Listening with an open mind. Writing about what I hear.
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I debated with myself long and hard about whether or not I wanted to say anything about this album, and in the end, the side of me that favored writing a post won out, mostly because I happen to like this release a lot sonically, but also, against my better judgment, I find it amusing. But before I go any further, I just want to say for the record that I hate this kind of stuff and I am generally opposed to it. What kind of stuff you may ask? Stuff like people uploading metal and punk projects to the internet while claiming to be from a country where there is a perception that these types of music are either uncommon, outright prohibited, or both. Over the past decade, the worst offenders in this regard (in my estimation at least) have been black metal and crust punk music from people claiming to be from Muslim majority countries. They are usually embarrassingly exposed from the outset by writing the titles to their songs in Arabic running left to right, but even worse than being liars, these projects are usually pretty suck-ass, soulless, and derivative. Everyone's favorite example of this sort of scam seems to be Ghost Bath, i.e., the North Dakota atmoblack band who initially made their bag claiming to be from China (a country that has no shortage of metal bands in it), but I could actually care less about another personalityless "blackgaze" band. For context, Kuryong (which Google keeps translating for me as Kowloon- a place in China that no longer exists), claims on their Bandcamp, and through a number of uploads to Youtube via channels that post a lot of underground metal, that they are part of a North Korean propaganda project, actually based in the DPRK and sponsored by the government there. Sure... the government of the DPRK is looking to increase warm feelings and tolerance for itself in the West and the world more broadly by releasing black metal music... the most openly hostile and nihilistic form of heavy music there is... great f*cking strategy. What's next? Are they going to hire actors to re-enact a GG Allin set at the next UN General Assembly meeting? I can't claim to be an expert on all things (or any things) North Korean, but I'm willing to bet that a band like this, with this image and sound, is not how THAT (or any) government wants to present itself to the world. So it's nearly 100% guaranteed the backstory of this demo is bull-pucky from a sniff test angle, but then there is the actual proof, manifest, that this is not a North Korean project, this being the fact that IT HAS A BANDCAMP AND YOUTUBE PRESENCE! It's literally against Bandcamp's Terms of Service to use their platform if you are a citizen of, or located in, North Korea, and any money obtained from such an internet presence via sales would violate so, so, so many US sanctions and laws. In addition, YouTube is extremely cautious about letting stuff from sanctioned countries onto their platform because they don't want to get fined or prosecuted by the US government- they will take down a channel run by a woman in North Korea who does nothing but fish and visit waterfalls in order to avoid these complications- there is no reason to believe they wouldn't immediately kill something like this demo as well if they thought there was any chance of it having its origin in the DPRK. So what IS the likely story behind Kuryong's Summoning of Paektu? Well as some people on Reddit and YouTube have already pointed out, the band does appear to actually be singing (shrieking) in Korean, so that probably rules out some Idaho farm boy having a goof. It also means that this is likely a hoax (or likely more accurately a facade) of someone(s) from either South Korea or somewhere else in Asia (potentially making this an even more intriguing and frankly dangerous endeavor than it appears on its surface- because being pro-DPRK, even as a joke, is very, very, incredibly illegal in South Korea). But what is the REALLY REAL story behind Kuryong's Summoning of Paektu? It freakin rips! It doesn't matter where it's from, this is a despairingly ugly, bleak and harrowingly caustic cask of second-wave styled black metal that sounds like it was recorded in the depths of a sunken tomb only to rise like a cloud of diseased bats to blot out the sun and suck the marrow from your bones. A horrid whirlwind of blightingly odious sound that licks and gnaws the ears like a gale formed of biting insects and razor wire. A wretched and consciously vicious emergence of insatiable malignance and pestilent sound that harkens to darker prospects just beyond the field of our apprehension and the light of our intellect and reason. I really don't care who did this, or where they are actually from, but I want to hear more, either under Kuryong's present guise, or whatever other mask they care to don in order to face the world.
