Album Review: Votive - Towards the Pillory

You might not believe this, but I don't actually come across that many genuine screamo, or as I was used to call them back in the day: "progressive hardcore," bands. The style experienced a bit of a signal boost in 2021, with groups like Four Your Health and Hazing Out releasing records to some solid fanfare, but those groups definitely fell more on the old-school metalcore side of the screamo scales. Austin's Votive more or less fits the bill, though... sonically, at least. As far as the subject matter of their LP Towards the Pillory, this could be a post-black metal album, as it's rife with allusions to the circumstances of one's lost faith and the failure of god's servants to properly guide their flocks on the pastures of this mortal plane. In terms of sound, Votive might have been in good company on a label like Init Records at one point, as they are extremely noisy, with layered, needling feedback conveying an incredibly claustrophobic sense of space... like you've been mortared up in the walls of someone's wine cellar and left to rot and eventually house a rat colony in your rib-cage. The murkiness that they wallow in doesn't do much to weigh them down, though, as the group nibbly prowls the meridian between gracefully flighted mathy interstitions that glide by on tattered wings and ghoulish, coffin-nail driving, grave-gouging throwdowns. Honestly, with the pitch and pace of their approach, Votive almost have as much in common with a group like KEN Mode as Bucket Full of Teeth, maybe with a light dusting of Agalloch to hasten the conclusion that they're rising from the tomb of a punished, spiritual nadir. Votive might drag you to the pillory, but there is no guarantee that you'll ever muster the strength or desire to leave it. 

No Regrets, No goodbyes, No Funeral Records.

Album Review: Hannya White - I call you another name

We all act a little differently around new people- as well as people who we know quite well. You're going to show more deference and regard for your Mom than you would an old friend from college (at least you should unless you'd like to get smacked on the side of the head with a wooden spoon), and you're most certainly going to present yourself as competent, professional, and knowledgable while you're on a job interview (unless the job is President of the United States, and the setting is a televised debate, in which case you might just air whatever grievances or offensive fantasies come to mind- why not, let it all hang out), more so than you would if you were, say, on a date (in either case, it's probably best to keep your more conspiratorial thought patterns to yourself- that's second or third date territory, Romeo). This is the way it works for me, at least- maybe your Mom thinks it's funny that you swear like a harried sous chef at a line cook during a dinner rush, or maybe your highest career ambition has been remaining especially drunk during the day while operating a car crusher without a license. I don't know you, but you do you. Who I do feel like I know a little better now is Hannya White. The London sound artist's second EP I call you another name is an incredibly minimalistic exploration of the slippery nature of identity- examining how easily it can be created, destroyed, molded, and shattered through a succession of light sonic suits that resemble the feeling of being home alone and hearing a noise from the other room- a sound that seems to betray the presence of something or someone endeavoring to avoid detection- you know, bump in the night sort of thing. Haunting or not, what becomes clear as you venture through the cottony cobweb mesh of trance-inflected, whisper-fine vocals, breathy groans of straining string arrangments, and moist unspoiling blossoms of wriggly beat-patterned is that this other presence you've been pursuing... the shape shrinking around the corner... the creak in the attic... is, well, you! It's always been you- just another side of you, one you didn't realize you had, or rather, was worth getting to know. Maybe that thing scooting around beneath the wallpaper of your mind's parlor is the side of you that can only be freed when you're alone... or when you've met the right person- the kind of person whose charisma holds the key to your heart, or who has the kind of personality that simmers at just the right temperature to melt the waxen walls of your defenses. Maybe it's because they call you by your name. Maybe they give you a new name, your true name. A secret name that only the two of you know and which you sigh to each other in the dead of night like a summoning spell to conjure forth with precious candor the person you were meant to be. 

