinctive theme in mind before or early during the recording of an album, but in this case I already had finished at least half of the tracks before I came up with titles and a cover concept, and it was done pretty impulsive within a day. I initially thought a desert themed cover would fit to the music, but that seemed too close to the cover from the 2021 album Destination Desolation. So I altered it and ended up with a mountain in a desert landscape (inspired by the Hoggar Mountains in Algeria), combined with a psychedelic spacey sky above.

Is there a particular mood or state of mind you are hoping to induce within the listener with this release?
Never thought about it. Relaxed and open minded would be my instinctive answer.

How often do you perform these tracks live, and how do you go about recreating the unique atmosphere of the album in a live setting?
So far, never. I was never asked to do so, and honestly, I'm neither used to nor eager to perform in front of many people anyway.
Also other problems would come up: there are a lot of improvised parts on every album and I almost never write anything down. So I'd have to figure out first, how the fuck I played this and that part. Not to mention finding band members, I can only play one instrument at a time...

What is next in store for this project?
Nothing planned so far. That's not unusual though, sometimes I record nothing in months, and then a couple of tracks within a week.
Might take a bit longer this time, I'm not feeling very motivated at the moment, because of shit sales (*nudge nudge wink wink*) and general lack of support.

Check out Karl's latest album Stardust Echoes here: 

Album Review: Excuse Me Who Are You? - Double Bind

Excuse me, who are you? I hear it a lot. For example, when I helpfully attempt to add additional orders of french fries to strangers' orders at drive-throughs, or when employees at pet supply retailers discover that I've MacGyvered my way into the cat adoption area to give all my future fur children imprisoned there a pat on the head, and always and inevitably, when I'm discovered by a member of the housekeeping staff to be impersonating a sports journalist to get a comped executive suite and a crate of grapefruits to myself while tumbling through Nevada.* However, I've never heard the phrase in a moment of bliss that didn't involve me risking arrest, or at the very least, an uneasy confrontation... that is until now: Out of Madison Wisconsin, bellows and cries a group that certainly is no stranger to the eccentricities and nonconforming pleasures that make life worth the wages and weight of alienation, immeasurable Sisyphean toil, and the manifold of intolerances that all too often dictates its terms. Excuse Me Who Are You probably don't endorse me scamming hotels while pretending to cover dirt-buggy bolts across the Majove, but I fully endorse their understatedly gallant, glitteringly gut-wrenching and thoroughly delightful album Double Bind- a post-hardcore cast cascade of bright and sharply flexing chords, winding grooves that spin and splunk like a bowling ball rolling through an Escher print while dragging a splattering ream of ink soaked dairy passages behind it, and shout-sung vocals that bare their fangs like a bellicose wolf before the moon as a trumpeter of lost and lonely agitation in an unfeeling and unsympathetic world. EMWAY is a band that very clearly takes their performance and the subject matter of their songs as seriously as a chemical dependency, without losing sight of the fact that the music they're making is meant to be fun- many of the tracks include amusing cutaways and scrapped soundbites, while titled range from text emojis to ironic musings on the slippery divide between death and sleep, with the most diverting (literally) being the web address to the official page celebrating Mima of Perfect Blue- a roll of the tragic waggishness that impresses upon the fact that the emotive, psychological, and digital acquire a concreteness in our experience that is as real as the foundation of wood, stone and steal beneath our feet and an acknowledgment of the ephemeral fluids of our digital selves as they bleed into the cold heart of meat space. While they're certainly capable of raising a reflective ruckus on their own, the group is not alone in conjuring these missives of clever catharsis and cutting inquiry, being helped to attain ebullient new heights with the 8-bit aid of Hey, Ily, and learn to practice an uncommon subtly of softness and certainty in collaboration with fellow Wisconsinites Tiny Voices (just to name a few of the guest features on the album). Unwind your sorrow and put some slack in the line; exercise the ghosts and guilt that tie this Double Bind. 

I've only got two thumbs, so that's as many as I'm giving this Double Bind- a record released by Thumbs Up Records. 

*I fear this one might not have been me actually... or at the very least that I'm misrecollecting something. 

Interview : Molly O'Brien of I Enjoy Music + 2024 Recap

Everybody seems set to move on from 2024 already, but I'm not sure why (especially when the future is looking bleaker by the day). A lot of great music came out last year and I doubt most humans on this planet have given it all the fair shake it deserves (I know I haven't!). Even more exciting than the release of some objectively fantastic tunes is the emergence of some truly outstanding trends in style and approach by contemporary underground and alternative artists. Turn of the millennium kosmische continuums have doubled back and invaded the 21st Century in a big and exhilarating way, emo chiptune seems poised to break into the big time, indie cabaret is becoming commonplace, and unpretentious DIY yacht rock is now a thing- in short, creativity abounds and there is no containing the rich imaginative blaze these developments represent.

To get my arms (and head!) around the bountiful brilliance of this past year, I invited the ever-affable and resourceful Molly O'Brien of the blog I Enjoy Music to talk about 5 of her favorite albums from this past year and discuss 5 albums that I thought had something special to say as well. We go deep on each entry on our lists, so buckle up!

Albums discussed in this episode:

Fantasy of a Broken Heart - Feats of Engineering

Dummy - Free Energy

Hey, Ily! - Hey, I Loathe You!

Ludivine Issambourg - Above the Laws

Revival Season - Golden Age of Snitching

Ekko Astral - pink balloons

Jimmy Montague - Tomorrow's Coffee

Sun Kin - Sunset World

Kim Gordon - The Collective

Check out Molly's blog: https://www.ienjoymusic.net/

2024 Year-End Invitational

Well, we're at the end of another year. Congratulations to all who made it this far (both into the decade, and into this article... don't worry, there is A LOT more...). 2024 was an eventful year. Some things that happened were very good, most weren't... but amongst the better, or at least more notable developments (for me at least) is that this blog turned 5! Yes, 5 years of reviews, interviews, and my general observations on life, music, and what have you. Theoretically, this blog is now old enough to walk, talk, feed itself, and be shuffled off to daycare so that I can make enough money to pay for daycare (and maybe food and shelter), but between you and me, I'm still wary of letting it have anything sharper than a rubber spoon, and I definitely wouldn't let it out of my sight for more than a minute in an environment that contains anything more flammable than a cement block... other than that, it's basically self-sufficient, right? This blog should be writing itself pretty soon (maybe with a boost from Open AI) and then I can retire and live off the accumulated endorsements and clout and coast into my golden years. 

