Interview: Swiss Army Wife

Photo courtesy of We're Trying Records

Get a wife. I'm a wife advocate, and my advocacy is aimed at everyone getting a wife. ✅ house wife, ✅ work wife, ✅ goth wife, ✅ crane wife, ✅ mid wife- fuck it, why not, sister wife... alright, pump the brakes. They're handy and nice, and you can count on them to spot you at the bar and bear and raise your children; they're better than a best friend, and hopefully just as loyal (one would hope... but maybe you're into that sort of thing). A wife is good, a wife is gracious, a wife is steadfast and wise, and depending on your proclivities and preferences, you can even pick up a special variety called a hubbo- a type of domestic companion who tends to have a high skill base for opening jars and reaching objects on high shelves, and can often even be counted on to do dishes and laundry- although these talents are far less likely to be attributed to them, and are often treated as occulted, like the mythic secret menu at Taco Bell. If you want to access the options on his chore tree, you have to ask first. There is also a very confidential variety of wife known as the waifu- this is a wife you never meet but whom you adore in private (sometimes a person, but more often just like, Reze, or something), but if you ever deign to reveal the full extent of your adoration for this sort of wife, or make her picture your avi on social media, you will immediately be excommunicated from the human race and cast into a lake of fire- it is a cruel world we inhabit, but a just one nonetheless. Of course, one of my favorite varieties of wife, and the one that has inspired my present flurry of determined activism, is the Swiss Army Wife- a rare, one-of-a-kind model out of Portland. This particular instantiation of wifehood is particularly musically inclined, writing and producing phenomenally authentic and captivating contemporary emo-core and pop-punk, while reflecting on the travails of being reared in a remote part of the country, blending nostalgia with a pyrrhic wish to see it all burn, and embracing the emancipation of forming one's own identity within the wilderness of hostile convention and countervailing headwinds, driving long into the night to greet an uncertain, yet seemingly brighter future. I was able to take inventory of Swiss Army Wife's long journey and hopeful horizons following the release of their second LP, I Love You, But I Hate It Here (out on We're Trying Records [the current reigning champ of everything emo and underground!]), a compelling sequel to their 2023 debut, Medium Gnarly. You can enjoy my exchange with Ellie and Kade below:

 

Who do you love, and why does it hurt to love them?

Ellie: Jesus, buy me a drink first. I think there is a degree to which love is inextricable from pain. There’s pain in the fear of losing loved ones, of not being who you want to be for them. Exposing that fear is a huge part of what the album is about.*

* Interesting and thoughtful answer. Thank you. But the correct answer is Pete Wentz b/c Pete Wentz. 

What are the standard features and applications for a Swiss Army Wife? Follow-up: how does a Swiss Army Wife differ from a Swiss Army Man (other than a general lack of Daniel Radcliffes)?

Kade: The only one that I am aware of is Swiss Army Wife (the band TM) from Portland, Oregon featuring: 

• 3 guitars

• Impassioned yelling

• Sadness

• Big riffs 

• Lyrics referencing dead philosophers

• Medium, sometimes small riffs

• Impressive average member height

I think the second one is a movie about a dead guy so that’s pretty different. 

What was your favorite part about making this record ie I Love You, But I Hate It Here?

Ellie: The moments when things came together easily and spontaneously in the room. "It Used To Snow" and "Emergency Contact" both were written this way. Obviously we tweaked parts and agonized over things, but there are few things as exciting as being in a room with that kind of collective energy.

Kade: Getting to spend so much time working on something I truly care about with people I care about even more. (and Ellie making me cry in the studio performing the bridge of "Elliot.") 

When did you know this record was done and ready for our eager ears?

Ellie: When Jack Shirley finished mastering it. As soon as I heard the masters, I knew that we’d made something special. Unfortunately, I can never fully let go of anything I make, so I’ll forever be thinking about all the little things we could have done differently. That feeling was pretty overwhelming up until Jack did his thing, but afterwards I felt as ready as I ever could be to let these songs out into the world

Kade: I could keep working on this record forever, but this has been the most satisfied I have been with a project at the point of stasis. 

What city is featured in the background of your cover? Also, please unpack the imagery of two horses traveling towards a spotlight in the far distance. How does this imagery overlap with the themes of the album?

Ellie: The city in the photo is Asbury Park, New Jersey. I was on tour last fall playing in Home Is Where for their Hunting Season tour. Before leaving, I decided to pick up a little point-and-shoot film camera and took a ton of photos all over the country. When I was putting together the artwork, this felt like the obvious photo to use. There isn’t any thematic significance to Asbury Park in particular, but the photo had a kind of loneliness that felt like it evoked the album’s themes really well. I’ll leave the question about the horses to our resident horse girl.

Kade: Resident horse girl here. I grew up in a little farm town with a pair of horses that have become emblematic of my time there as well as the best of what remains of it in my memory. I think they represent the longing I have for a version of a place that never really existed.

So 3D vampires sound pretty frightening. How do you defend yourself from such a creature? In all seriousness, though, "3D Vampire" sounds like a hell of a breakup song. Can you share the story behind it?

Ellie: Well, it isn’t a breakup song. You can’t really defend yourself from a 3D Vampire, because you are the 3D Vampire. The song is about feeling trapped and helpless, stuck in the patterns of everyday life while horrific things unfold around and within you.

Kade: If it was a breakup song it would maybe be about breaking up with the idea that you can continue to live a normal existence while the world is tearing itself apart and instead grappling with the desire to slowly shut yourself off from it and everyone around you. 

Who is your "Emergency Contact," and who are you singing to on the song with that title?

Ellie: My emergency contact is my mom :)

Kade: My partner Rachel 

You seem to be blazing a lonesome path on "Cowboy." Give us some insight into the thoughts and emotions running through that track.

Kade: Anger, fear, and resignation all feel pretty central. Inherited violence is something that never leaves your body even after the abuser is gone, and watching someone experience it from the outside creates a unique form of helplessness. 

How much time do you spend in Idaho? Do you have any good/harrowing stories from there?

Ellie: I am transgender. Every time I’ve had to pass through Idaho has been harrowing. Idaho is at the forefront of the states who are determined to erase people like me from the world. They will not succeed, but it’s impossible not to feel afraid there.

Kade: Spent my first 18 years there. It is mountainous and beautiful and took two of my closest friends from me and is slowly killing my mom who still lives there. It’s not a place that is hospitable to me anymore. Going back is hard but I make the trip once a year to see her. 

Who is "Elliot," and why did you name a song after them?

Kade: Elliot gets its namesake from Elliot Page the actor. Gender is a difficult messy thing to navigate as I think is portrayed by how messy and painful that song is for me to listen to even still. He was the first person whose experience had a profound impact on me when it came to self-discovery. 

"Heartland" doesn't necessarily paint the most welcoming picture of small-town life. How did experiences of life in a one-horse town inform your art and perspective on life?

Ellie: I grew up in a very isolated town in rural Alaska. Literally an island in the middle of the wilderness. You had to get there on a boat or a plane to leave. Less of a one-horse town and more of a no-horse town. Growing up in a place like that as a queer person trying to figure herself out was pretty isolating. I think because of that, I sought out art made by people experiencing their own kinds of isolation. I gained an appreciation for environment as an active subject rather than just scenery. I think on a musical level, that translates to a fixation on harmony. On a purely aural level, that’s the environment that melody, rhythm, lyrics, timbre, and whatever else exist within. That definitely came out in my contribution to these songs. I was always trying to fiddle with chord progressions figuring out what kind of substitutions we could use to create the environment of these songs.

As for my perspective on life, I think it made me appreciate communities that are accepting. The place I grew up rewarded conformity to a certain lifestyle that I knew from a very young age I could never be happy with. Long before I figured out that I’m transgender, my first experiences with that kind of euphoria were in meeting people who I could just be a weird fucking kid with and not feel judged for it. Often, those interactions were happening in musical spaces. It all just kind of fed back into itself.