I've been thinking a lot more about death than usual. A couple of weeks ago something busted in the vent to the dryer in my house and took up residence in my basement amongst my belongings. I couldn't locate it or even tell what it was for days, but kept finding its nuggets as well as trails of shredded blankets, cardboard boxes, and electrical wires (it had a REAL taste for ethernet cables in case you're wondering) just about everywhere. Then one day, the evisceration of my belongings ceased, and a few days after that, I found, by smell, the carcass of a rabbit in one of the storage areas. It had evidently starved to death, or died of thirst, something... I only wish I had found it sooner because by the time I came upon it, the poor dead varmint was in repose on a bed of writhing maggots- sections of its flank having already collapsed inward into black troughs out of which a runnel of wiggling things aimlessly oozed. If I had been able to spot and catch the little scamp earlier, I could have released it and saved it from this fate- alas, its natural skittishness and the floor plan of my basement conspired to turn it into a forensics challenge. This event has unexpectedly led me to wonder what kind of rut I've designed for myself, and it is leading me to a place I'd rather not be several years down the trail from today, a trap of my own making with no hope of pivoting course. The unfortunate reality is that you can't know if you're doing something stupid, so long as you're following your inclinations, which, like the rabbit that made my home its tomb, means one's best instincts (seeking shelter, hiding from larger animals... chewing on electrical wiring for sustenance) become the surest route to self-disposal. I can't say honestly that there are any habits I indulge that are obvious preludes to doom, but it's hard to shake the ambient anxiety all the same. Someone whose instincts seem spot on to me at the moment though is the Bronx-based black metal project Abriction. Her latest LP Forbidden Bounds is aiding in the ebb of these directionless fears that have swept over me recently by lending me the benefit of its biting catharsis, as it paints a portrait of reality far bleaker than the one I currently inhabit. The album is a meditation on the paralytic psychic-static of loneliness, the gulf in consciousness between souls (even presumably close ones), and the tendency of life to be eaten by ash as easily as a cigarette is consumed by its ember- classic bitter, neverending winter, and cold night for forlorn spirits type material. It's an impressive solo black metal project and a resoundingly piquant effort that goes well beyond the typical blackened void-inhaling drone and d-beat pummel that typifies endeavors of this sort. It seems tempting to silo Meredith Salvatori's (that is, the singular woman behind Abriction) work into the "blackgaze" camp* due to the project's atmospherically dense and morosely melodic tendencies, but the riffage, direful gashes of groove and scaths of disjointed rhythm displayed on Forbidden Bounds appear to have as much pedigree in pop-punk, trip-hop, deathcore, nu-metal and video game OSTs as they do in relation to anything Alcest or Bosse-de-Nage have given spiteful form to over the course of their distinctive careers. The whole and inseparable integration of disparate but counterposing trains of angst-animated euphony are so smooth and effortless here that even describing them as chimeric would be misleading, as their synthesis is so complete that the only source of dissonance they exhibit is in the overwhelming force of alienation their combined form gives expression to- it is less a manticore-type situation and more a representation of a member of the mink tribe in union as human and beast all in the same... and under the influence of a full moon, naturally. The best comparison by example that is raised by Abriction's efforts on this record is actually not a metal project at all, but the hyperpop of underscores, and similarly oriented artists, who playfully arrange familiar yet categorically distinct templates to fashion their masterworks; in this way Abriction treats all genres and past modes of expression as a kind of raw clay from which she scrapes and sculpts to suit her vision and impress her intention upon, molding these sounds to the bleak, malignant curvature of her mind. As of this writing, there seems to be a slow consciousness building amongst fans of Abriction's lengthy and growing discography that her 2024 LP Banshee is the most preferable articulation of all her variable permutations, but this harder-landing, teeth-baring, and less atmospherically-soluble form found on Forbidden Bounds is pressing the frontier of her potential in an even more fruitful and darkly splendid direction and I hope to see it continue. Now if you will excuse me, I'm going to go leave some crackers on the floor of my basement so that no one else inadvertently starves down there, and then shoot my therapist a check-in email to see if we can't get something on the books for next week.
* Because apparently the only unorthodox black metal band anyone is aware of anymore is Deafheaven, so everything becomes "blackgaze" if it tends towards complex shades of moodiness rather than outright nihilism these days.
Once bitten, twice shy they say... unless we're talkin' Philly's Armbite... apparently being bitten by the music-bug has only made them all the more ready to share their rawest and realist feelings with the world. And so we have, Dawg Rock Vol. 1., an album's worth of punky pop-jams about eating trash and nippin' at the mail-person's heels... locating and rolling around in dead fish... um, making logs on the neighbor's lawn... *checks notes* Wait, what is this album about? *fumbling noises* Somebody must have written about it somewhere. *frantic Googling noises* Ah, here we go... No, wait, this is just a Wikihow on what to do if you've been savaged by a foamy raccoon. *Sighs* Alright... I'm going straight to the source with this one. *opens window, takes deep breath* Hey Harrison! Care to explain what's going on here, bud?!?
And that's basically how all the interviews happen. I get some sorta notion and then direct unsolicited questions to people who have better things to do than provide details, at length, about things that are easily open to interpretation, and then spill whatever I've squeezed out of these poor souls onto the internet.
For your benefit and mine, Harrison Lennertz (vocals/guitar) of Armbite was willing to talk to me (on behalf of himself, Marin Duff (vocals/bass), and Matt Guardiola (drums)) about the band's origins, the literal underground odyssey involved in making their debut LP, Dawg Rock Vol. 1., and even broke down the songs off their album, track-by-track, with analysis and deep lore for those who are perverted enough to want that sorta thing (like moi).