Interview: Toby Jeg of Red Scare Industries

When you're a lifer, you're a lifer, and Toby Jeg is a lifer if there ever was one. Incubating his label Red Scare Industries in the early '00s at Fat Wreck Chords, he eventually moved the label to Chicago and then continued to operate it as a rogue cell of international subversion as he traversed the country and later the globe. Over that time, he's nurtured and broke some of the most beloved punk bands of the past 20 years, and also put out some of their best punk records (imo! But, no, really.). He's now (as previously alluded) celebrating 20 years of raucous, drunken revolt with a comp full of fresh new tracks from comrades and cronies alike, featuring contributions from old-school standbys like The Falcon, Cobra Skulls, The Menzingers, Elway, and Bollweevils, recent signees like Laura Jane Grace, fellow prols like Dead to Me, and a whole bunch of people Toby just likes and thinks are cool. You can check out our limited hangout, featuring ramblings and reminding on punk back in the day, signing of underdog superstars from Nowhere, USA, and get an insider's brief on the assembly of the 20th-anniversary comp below: 

Check out the 20th Aniverasry Comp Here: 

And if you're in Chicago there are some shows happening at the Beat Kitchen to celebrate the label's milestone birthday. More details at beatkitchen.com

Album Review: Dot Dash - 16 Again

Hey! The station's muckety-mucks want me to let you know that this album is a priority. It slipped under our radar last year but it's now in regular rotation and you should play it LOUD and OFTEN. Shouldn't be a problem- it's really groovy! XOXO - Jen, PA 

Dot Dash / 16 Again / Country Mile Records / 2023

This is a compilation of some career-spanning cuts (15 to be exact) from Dot Dash's catalog. They're guys are DC-based guys who have been around since at least 2011 and include members of St. Christopher, Julie Ocean, and Youth Brigade (if you can believe it), and their name is a Wire reference (I think!). It seems pretty auspicious but it's actually very accessible, comprising of mostly Kinks-y takes on the more radio-ready side of post-punk/new wave like Orange Juice and The Smithereens-type stuff with a real emphasis on songwriting and catch-you-by-the-collar hooks. Very cool, modish tunes floating throughout this thing, all under a Buzzcocks reference! Honestly, these guys don't just know how to play rock and roll; they're certified scholars (Alan Vega name drops, 50s dance craze throwbacks, and other such allusions abound, plus a Television Personalities cover, see. T16 "Jackanory Stories")! Turn it up buddy! 

Focus tracks: T1 "Forever Far Out," has a sort of Byrds-y/REM-ish jangle to it; T3 "Trip Over Clouds" has a classic '80s indie vibe cross-referenced with some surf riffs; T6 "Gray Blue Green" has a nice drive to it with little subtly of mood thrown in; T13 "La-La Land" is just buzzy, hip-shaking fun; don't forget T16! 

- Tom, Music Department

Play this or you're fired. And if you're late for your shift again, you're double-fired. Also we just had the exterminator in to re-set the traps to take care of our mouse problem- if I catch wind of you eating in the studio and getting crumbs everywhere again you're triple-fired! - Jim, Station MGMT

Walk the road less traveled with Country Mile Records.

Album Review: Channeler - Cliff Aster

Folks need to cool, chill, relax, vibe out, halt, desist, stop, and get down on all fours and whiff some flower genitalia or what have you... Speaking for myself at least. This is something that I need to tell myself consistently... especially when working towards deadlines and on my third pot of coffee for the day. I suspect you could use a reminder of this as well... Everyone seems to have a case of third-degree burnout these days. Here's the deal: I'm going to slip some chill jams into your headspace like a nice shiny quarter dollar in a claw machine, and I expect you to take the thirty requisite minutes it requires to enjoy said gift in full and do nothing else but soak up the atmosphere and let the ozone permeate. Don't give yourself the short shrift here; this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; seize it by the stems! Anyway, Channeler is an LA-based artist whose debut EP Cliff Aster submerges liquid-smooth and gracefully flowy breakbeat in a bath of quintessentially cleansing and anxiety-purging atmospherics that disinfects one's clouded senses like a saline mist for the soul. Its echos of natural splendor entwine and enrapture a percolating sense of calm as they are kissed by deep cuts of star-shaded sequences and time-abating, liminal territory-expanding, omni-orienting oscillations. Its heady pulse permits a sense of restful daydreaming, an oasis of ataraxia where a garden blooms, nurtured by some gracious source of internal light. An electric fiddler's green, realized in high-definition reality, in the here and now. If it doesn't chill out, the next step might be some muscle relaxers prescribed by your family physician... Cliff Aster has few side effects, although it may be habit-forming. 