"God's Favorite Country" sounds like the retelling of a road trip/tour that has really gone off the rails, or is careening towards utter failure. What is the inspiration behind this track, and what are some of your best/worst road trip/tour memories?

Ellie: Umm. Interesting interpretation, but no, not quite. That’s ok though, we do have a pretty good tour story. Our first ever tour was an amazing time right up until, while driving from Phoenix to Boise for the last show of the run, the van’s transmission very suddenly gave out just outside the Great Basin in Eastern Nevada at 4pm on a Friday. We ended up getting a tow about an hour north to the nearest town with any services, Ely. Mind you, it was February, which is not a fun time to be in Eastern Nevada. 

We found a room to stay in at a Ramada Inn hotel casino while we tried to figure out what our next step would be. After calling around, it became apparent that we would not be able to get the van into a mechanic until Monday, so we started trying to figure out other options. We quickly learned that there are no rental car agencies in Ely. Nor are there any bus routes that pass through. No trains. No airport. If you drive in, you better be able to drive out. We could not do so. 

The closest thing we could find was a UHaul location that had exactly 2 trucks, one of which was rented out for the next 2 weeks, the other of which was currently being rented but was expected back on Sunday. Until the reservation ended up being repeatedly extended. So we were still out of luck. We spent our time drinking expired beer (turns out, even the orange flavored beer is NOT supposed to have pulp in it), watching whatever was on small town Nevada TV, making trips to Safeway and the dollar store for food and swimsuits so we could kill time in the hotel pool. I also went undefeated at Pokemon singles against Kade. Important that the world knows that part. During this phase we overheard a woman at the Safeway checkout telling the cashier how her car’s transmission had died here in town a year ago and she ended up just never leaving. Later, one of the women working at the Safeway deli warned us that the town’s sewer was backing up into their water system. Bleak stuff.

In the end, we did get the van into a mechanic. After spending a couple of days working on it and updating us with increasingly astronomical quotes for fixing it, they offered us a cleared mechanic bill and $80 to scrap it. We had been in Ely for nearly a week at this point. Eventually, Tim’s roommate, Adam, ended up renting a van in Salem, and driving 15 hours overnight through a snowstorm to come rescue us. I was convinced until the moment we pulled into my driveway back in Portland that the spirit of Ely was trying to make us stay. To be honest, I’m still not convinced it wasn’t, and for this reason I will try my absolute best to never step foot in Ely, Nevada ever again.*

*Okay, definitely not a road trip/tour from hell type situation, but in a weird way, this extended curfuffle almost sounds fun. Phew! Glad they got away, though.

Photo courtesy of We're Trying Records

What do you get up to when you have time to horse around, ie what are your hobbies other than music?

Ellie: I have a completely normal degree of interest in Pokemon. I am extremely normal about Pokemon. If anyone says I’m not normal about Pokemon, don’t listen to them. I’m normal about Pokemon.

Kade: Building computers, magic the gathering, and losing to Ellie at Pokémon :/

Have you ever ridden a horse? Assuming the answer is yes, was it a terrifying experience, or did you find yourself bonding with your equine pal?

Kade: I had two horses growing up, Blue and Stormy. I rode them in 4-H and FFA and every week as a kid and miss them both dearly. Blue would always sprint across the pasture to come and greet me in the morning even when I didn’t have carrots for him and I think that was a rare and special kind of love. 

Ellie: On a spiritual level, I’ve accepted that horses and I are opposing forces.

What are your connections/coincidental overlaps with the band Joyce Manor?

Ellie: We started working with our longtime mixing engineer Alex Estrada because of his work on Joyce Manor’s self-titled album, which was a huge influence on our first record. If I remember correctly, Alex recommended Jack Shirley, who produced Joyce Manor’s Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired, for mastering. We’ve worked with Alex on pretty much everything we’ve released since then, and came back to Jack for mastering on the new album. Also, by pure coincidence, I just moved into an apartment that’s only a few blocks away from The Alibi, which is a karaoke tiki bar here in Portland that is the setting for (in my opinion) the best Joyce Manor song, "Last You Heard Of Me."

Did you ever finish Oregon Trail as a kid, or did your entire party end up dying of dysentery and snakebites?

Kade: Attempted many times without success. I usually starved because hunting the buffalo made me too sad. Also crashed trying to ford a river a few times. Perhaps dysentery will be the thing that takes me from this life. 

If you owned a farm, what kind would it be and where would you want it to be located? 

Kade: I do not think I am cut out for farm life but if I were to return to it probably some kind of twee organic berry farm in the Oregon wilderness. 

Somewhat surprised by the lack of Pretty Derby references on your social media, in the lyrics of your songs, visible tattoos, etc. Do you believe this will change in the future?

Kade: I was originally just a humble Haru Urara fan but since the Quarter Horse EP release have since been inundated with requests to watch it as I am told she makes an appearance. I will be mandating a band watching experience on our upcoming tour. 

Gold Ship Uma Musume GIFfrom Gold Ship GIFs

Alright, that's it! Check you on the flipity!

PS Be good to your wife!

Album Review: h4rtbrkr - me & u (h2rtbrkr)

It's profoundly whitepilling that love songs still have resonance in this era of acute isolation and subjective omni-management. Inside your overleveraged pen, you are playing for dopamine pellets until your circuits fry and you CTD. So touch grass, right? ROFL. It's too expensive to leave your hovel, and when you do, you immediately become enmeshed in the tendrils of a web of predatory invisible eyes (ie every chud-skulled, mouth-breather with a smartphone and the lo-jacked data-mining cancer box in your own back pocket), and then when you've trotted long enough to squat in a brunch village, biding your time for the privilege of paying for a Sysco sizzler platter, you run a 50/50 chance of becoming a victim of an industrial accident or a deranged dissident radicalized in a Discord with four other "people"* in it... What a time to be (allegedly) alive (well, not for long...)! Even in this open suicidality sewer, somehow your average floating eye still grasps at hope, still longs to meet the gaze of another floating eye in answer to the yearning search that a spark of affinity may lower a drawbridge over the gulf between them and allow the trails of their synapses to commingle. Even in a suffocating void, a simple glance can usher in enough oxygen to evade anoxia. A thought of someone you miss may find them in their dreams and comfort them in the dark- spiritual succor for the sanctioned, like a file in a loaf of bread mailed to a prisoner staring down a life sentence. A whisper carried on a gallant rhythm, a compliment rolling off a chorus, hearts pulsing in time to a beat pushed through wireless speakers in distant locales, keeping time and keeping faith. The miasma of this manufactured somnambulist modernity will lift someday, and when that happens, you'll find the person who was crying out to you through the fog and over the electric mnemonic-ramparts, and you can sing the songs that you pre-compiled together in the DMs of the astral strata while you wrestled separately in the partitions of a machine-demarcated info-clink. Maybe you won't need h4rtbrkr's me & u (h2rtbrkr) EP when you arrive at the doorstep of such a fate, but in the interregnum, the leaky cache of your heartbreak will at least have a righteous score.

*ops, federal agents, rogue AI, vtube chatters, and other entities that pass for human in our day and age. 

Interview: Heavy Metal Chess Club

Courtesy of We're Trying Records

The other day I was listening to an interview with a Japanese musician, and she was describing her experience in her high school's band club. To give perspective on the topic to her interviewer, she brought up K-On! only to wipe the slate moments later with the clarification that her experience was "nothing like that." No snacks. Full practice room. You had to practice every day, and when you did play for the club, everyone judged you. This was her experience, and yeah, on balance, watching K-On! sounds a good deal more pleasurable than actually doing the extracurricular that inspired it... I'd wager the closest you could ever come to such an experience in this life is joining a DIY band in the United States. There is still some judgment, sure, and it's still a major time commitment, but there are also tons of snacks and opportunities to simply chill. You'll also probably produce some recordings and play some shows that you can be proud of for the rest of your life, as well as make some lifelong compatriots to boot. Keiongaku certainly has a future, just not where you'd expect...