I'm of course kidding. I love writing this blog. It's a valuable outlet for me, not only to express pent-up creativity but also to guide and manage my own listening habits. The fact that others care about and appreciate what I do here is, of course, always humbling. Over the years, many people, including artists, have informed me that the way I write and the passion that I put into my words has helped them think differently about music and has helped them appreciate it in ways that they hadn't before. Learning that I have had this sort of impact on people's lives always stuns me and warms my heart. Music is such an important aspect of our lives and culture, and the fact that I can help people appreciate it a little more means that I'm doing something worthwhile. Beyond direct feedback though, the numbers speak for themselves. When I first started this blog, I considered a day when I'd receive 10 unique hits to be a good one. Today, the number of unique visitors to this blog is in the hundreds and sometimes even the thousands per day. It might not be much, but some people see value in what I am doing, and I am eternally stoked that there are some (and more by the day) kindred spirits out there - people who want to listen to and learn about amazing underground music, and apparently, don't mind my peculiar brand of tortured prose. 

Pictured: Me hard at work doing whatever I do here.

To celebrate this little milestone, I've written about 50 albums that I grew to love this year but hadn't had the chance to write about yet. Is this a best of list? By default, yes- but I'm not picking winners and excluding losers, as much as I'm throwing open the doors to my personal library and the backstage of my psyche, to hopefully clue you into some work by artists that you maybe didn't know about or hadn't given a chance yet. If you're already up to speed on all these releases, then at the very least, this post will be an opportunity for you to relive some of the hits from this past year. 

Before we get to the list, I just want to say a few more things about this blog and where I am headspace-wise. I started this blog as an outlet to keep track of my own listening, and it became a necessary tool for my own sanity during COVID, one which I carried on updating even after the world went (somewhat) back to normal. During all that time I never really considered it much more than an outlet for myself, but in the ensuing years, as I saw similarly positioned blogs rise and fall, and the media ecosystem (echo system?) at the top change and consolidate drastically, I started to feel like what I was doing with this blog mattered more and more. One-person, unmonetized, uncommercial platforms are not easy to keep up, but they do provide a necessary oasis away from the algorithmic churn that is intensifying elsewhere and an irreplaceable tool for framing, contextualizing, and promoting new and unsung music in a way that encourages reflection rather than simply reaction or passive consumption. There are people who maybe do things better, or at least break the mold in interesting and increasingly creative ways, (Watch out for my interview with Molly O'Brien about her blog I Enjoy Music in 2025), but I wholeheartedly believe there is still a purpose to personal meditations on albums in the form of review, and that's why I will never give up on it, either as its own art form or as a way of raising a beacon for bands that deserve the attention. Nothing is dead that still has the means to change some minds, and I feel as though other writers and I are living proof of this fact.

In sum, I love writing this blog, and I'm probably going to keep doing it and playing with the review form to suit my heterodox interests in music and writing and music writing as long as humanly possible (and maybe even longer... we'll see what happens with the cloud- maybe someday, my consciousness will be compiling reviews from an Amazon Echo). Here's to 5 more years, and 5 more after that, and 5 more after that, and… well, you get the idea. I'll stop yapping and skip to the good part: the reviews! 

(Leave) Nelson B - 4​.​0: The Doppelg​ä​nger (Lonely Ghost Records)

You might be able to gather from producer (Leave) Nelson B's name that he's not a man to be fucked with (he's ex-military, after all). But hear me out... while you should probably avoid sending him unsolicited DMs, you should unequivocally be fucking with his latest LP, Doppelg​än​ger. As a solo execution of the resident sample producer of Lonely Ghost Records, Nelson takes the occasion to cut, cauterize and seamlessly glue into place eleven lucid dream-like vignettes of mood-altering, sonic-sojourning hip-hop that sweep persuasive percussive motifs under the laces of frayed-nerve folk ("Covertly Daedelus"), sun-soaking soul instrumentals ("Needed a Day Off"), oscillating other-worldly dives into minor Dharmic-operas ("NICU") and churning pools of acid Game Boy breakcore ("hey, ily is hard to chop yo"). A likely rival to his diversity of style-shifting techniques, you will not likely find duplicated this side of the multiverse.

Townies - Of This I Am Certain (We're Trying Records)

There aren't that many things that I am 100% sure about (other than it continuing to cost an arm and a leg to make an omelet in 2025 and beyond), but I am adamant that Of This I Am Certain is a significant stylistic and artistic step up for tender-hearted emo trio Townies. Their debut LP graduates from the twinkle-dom proving grounds of their first two EPs, with the group finding within them the melodic heroism to embrace their latent Mesigners-potential to belt out huge catchy choruses over memorably brash and striking chords to give credence to the grit they feel sifting and siphoning out the many holes life has poked in their souls. Could you still call it groc rock? Does it matter so long as it still blasts your socks off? I'm certain that the answer is worth its weight in bullion... or eggs... bullets... whatever future people end up using for currency. 

Rid of Me - Access to the Lonely (Knife Hit Records) 

Philly noise-rock dark horses Rid of Me are somehow even more dark and compelling on their second LP Access to the Lonely, a testament to the depths of desperation and indignity that the human spirit can survive. Even more so then it's predecessors, the LP is a far more cohesive collection of tracks that blends and bends in tortured contortions while retaining its essential antagonistic form, taking the quiet-loud-quiet dynamics of the '80s underground and exploding them in a way that would even make the guys from KEN Mode nervous with anticipation and ponderous apprehension. If you're looking for a record that will make you feel like a body cemented to the bed of the Schuylkill River, trawl no further.