While Armbite are pretty upfront about their influences and what they want to sound like (basically Glocca Mora with a hard, Sweet Pill coating), what first attracted me to the band was not the obvious, but rather the subtextual stock from which they spring. To me, they are a band with a very classic, indie-rock vibe, one that is effortlessly fun yet insightful, stone-solid and serendipitous, devotional while still slightly droll in their approach to songwriting, reminding one of groups that are as soft yet dependable, hard-edged yet easy to love, and comforting but not coddling as Lemuria, Mixtapes, and Spraynard. They're in good company as far as my head-canon is concerned, as they are in real life, being signed to We're Trying Records, a label with one of the more consistent discographies in the whole of contemporary DIY and emo-oriented underground.
Hopefully, Armbite will be welcomed into the shelter that separates your ears (and you won't want to leave them out in the doghouse) after you check out their interview below. Dive on in! They don't bite... ok, so maybe they do... but it's like in a nice way, like a cat after you give them some really good scritches, or a brisk autumnal breeze that coolly caresses the tip of your nose while you sip a hot, spiced cider... You know, the kind of bite that's more of a kiss than a snap, of the sort that makes you feel less alone in this world, that kind of bite.
The following interview was conducted via email from October 12th through 14th. It appears in its original form, annotated but not edited.
Where does the name Armbite come from?
When we started playing together we started a groupchat, of which we made that drawing of the guy biting his own arm our groupchat picture. Eventually the time came around where we had to come up with a band name because we were about to get ready for our first gig; we were throwing around a bunch of names left and right, then Matt said something like "wait, hear me out. armbite," like the picture from our groupchat. That name just like instantly clicked for us, and it was pretty set from then. The only quandary we had was whether we do one word or two words, but it's just one word. For the record.
...cute, yeah?
If you were to sum up the Armbite ethos in three words or fewer, what would it be?
Fun, energy, instinct.
[Editor's Note: I honestly thought he was going to say "gotta have fun." Really throwing a curveball here.]
How important is maintaining an element of chaos in your dynamics as a band?
I think that the "element of chaos" comes a bit more naturally to us when we write stuff we think is fun and energetic – like when I write for this band, I want to write stuff that makes you go "hell yeah. This is crazy." We can't just do that all the time though, we need some quiet parts to make those ones stick out; we're not even really doing that super intentionally, it just feels right. I'd say our element of chaos isn't so much that we have the most absurd riffs and polyrhythms and lack thereof or whatever, we just like to keep people on their toes.
Dawg Rock appears to be a bit of an overview of your career as a band so far. Is this a correct assessment? How do you frame it for yourselves?
I'd say so! A lot of the songs on the album stretch back to as early as our first show, with probably the most recent one being written and put together last summer. We thought pretty extensively about if we'd rather have our first release be something shorter like an EP, but all roads came back to us wanting to put our first foot forward with a project that felt more complete.
Tell me about the recording process for this Dawg Rock Vol. 1. It sounds like quite the odyssey.
I think if it felt like an odyssey for anyone, it would have been Bridget*, who we actually tasked with recording the album. Her studio flooded on Christmas 2024, which was awful, and harder on her than it was on any of us. In spite of having to deal with insurance and whatever troubles with that, she was really determined to get us started on the recording process, and had secured us a couple of days at Hidden Fortress near the beginning of January for Matt to track drums, and they managed to record the entire album's worth of drums in that two day timeframe. What then followed was a long tedious process of weekly recording sessions, working around work and school schedules, done in various locations; we did guitars at The Meadow (R.I.P., shoutout Pru for letting us use your guitar amp), my vocals in my basement, Marin did bass at Bridget's apartment, and Marin and Matt did some additional vocal and auxiliary percussion recording in Matt's old basement (R.I.P. The Underworld). I even got Bridget to drive us out to my old college so I could get into the concert hall and record piano. It ended up taking us five months to record the album, and pretty much every session we did independently of each other, but Bridget really stuck it out for us and did the most to actually make this album happen. I'm really glad she has since also managed to get a new studio together, so for the love of god, if you want to record your music, hire her.
* Bridget's not in the band, but she was the recording engineer for this project. She also recorded our first version of "catsitting" like two years ago, our very first show was the last show for Bridget's old band and she said "I want to record you guys and I'll do it for free" so we took her up on it. We've remained very close to her and were very enthused to work with her for this project.
How did Dawg Rock Vol. 1. end up being the title of this album?
We've leaned into the whole "dawg rock" thing since early on, at least since I made the band Instagram and put "philly dawg rock" in the bio. So when it came time to think about a name for the album, it just felt like the most natural choice.
Is there a Vol. 2 in the works?
One thing at a time, please. We do have some songs I've written that we need to actually work on though – next project might be a quick, more emo-driven EP. Then after that we want to do a heavy EP, call it "harmbite" or something.
Were you ever worried that there were too many obstacles in the way of finishing this album or that the recording process would run out of steam?
Personally, no. Did it take a lot longer to record than I expected? Yes, but that's on my own naivety. Everyone involved was really committed to seeing this album through, and if anyone had the right to run out of steam while working on it, it would have been Bridget. She put in more recording hours and stuck through it harder than any of us. Like I said, hire her.
How did you get connected with Jack Shirley, and how did his work on the album help it become the best version of itself?