So if you're going to have an extracurricular that consumes, disrupts, and alters your life, for better and for worse, but mostly for the better, then you might as well start a band with your buds... sort of like Henry from Heavy Metal Chess Club did. Now Henry and his pals don't throw horns and rip power chords in honor of the dark lord, and our main man in particular is no Bobby Fischer, but everything else about them seems faithful to the core conciets of DIY as their music is a perfect synecdoche of life's convoluted trails converging at intersecting epiphanies in the wild fields of youth, sodded in the soil of error and nurtured in murky flash floods of pensive perspicuity. They might not be true to their name, but they are certainly brimming with concrete existential observations, engaged in probing schematic interpretations of the world, managing to be loud in inquiry, and quiet in conclusion, and they have a new LP called I Think It'll Haunt Me Forever out on We're Trying Records, which is worth an awful lot in my humble opinion. Get to know Henry and his band below, and don't forget to grab some taiyaki and tea before heading to the basement to jam with your crew.

Introduce yourselves. Who is in the band, what do they play, how did they come to be in the band, and what are their rider stipulations?

My name's Henry, I normally say "I play guitar and yell." I started writing songs in high school and formed a band when I got to college. For the past year or so now the band's included Connor on drums. His band Melon Husk from Colorado played with us a couple of years ago, we reconnected at a new year's party, and got closer after he transferred to Drexel (where we all go to school) following UArts closing. Will's on bass, I kinda knew him through Connor and also just kinda being around, another UArts to Drexel guy. We saw each other at shows and got along really well and we really jive energetically when we play together. Gray's the last one on lead guitar, we did a little tour in August of last year and I needed a guitarist for it, I had seen his band Exit 109 before and really liked them and knew he was going to be in Philly over that summer so I asked him to join us for that run and he clicked really well with us. He played his first show with us on just a few days' notice, and wasn't even able to make a practice so our first time playing with him was on stage and it went perfectly. They're all a blast to play and hang out with. We've never had a rider, but it would probably include beer.

What were your goals headed into making I Think It’ll Haunt Me Forever, and were they achieved?

I never intended for this to be the only album we do, in fact I'm super energized to get working on another record as soon as possible, but I wanted to put something out where if it was the only full length album we released, I would be content with that. There were a lot of times I acted as if this was the only album we'd do. The perfectionist in me can point out a lot of things I wish were different about it, but if this band were to cease to exist tomorrow, I would be happy with what we did with this record. That being said I do hope to one-up it next time around.

The title for the album comes from a poem recited in the track "Christmas Lights." What is the meaning behind this passage, how does it fit into other themes on the album, and how was it that a line from this poem became the title of the album?

For most of the time this album was being written I was sold on this being a self titled album. I'm not quite sure how to describe this but I don't think a whole lot when I write lyrics. I like to say that they mean things on a macro scale, not a micro scale. I could tell you what a song is about more or less but not most individual lines. I see a lot of things in my life in relation to being "scared." I'm anxious and shy and I fuck up a lot, and I'm scared of fucking up more. Persistence in spite of this fear is a skill I've developed as I've become a young adult. I'm scared of fucking up? Well, I've already fucked up, I can learn from that. There's stuff that I think might haunt me forever. I'm young and dramatic, maybe it won't "haunt" me but it'll probably stick around somehow. So will the fear, and the anxiety and all that. You can't be brave if you're not afraid, you can't learn and grow unless you fail. I'm not too sure how to tie that all up but those are the general thoughts I have around the title, I think it ties the themes of what I write together.

You have a very compelling, quiet dynamic on this album. How do you feel the juxtaposition of reflection and fury draws out the themes and thought processes behind your work?

The loud/quiet dynamic is something the bands I listened to growing up were very good at, Pixies, and Smashing Pumpkins being the big two. I see the louder more explosive parts of our songs as incredible cathartic and that's what I like about them most, it's a bit of a balancing act, something to build up to I don't think the yelling and screaming should be the whole thing. I don't think that hits as hard. I think you need softer more introspective moments to complement and build up to the moments of explosive catharsis. 

Who are some of your favorite scream vocalists, and do they have any impact on the way more aggressive vocal styles are deployed on this album?

I was really inspired by Jack Senff's vocals from Merchant Ships and Midwest Pen Pals, also stuff like early Pdaddy, Old Gray, and I was listening to a ton of Foxing's self titled when I was writing some of these songs, I was definitely inspired by some of Conor Murphy/Eric Hudson's more aggressive vocal performances throughout Foxing's discography.

Were any of you members of the chess club in high school?

I don't think so? Connor's been reading Gotham Chess' chess book, I've played against Connor and Will before. I'm quite bad.

What is the wisest, most far-sighted plan you have ever carried out, ie When was the last time you were really playing 4D chess?

I bought a cheap mini-van of Facebook marketplace so we could start touring and playing more regional shows. For a while I was like "that was stupid" since it was a really big purchase for me. Since then it's actually been really convenient to have a paid for vehicle thats got a lot of space, even if it is sort of a piece of crap. Getting it cheap and not financing it was the wiser part of that choice.

Who is playing clarinet on "Squids" and what does SpongeBob’s long-suffering neighbor have to do with this track?

That's a Saxophone actually, my buddy Charlie's playing it and you can hear it at the end of Christmas Lights too. Squidward has nothing to do with "Squids" but maybe he should have. I really liked the additional horns/piano we added to the record it filled out a lot more space than I thought it would.

Who is "Michael," and what is it that he is doing that is "Gross"?

I play a game called Balatro, when I started I swore that we'd make the first emo song that had a Balatro reference as it's titled. The title is referencing a card in the game called "Gros Michel" which is in turn referencing the real life thing. The card has an image of a banana on it and using it unlocks a card called "Cavendish." At the end of the day it's a long winded banana reference.

What dirty deeds inspired "Sweaty Palms / Bloody Hands"?

Honestly nothing in particular, I came up with the riff first and knew I wanted the song to be a bit heavier. The imagery of cleaning blood out of a floor came to mind and I leaned into that when writing lyrics.

What are your favorite spectator sports, ie sports that you watch but don't play? Real and/or figurative.

I love baseball! I played when I was really little but I wasn't a very athletic kid. I think it's a well paced game and the dork in me enjoys the stats-heavy side of it. 

The cover art is pretty busy. Are those equations, or are you diagramming a detective show's plot? Please explain what is going on in this image.

This was my thermodynamics midterm that my friend cut up and collaged. I think I got a 70 something on it?

When was the last time you built a sandcastle, and what are you most afraid that the ocean/time will wash away before you are finished with it?

When I was a little kid I saw some older kids making a sand castle on the beach and I asked them to help work on it. I was some single digit age and have no idea how old these other kids might have been but it seemed like an awesome sand castle and I wanted in on it. They let me play with them and I think about it more than you'd think. I think there's a lot of beauty in things being temporary, as much as there is pain. Things can serve a purpose and when their purpose is done they don't need to be around anymore. Relationships, emotions, tv shows, sand castles, there's a lot of pain in endings but there's purpose and beauty in there too. I remember writing that song feeling like people would always get sick of me after a while and none of my relationships would last. Its a sucky feeling but that type of stuff comes and goes, people play a part in your life, and you in theirs, and sometimes when both of you have played your roles you drift apart. You're different because of each other, not just in romantic relationships but all types of relationships with other people, hopefully we make each other better.

Who are your favorite heavy metal bands?

I'm actually not super into heavy metal music, but I grew up on Rammstein and got to see them live the last time they were in the U.S. One of my earliest memories is my dad showing me the music video for "Mein Hertz" brennt and being mildly traumatized. Connor and Gray are really into Metalcore and play some heavy stuff in the van sometimes. "Heavy Metal Chess Club" as a name came from a shared google doc my friends and I had in highschool that was just a list of "things that would make cool band names." I saw "Death Metal Chess Club" in there one day and really liked it, but switched it to "Heavy Metal Chess Club" just because I thought the cadence was better, I liked it with the extra syllable there.

Who are your favorite poets? 