Lightheaded - Combustible Gems (Slumberland Records)

It's not an original observation to note how seasoned New Jersey jangle gang Lightheaded sound on their debut LP Combustible Gems, but that's alright, because the record hits me like a 5-carat stone bouncing off my crown every time I listen to it. The record has this classic, sunny melodicism and shimmery Rickenbacker rollick to it that makes the it feel like it was concealed in a vault during the late '60s only to be forgotten, excavated, tossed in a heap at a rummage sale, scooped up by a sharp-eyed and curious Freshman, and debuted over a dedicated college radio frequency sometime in the late '80s. Dusky-eyed but spritely tempered, overcome with the fealty to the softest of teenaged feelies, and enraptured at the sight of paisley patterns, Combustible Gems is one nostalgic trip that is as rock solid as they come.  

Sissy Remains - Sissy Remains (Broken Sound Tapes)

What happens when you shave away all of the noise-bro chauvinism from no-wave? Well, you're left with Sissy Remains. The debut self-titled from the North Carolina-based electro-punk project is a parched and understated exploration of mood and movement, where voices echo like an anxious cough heard above the hiss of CRT TV static, grooves crinkle and spark like aluminum in the microwave, and beats sputter like a Roland that's been uploaded with a virus that infects it with a timekeeping form of tourettes. While Sissy Remains’ LP often feels dissociative and deliberately uninviting, there is a girlish playfulness hidden under the folds of its understated chaos that gives it an undeniable humanness and pervasive sense of warmth that is enchanting, to say the least. Once it gets its little teeth into you, you'll be begging it to never let go.  

Dry Erase - Decay Model (Phantom Records)

Dry Erase is a bristly acoustic anomaly who represent an alternating current that spills through the ruptured grating of our present timeline to rope-tow ghoulish triphop reclamations, cynically literate goth rock, and clockwork, psychologically-disturbed minimalist post-punk into contemporary continuity with each other. On their second LP, Decay Model, bare splintered bones and exposed sparking wires twist and copulate in a tortured helix and danse macabre around a maypole wrapped in telefaxed credit swap confirmation and reems of printed diplomatic correspondence concerning conflicts that turned hot over sugar cane futures and sea cans full of avocados. Poetry with the texture of rotten meat. Basslines that slide under your fingernails like the furry tips of a tarantula's pedipalps searching for sympathy or perhaps a speck of sustenance. It has beats that creak and groan like a recalled prosthetic joint carelessly installed in a homeless and discarded homunculus. Sometimes, the world can be so strange that only the strangest sounds can mirror its truths.

Straw Man Army - Earthworks (La Vida Es Un Mus Discos)

Earthworks is the third LP from NY anarcho-punk duo Straw Man Army, seeing the group complete their trilogy of anarchic, minimalistic and modish prognosis of the American project and its projected future- news flash: it doesn't end well. Living on a native burial ground is usually a premise that concludes in calamity, and Earthworks does not stray from this trope when facing its themes (evidenced by the fateful course repeated on the second track "Look Alive"). The bendy, reedy riffs and caustic delivery of every melancholic lyrical indictment serve to depict a culture at war with itself and the shadows of its past, an Empire of dirt watered with rivers of blood. Music, not so much for playing musical chairs on the Titanic, as much as turning those chairs into a raft while there is still time to do so.

Blous3 - Synchronized Swimming (Cherub Dream Records)

I could be a hack and begin and end this review of Sacramento's Blous3 and their LP Synchronized Swimming by saying that it represents the most consistent Sonic Youth has been since the early '90s... but I'm not a hack, so here goes. Blous3 is a group that has managed to muster an aesthetic that somehow manages to combine the dyspeptic melodicism of post-hardcore in the vein of Unwound, and dare I say, Super Unison, with the disorienting dystopian cacophony of East-coast no-wave, and in the process they have managed to summon a cindery muse that communicates something of the blindness and amnesiac aura of present-day society, where nearly everything seems to be known and accounted for, while truth and any collective grip on reality appear to become slipperier and less well defined by the day. We are all just synchronized swimmers in the fog of another's delusion, and we are all just divers in the dark, the only silver lining to be had in this mirthless miasma is that it is a pool of deepening iniquity that we tread in unison.

Serengeti - Kenny Dennis IV (Othar)

Chicago rapper Serengeti deepens the legacy of his alter-ego Kenny Dennis with a fourth LP elaborating on the aging Southside Chicagoan and all-seasons sports enthusiast's exploits. There are actually two interwinding stories on this LP- one told from Kenny's perspective, characterized by easy-gliding but resonating soul-soaked donuts with an icing of spicy, giardiniera-flavored hooks that enlarge the ephemera of the protagonist's work-a-day, plebian lifestyle with monumental metaphorical import. The other narrative arch is relayed from the perspective of comedian Anders Holm, who reconnects with Kenny after retiring from the life of a professional parkour-er to embark on a fanciful odyssey through the Midwest backed by a rustic and eerie, neo-gothic pastiche soundtrack courtesy of Sufjan Stevens. The threads eventually weave together in a seemingly super-ordinary spectral encounter in Kenny's apartment, putting a bow on a beautifully realized and layered tapestry that articulates the gauzy barriers that delineate self-perception, self-knowledge, and our awareness of the world. Sometimes, the simplest of things are the hardest to explain.  

Svetlost - Everything Was as It Had Been a Minute Ago (PMGJazz & Inverted Spectrum Records)

This record was my introduction to the Macedonian jazz trio Svetlost and I'm pretty impressed with what I found. Relying on deep grooves riding a ripple of hard-driving percussion, the LP has a better sense of forward motion and willingness to embrace vitalic impulses than most rock records I've heard this year. Not surprising as their main sources of influence are doom metal, noise rock, and other bands that combine doom metal with noise rock and jazz. It's not as straightforward as it sounds, though, and there is an undercurrent of uninhibited improvisation that depends on honed technical acumen, which draws the trio closer in execution to the circuitously groovy likes of The Art Ensemble of Chicago than more cleanly categorized but still experimental rock acts like River of Nile. One more thing; the name of the album is inspired by an untitled piece by the jazz duo Muntean and Rosenblum, informally associated with a phrase found in the records liner notes: EVERYTHING WAS AS IT HAD BEEN A MINUTE AGO, EXCEPT FOR A SENSE OF GENERAL SUSPENSION, AS OF THINGS HOLDING THEMSELVES IN STILLNESS, NOT DARING TO BREATHE.