Album Review: Milkypossum - Digital Utopia

Today is a very strange day for the internet. Outside the web of digital soul mesh that normally consumes our waking lives (ie off in meatspace) a federal circuit appeals court unanimously upheld a lower court's ruling affirming the decision that the Internet Archives policy of scanning and loaning out books in a manner similar to libraries is not only not permissible but also violates copyright law- in otherwords, this thing that the Internet Archive was doing to make copies of difficult to acquire and obscure books available online to the public... its illegal. Bummer (full decision can be found here). In reading the coverage of this case, milkypossum's "I Can Haz Torrentz?" has been rolling around my brain like an errant pinball, slinging itself against pop bumpers and spinners and wracking up a high score within my personal accounting of existential angst, leaving me with the impression that the way to use to really internet as it was intended... is still the old-fashioned way... Yo Ho Ho (Link unrelated). Putting aside this major setback to web freedom and access to information, I'm going to pierce the horizon of this ominous event by talking more in depth about milkypossum's LP from this year, Digital Utopia. The release is a thematic exploration of digital isolation and the potential that the internet provides to reshape relaity... as well as to wall ourselves off from the rest of humanity; loading ourselves down with innumerable novelties and authenticated (or otherwise), substitutional fantasies; transforming each of us into the Junk Lady from Labyrinth, loaded down with all the pretty things that vice-lock out dopamine receptors and slowly cripple us physically and spiritually- the human ego envisioned as a cracking gem, pulverized by the gravity of a universe of its own design... a tiny creature, held voluntarily captive in a colossal puppet, whose dreams connect with this shell's moving parts, rousing the infernal apparatus into a life-like verve, little cloud kissed feet, working the machine... It's interesting to note that while Digital Utopia was released this year, and its themes are certainly applicable to any era of the internet, referentially, the album more so cleaves its touchstones and totems from a much older, pre-smartphone epoch. When I listen to Digital Utopia I'm drawn back into the days when fresh and exciting demonstrations of artistic and creative skill were released daily in the form of flash animations on Newgrounds, or a time when you had to have a little html knowhow to pimp your NeoPet's site, or the window of history when the most reliable way to hear the hottest new releases on a limited budget, or see the latest blockbuster movie in the comfort of your own home was to torrent them... This was an era where the internet was a lot less frictionless, and you'd actually have to put in the effort and learn some new skills in order to get what you wanted out of it. That act of will, the requisite outlaying of ambition and agency required to get lost on the internet in previous generations, also left room for a certain level of reflection and self-understanding of which Digital Utopia is a mirror study. There was once a time when you had to build your own gilded cage and could customize it how you liked... now that prison is shaped for you, algorithmically- a panoptic highway that stretches on to the outer limits of the stars, where every streetlamp contains a cold voyeuristic eye, every billboard a set of ears, and there are no off ramps. There are artifacts of this pre-historic, cyber servaliance state and ad-served assembly line compressed like veins of silver through out Digital Utopia, not just in terms of cultural touchbacks and subject matter, but stylistically as well, as the album sonically represents a marriage between Myspace era hip-hop (now commonly besmirched as hyperpop) and raw, bright, and sharp cascades of modern breakbeat beatprocessing and soundscalpting (as well as representing some production choices that are way more common in Japan than the States at present). This cutting through and collapsing of past and present tense internet ephemera does more than simply bridge different cultural moments; it shows how trends tend and cultural values tend to slip into each other and rub off of one another to become something new. And this brings us back to what I was saying about the recent court decision, as the digital road we're traveling on begins to narrow, the lights above dim and the cavern walls begin to close in, it's worth recalling that its outlaws and delinquents who once governed this world and were it's masters, and that they still have the power to make it a site of freedom and a place worth getting lost... if only they'll take up their former crowns. To paraphrase a hymn of a departed era: So come aboard and bring along, All your hopes and dreams, Together we will find everything, That we're looking for... Peace out!