I just sent him an email. I reached out, he responded, we talked about working on the album, and he agreed to do it. It then took us several months to actually get the songs recorded and sent to him, but he did it. We took a page out of Haunt Dog's (also a Bridget project) book and tried to get someone experienced involved on our project who really could grasp the sound we were going for – for Filbert, Haunt Dog got the guy who did Ghoul Intentions, and we really liked a lot of artists and albums Jack Shirley worked on (Jeff Rosenstock, awakebutstillinbed, the last Gouge Away record, Greatest Hits by Remo Drive, etc. etc.), so we figured it would be worth a shot. I initially just asked if he could just master the album; he said he'd only do mixing and mastering at minimum, but he agreed to work within our budget, and he really helped us make it happen. He was great to work with throughout the process, provided a lot of great advice and much needed reality checks, and he really made the album sound awesome – we told him what we were going for, and he responded accordingly and exceedingly. Incredibly grateful that we got to work with him, and incredibly grateful for what he put into this album.
Do you have any strong influences outside of emo and pop-punk? If not, why not? If so, who?
For sure! At least personally, I listen to predominantly guitar music, and lately I've been really trying to delve into realms outside of the emo-sphere (that isn't to say there isn't an incredible amount of diversity within that scene – fifth wave emo is a beautiful hodgepodge of influences spanning far beyond emo revival). I've been enjoying a lot of more angular genres like math rock, mathcore, brutal prog, art rock, art punk, sass, and no wave, but I also grew up on classic rock, have learned a lot from jazz, and still enjoy genres like indie rock and ska (of course). Some bands that I've gotten into over the past year and have really stuck with me include Yucky Duster, The Callous Daoboys, black midi and Geordie Greep, P.E.E., Tera Melos (and pretty much anything Nick Reinhart), Black Eyes, Grocer, Wince, Black Matter Device, Ruins, Dillinger Escape Plan, The Dismemberment Plan, Fugazi, The Blood Brothers, Sajjanu, Charly Bliss, BCNR, Desparecidos, Fashion Tips, Glenn Branca, Koenjihyakkei, The Gerogerigegege, John Zorn, Lahnah, Marnie Stern, Mclusky, me and him call it us, Palm, Ski Club, The Great Redneck Hope, God Is My Co-Pilot, The Wicked Farleys, Basil's Kite, Show Me The Body, and Zeta. Less so me, but I know other influences in the band come from less guitar-heavy places too, some prominent ones being Kesha and spellcasting.
(I know I just dropped an insane list, feel free to editorialize)
[Editor's Note: I wouldn't dare.]
Explain to me what Dog Math is. I only made it to geometry in high school.
Yeah, it's a damn shame more people don't know about it. The American education system is failing, so a lot of kids don't reach these higher level math courses. I'd say it falls close to the level of AP Calc BC, but leans a bit heavier even into the philosophical approach of conceptualizing how the world works when you have the brain and body of a dog. It's a niche subfield but it's really interesting stuff, I'd encourage you to look more into it.
Image by Ruby Goren, Instagram: @rubyjgphotography
Do you have any pets? What can you tell us about them?
I do! Back home I have a yellow lab named Stella and a siamese cat named Cleo (I don't think she's actually siamese, I think she's just a seal point domestic shorthair. She's got some subtle striping to her, and her head isn't weird enough for her to be a true siamese.)
Have any of you ever been bitten by an animal in a serious sort of way?
Yes actually! I work as a vet tech, but I've surprisingly only been really bitten once. It was when a client brought in what was essentially a feral kitten; I tried getting it out so I could weigh it and whatever, and the cat, being feral, rears around and bites me square on the finger, and its little canine goes deep. I'm like "okay, great. Hopefully this cat doesn't die in the next couple days." A couple days later, I get a text from my coworker telling me the cat died with neurologic signs. So now I'm thinking "great, that cat might have had rabies." I start freaking out a little, because rabies is lethal if it's not caught before symptoms appear, and it was taking an inordinate amount of time for my vet to get the cat sent out for rabies testing. I ended up being halfway through my post-exposure prophylaxis vaccination series when they tell me the test came back negative, so thankfully we were all good. I am now fully vaccinated against rabies, however.
What are the best DIY venues in Philly right now, and what makes them so great?
Philly Style Pizza has gotta be my favorite. I'm a bit biased, sure, because our drummer Matt runs Fortress, a booking group whose main operations occur at Philly Style, and I have helped out with, played, and attended many shows there (the first couple armbite shows were at Philly Style), but it's genuinely one of the best spaces. Mike is really generous to let us use the space as often as he does; he's no nonsense about it, but he really cares and wants to support the scene. Basement shows are definitely what Philly is known for, though, and I'd say my favorites right now are Greenhaus, Luigi's Mansion, and Dead Birds, because they're all run by people who honestly care about the scene, the bands, the space they create, and I actually enjoy going to shows there. If you asked me this question a couple months ago, though, I would have told you The Underworld, because I think that's like the platonic ideal of what a basement venue can be. It was Matt's old house, and whenever they had a show there, the planning was incredibly well thought out, there was always someone filming the set to document it in the DIY history books, and admission was typically ten bucks, always NOTAFLOF, and always a portion of proceeds going to a charity. It's not that these things are uncommon for DIY shows, but very rarely do you see a place that has all these features incorporated into a venue's operating model. Running a venue so selflessly isn't always feasible economically, I know, but I have a 2000s Jeff Rosenstock financial idealism towards music, and I think doing DIY isn't about making money, it's about making space for the music around you to thrive.
