Cover Collector – March Yellows

Design by Ryan Morrissey

I don’t know about you guys, but I love a good album collage. One of the first things I do every Friday is head over to tapmusic.net and render a 4x4 chart of the albums I listened to most over the past week. At the end of each month, I do the same thing with a 5x5 that recaps my previous 30 days of listening. By the time December rolls around, I look forward to recapping the last twelve months with a gigantic 10x10 grid in an unwieldy encapsulation of the 100 albums that defined my year. 

Is it a little self-aggrandizing? Sure, but it’s also a fun way to see a quick snapshot of what my last week, month, or year has sounded like. At its best, this practice has led to fun conversations and solid recommendations going back and forth with friends as we bond over specific albums. Sometimes it’s that shared love over a deep pull from years gone by, other times it’s just noticing trends with a recent fave that seems like an unshakable presence week in and week out. At the very least, I suppose it’s satisfying to see a bunch of records that I feel an affinity toward lined up and embodying a specific stretch of my life. 

At some point near the tail end of last year, I conceived of a more communal way to bring this love of album collage to life. Because, sure, getting a live readout of your listening history is cool, but this is also about album art, an essential part of the experience and something us nerds can fixate on just as much as the songs that sit beneath the cover. As such, I’m excited to welcome you to the third edition of Cover Collector: a monthly installation where the Swim Team discusses some of our favorite albums based on album color. For March, we’re writing about yell-worthy yellows. 

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Marietta – As It Were

Near Mint

Look, I’m not gonna pretend As It Were is better than Summer Death, I’m just saying one could make the argument. There’s a reason that Marietta’s debut is as revered and lauded as it is; songs like “Cinco De Mayo Shit Show” have become scene staples for a reason. Summer Death is evocative of a very specific period of concentrated Emo Revivalism that was overflowing from Philly in the early 2010s, but how does one follow that up? As It Were posits an artistically fulfilling path forward, chartered by these four individuals we see on this cover set against a modest mellow yellow wall. Songs like “Pony Up!!” and “United Away” still explode with anxious, youthful emo energy, while others like “Ilai, Eli, A Lie” and “Brains” articulate a clear desire to be making a different style of music entirely. 

For years and years, Summer Death was all I listened to when it came to Marietta. That record soundtracked entire seasons of my life, and I kinda figured that nothing else could stack up. At some point in the last handful of years, a friend recommended that I wait until the first really warm day of spring, then go for a walk and listen to As It Were, and that’s exactly what I did. Blue sky above, sun on my skin, I went on a jubilant stroll around the park near my Denver apartment and let the energy of this record carry me forward. As we emerge from the great thaw of winter, I’d like to pass that same suggestion forward to you, the reader. If you’re only familiar with Summer Death, you’ll hear lots of comforting sounds in this record, but you’ll also hear a band evolving and stretching to be something even more fulfilling and complex.

– Taylor Grimes

Pile – A Hairshirt of Purpose

Exploding in Sound

Anyone who knows me in even the vaguest capacity knows that Pile is my favorite band. It’s only because I’m exercising self-control that I haven’t submitted a Pile album for every iteration of Color Collector (yet). But I couldn’t say no to writing about this wonderful yellow album: A Hairshirt of Purpose is special, from the beautifully melancholic cover art – a simple marker illustration of a figure in a bathtub – to the vast emotional depths plumbed by Rick Maguire’s haunting voice. 

The mood of the album fits the title perfectly, as a hairshirt was traditionally used as a means of religious penance. The discomfort caused by the coarse, uncomfortable garment was a way to “mortify,” or purify, the person of their shortcomings. This release is a meandering, soggy, melancholic walk through a swamp of emotions that range from morose to frenetic, suggesting that feeling of self-purification. The delicate “Making Eyes” is subdued and weary, while “Texas” is a galvanized, heady track that is a clear nod to noise-rock legends The Jesus Lizard. My favorite of the album, “Milkshake,” falls somewhere in between these two songs. It’s a gorgeous track with a sinister undercurrent: repetitive piano and guitar lend an eerie drive that could soundtrack a thriller. “You lay down and try to rest / Try to breathe deep with that foot on your chest,” Rick hums, before delivering my favorite line of the album. “An old light threatens through the blinds.”