I'm really not well read poets wise. I really like Billy Corgan's lyrics from Smashing Pumpkins, they were probably my biggest influence when I started. Right now I've really enjoyed/connected with Sydney Sprague and Oso Oso's lyrics a lot.

Give me a math equation that you think will stump those reading this interview.

This isn't an equation but here's a problem I remember enjoying working on when I was taking Discrete Math. You have a number p, p is prime, p - 2 and p + 2 are both also prime, Prove that p = 5. If you want a hint, try start dividing prime numbers by 6 and see what happens.

Interview conducted via email on May 28, 2026. 

Keep doing your best. That's what counts. 頑張って!

Album Review: My Point of You - This is My First Heist

What can be said of you, from another's point of view? What is another from your standpoint? Overlapping and distinct prognoses that nonetheless form a consecrated whole- you are a shape in the world, a totem of recognition, a symbol, a limitation, and a reflection in the sighted pools of those who sit opposite yourself, and they in turn are that thing which forces a recognition of the self as a self, in the recursive tension between the awareness of the perceived and perceiver, at once in two parts, and yet one and the same. My Point of You exercises the blessing of the penetrative interchange of human consciousness, to create beautiful sounds that intercept your distant orbit, bridging profound barriers of distinction, discernment, and dimensionality, to steal you away from the unstable sequester of alienation, providing a path that extends as a peninsula of positive confirmation that noise is good, and it's good to be nervy enough to know the right kind of noise. Emerging from the static like a seashell revealed in the sands by a receding tide, the harmonious rapture and regeneration that their debut EP, This Is My First Heist, extends into and expands within the marginless terrain of perfect freedom and therefore absolute annihilation, for which their outstretched aura represents a salvatory vein of Mineral wealth which enriches the interior life of the observer, exercising through Lemuria the geists of acidic sequester. The only crime would be not letting them crack the vault of your heart and bathe the inner chamber with the light of sound, beholding yourself in their graceful intrusion, and affirming them in the unfurling communion of the self.

Album Review: Tequila Mockingbird - You Always Felt Lost

Harper Lee wrote that it is a sin to kill a mockingbird because of its inherent innocence. To snuff out a mockingbird is to silence a creature whose only earthly desire is to sing. Fair enough. But what about getting one drunk? Would it be wicked or winsome to party with a mockingbird? Is a mockingbird a shy drunk, or a surly one? After pounding un par rounds of Patrón, is a mockingbird going to drop the singing bit and start roasting my ass like a little feathery Triumph the Insult Comic Dog (Hey, where did he get that cigar?) Of course, none of these pressing moral quandaries are answered on Tequila Mockingbird's LP, You Always Felt Lost. Taking their name, I presume, from the 1977 album by the late jazz pianist and legend, Ramsey Lewis, the Lansing-based group generally runs the exposed raw nerves of mid-'00s post-hardcore through the pasta-roller of 5th-wave emo, cranking out kinky, rough-grain, and discernibly heavy guitar-pop, which translates abstract caterwauls of rebellion into plainly personal insights that peer down the narrow halls of depression, loss, and a diminishing sense of purpose, often name-checking peers and guiding confidants such as Hot Mulligan and Michael Cera Palin in their song titles and lyrics, and drawing direct influence from them in constructing their sound. The lyrical delivery of vocalist Joseph adds that extra density of circuitry and connectivity that makes the sensibilities of this passionate kinetic ordinance of sound combust and resolve like a mile-long string of firecrackers- pain and perseverance mixing in a smear of splattering, effusive elocution that brings the strength of a wild cataract to a single shuddering tear. You Always Felt Lost is a sonar beacon to locate the like-minded and lonely in the depths of the perpetual winter of stifled sentimental solidarity. Now if only they could tell me whether or not God will condemn me for getting his favorite flighted crooners plastered, then they'll have basically provided me with all the answers I need in this life and beyond. 

Album Review: Lobsterfight - My Coat Hanger Is A Necklace

My Coat Hanger Is a Necklace because I'm always just hangin' around. It's not uncommon to be mistaken for a piece of furniture. A backrest to throw a jacket on, or a stool to heave a pair of loafers over. Sometimes everyone's invited to the party except you- a troubling epiphany, especially when you're the host. Drunken renditions of songs you remember from high school, about boys coming of age and recognizing themselves in the beautiful, sleek visage of swelt, prowling jaguars from National Geographic posters hung up in the science lab. Colorfully plumed creatures sing their own praises, nearly slurred, the words already half-forgotten, in a chorus of gaily varnished martins, and the whole world sings with them; even the armchair hums a few bars, vibrating a hushed resignation to the whims of the crowd, wishing someone would perchance tilt their solo cup full of Kool-Aid and Captain Morgan over its cushion so the nauseating concoction can seep in and soak up some of the social torpor and relieve the inertia that has relegated it to mere rear support in this crowded den. Souls rise and fall, and the wind of jolly bluster goes out through the gaps in this creaky old house. The band plays; they invite a racket; they bang on all manner of things, and it makes a melody as sweet as amber scraped from a royal Egyptian apiary while they sing of dancing blades twirling in the clouds, dead men walking, dreams of misfortune as accosting as a traipsing shade, and close passes with the devil. A lamp is decked off a table; sparks course through the hot, swirling air and conversation; a flame creeps up the wall, out the window, and is hoofing on the roof before anyone is the wiser. By daybreak, the soirée and socialites are little more than a charcoal bed, still glowing, still laughing, still hot but hushed now to a crackle, inert but pensive, anticipating the day when St. Vitus will descend to their resting hearth. On that morning, the now-skeletal band will reskin their drums, stretch their own singed tendons to restring the chords of their piano, and strike up a tempo as these scorched merry bones carole in a train, off and over the horizon. And still I'll be hanging here, wondering when it will be my chance to join in this danse macabre to celebrate my so-called life. 

Interview: Michael Torres of Beers with Bands

It might shock some of you all to learn this, but I almost never listen to music-related podcasts, and I'm specifically averse to artist interviews. I know, right? Here I am about to plug a podcast where I interview someone, and right out the gate I'm saying, "yeah, I don't listen to this type of 'ish." There is literally only one exception to this, though, and that is Beers with Bands. The reason for this is that Michael Torres has great music tastes and manages to talk to bands I care about. The other reason is that he comes across as a down to earth guy, with no agenda but the love of talking with people who make great music. Points on the board. Man after my own heart. Whenever I look up a DIY band to figure out what their deal is, Michael's already right there, sharing a Hamm's with the dudes on his couch. A suds-soaked shepherd through the sounds of the underground. So, of course, I had to talk to him and see what he's all about! Turns out, Michael is as cool in person as he appears on tape and is twice as fun to share a brew with. We tossed a few back* with some time in February when we talked about his podcast, what albums he has in rotation in his car, and where the best Mexican food in the Twin Cities can be found (hint: it's in a gas station). Check out my interview with Michael of Beers with Bands below:

For more of Michael, check out his YouTube channel.

*I did end up getting drunk during this interview. Hopefully, it's not too distracting for you, my dear, dry and pious listener. 