Where are your favorite local places to grab a bite in Philly?
Dear god here we go. My favorite cheesesteak is from Woodrow's, but if you don't like the truffle whiz, go down the street to Angelo's, which is also phenomenal. My halal guy is Rahim, who's at 37th and Spruce right now, but the Chicken Maroosh from Saad's Halal is incredible. The best fried chicken is at Doro Bet, for good hot chicken I go to Asad's or Hangry Joe's, and the Crown Chickens in North Philly are really good if you want a lot of food for cheap. My favorite breakfast spots are either Fresh Donuts or Texas Weiners. My go-to Ethiopian is Abyssinia, which also hosts DIY shows. My favorite Mexican place is Blue Corn, but Prima, South Philly Barbacoa, TacoTaco, and Cafe y Chocolate are also good picks. The best burger I've had in Philly is at Fountain Porter; it's not super big, but it's only six bucks, and you can get some great fries with it for four more bucks. I'm a fan of Famous 4th St Deli, but Herschel's in Reading Terminal has the only pastrami sandwich I could have characterized as "juicy" – whatever you do, I swear, do not go to Hymie's in Merion. My favorite Indian place is Indian Sizzler, but it is unfortunately closed right now. I’m a big fan of Vietnam Cafe in West for Vietnamese food. I frequently think about the katsudon from Yamazaki Ramen in Bryn Mawr and how the power went out there one time while my friend was in the bathroom. This place in Chestnut Hill called McNally’s has a sandwich called The Schmitter, which is awesome. My go-to Wawa order is the chicken parm with garlic aioli, tomatoes, and onions, and if you enjoy chocolate milk, I love the double dutch. I like the pizza from Bella Italia in Ardmore, and The Pizza Box in Ambler, but the best place to get pizza in Philly would have to be at Philly Style Pizza (obviously).
What's your favorite Always Sunny quote?
"I have contained my rage for as long as possible, but I shall unleash my fury upon you like the crashing of a thousand waves! Begone, vile man! Begone from me! A starter car? This car is a finisher car! A transporter of gods! The golden god! I am untethered, and my rage knows no bounds!" Either that, or Frank saying "I get it" after Mac's interpretive dance.
And if that wasn't enough, here is the track-by-track breakdown of the inspiration of each song off of Dawg Rock Vol. 1. that was teased earlier in the article. Check it out!
"gotta have fun"
Marin and their friends Nate, Eze, and Jack got wasted one NYE a few years back and decided to write an EP only using a cat keyboard and their phones. Nate, being used as a divine conduit for the word of god, played three notes on the keyboard and said “alright, I’m ready to record ‘oh, you gotta have fun’.” The song has existed as a psalm since then, this is just one of our renditions of it, and it happens to be what we play at the beginning of every single set. Please feel free to make your own versions.
"catsitting"
This was the first like “armbite” song I really wrote; I tuned my guitar to open D and said to myself “I want to write a song like Glocca Morra,” and didn’t quite do that, but this came out of it, which I think is pretty alright. It’s about being berated for leaving a relationship. Fun!
"big head"
This one’s about getting your ego deflated a little. In the little section with the breaks we typically do a thing where before the last one, Marin will ask someone in the crowd if we can play the rest of our song, and thankfully, a good amount of the time they say yes. The funniest thing that happened though was the one time my parents made it out to one of our shows, Marin asked my dad that question, but I guess he didn’t hear them well enough and thought that was an invitation to play bass on the song. There was like a small minute of confusion and I don’t think he ended up really getting it, so we just ended up awkwardly finishing out the song. Feels apt to the meaning of the song now that I think about it.
"green song"
This one is me trying to do some observational lyricism where I just kinda tried to take in the people around me, which particularly started off when I was feeling very down in Media, Pennsylvania. In that theme, it’s not the most positive, and details a lot of frustrations. Something you gotta realize about Pennsylvania, Philly included, believe it or not, is that it’s a really beautiful, green place. With that, I kind of encoded that visual atmosphere into my interpretation of the song, so it’s always felt green to me, hence the name.
"murray"
My dad used to drive this wine red Nissan Murano he called Murray. This song’s about that car and about not liking Los Angeles.
"marin has heelys"
One time in undergrad, I was on a date and we were walking around the campus, and who else but Marin rolls up behind us, wearing what else but their Heelys. It was pretty cool. This was one of the few times that the song title came before anything else, I just knew that had to be it. Besides that, the song is about finally learning to drive when you’re twenty years old.