Snow Strippers - Night Killaz Vol. 2 (Surf Gang Records)

NYC duo Snow Strippers pack together rough sequences of glittering electronics and pretty polymer-based vocal performances in an invitation to a laser-light show in a subwoofer-lined space that lies somewhere between your occipital lobe and the canopy of your newly bedazzled adrenal gland. On their follow-up to last year's Night Killaz Vol. 1, deep club mixes overwhelm you with longing and ease you down a resin-encrusted slide to the other side of dissociation and into a plushy lined nest of cerebral satiety, panting in the afterglow of spellbound enamored excess- a lesson in nocturnal jouissance somewhere between the bleak romantic, witchy trance of Sidewalks and Skeletons, and the soul-battery overclocking chaos of Crystal Castles. 

Billiam - Animation Cel (Legless Records)

Malbourn's Billiam is one of a handful of artists who seem to have a mostly international following and somehow still feel like a local goofball. They just have this extremely friendly, frenetic energy about them that may remind you of that one person who works at the local health food store who always has a smile on their face or a guy from your hometown who somehow manages to land an opening slot at every house show within driving distance from his house. Billiam's busy, hare-brained brand of garage rock has developed over the years into a sprawling catalog, of which Animation Cel is the latest, and subjectively, greatest edition- honing their abundance of spastic and herk-and-jerk lo-fi tendencies into groovy refuges of overcaffeinated tangents and buzzbomber ecstasy. With Animation Cel, Billiam has seemingly perfected all their best moves, and it will be worth tuning in to see how they expand their storyboard/playbook from here and into next season.  

Chinese American Bear - Wah!!! (Moshi Moshi Music)

I first became aware of Seattle duo Chinese American Bear when they played  Reggie’s on Chicago's near-Southside (one of my favorite venues). It's worth noting that this venue is within walking distance from the city's Chinatown district, which, incidentally, would be a pretty chill place to take a stroll while listening to their record Wah!!! (pronounced, Wow if you're EFL). Sung in half Mandarin and half English, these tracks feel like an update to the slinkier side of '90s psychedelic-pop with a splash of Pizzicato-style yé-yé panache and a powdery speckling of sunny slacker skiff-riffs a la Mac DeMarco during his most laid back but consequential 2010s run. Sweet and yummy, with enough of a kick to rattle the birdhouse you keep your brain cooped up in but energized by enough natural magnetism to hold it, and you, together for the entire duration of this sugar-powered, kaleidoscopic ride.

Jock - Labyrinth (Cherub Dream Records)

California noise goths Jock have arrived to bury you in vibes on their debut EP Labyrinth, a web of atmospherically angsty currents and overcast displays of winsome sound that linger hauntingly like the resonating toll of a distant belfry in an abandoned church. Embodying beauty in decay, stark shocks of arpeggiated grooves, and intangible melodicism weave through these tracks like a shade leaping from mirror to mirror as it encircles a cobweb-strewn den. A dire message from below ferried on angel's wings. 

95Corolla - Long Time Listener / First Time Caller ( We're Trying Records)

In decades past, an emo band who played music this catchy and destined to embark on their own version of the Eras tour would have a dated Simpson's reference or some similar article of pop culture ephemera hanging around their neck like a Gen X albatross. A group with a name like 95Corolla would have been more likely to have joined a weed-fueled warband with the likes of Zeke or New Bomb Turks to maraud across the American West for a couple of summers, before semi-retiring from the road and settling for a full-time job with benefits (What is the modern-day equivalent of these bands... Tuff Sudz? I could see that marquee.) Low and behold, the group most likely to pick up the mantel of Taking Back Sunday on the bloody, hung-over morning (decades) after is a group from Tennessee who are as durable as raw leather but come across as soft and cool as high-grain suede. Their debut LP, Long Time Listener / First Time Caller, is your first and best opportunity to get acquainted with the bigness and affable introspection of their hooky, hail-mary-throwing sound. When a good time calls, don't leave it hanging. Pick up the receiver- this one is for you!

Arthur King - UMN (March of the Penguins) (AKP Recordings)

This sound project from Arthur King aka Peter Walker was originally improvised as an accompaniment to a public showing of Luc Jacquet's March of the Penguins as part of the Unknown Movie Night series. Glacial and expansive, yet worldly and emotionally retentive, the hibernal quality and subtle grandness of its aural geometry earnestly illustrate the splendor and trepidation of the journey which it accompanies, weaving and chortling in the throes of one of life's great harrowing cycles. 

Bleak Magician - How the Disappearance Appeared to Us (Self-Released)

Bleak Magician's How the Disappearance Appeared to Us is a tribute to the mystery of a man who went missing only to reappear and assist with its completion. Bleak Magician's prime mover, Srogi Mroczek, who primarily works in and around black metal projects, wrote the majority of the album following the fraternal flight of his sibling, only to have the wayward brother reappear on the first day of recording and perform on the album meant to embody his absence. The oily, acerbic quality of the music is like a family portrait being boiled in turpentine, colors running and leeching from its pores to reveal a bone-shaded canvas beneath made of interwoven strands of dead connections and static as thick as flies around a dying calf. A coronation of detachments, a temple lined with candles that bare no heat, like Tom Waits barking outside the Devil's dunk tank, a dayglow bridge across the River Styx so bright that it will bleach your vision to cross it.    

Yuni Wa - You've Come So Far (Doom Trip Records)

Little Rock's Yuni Wa produces a golden ouroboros on his 40th release to date, You've Come So Far. While not his most recent effort (that would be the club and jungle-infused Yunism), the nebulous circuit board blaze and synthetic mood lighting of this scintillating retrospective hints at a future yet to be realized by projecting his past self into the stream of the present as it hurdles him forward in a leapfrog motion over eons and promontories of epiphany. Recycling his past work through an explosive process of reimagining, he has injected himself with the venom of chance, re-rolling the die again and again, and invariably managing to reconcile the results with fortune in his corner. 

2003ub313 - Giants (The Charon Collective)

High-minded post-hardcore out of Minnesota, 2003ub313 keep their eyes trained on the sky on their EP, Giants. Tracking the path of celestial colossi through the cosmos, the group reflects on their own relative place in the twisted topography of this island of dirt, contemplating how they can become worthy of the stewardship they have been entrusted with in this mutinous garden, as they are beset by scavenging clouds of doubt that intervene between them and the light of flourishing attainment. This is a record that necessarily describes eternal struggles for balance in personal terms, not because such struggles are merely reducible to a single vantage point, but because eternity is the tapestry that links all such passing junctures together into a meaningful pattern with significance beyond any of its individual threads, even as each entwine give it its shape.