– Britta Joseph

Modern Baseball – Sports

Lame-O Records

Listening to Modern Baseball always felt like the music equivalent of watching films like Napoleon Dynamite or Juno. This is especially true for their debut album, Sports, where, after several smaller releases, the band rolled up their sleeves and rocked out a full-length at the recording studio in Drexel University. Sports encapsulate the awkward, quirky transitional years from high school to college in the best way possible. The band, fresh out of high school and onto the rugged Philly streets, was still green enough to sing largely about girls and the emotional tumult that ensues with them at that age. 

Released in 2012 – the same year as my freshman year of high school – this album holds a special place in my heart, having soundtracked many of the highs and lows of those years. Long will the memories last of many fall semesters set to the tune of “Hours Outside in the Snow,” “I Think You Were in My Profile Picture Once,” and “Coals.”

What the band created with Sports felt truly distinct within the pop-punk/emo scene in sound and lyricism, so much so that I’d go as far as to coin it “meta-emo.” Dropping references to social media like Twitter on the track “@chl03k” at that time felt mind-blowing. The owner of the aforementioned Twitter handle even appears on the album’s bright yellow cover, flexing their impressive fishing skills. 

– Brandon Cortez

Hyakkei – Okurimono

Neiro

Weather systems are fascinating things. They are such massive forces of nature, with orders of magnitude that range from 10 yards to entire swaths of the planet. Yet it’s the convergence of such systems that has created some of the most incredible landscapes on Earth. By water, thunder, or heat, more is hewn and born of the marriage between different systems than simply one note of an atmospheric change on its own. With Okurimono, the marriage of post-rock and math rock finds its eye of the storm, the touchdown point of emo, post-rock, and math rock all converging in a serene swirl of precision and technicality, an enduring canyon carved into the bedrock of instrumental rock music. Hyakkei sadly never quite took off while active — a storm cell broken over the Cascades of bad timing. Still, Okurimono is a near-perfect album, calming and melancholic with brilliant, impressive melodies; a true testament to what an absolute force of natural beauty the band could be. 

– Elias Amini

Amanaz – Africa

Now-Again Records

Of the many micro-genre rabbit holes one can fall into, Zamrock is one of the coolest and most rewarding. Zamrock represents a brief yet powerful period in Zambia's history, with its peak lasting from 1964 to about 1978. Zambia, like almost all African countries, had been colonized by Europe in the late 1800’s—in this case, Cecil Rhodes and the British South Africa Company (one of the most evil men in the history of the world, who is rotting in eternal torment now, god willing). In 1964, Zambia declared its independence and became a sovereign nation, led by President Kenneth Kauna (also a really bad guy, god damn these people cannot catch a break). Soon after, in an attempt to emphasize Zambian culture, Kauna decreed that 95% of all music played on the radio must be Zambian in origin. Kauna also negotiated control of the country’s copper mines, meaning Zambia would now benefit financially from its chief export. Basically, you have a nation with more time on its hands, more money, and huge record collections left behind by British Imperialists. Inspired by the music of Black Sabbath, Blue Cheer, the Rolling Stones, Deep Purple, and Cream, Zamrock took hold as a potent blend of psychedelic rock and African beat music.

The liberation of music came at a time of great social and political unrest. The price of copper fell quickly after Zambian independence was achieved, causing Zambia’s economy to crash. The AIDS epidemic took hold. Zambia was in armed conflict with almost all of its neighbors. The mid-20th Century in Zambian history was a literal perfect storm for potent rock and roll music.

Many of these bands only made one or two albums, some of them only a single and a B-side. They all have a similar sound with their own individual flair, but the signature sound of Zamrock—the fuzzed-out guitars, lo-fi drums and vocals, and baselines taking a walk—is unmistakable. Bands like WITCH (We Intend To Cause Havoc), the Ngozi Family, Ricky Danda, The Oscillations, and Amanaz carried the mantle of Zamrock and dedicated their artistry to putting their own spin on the Western music flooding into the country from South Africa and the colonizers.

In 2019 and 2020, Now-Again Records and Vinyl Me Please began repressing and distributing eight of the most prominent Zamrock albums from the 70’s. They also produced this really cool mini-documentary, that’s worth 15 minutes of your time.