"the bluffs"
If you couldn’t already tell by the incredibly gauche lyrics, this song was written when what was a very low point for me mentally; I was super anxious, was sleeping and eating a lot less, and just overall felt bad all the time. I was with my parents in LA during that time, and decided to go to these bluffs to do like a beach hike thing. I got down the bluffs via a really steep trail, and I walked along the rocky beach for like an hour or two before I decided I wanted to go back up. The next trail up, however, wasn’t for another roundabout or two. Not wanting to do that, I pretty much scaled up the side of the bluffs to get back to the street level. It was pretty cool because that distracted me for like a little bit, with the adrenaline hitting, but as soon as I got up there the feeling just sank right back in.
"(oh, you gotta have fun)"
The word of god manifests itself in many different ways. One night I decided to “reharmonize” gotta have fun to make it more jazzy and whatnot, made a voice memo and sent it to the band, and that became the first part of this song. The second part was me sitting at the piano in Hidden Fortress just telling Bridget to keep rolling and then playing some bullshit. Building off that bullshit, we turned it into a fun interlude track that basically gave us an excuse to record a bunch of little instruments. Matt even used a little box of nails for the percussion somewhere in there.
"lucky penny"
I wrote this song for my old band. It’s a bit more poppy, rips off Marietta a little, has a verse-chorus-verse-chorus thing going on; I uncovered it and sent it to the band, and they were like “we have to do this one,” and I was like “fuck.” I know it’s Matt’s favorite, but it’s definitely not mine, haha. That being said, the song kind of encapsulated the feeling I had one time when I was walking back to my apartment from the college library at like midnight in the winter, thinking “how awesome would it feel if I just fell in this snow and laid there for a while?” I didn’t do that, but I did write this song. The “lucky penny” part is because I saw a penny on the ground, but it was tails up, so instead of taking it, I just flipped it over for someone else to find.
"dog math"
Another attempt at observational lyricism on my end, but this time feeling more frustrated with myself because I was bogged down with my own shit. I was trying to distract myself by getting out into the city just to do something, but it didn’t really help me get past that mental block. A little bit of a callback to “the bluffs”, I guess. We were struggling to get a name for this one, then Matt suggested “dog math” because of the line about “psychoanalyzing my dog” and it stuck more than any other of the ideas we were having, so we ran with it.
"filbert hates you"
This one is more about just like a general frustration with people, in particular, stubborn people who are too dense to really look inwards and will die on their hills of idiocy. Some might say these lyrics could be turned right back around to apply to me, myself, but they would be wrong, because they don’t realize that I’m perfect and right all of the time. As for the song title, because it’s derived from a bit more of a nonspecific place, I had a harder time coming up with one, but then someone suggested “filbert hates you” and we were like “yeah. What if Filbert from Haunt Dog was evil?”
"delthorne park"
Once again, a song about not liking LA. It was about a point where I was just working part time and living with my parents, too tired to do anything after my work days, with not much to do even if I wasn’t. It kind of gave me one of those crises where I thought “christ, is this what the rest of my life could look like?” Thankfully I don’t live in the LA suburbs anymore, I live in Philly, where I can actually take public transit, walk places, and there’s way more cool music happening. Shoutouts to Collars and Jordan and all my friends out there, but I am so glad I’m not there anymore.
Gather 'round, boils and ghouls! It's time to get your freak on and shake the dust from those old bones! Oliver Ghoul is here to put down a sick beat for your next monster mash and/or wake, keeping spirits higher than even the lowest gallows humor. He's a man possessed by boogie fever and it's catching like the black death! Our intrepid ghost, erm, host was able to pry some of the gory details of his musick-making process and the reap-cording of his debut LP, Ghoul for You, out of his carcass for the latest episode of this here bog's podcasket. Grab yourself a shovel and dig in!
Sorry, getting into the spirit of the season there... All jokes aside, Oliver Ghoul is an impressive solo artist who is fantastic at what he does, creating a conicopia of psychedelic sounds drawing from '60s grooves, '70s funk, '90s hip-hop, and afternoons chillin' on the couch catching up on old school Scooby-Doo reruns that I thoroughly enjoy and relate to. I'm really pleased to present my interview with him below:
Even in the shadow of death, there is the presence of light, for what casts the shadow if not the blazing facticity of the sun, the giver of life? Sonbonbela is the third full-length album from Mamadou Sanou, aka Baba Commandant. Mamadou passed sometime after the release of this record, but in life, he was a veteran of the West African DIY scene, getting his start in Victor Démé’s respected Mandinka funk band. Hailing from Burkina Faso, Mamadou knits together the last 30 years of Burkinabe funk and Mandingue guitar music to give life to an afrobeat sound that is as fresh and soothing as a cold drink of mango juice on a sweltering, cloudless day, while remaining as urgent and arresting as an air-raid siren sounding overhead. Sonbonbela is vibrant, raw and spontaneous, perfectly capturing the vivacious energy of a live performance while clearly honing the benefits of precision offered by studio recording. "Chasser Les Sachets" is a shapeshifting and fluid, guitar-groove ushered gallop, "Afro Mandingo" is an enlivening clatter and heed-snaring tumble through the calming confluence of rhythmic catharsis, while the title-track “Sonbonbela” crashes into your senses like it was airdropped into an afterparty, relying on more traditional funk instrumentation to achieve its groovy gravitas, it manages to be serious in tone but affectively jovial in delivery. Death is but a door, life is only a window, truth is found in the eternal expanse that unites our present with our past and a quickly cohering future. There is no hiding from something that is everywhere—in the air, in the water, and sewn into the fabric of both flesh and memory. You cannot silence a dead man. Rest in power, Mamadou Sanou.