How Much - 083024​.​vacantdreams (Fish Prints / Infinity Dungeon / Ingrown Records)

Thor Mailet of Fish Prints Records (also the recording project of the same name) recorded 083024​.​vacantdreams with his friend Cosmo Fenn, and a few other co-conspirators, in a house in Maine over the course of two sleepless days (verified! they did not sleep at all for 48 hours straight), producing a tangential series of hauntingly vespertine and Catherdrale-shaped resonances through which they chase the dreams that eluded its makers during the advent of its birth. An investigation into open-air claustrophobia, narrow minimalist accretions, slushy spouts of cold remembrance, and winking moon phases that glisten without the aid of the sun. It's always nightfall somewhere.

Alien Nosejob - Turns the Colour of Bad Shit (Total Punk Records)

This is the 7th release from Jake Robertson with his ever-shape-shifting sleaze-rock hybrid Alien Nosejob. Turns the Colour of Bad Shit is a welcome divergence from the blurry-eyed mod rock of The Derivative Sounds of…Or… A Dog Always Returns to its Vomit (released just 10 months prior, but still a far cry from the thoughtful but wiry psychedelia of Various Fads & Technological Achievements. Here, Jack has adopted a kind of hip-checking, greaser-geek, and pastiche-psychedelic Adverts-esque amalgamation, a form that allows him to rage righteously against phonies, sandbag-headed pillocks, wannabe rock stars, and any number of other juicy, deserving targets just begging to have their grapes squeezed. It's easily the most pissed-off-sounding record since Once Again the Present Becomes the Past and it's a look (and sound!) that suits him well.  

Year Twins - Leveled (We're Trying Records)

The Danish theorist Søren Kierkegaard described in his writings a progressive draining of meaning from the modern world which he termed "Leveling," a process of abstraction that befalls individuals, where all of their unique struggles and motives are assigned the same value as any other idle human activity, as if a tablecloth has been thrown over them, flattening out and obscuring their existence, rendering them equivalent to a piece of furniture, occupying space, but not really living. I get the sense that this existential obscurance is touched on, however lightly, on Ohio trio Year Twins' LP, Leveled, especially on the title track (spelled "LVLD"), where a prickly tug and torrent of riffs elevate lyrics that describe fears of one's self-fading away in another's mind and familiar faces melting away into lusterless textures devoid of meaning, becoming like the wood grain of a table. Elsewhere on the mathy, 6th-floor head-dive "Turn Into Dracula," the group describes a process of becoming the living dead through grinding repetition and gradual social isolation, while the riotously Rosenstock-esque "Ghost Thief Funeral" provides a vantage point from which to view a thorough acquiescence, and receding from all human interactions, as if the narrator had become a ghost haunting an endless procession at their own wake. Despite all this, Leveled has great energy and could be described (and I am actually saying this) as a plucky, pop-punk album about disappearing into your own shadow, staining the Earth at your point of disappearance as a memorial to one's own lack of purpose and distinction. In other words, a life that has been totally Leveled.  

Vapor Eyes - Watch the Skies (Self-Released)

Alright, everybody, settle down. We now have an answer for why there are UFOs scanning the New Jersey coast... they're lost, simple as. Where they want to be is in Arizona so that they can beam up some new jams from Vapor Eyes- get 'um fresh from the ol' brain tap. Vapor Eyes is a house music project from producer David Cohen (formerly of Chicago, I believe). Cohen is a self-described “passionate crate digger” who claims influences from rock to hip-hop, and everything in between, and his latest EP Watch the Skies is exemplary of his uniquely smooth and effortless seeming sequencing style, combining floaty jazz loops with punchy reggae hooks, bucking breakbeat fills, and vapory tranquil injections of FM ear-candy, pricked and prodded by discontinuous lines of inquiry scraped from AM band junkyards. Part meditation, part prayer for a high power to intervene in our mortal follies... or at least to send a big enough asteroid to put an end to the madness.

+CAREGIVER+ - Within A Forest Dark (Outcast Tape Infirmary)

Nashville post-hardcore group +CAREGIVER+ appears to have finally locked in on their desired/optimal sound on their EP, Within A Forest Dark- combining tender and vulnerably poetic lyrics with unrelentingly ascendant Coheed-cultivated solos and rare-form rock grooves, scorched and tarred with harrowing ribbons of blackened metalcore and death-embodying hardcore. Between its ambition and brutality, it's a record that feels drawn and wound between punishing pillars of La Dispute and Wolves in the Throne Room, like a blaze of midwestern twinkle-core in the northern sky.

Undeath - More Insane (Prosthetic Records) 

Undeath aren't fucking around. The album is called More Insane, and that's exactly what it delivers- insanity, and more of it. Crunchy, bone-splintering riffs, vicious and relentless percussion, and vocals that have the visceral quality of a bear drunk on blood and fermented stomach juices, having just noshed the carcass of a hiker who's been baking in the summer sun since mid-July. What's most interesting about the group's dynamics, and what they really kick into high gear on this release, is their sense of melodicism. Not in the typical groove metal or gritty-guitars/clean-vocals sort of way, rather, the group has this uncanny sense of timing and an unsettling acquaintance with harmonic layering that gives the grooves and solos on this record an almost lyrical quality- every riff handing down another tale of pitiless sorrow and bitter triumph, until your bones are bowing like bamboo shoots from the weight of it all. If you're not careful, they might just split you like a wishbone- a dark wish for carnage fulfilled in flesh.

EEP - You Don't Have To Be Prepared (Hogar Records)

You Don't Have To Be Prepared is the first record I've encountered from El Paso group, EEP. Its name seems like it could double as the secondary title for a disaster preparedness manual... if it were trying to be cheeky, that is. Something like, You Don't Have To Be Prepared... Unless You Want to Survive. Luckily, or maybe the opposite of that, what the band seems to be referring to is not readiness to persevere through a fire or an earthquake (although they may encounter these from time to time out West), but life itself, a challenge that is thrust upon all of us without warning, and which we ultimately step into, and leave, with nothing but your own skin (and after you reach the end of the road, not even that). Overall, it's an easy-going album, relaxed in tone and thoughtful in sonic and lyrical elocution that barters for a chance in the hopes of winning a few good years of the smooth road beneath their wheels.