Album Review: Coffret De Bijoux - My Limbs Are Not Mine

Of all the tattered flesh shrouds and spectral shades she slips through, Coffret de Bijoux appears to be maturing into Alice Simard's most compelling and sonically adventurous manifestation. The vicious Québec-based virtuoso has quite the rap sheet, splitting her time and a swath of eardrums across a range of abominable aural bêtes noires; whether she is flexing her carrion-fed, brutal-death shredding chops with Codex Crudelitas, communing with the gods of inter-neuro-grid with the Lain-inspired cybergrind exe. FILESHAREMAIDEN, or gutting the idols of restraint with the dauntingly anointed goregrind sauvage Onchocerciasis Esophagogastroduodenoscopy- there is no height of extremity too lofty, or aquifer of dissonance too low, that to drill to its depths would be unimaginable. Which brings us back to Coffret de Bijoux; outwardly, it is a depressive atmospheric black metal project- the first releases under its mantle were ghastly and otherworldly, devoid of recognizable human warmth (or verbal expression) and submerged in the oily dew of void-burn existential perturbation, an orientation towards sound that culminated in the pinnacle of 2025's wen jalè jalè gunala, a fraying web of gossamer that shrieks and rends its own soft flesh in a fitful attempt at self-reorganization and recognition, tortured form that threatens to spontaneously combust through the friction of its interior traivol. There was perhaps a considerable dose of Damian Anton Ojeda's Trhä in the alchemist's vessel out of which Coffret de Bijoux emerged, especially in the way that emotion tends to leak out all over performance like black lacquer seeping from a cracked inkwell, but there is certainly more to its chemical composition than simply a reflective polymerization of her peers. Last year, Coffret de Bijoux also introduced this world to the project's emo chip-tune side with the sullenly angelic and blindingly enigmatic intablej' u ana, which could have convincingly fronted as a Weatherday and Këkht Aräkh collaboration and left me uncertain about its true origins. This willful and restless transmutation is again evident on my limbs are not mine, which, as far as I can tell, is Alice's first (mainly) English-language release with Coffret De Bijoux, as well as her first full and proper punk record- scraping together brisk, punchy third-wave emo-inspired grooves, pop-punk melodies, and early metalcore riffs to beat back the night with a force of resilience possessed only by the perpetually young at heart. Incredibly, the record retains enough of its black metal allele to not result in too dramatic or off-puttingly divergent a turn for the project on the whole, but rather offers an opportunity to comprehend the richness of the vein of influences and inspirations that conspire to produce the genius of Coffret de Bijoux's spellbinding cache. From the rattling rollick and arresting seraphic avowal of "i need to see" all full of loose screws and bent halos, to the sweetly venomous coo of "nuit d'automne," to the veiled hunger and agitatedly exposed decampment of "i never recollect," through to the quietly wounded, organ-transplanting, and giallo-stained lament of the title-track, and finally the crushing return to form on the tearful, ruminating spectre and closer "pillow poise remembering"- my limbs are not mine extends the tensile subluxation of Alice's spirit as embodied in Coffret de Bijoux in a manner that magnifies the luster and ethereal shine of its fractured intricacy and interior.

Album Review: Cerberus Shoal - Cerberus Shoal

Clipping and grafting the etching of an idea pilfered from a book of poetry written by Brown University students in 1893, Cerberus Shoal breached in Boston in 1994, before spawning up to Portland, Maine, to experiment on their ash-grey, half-pickled offspring in inky green hatchery jars. While hanging up their snaring tools in 2005, Cerberus Shoal invaerted and reemerged through a plethora of homely yet exquisite and adventurous phases over the course of their career, lumbering up from the fleshy bluffs of the human ear in the guise of a whisper-calm post-hardcore band before floridly unfurling into a powdered bone-dusted and warmly abstract folk band. Their precocious accession in planting a flag on the far shore of second-wave emo's sweetly caustic and bitterly gladsome Slint-mixed colluvium rim is still their most endearing work to these hairy old ears, though, and it's what I want people to hear most dearly from their revived catalog. The band's long out-of-print self-titled debut, recorded in 1994 and released in 1995 on Stella White records, and lovingly resuscitated by the applied sonic residency skills of Temporary Residence Ltd. (circa. 2018), documents the band's precocious beginnings and acts as an initial schematic whose architectures would be redlined, revised, and addendumed on later releases as the group increased the quotient of raw granola and thorium granules in their increasingly crunchy, amalgamed sound. In these early days, though, Cerberus Shoal embodied the marriage of rhythmically dislocated chord progressions characteristic of many Dischord Records signees and the progressive push, patient dynamics, and suppressed convulsions of slowcore dreamweavers ala Codeine, a fragily distilled formula which only occasionally tips its hand to spill into less equable fits of screamo-induced sensory disarray.

Out on Temporary Residence Ltd... I might have mentioned that already.

2025 Year-End Invitational

Ah, another year, another year older, another year closer to kissing dirt. I should be less glib in my introduction for this year's list because this year was not so bad on my ears. Many artists of note, prestige, and accreditation that I've managed to keep a bead on had releases. Melody's Echo loaded a hot one into the Chamber, and Stereolab made themselves heard again with a fresh sonic assay. Billy Woods dropped an album in the same year that he and Elucid ignited a heater with The Alchemist, and then The Alchemist daisy-chained that dish with a second serving of Alfredo along with Freddie Gibbs. La Dispute crashed back into view with No One Was Driving the Car, White Reaper showed they still have something left in the tank with Only Slightly Empty, and Deftones shared some Private Music with the public. Also, Turnstile released Glow On again for some reason. It's all fantastic, and you won't hear a disparaging word from these lips as far as the quality of any of it, but...  why do I still feel underwhelmed? Am I just spoiled for choice? Spiritually sick? I can't say for sure, but I just can't muster the will to commentate on any of it. 

"Saying thing is your job! You have one job! Why you no do job good?!?" I hear you shrieking at me (hypothetically). Firstly, no, my actual job is much less interesting than writing about music (and incidentally pays much better too [emphasis for exaggeration]), and secondly, none of the "big" releases this year are of the kind that I even entertain for coverage here, normally. They're all either on major labels (or on labels that are large enough that they can run in the same pack as the majors on occasion), and they all have large enough audiences that my throwing 2 cents into the coffee can doesn't do much for either of us (emotionally, commercially, artistically, etc...)  

Then there is the fact that they're all huge la discourse artists, aka music makers that you have to have an opinion on (mandatorily sanguine btw unless you're carving a niche brand as a "discerning" contrarian [ie a fussy little bitch]) in order to build a reputation as a take-haver, taste-contriver, and cultural instigator (read: gatekeeper). None of that interests me. I'm not looking to become a marketable personality, one who imposes a canon on people, enforces a listening regimen, or gives people anxiety about what they are or aren't committing brainpower to enjoying (however low voltage). My goal here is to share what I find interesting/invigorating with you as a supplement to your other habits of listening and engagement, as a personal labor of love and expressive outlet, and hopefully in a way that is enough off the beaten path that you escape the dehumanizing torrent of algorithmic optimization- at least for the one minute to an hour or so it takes to read/listen one of my reviews/interviews (hey, a minute of fresh air in the prison yard a day helps reduce stress and illness in inmates according to leading studies on the subject, so you can think of me as providing a similar benefit). 

The other thing about all these big, crucial names in music (really any flagship standard-bearers in the moment) is that even when what they're doing is good, worthy, and platinum standard (which, in my estimation, it mostly is), emotionally, for me, it just lands like more "content." Like, I like what they do, but keeping up with them kind of feels like being on a treadmill long after the buildup of lactic acid in my system has caused my organs to begin humming with a concerning arrhythmia. As in, "Oh, so-and-so has a drop on the way, I should probably know what that's about," instead of IDK, giving my brain a break, or whatever... Continuing as before, it often feels like running an extra mile after I've already completed a 5k. I have to ask myself, am I doing this for my own health, or am I doing it because other people are going to run that extra mile, so I should too...? It's a paradox I've wrestled with for a while without a clear or satisfying resolution. 

Something that Danny Brown (whose LP, Stardust, was an essential release for me this year) said in an interview recently that resonated with me is that there are "too many artists, and not enough fans." This was in response to a general question about why it's harder than ever to find fresh-sounding music, and it's a sentiment I understand deeply. Everyone is trying to sell you something and no one is happy with what they've got. Too many proclaimers, and not enough people to hear their pronouncements. Too many profits, and not enough disciples. Too much butter and not enough popcorn. Especially as someone who considers themselves both an artist (don't laugh) and an avid listener (ok, fine, laugh), I think I have to get better at being the latter and be more comfortable with modest ambitions towards the former. In other words, I need to focus on listening more deeply and thoughtfully, and being more selective about what I hear, while having fewer expectations as to my status as an indie/DIY/punk/emo/blowhard/etc...etc... blogger. After all, appreciation is the point, and if something doesn't call out to me, it's alright to leave it unexamined, resting, at peace where it lies. I've already started to do just that, filtering more of what I hear and not chasing things down if they don't immediately grab my attention. But as far as content here, I'm definitely looking to make a notable pivot in coverage- after I clean out the current backlog of albums angling for my assessment (said list is about 900 albums long btw). 