At the time of this writing, with God's blessing*, you may purchase a copy of Gaahls WYRD's second LP Braiding The Stories, on vinyl, with hair embedded in the wax. ... I have some questions? Is this Gaahl's hair? Is it a shred of his partner's locks? Was it donated by a generous fan, or was it scored from the scalp of someone who directed a homophobic slur towards Gaahls? I want to know, but I don't NEED to know. But I'm going to ask anyway, because I will keep interrogating this line of inquiry for as long as it serves as an Ariadne's thread to daylight after immersing myself in Braiding The Stories. A dense yet melodic effort that only occasionally slides into valleys of rage and fiery disgorgement, the album explores themes of existential psychology at the point where the real overlaps with the surreal, dreams with discernible facts, and the palpable with the imperceptible. The hair on your head is like a forest you see, a threshold maze that covers the border territory between the outside of the world and the interior of the cave where your consciousness dwells- each strand is like the tangled spoolings produced by the blind scrounging of one's internal sage, weaving together the golden specks of firmament that filter in from scattered epiphanies of the soul into rope-like maps which are then pushed outside in order to lead others back to the sanctuary of their origin- travelers arrive bringing with them their own interpretations and insights into the revelatory follicles, and the process continues... Gaahls's purpose here appears to be to wind the strands of his own prophetic mane into a single apocalyptic hem and living manuscript which can be read like a delineation of the cosmos- one that recounts the length of a man's life and beyond- reciting the stories of mountains cultivated from a single stone and oceans born of a single tear- the genesis of all that is, confided to you through the silk of a single sapient skull.
*As all that is, is manifested by the grace of God alone- this includes Nintendo themed, fan-made yaoi where Wario and Walawege take a trip to Fire Island and discard their inhibitions.
Jason Stein's Locksmith Isidore is the solo outlet of, you guessed it, Jason Stein- respected local bass clarinetist and the older brother of a formerly very visible comedian.* When Stein isn’t playing for himself he’s lending his wind to Mike Reed’s Flesh and Bone, Joshua Abrams’ Natural Information Society, and Hearts and Minds with Paul Giallorenzo and Chad Taylor, among others. After Caroline is Stien's fourth LP under the Locksmith Isidore moniker, and is named for his late grandmother, who passed away the day the album was recorded. Stein is joined on this record by drummer Mike Pride of the hardcore band Millions of Dead Cops and Chicago’s versatile, go-to studio bass guitarist Jason Roebke. When their powers combine Stein, Pride, and Roebke are a gracefully sonorous, no-frills, contemporary bebop powerhouse. It’s not exactly Coltrane (who is?), but sweet mercy does it swing. If this sounds like it would flip your switch, then give this a spin.