MK Ultras - MK Ultras (Target Killer Records / Big Neck Records)

Programmed to kill every lingering moment of boredom and last shred of decency you have left to cling to, Ohio's MK Ultras are a refreshingly retro and persuasively passionate take on classic hardcore punk. On their self-titled, the group elevates melody over predictable mosh-pooling riffs without failing to deliver the menacing stomp and cunning clip of alienated burst-fire anger that feeds our basest intuitions. Paranoid and pulsing with flayed-brained intensity, they're a Ramones-infused and Wipers-flavored blotter bath to waterboard away any nagging intrusive thoughts or traumatic conditioning that might otherwise sully the eternal reflection of sunshine cast off your smooth and spotless mind.  

Footballhead - Overthinking Everything (Tiny Engines)

For various reasons (none of which I'm inclined to explain at this very moment... alright, it was me- I'm the reason), my father-in-law was introduced to Footballhead’s music, and now, every time I go to his house, he puts on their album Overthinking Everything, and cranks the volume WAY UP, because as he explains to me every time he does this, you have to play the record really really loud in order to get the most out of it. I think about how happy this makes him when I listen to the record privately at a more reasonable volume, and it makes me happy too. Ultimately, this record is all about familiarity, friendship, connection, and overcoming the personal insecurities that might drive a wedge between you and the simple pleasures of life and those you share it with, celebrating the mystery of our affinities, as well as giddy sonic pluralism of early '00s skate culture (if that speaks to you as well). In that way, it's easily the most optimistic and, at the same time, least cynical pop-punk records I've encountered, maybe ever. Of course, if you don't want to overthink it- you can just ride all the sick riffs and arena-sized grooves this album has to offer into a total state of punk rock bliss!

Collateral - We Still Know (Fortress Records)

Florida hardcore that is faster and more reckless than an oversized pickup truck helmed by a dude in a Salt Life shirt- Collateral is on a mission to maximize the damage they can inflict on the upper 48 from their HQ in the Sunshine State on their debut EP, We Still Know. These are seven tracks awash in tides of face-gnawing, shark-toothed riffs, iron-toed ass-kicking grooves, and mean and gnarly mosh parts- all tailored to give you a reason to go war with your fellow life-convicts and unleash relentless low-pressure fronts of windmill kicks and hurricanes of human flesh on each other in the pit. On this record, Collateral loses nothing and trades up in a big way in their pursuit of delivering a world-shattering beat down.

Mo Dotti - Opaque (Self-Released)

Coming two years after the group's 2022 LP, Guided Imagery, their second LP, Opaque, is even more transparently beautiful and whimsical than its predecessor, with the group feeling more fluid and softly persuasive in their presentation of wavy, organic geometry as it radiates out in ebullient vistas of living sound. Synesthetic reels play out in reems of dangling scenery, through the gaps of which you are pulled like a sparrow gliding on the invisible carriage of a jet stream. A nurturing luster to feed the blooming of a carnelian-shaded blossom in the depths of a receptive inner terrace, a secluded shelf within your inner walls where heart and soul meet.

RXM Reality - No. 1 in the World (Hausu Mountain Records)

As esoteric as producer RXM Reality's tracks tend to be, I don't think the title of this album, No. 1 in the World, is all that much of a gag. I think he'd genuinely be stoked for people to be jamming on his brazen, babbling rivulets and the stony, spine-twisting house beats he's skillfully shaped while they shop for personal items at Walgreens, or during the lull betwixt sprees of play at sporting events, or even to ring in the nuptials at a wedding reception. Wherever you'd expect to hear the music that knits together our common social fabric, RXM Reality would be happy to lend his slick and snaggy grooves to the mix. He probably has a better shot at breaking into these domains than other 'extreme' sound artists, frankly, as there is a well-cast cushiness to his sequencing and tonal tempering, and the smoothness of his grooves is unmatched despite their outward jaggedness. He might not be crashing the New Years party at the Sphere in Las Vegas just yet, but it's truly just a matter of time. It's his (RXM) Reality; we are just fortunate enough to live in it.  

Laughing - Because It's True (Celluloid Lunch & Meritorio Records)

If you're not laughing, you're crying. It was the unofficial motto of Ebisu Town, as well as many pauperized human settlements throughout history, both real and embedded in the imagination. Montreal's Laughing is far from crying poverty but nevertheless invites you to share in a hearty howl at the cosmic joke and collapsed disposition of modern living through cleanly laced hooks and honeydew-drizzled harmonies, smuggling an almost adolescent devotion to principles of power pop goodness and fluid post-country dappled recastings that bobble and swirl like bodies playing tag in a celestial lava-lap. Their latest album is a whisper as loud as a cannon, signaling the falling veil of some inviolable certitude- it is written, it is sung, it is passed down Because It's True.

Estee Nack x Giallo Point - Papitas 2 (Mass Control Records)

Ten hot, fresh, and greasy slabs of hater-bait and grim guidance pushed out between the grate-like teeth of the reaper's maw have landed face up in golden splendor on your plate courtesy of the culinary cerebral summit of Estee Nack & Giallo Point in the form of their latest collaboration, Papitas 2. Chewy bars flesh out tense, specter-raising loops, giving texture and girth to stories where muscle, the flash of reflexes, and keen and keener minds separate the quick from the dead. Juice and blood blend together in this palpable exposition of pulp fictions and the grind of a life carved out of death's own rind.