It might be a minute, but where I'd like to direct my focus in the future is at more international artists, specifically those coming out of Africa and South and Central America. For various reasons, these parts of the world are on the rise and rapidly more self-sustaining, and these trends are going to result in a cultural output in the coming years that I'm excited to see blossom into maturity. I've already received two emails in the last week of this year from publicists promoting amapiano artists, so the shift might be easier than I realized, as the universe may be pulling me in that direction with or without my conscious assent. 

In sum, my goals for 2026, for this blog and my life, are to be more chill towards myself and music, and to be a better listener, appreciating what I have and looking towards a brighter future (even if the brightest stars are not shining nearest to my home). As for 2025, below is a list of 25 albums I thought were rad as hell and/or touched my soul but didn't get around to writing about in the preceding 12 months. Have at them and have a Happy New Year!

Weatherday - Hornet Disaster (Topshelf Records)

2025 really was off to a good start when Hornet Disaster dropped in March. I had no idea it was on its way until Top Shelf emailed me about it, and it's been at the top of my mind since. There are some top-notch emo elegies here (naturally, again, issued on Top Shelf), and some that will affirm and ensure Weatherday's status as a seminally influential underground artist for decades to come, tracks such as "Hug" with its dreary sense of yearning and crawling, as well as the anguish-sickened passages, biting blizzard-y feedback swells of "Blood Online" and the wired-warp and seething surge of alienated implosion that is "Nostalgia Drive Avatar." Funnily, even though its predecessor Come In was only released in 2019, Hornet Disaster has the feeling of a revival album for the artist, which is understandable, as the impact that Weatherday has had on the modern underground music scene at an international level is almost incalculable, and frankly, that meant that they had a lot to prove with this release. It's not as overtly reclusive or peculiarly scratchy and experimental as what we've come to know Weatherday for, but it's just as daringly sentimental and compelling in its wounded gait, maintaining its shadowy eminence without sacrificing its emotional core. Despite everything, Weatherday is still themself. Forever.

 

MJ Noble - Songs From My Castle Tower (Doom Trip)

The immediate and insistent impression that I was seeded with upon beholding the cover of MJ Nobel's third album, Songs From My Castle Tower, was that it was the vessel of a cybernetic current and celestially radiant flow of ethereal inspiration, cascading over and between the battlements of an Avalonian spire, pouring down on the teeming mass of mortals below like cool, molten starlight... Now, it may be somewhat anticlimactic to acknowledge, but these initial impressions, gleaned from appearances alone, were impeccably precise. An elfin excursion into a vespertine grove of dark illumination is exactly what this album is- emancipation in a fantastical world of blissfully incarnate passion, rendered in arresting fidelity at the nexus of wondering daydreams and fiber-optic fanned eudaimonia. Folk music for a digital dynast with root privileges to your heart.

Citric Dummies - Split With Turnstile (Feel It Records)

My esteem for Feel It Records grows by the day. Sam's work with the label became a gold standard in my personal punk headcanon after splunking into Why Bother?'s catalog; now it's going platinum with this Citric Dummies LP, Split With Turnstile (which, ironically, is more vital than the album that the actual Turnstile released this year). A bio that I read of them alludes to their sound jumbling and interlocking odds and stray crumbs from Barely Legal era Hives, the Dwarves, and the buzz-bomb of contemporaries Dark Thoughts, and while that's all enough to stake your life on when it comes to this record, in essence, it's a vindication of that classic early hardcore style as a means of liberating your crown clean off your dome- fast, irreverent, catchy, and uncontainably hostile- they're like a dog that bites your leg and, via a metastatic psychic mutation, is able to inject a scathing and scandalous rejection of the human condition in its current-year craven state, directly into the mainline of your arteries like snake venom. This record is the good kind of sick!

Shallowater - God's Gonna Give You A Million Dollars (Self-Released)

With one of the most Coen brothers-esque titles I may have bonafided with these tired eyes, Houston "dust-gaze" bowlers Shallowater grant a sip of succor to the people lost in the godless desert of 2025 with their second LP God's Gonna Give You a Million Dollars. Much has been made of the "country" side of this record, and while it does have quite a bit of twang tucked in around the trim, it's really only "country" in the way that an old windmill left in a fallow wheatfield to oxidize into an indigestible cereal of sharp, coarse particulates could be considered "country," or an old barn cat caught in a snare laid for a fox outside the henhouse- a dark reflection and a fateful and justly cruel metaphor for the silent, progressive decay and barrenness of spirit and soil that has exhausted the heartland. That kind of "country."

life - we won't say a word until tomorrow (Self-Released)

It's been a banner year for Damián Ojeda. Ok, every year is a big year for Damián, but between his various black metal, shoegaze, emo, and skramz marquees, he's dropped something like 40 separate albums- the majority of which I have not heard because I have a job and a wife—but more than life simply getting in the way of bingeing on his output, I'm frequently stricken with an awe-induced paralysis by his work, wherein I feel compelled to spend long stretches of time simply wallowing in and soaking up the vibe and nuances of each release, incapable of moving on until I've wrung all the serotonin I can out of it. Case in point: I haven't been able to step past his summer release, we won't say a word until tomorrow, under the life honorific, to get a taste of the other three or four other life titles he's dropped since. It's just a beautifully painful listen. Conscious and cathartic, patient and devoted, bleak and blissful. Most bands are lucky to come within spitting distance of something this compelling in their entire career, and yet, this probably just felt like another Friday to Damián when he unveiled it to the world. Now, this is a fantastic record; I've already said as much, and the semi-final track "allusion to summer distance" was literally my song of the summer, but what really wins it a bushel of roses from me is the locket-shaped snippet on the cover of this album which encloses Nana Osaki and Nana Komatsu in an eternal embrace and whirl of intractable kismet. Ai Yazawa is a genius, an inimitable talent, and her manga about tragically fated love and diehard friendship vibes so hard with this album that it almost feels like they were made with each other in mind. It's all the heartbreak you can handle- sealed with a kiss.

Menace4Hire - With All That I Know Now (Self-Released)

On With All That I Know Now, Chicago MC Menace4Hire invokes a nostalgic and contemplative frame of mind, weaving observations and hard-wrung conclusions together like a colorful ribbon that connects the sun-faded images of a life in reflection as they lie static in a heavy photo album. Dust-tripping skips and loops rotate under Menace's studious reels of commentary, and lissome yet graceful flow like the treadmill of his mind, propelling him forward and sparing him from stagnant complacency, as the wheels turn and epiphanies emerge like daylight pouring over the horizon. There will be plenty more for Menace to come to know, as he is still young and the world has yet to put its full weight on his shoulders, but he's already got sure footing, clear eyes, and wisdom to bank, and that counts for a lot.