Man, sometimes I wish CMJ were still around. When I worked at my college radio station, I genuinely looked forward to having their New Music Monthly issue plop in our receiving tray in the rec center, so I could check out what was hot and up-and-coming amongst people in the year [purged/redacted] who were of my age and educational track and believed were worthy of airtime and acclaim. But that was a long time ago. Like, basically a completely different timeline than the one I inhabit now. CMJ is dead- it was squashed and interred unceremoniously like a roadkilled raccoon- and with a few exceptions, community and college radio are all but exsanguinated- shambling shadows of their former selves, with a cultural presence as compelling as the gravitational strain exerted by a singular tennis ball. Even in the wake of this intractable decline, it feels like I can steal back a faint sigh of the whimsy that prevailed in a previous era of DIY music by imagining how a group like (T-T)b and their album Beautiful Extension Cord would have fared in the often cringy and bewildering, but also unconventional, creative, and all too excitingly competitive world of college radio- not solely because of the entertainment value I would have derived from hearing sophomore poli-sci majors fumble with the band's name on air, but also because I think (T-T)b would actually have had a shot at attaining some substantial and even sustaining success in that environment. Beautiful Extension Cord is foremost a very tuneful album, with an emphasis on complementing grooves and melodies that coalesce and spill into and over each other in a sturdy confluence of vibrant sonic tributaries that merge to chart a mighty subtle pop-power surge. Sure, you could get hung up on all the square waves and Sega-era soundcard stressors, but you'd be missing out on the classic college rock spirit of tracks like the persuasively pining opener "Julian," the sweep and savage of the cosmetically prescriptive dressdown "Hey, Creepshow," the parcing cartwheel-energized punt of "The Kick," or the slacker-steeped stumble-up builds and easy-as-pie let-downs of "Sugar in the Raw." Melodically and structurally, (T-T)b is pumped up and riding high on a blood transfusion from the likes of Pavement, That Dog., and The Rentals, and appears to be suffering from a little campy carbo-overload from too much Ozma in their diet (spiritually at least, as far as I know, their only named influence is Jeff Rosenstock, but their capacity for metting out moreish melodies gives even the greats of contemporary pop-punk a run for their rings... in my opinion). The adeptness in constructing melody and adapting it to a punchy rock format is almost irresponsibly applied on these tracks to make them as addictive as possible without sacrificing the group's capacity for earnest sentiments, a facet of their operations that seems hard-fused into the processors of their affectional logic board. (T-T)b is everything a budding alternative-beat connoisseur or established underground archivist needs to satisfy their pop-sweet tooth or round out the bevy of their cumulative apprehension of what the world of DIY and indie can offer. Beautiful Extension Cord is more than just a pretty accessory. All hits, zero lag time. Too nerdy to need your approval, but too sensitive to live without it. Cue it up and spin it with confidence that it will deliver Certain Damage to whatever expectations you've built up against micromusic's indie-gold potential.
Outing myself today as a No Men respector. There, I said it. Let it be known that I respect No Men... the band. Specifically, the band No Men... although I am somewhat lukewarm on mankind in the pejorative at the moment.* Which, coincidentally, puts me squarely in the proper demographic of persons disposed to enjoying No Men's music, their name literally being the inversion of the "Yes Man" trope- whatever you got, whatever you want, they'll slap it out of your hands and backhand you for good measure- it's a stylistic promise and aesthetic guarantee. No Men is that rare kind of group that can really cook up heat-seeker after heat-fucking-seeker and direct-hit after direct-fucking-hit when they put their minds to it, and this certainly justifies the veneration I plan to shine on them here, but they also represent something else to me. They were, for a minute, the quintessential Chicago punk band, a spiteful, loud, and incredibly fun group that was all about the music, and let their performances speak first and foremost, and with the most volume, even when the content of what they had to say was as devastating, or more so, than how they said it. They more or less came up in the midst of the "sad girl" era of indie rock characterized by Lucy Dacus, Phoebe Bridgers, and the like, and managed to hold their own against the winds of these trends as they swept through the Chicago scene, staying meaner, more punishing and crueler in an old school kind of way, without opposing their contemptoaries or losing their footing on the progressive fluctuations of the landscape as it shifted beneath them- remaining independent and flexible while praying for a rain of fire to cleanse the land of its endemic rashes of idiocy. Over time, the band has adopted more atmospheric and darkly dreamy embellishments into their sound, most notably present on 2023's Fear This, but to my ears, their debut is still the most faithful and compelling personification of the core of their aesthetic conceits. DEAR GOD, BRING THE DOOM is No Men's first full-length album, recorded mostly live over a two-day period at Two State Audio on the North Side of Chicago. No Men's sound is a blasting and antagonistic form of skeletal garage rock which draws influences from a wide spectrum of punk rock. They are analogous to some mid-aughts super heavy rock group, like Death from Above 1979, arriving at a dead-stop epiphany that all they really want to do is sound like Big Black, but with slightly more groovy gestalt in their austere, boiled-down guitars and bass lines. Lyrically, they deal mostly with revenge, failure, twisted romance, and episodes of pitiful angst that many crybaby losers bear like a large cross that they whittled from the original cross of the crucifixion.** Album highlights include the nihilistic smash and grab of "Stay Dumb," and the gut-shredding hooks and subterranean beat of "Brut," along with "Sleeping with the Enemy" which sounds like a sock-hop hosted by Steve Albini, in addition to the sharp and deliberate guitar work on "Hell is Real" and album closer "Violette," both of which are incorrigible, violent and unsettling while still managing to be stone cold rockers. This album's tense, dark vibe is reminiscent of '80s punk mainstays like Flipper and no-wave mavericks like Nick Cave. At the same time, its boisterous grooves put it in the camp of contemporary hard rock and pan-metal acts like Red Fang, and even bleed profusely and messily into Jesus Lizard-esque noise rock territory. Still, the emphasis on melody in these songs makes for a good pairing with witchy singer-songwriters like PJ Harvey- if, you know, you're workin' on a playlist for somebody who hates all the same stuff you do.*** DEAR GOD, BRING THE DOOM. Need I say more?
*A discussion for another time.
** Feeling persecuted while having no real problems has basically become a profession for many internet-addicted grifters... they know who they are, and so do we!
*** A very "mall-goth" and therefore very 2025 manner of flirting.
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