Arcadia Grey - Casually Crashing (Smart Punk Records)

When I first approached Arcadia Grey's second LP, Casually Crashing, I immediately spotted the song title "PDaddy Hoodie." With all the revelations about the music industry that came to light in 2024, I'm very glad that someone is focusing on the positives in this world, i.e., the myriad benefits of listening to Prince Daddy and promoting the wearability of their merch vs. the nigh confirmed details of the den of sadism swirling around P Diddy. To the surprise of no one, the music industry is once again shown to be an enormous, stewing pile of garbage, with only a few fresh peaks of laudable decency rising above the muck. Arcadia Grey has staked their claim atop one of these high refuges, exemplified by Casually Crashing's convivial and theatrical-inclined take on pop-punk and DIY emo in service of sincere odes to growing up and learning strength and self-reliance... and yet, still lacking the courage to confront your roommate about the dishes. One step at a time, I guess... one foot in front of the other, and pretty soon you'll be crashing out that door.  

Gurry Wurry - Happy For Now (Self-Released)

I'm just going to say it... Gurry Wurry's Happy For Now is beautiful and yet, completely confusing. The Scottish singer has this deep and barreling tone to his vocals that comes across like he's singing with his whole chest... if his chest were the size of an average water heater. He projects in this strange resonant style of singing in a way that almost makes it sound like he's drowning... and dragging you into the drink with him. Couple this performance with reservedly affectionate and dedicatedly hammy guitar work and sticky synth work that stains the compositions on this record like squid ink, and you have a confoundingly gorgeous monstrosity that feels like it was raised up all wrong but still manages to stand proudly on all four misshapened limbs. Happy For Now feels purposefully inelegant, but that's just what makes it undeniably distinguished.

Ghost Funk Orchestra - A Trip To The Moon (Coalmine Records)

Returning on a sling-shot orbit that flung him through parts unknown, producer Seth Applebaum has once again entered airspace within earshot of terrestrial mammalia in order to beam down a frequency of funky and bodacious reverie as cool and enigmatic as the dark side of the moon. Ghost Funk Orchestra's A Trip to the Moon continues the project’s mission of carving its signature in the absorbing knot of warp tethers that interchange along the oracular evolutionary seams of '60s funk, modish garage rock, and spotlight-stealing R'n’B, all while planting its flag in an array of outlying constellations, and drawing them together in a cosmic sort of macrame, a process that has the effect of to transforming the entirety of the Milky Way into one giant love nest. Prepare to explore strange new worlds of desire, to seek out new loves and new ways of loving, and to boldly go where only Eros knows the way...  

Mary Sue - Voice Memos From A Winter In China (Clementi Sound)

Singapore rapper, Mary Sue, documents his tour across China in his sweetly, wistful and sanguine LP, Voice Memos From A Winter In China. Through slickly reflective and graciously obliged lines, we follow Mary Sue along long expenses of freshly paved highway, around mountain bluffs and into placid snow-swept valleys, through the back doors of hole-in-the-wall bars, between the booths of family-owned restaurants, and under the guarding blaze of small-stage lights as they sanctify space for his platonic shift into a rhyming sage of ethnographic elucidation and trans-continental civil concordance. Classic, but not classist, it's the road record of the year, if not the decade.  

Home Invasion - Enemy (WAR Records)

Enemy is the first LP from Chicago hardcore rage factory Home Invasion since they rangled a new vocalist, James Farn. As James explained to No Echo back in April of this year, the group's goal with the record was to make something that compelled the listener to think of themselves as potential human ordnance, ready to drop from the stage onto their fellow fleshy wastoids in order to inflict maximum devastation. "If your feet don’t leave the ground while listening, we have failed," is a direct quote from the band, and honestly, if the circle-saw-like riffs, fast-core grooves, and fiery, human-blast furnace-like vocals don't get your feet moving, it's probably because your heart stopped during one of their songs and you're currently in need of defibrillation. Luckily for you, the guitar parts carry enough electricity to cold start a Buick. If that isn't enough to raise you from the floor, then you might be better off staying supine until somebody can plant you somewhere you can rot in peace.  

SiP - Leos Ultras (Not Not Fun Records)

Jimmy Lacy's SiP has emerged from his hermitage located somewhere in the Chicago marshes with a richly subdued LP of calmly transmundane melodic grooves, grown and pasteurized to suit even the most discerning of palates. He calls this LP Leos Ultras, an abundantly botanical series of tenderly cultivated, densely patterned ruminations raised to prompt contented self-reflection and appreciative assessments of the social ecology from which each of us ultimately germinated, in both a literal and sociological sense. It is a wordless commemoration of all the common things that are too miraculous to explain in mere linguistic terms.

Anna Öberg - Sin (Xenophone International)

Sin, the fourth album from Swedish singer Anna Öberg continues her course and prolonged incursion into the world of EDM. Coming from a punk background, Anna brings a certain punchy vitality to her vocal performances that complements the gliding basslines and icy synth burn of the accompanying instrumentation with a suitably human intercession of soil, blood, and spleen. Formidably mysterious and yet accommodatingly vitalistic, Sin is the ghost in the machine that transforms creaking tinmen into lithe and exquisitely vulgarian acrobats.  

Finom - Not God (Joyful Noise Recordings)

If someone asks if you're a god, the smart answer is usually "yes." Chicago's Finom run against such vestibules of conventional (and filmic) wisdom and seek to question contemporary assumptions of authority and control, all in one neat and tidy, spiny and shiny package- Not God is the fourth album by singer/songwriter duo Sima Cunningham and Macie Stewart, and the first under their current nom de plume (RIP Homme and Ohmme, long live Finom). The refined minimalism of the group's approach is carried over into this latest record in a manner that continues to serve their defiantly distinctive and intuitive style of writing and performance in increasingly provocative ways. Descriptions of vices such as dirt eating, battles with technology over control of one's itinerary (and sanity), and outlines of the self as a house that someone else occupies, give these character sketches of modern life the figurative flesh required to leap from the merely metaphorical and land with both feet in the realm of the real. Finom might say that they're not God, but they're certainly channeling something transcendent on this record.

 

Bedbug - pack your bags the sun is growing (Disposable America)

I don't know why it tickles me so much that Dylan Citron describes his project Bedbug as indie rock. It is literally the thing Dylan says it is. It's rock music that is not distributed by a major label. But indie qua rock has developed a specific character and sound over the decades, which the project fits, but not exactly. I would call what they are doing emo, more specifically, which, in my own critical bias, is a determination that I'm forced to make due to the utter convergence of DIY and emo aesthetics in the last five years. Even though what Dylan is doing here feels very of the moment, their record, pack your bags the sun is growing, isn't reducible to the sum of the work and influence of their peers. It is a furtive and yet playfully subdued inquest into the complexities of life's uncertainties through abstract storytelling and refreshingly tender instrumentation that are as clean in their fidelity as the lyrics are empathically composed- a product of an enduring and winding pursuit of small truths sifted from fluctuating expenses. It's a singular plot of marshy reflections where tiny creatures can coast on a mossy dream.