Flora Hibberd - Swirl (22Twenty)

Lucky you that you get to share a planet with Flora Hibberd. And what good fortune that she has an album out this year, called Swirl. And while we're counting our blessings, there is a song on that album titled "Lucky You," a peppy and sardonic twist on Americana and a tender take on garage-pop that sizzles with impulsive fluorescence- kind of like the record on the whole. Swirl was recorded by the London-born, Paris-palisaded guitarist/singer/songwriter in the Northwestern city of Eau Claire, which since at least For Emma, Forever Ago has garnered a reputation for sublating the traditions and trappings of standard American playing styles- in other words, Flora Hibberd, who on this LP exhibits intersecting qualities of Haley Fohr and Cat Power, happens to find herself at ease and in good company in her circuitous yet delicate evasion and amendment of orthodoxy

Superdestroyer / Leave (Nelson) B - NCTV Vol. 2: Negative thoughts about myself and people I love dearly (Lonely Ghost Records)

Superdestroyer and LNB are moots irl. That's pretty much it. That's why this album happened. You can learn more about its precursor in this interview I did with the guys last year. Ok, bye! *shoving noises, muffled commotion* Alright, fine! So my editor (ie my conscience) is telling me that I need to say more about this record, because it's made by good people, who happen to be two of my favorite emo/DIY personalities, and it's a very fun and edifying listen... which is exactly why it's hard to come up with things to say about it... Like, have you ever looked at that panel of Dr.Manhattan sitting ponderously on the surface of Mars, gazing longingly starward, and thought to yourself, "yeah, same." Alright, now imagine there are two Dr. Ms, and they both just lost someone irreplaceable to them. That's the vibe of this LP, only less forlorn and crowned with a finish of stardust and cosmic dynamism.

they are gutting a body of water - LOTTO (ATO Records)

They Are Gutting a Body of Water... what, do they live near a data center or something? You think I'm just being funny, but there is something somewhat prophetic about this Philly group (who everyone insists are shoegaze, though to my ears they're doing a grunged-up version of Sunny Day Real Estate, but WHAT DO I KNOW? I'm only an expert when it comes to these sorts of things) and their album LOTTO, a distorted, weathered tome and sonic manuscript, depicting a world drained of vitality and its sense-making structures, where people filter in and out like flames in the dark, choked to a snuff by a high wind. Apparitions glide around the periphery of a séance circle, a distant zone blighted by a spiritual fugue of amnesia. It's bleak enough of a setting that it could almost be mistaken for our own broken system of sinking pirate-ocracy. Don't you feel fortunate to have lived long enough to witness a fanatical state of parasitism, once only imaginable in fiction, become grounded reality? Maybe fortunate isn't the right word. But only the depths of irony can do justice to the inheritance of such a wretched windfall.

Cola Boyy - Quit to Play Chess (Record Makers)

Look at this photo of Matthew Urango, aka Cola Boyy. Look at this little pimp! Bro looks like he's got the world at the end of a yo-yo string- give it a flick and let it ride like a platinum disco record at a late-night house party. Quit to Play Chess is the gold-hearted, neo-disco-funk auteur's final record, unfortunately, as he passed away earlier this year, but it contains his best realized efforts to date. "Abundant" is a term I would use liberally to describe the passionate and distinctive confluences of crunchy Caribbean rhythms, surfy chop chords, drum and bass rattle, equitable yacht rock, and big hairy disco grooves that generously extend over the whole of this album and breathe a technicolor authenticity into its plentiful vision of the world's potential. You'd have to have a piece missing from your heart not to vibe with the pure mood manifest on this record. RIP Matthew. Thank you for this solid gold send-off.

Lealani - Beep Bop Boop (Self-Released)

It's a tale as old as... well, AOL chat rooms. Girl goes online. Girl falls in love... with a machine. What, you think she was going to get a boyfriend? Well, sure, ok, but what can a man do for you that an optimized hard drive and fiber optics connection can't? Ok... I'm hearing something about... jars? Jar opening can be automated. What can't be automated is girls (well, a girl in this case) leveraging their love of technology to approximate sonic encounters with extraterrestrial travelers party-crashing from digital destinations unknown. Beep Bop Boop is Lealani's second solo LP, a neon-aura glam bath of leisurely gratifying and marginally disquieting, petite pop-epigrams and escapist codas that function like little trap doors in the floor of a stuffed animal factory, which drop into recesses of dayglo laughter and pots of harmonizing amphibians. AI could never match what Beep Bop Boop is rolling out, and if it tried, Lealani would likely glitch-prompt it into oblivion with the chaos seed of her psyche.

Faetooth - Labyrinthine (The Flenser)

Personally, I'm psyched that bands are starting to describe their music as distinct and definite genres of their own making more and more often. It shows a real clarity of vision and a desire to control one's own narrative. Take Faetooth: they're calling their style "Fairy Doom." There are a number of ways that you could interpret said designation, but it gets the point of their sound- a combination of the earthen whimsy of Chelsea Wolfe, the witchy desperation of Ragana, the avant-chaos of Thou, and the ambient fury of Show Me the Body- across to you like a flaming bolt to the breastplate. The cold majesty of their latest LP, Labyrinthine, feels best appreciated in the absolute, most dismal spans of winter, the periods during which it genuinely seems sane to ponder whether a thaw will ever grace the land again. We haven't hit that point quite yet in the Midwest as of this writing, but when we do, I'll be thankful to have the frigid solace of this album to keep me company.

Johnny Football Hero - Contingency Plan (Lonely Ghost Records)

Johnny Football Hero sounds completely pissed off on their LP, Contingency Plan. Their outrage and the outpour of grievance is at such an extraordinary, heated degree of fervency that it's transformed them into an entirely different band. The thing that makes them somewhat recognizable on this release, when compared to their '21 EP, Complacency, is the subject matter of their songs, which remains a reflection of the near-ubiquitous batter-thick spread of suffering that blankets the swelter of our modern hell world. It's all post-hardcore, incoming like a cloud of Nerf-footballs strapped with c4- whistling, blazing, and hot with intent, striking with precision and spreading the fever of their indignant fervor like a plague of premeditated epiphany and motivated malcontent. Emergencies call for action, and action is what Johnny Football Hero aims to inspire.  

84 Tigers - Nothing Ends (Spartan Records)

I'm presuming that the Reed brothers zeroed in on the name for their band because '85 Bears would have been too traitorous and '83 Lions would have been too obvious for the proud Motor City denizens, and for a project birthed to examine themes of nostalgia, loss, and maturation, you don't want a nom de plume that distracts too much from the subject matter, or the music for that matter. 84 Tigers’s second LP, the affirmatively titled Nothing Ends, offers a tightfisted, sober strain of melocore that raises the gut-plunging introspection of Chuck Ragan's repertoire, with a deservedly grungy afterburn to its headstrong chord crunch, and possesses a bitter acidity in the absorbing plateaus of its marrow that stings in nettling distinction with the pragmatic yet replenishing assurances of its lyrical content. A tyrant and a confidant, folded into one.

Samba Touré - Baarakelaw (Glitterbeat Records)

Literally the last time I wrote about a blues artist was when I interviewed Deludium Skies back in February. So, for this next pick I'm going to be discussing a tribute to the Rolling Stones' Sticky Finge—NAHHHHHH, psych! Screw that Boomer-slop impostor Americana- listen to Samba Touré's Baarakelaw. It's better for you, it's more soulful, it's got more heart, it's real; it's about the sweat and scratch required to dust up the dough to make a loaf of bread, and the blood and clay that build the foundations of communities. Transcendent, rhythmic guitars woven in poetic patterns, pulling threads and mosaic imprints into a tapestry of contemporary life in conversation with the traditions upon which it is founded. It's not technically the blues, but it's how you can best translate what Samba is up to if you're not Malian.

Liaam - Dancing With My Clothes On (Self-Released)

There is something about Liaam that makes me think he'd thrive in a standard-cable package slot where he's allowed to make surrealist skits with sock puppets... but maybe that's entirely because he reminds me of another twiggy, wiggly man with a similar-sounding name. It has nothing to do with his music, which sounds like he's afflicted with an itchy case of Half Japanese, with a far more terminal secondary diagnosis of Swell Maps... I'm afraid it's inoperable, ma'am. The best thing we can do for him is let him dance with his favorite collegiate blazer and tapered slacks until the friction starts to spark and he goes out in a puff of pyrrhic glory. I think it's what he would want, ma'am... that and his own TV show...