Amáutica - Sin Altares (Aenaos Records)

Argentinian dark rock duo El Guru and Romina Dusk express a mystic orientation sans institutional sanction on their second album Sin Altares. Coming seven years after their previous release, the agonizing and gothically chimerical quality of their Earthy and exquisite elocutions paints a profound picture of endless nights stirred by undercurrents of vibrant phantasmal elegies. A dark and beautiful record, veiled in esoteric intimacies, and undaunted by the strength required to bring their swarthy invocations to the pale of enlightened recognition.  

Home Entertainment - Qi (Self-Released)

Chicago's Home Entertainment are the "roaches of rock 'n roll"- or so they say... What they actually are three dudes who know how to write a catchy riff and a sailing hook. Their second LP, Qi (as in "chee," not IQ backwards), is a sardonically stochastic press-ganging of live-wire post-punk grooves, proggy wormholes and interstitial diversions, and freak-brained garage rock with pathological pop-sensibilities. Instantaneously engaging and brimming with sarcastic seeming observations, you can enjoy Qi anywhere you find the torpor of boredom seeping in, at home, at work, on the L, a meeting with your accountant about your impending IRS audit- whenever tedium threatens, Home Entertainment attenuates.

your arms are my cocoon - death of a rabbit (Reasonable Records)

your arms are my cocoon continues to be one of the many roughly hewn but still lustrous gems of the underground - not just in Chicago but in the wider world of DIY. Each release from YAAMC feels more momentous than the last and much more ostentatious than anything so subtle and intermittently shy-seeming should (especially when you consider how much of it is typically captured via smartphone). death of a rabbit is, of course, no exception in this regard. Easily their most ambitious release to-date, the album explores the birth and (un)death of a relationship through airy lofts of drizzly dry guitar chords, wooly electronic textures, and insistently self-immolating dives into skramzy schisms. Sometimes, the record feels like burning alive in your own bed, while other times, you are set free to float above the ashes of what only seems like another's calamity as it unfolds. Suffocating under the weight of one's own devotion never felt so cozy.

Blushing - Sugarcoat (Kanine Records)

There is really no need to confectionize anything about the latest release from Austin quadruple, Blushing, in order to make their music easier to swallow- that's because everything about it is sweet to its core already. Sugarcoat, the third LP from the group, is a delightfully punchy amalgamation of grungy walls of echo and gorgeously bold grooves that crackle and combust like technicolor sweets packed with firecrackers. Swirling through the sugary chaos are the clarion belts of vocalists Michelle Soto and Christina Carmona, whose calm but ranging harmonies resolve into a variegated plain of modest composure by which the listener can traverse the fog of distortion and candied calamity unscathed. Catch this glow-up before it blows-up!  

Anna Butterss - Mighty Vertebrate (International Anthem)

Mighty Vertebrate is such an amazing title for jazz bassist Anna Butterss's second solo album. It really is. Why, you ask? Because it's an album that is the product of a certain boldness of approach. Every track, every part, was born of some self-imposed limitation as well as an openness to accept the results of these elective boundaries. It is also the product of a particular tendency towards boldness in the face of the uncertainties of collaboration- allowing others (most notably Jeff Parker) to leave their mark on the album in unmistakable ways. These subtle arbitrations of creative valor have cultivated one of the more uniquely flexible, sonically chimeric, and yet distinctive jazz records of the year- an unequivocal inspiration to listeners and peers alike.

Castle Rat - Into The Realm (King Volume Records)

Honestly, if you come across a year-end, AOTY, or just a general recap of 2024 that doesn't include Castle Rat's Into The Realm, you might as well burn it, send it to hell, and forget about it. This is one of the most gorgeously dark and moody albums I've heard all year. It is graceful and exudes a prideful kind of darkness, having been recorded in the shell of an abandoned church in keeping with its diabolically defiant nature. A ruin-raiding caravan of doom-laden blues in the vein of Coven and other such witchy sonic phantasma, baring its whimsically washed barbarism down a path of grim enlightenment revealed by the prismatic luster of an ancient crystal of unknown origins. It's like a clash of ancient acuity with a modern fog-storm of techno-wizardry in a future plain that manifests its own infernal existence by the manipulation of leprous muses and the beautiful damned. A near-perfect heavy metal record as far as I am concerned.

Amy O - Mirror, Reflect (Winspear)

The making of Bloomington musician Amy O's album Mirror, Reflect brings to mind a Japanese phrase that I'm rather fond of: 継続は力なり(Keizoku wa chikara nari), which more or less means, "persistence is power" in English. A product of a consistent dedication to process, this collection of invariably Heavenly raising lo-fi punk manifests dreamy contemplations on motherhood, friendship, and living with uncertainty in a playful daydream demarcated by lilac textured vocals, puckish minimalism and the soft embrace of plushy feedback. Every step you take is one step closer to where you need to be, and Mirror, Reflect is the soundtrack to the cyclical process of renewal that makes personal progress possible.

Konoha - Komorebi (We're Trying Records)

Konah's Komorebi is the first Italian emo band I've ever encountered. Ironically, they've elected to give their album (and themselves) a Japanese name, but I think the reference to light shining through overhead foliage which the album's title invokes is very fitting for the group's material. There is a maximalist earnestness to the way they throw themselves into the music on this record, almost like they're trying to punch holes in the surface of a barrier that separates them from the listener to allow the light, sound, and fury from their side to stream through and illuminate the dark beyond- very much like the mid-day sun cutting through the shadow cast by a great gnarled tree. I think a lot of groups could learn from the passion on display here because it is truly something to behold and easily transcends any hurdles, such as language or cultural context, which might otherwise alienate people not familiar with the Italian language or life in the Northern section of the peninsula they call home.

Hey! Look at that, you made it to the end. That's super!