Sallow Moth - Mossbane Lantern (Lilang Isla)

The Sallow Moth saga continues with Mossbane Lantern, named for a vegetated artifact of either profoundly magical or obscure technical origins that rests discreetly hidden in an icy inlet and grants its possessor the ability to teleport long distances, or even interdimensionally... It would probably be helpful if I mentioned that Sallow Moth is a conceptual sci-fi sound project by super-industrious metal master Garry Brents, in which he explores a universe set into chaos by mutant celestial moths who have degenerated from their positions as cosmic gardeners and naturalist stewards into a force that threatens the fabric of reality itself. Mossbane Lantern is Garry's only LP with this project in 2025 (the other releases under the Sallow Moth banner being a demo and a pair of EPs) and is technically a continuation of the Vial EP from 2024. This all might sound crazy, but it really pales in comparison to the actual music on this beast, which sounds like Cynic performing some manner of manic, fungus-flavored jungle-jazz to appease a disturbed Quetzalcoatl-like apparition. It's the farthest thing you can imagine from normal and restrained, and that's why it rules!

Bones Shredder - Morbid Little Thing (Sunken Teeth)

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! What the actual fuck?!? This record makes me feel like it’s 2002 again! Dark, bruisingly catchy and beguilingly haunting pop-punk is not something I ever thought I'd hear with fresh ears posterior to the Bush-era implosion of everything charmingly irreverent about punk in the daunting umbra of perpetual imperialism and economic disarray. I guess things just had to get bad enough for people to stop worrying and embrace the terminal glissade enough to welcome morbid make-out anthems like the sanguinely pining "Let Me In" and tuneful tug of "Pulling Teeth" into the crypt of their heart chamber. It helps that there is as much Pinkerton as From Here to Infirmary in this venomous brew, helping to balance out the persistent allusions to tragedy with an obliging antivenin of hope.

YHWH Nailgun - 45 Pounds (AD 93)

The last time I encountered NYC quartet YHWH Nailgun was when I stumbled across their 2022 EP while killing time in an Airbnb in Louisville. I have such a vivid memory of that place, as well as the way YHWH's ricochet and recoil contrasted with its pseudo-Victorian decor, dark-shrouded interior, and sturdy but ancient furniture, shattering the idle calm of that place as if it were a radiation-laden satellite tumbling back in time to Deep Impact the house Wuthering Heights was based on. Their LP 45 Pounds eternalizes the freak energy that captivated me initially, while continuing to be just as incongruously alien within the modern setting of my home as they appeared to me while I was hibernating between the folds of an Emily Brontë novel. On this album, YHWH articulates something sonically akin to a lobotomized David Byrne, whose frontal lobe has been partially replaced with an outdated TV antenna that only picks up scrambled broadcasts of West African variety shows and rejected episodes of Later... with Jools Holland from an alternative dimension where Xiu Xiu had pivoted to become a particularly bizarre and brazen, hemp and barbed-wire necklace-hawking jam band. It's called 45 Pounds, but to me it's as dense and massive as a black hole caving in God's forehead.

Summer 2000 - Blue Meringue (Self-Released)

What is a Blue Meringue? According to Summer 2000, it's something along the lines of a wake pool filled with tar- an undulating state of paralysis where you're somehow always propelled forward while simultaneously sinking deeper into place- like trying to use a bungee cord to escape a whirlpool, or a Toyota pinned in place by a block of cement gouging into its undercarriage while it spins its wheels. It's a good metaphor for the necessity of growing through one's experiences while still feeling inadequate with the results. In the end, you can't really ever escape yourself due to the inertia of your flaws; you can only ever learn to live with and accept yourself and make the best of the consequences, even if you're perpetually aggrieved by how far you have fallen short of expectations. You're only human after all, and even when you've run over the median barrier and bent up your axle, as long as you're alive, you can always call a tow and get back on the road... eventually. Your insurance agent and/or SO might not be too happy with you, but as long as you're trying your best, you run a good chance of being forgiven for your roadside mishaps... probably. That's what I'm getting from Summer 2K's Blue Meringue, at least. A simple reminder of your inescapable humanness from a deeply thoughtful album.

Bug Moment - The Lazer Collection (Self-Released)

The first (and actually only) time I've seen Milwaukee's Bug Moment was when I caught them opening at a show at the Cactus Club where Blind Equation, Hey, ily, and Heccra were also playing... It was one of the most stacked lineups I can recall seeing outside of Chicago this year, and it's still one of my 2025 highlights. Being in that kind of company should give you a good idea of what to expect on their EP, The Lazer Collection, but then again, they're their own breed of shimmering, polychromatic anomaly, separate from their peers. Bug Moment certainly favors twinkly guitar antics, extreme metal vocals, and micromusic-esque infusions of electronics, but they also have this huge, whirlwind quality to their music, as well as perfectly calibrated pop-punk and alternative songwriting instincts that make comparisons to Paramore and Flyleaf unforced and positively apt. I like this album a lot. You could even say I've got the Bug Moment bug! ...at least for the time being.

La Rat - La Rat (South of North)

Sometimes to find the good stuff you have to dig deep... or look in the gutter. That's where I presume La Rat spends most of their time (although I found them via my Bandcamp feed, which, seeing as it mainly consists of solo noise and ambient projects at the moment, could be considered part of the internet's sanitation drainage system and digital superfund site, and might require government intervention to regulate accordingly). The Amsterdam-based duo's self-titled LP is a strange and vibey hip-hop volume detailing accounts of urban scavengery, that pack-rats together sooty soul samples and rough-cut R'n'B grooves into clumpy tangles of dirty delights, which vocalist Goya van der Heijden burrows into and gnaws to pulp with the scissors-like incisors of her squeaky but breathy, hushed but boldly furtive flow. This one is all cheddar, hold the cheese.

El Michels Affair - 24 Hr Sports (Big Crown Records)

I don't have to shout it out every time Leon Michels releases an album, but then again, it feels like I do, as I find them so compelling. To me, Leon is re-engineering the soul album one effort at a time, understanding the influence that soul had on hip-hop, and then working backward from hip-hop back to soul while conserving the marrow of each: the cool swelter and richness of sentiment from soul, and the scrappy, pioneering drive of hip-hop, and forging something unique and unpredictable in their fusion. For his 24 Hr Sports LP, Leon drops the Ghanaian hand-painted movie poster shtick in favor of '80s-uncle's-parlor nostalgia, with a soft-focus photo of a giant trophy adorning the cover. He certainly earned the reward pictured here for past efforts as much as for present ones. We should really give the man a medal every year in an Olympic-style ceremony. Maybe if we start saving our change in a coffee can, we'll have enough to put on that kind of production in time for his next LP in '27-'28 or so.

Mildred - Pt. 1 (Dead Mothers Collective)

Does the apocalypse need a prequel? I guess every disaster has its stages. LA's Milred jumped right to the conclusion of their conceptual drama in a hymn to a tragedy of errors and eras with Pt. 2, and now follows up with this year's Pt. 1, a significantly more involved piece of work spanning more than two hours in run time and incorporating the talents of more than 23 musicians. Still, even at the length of a Golden-Age Cecil B. DeMille biblical epic, this noisy eruption of Birthday Party-esque provocation and Kakotheos-oriented post-hardcore will likely feel shorter and less dyspepsia-inducing than your average Sunday sermon- especially if you have the misfortune of being dragged to one of those houses of "worship" that have incorporated bespoke addresses from a Kirkified-AI prompt into their liturgy- an accepted state of affairs in this country, despite it being outwardly more blasphemous (and unintentionally surreal) than the band Liturgy's entire catalog- not for lack of trying, of course.

Dikembe - King (Skeletal Lightning)

If there was any doubt that I'd save the best for last, fear not, for "best" is a subjective concept, but actually, the King EP from Dikembe is an unexpected delight this year. Not because Dikembe isn't in the habit of delivering catchy, heartfelt, and momentously urgent melodic hardcore, but because it's so effortlessly straightforward and on-point. They really do make it look easy, and that's really what you need after a long year: something that can throw the emergency brake on during the spin-out and give you about 20 minutes or so of breathing room. If that doesn't earn them the right to unilaterally appoint themselves "king" for the moment, then they should stop handing out crowns because they're passing them out to all the wrong people for all the wrong reasons. Long live the squatchy sonic sovereign!

That's it! You made it to the end. Congratulations! Now get out and seize the night! Good luck out there bud. Onward to 2026!

Pictured: Me trying to enjoy my evening.