My favorite album of this batch is Africa by Amanaz. It has the flavor of Zamrock, but it’s the dreamiest of the group. There’s a weightlessness and a headiness to Amanaz. Track 4, “Khala My Friend,” is the crowning achievement of the album. It’s a song I will never, ever get tired of. It’s a slower song than most Zamrock tracks. It has one of the coolest guitar solos I’ve ever heard. I have played it for all of my friends, and everyone comments how beautiful it is. It’s about friendship! How great is that? Friendship in the face of political unrest and economic uncertainty. We could learn something from Amanaz.

– Caleb Doyle

Le Tigre – Self-Titled

Mr. Lady Records

My love for Le Tigre is as bright and deep as its golden yellow cover. I’ll go to the ends of the earth to make sure everyone knows it. If Pitchfork ever decides to ask me for my Perfect 10, trust that Le Tigre’s self-titled is what I’ll be saying. The debut album from the grunge-electro-pop mega group is, to me, perfect. You can thrash and scream to “Deceptacon,” wallow and romanticize to “Eau D’ Bedroom Dancing,” and get real contemplative with it on “What’s Yr Take on Cassavetes?” (misogynist? genius?). It’s frenetic, brash, and unapologetic; the poppy, almost airy counter to Kathleen Hanna’s thicker, darker Bikini Kill roots. The intensity is countered by the levity, making Le Tigre a celebration of what is had rather than a lament on what’s missing. On “Hot Topic,” they take the time to call out all the women who inspire them (among them: Angela Davis, Cibo Matto, Sleater-Kinney, Yoko Ono), but still make space to shit on Rudy Giuliani a few songs later with “My My Metrocard.” Hanna is not only on my musical Mount Rushmore, but also the Mount Rushmore of both grunge and riot grrrl as a whole. Revolution Girl Style Now!

– Cassidy Sollazzo

You Blew It! – Keep Doing What You’re Doing

Topshelf Records

Simply one of the best emo records of all time. Fourth wave crystallized with a punchy Florida stank on it. Sweaty, jumpy, high-energy shit you can scream along to while pressed up against at least three or four other people. Keep Doing What You’re Doing is an album with a real arc; everything ignites like a powder keg with the appropriately named “Match & Tinder,” then ends on one of the most sweeping, hopeful epics as its closer. Just a bunch of untouchable riffs and immaculate choruses stacked up one after the other. Cathartic, fun, and endlessly replayable, what more could you ask for in an album?

– Taylor Grimes

City And Colour – Sometimes

Dine Alone Records

When I think back to the music of my early high school years, I can’t think of another album that washes over me like a warm wave of nostalgia quite like City and Colour’s debut album, Sometimes. Having not been an Alexisonfire fan before hearing Dallas Green's solo work, it came as a shock to me when I learned that he was formerly a hardcore frontman, as his voice just fits so perfectly with a more stripped-down atmosphere. His register-shifting, buttery vocals, along with crisp guitar production, meld gorgeously into this stunning collection of early works, where almost every track feels iconic. You’d be hard-pressed to find someone of the millennial generation unfamiliar with singles “Comin’ Home” or “Hello, I’m in Delaware,” while tracks like “Save Your Scissors” and “Day Old Hate” reward the more avid listener. I’ve remained a consistent fan of Green’s in the years since finding this album, and there may be albums of his I rank higher than Sometimes, but this album will always hold a special place in my heart. 

– Ciara Rhiannon

For the previous iterations of Cover Collector, we took a break halfway through to pay respects to the color-coordinated excellence that is Weezer’s discography. Unfortunately, there is no such equivalent for yellow (unless you count the fan-made Piss mockup), so instead we’ll focus on an equivalent entity: SpongeBob. 

There are a few downright excellent SpongeBob albums. First, you’ve got SpongeBob SquarePants: Original Theme Highlights, a 7-song 9-minute collection from 2001 including Pantera’s “Pre-Hibernation” instrumental and Ween’s shoe-tying instructional “Loop De Loop.” Despite its short stature, I ran this CD into the ground as a kid. A few years later, in 2005, we got The Yellow Album, a more traditional-length collection of everything from “Sweet Victory” to “Gary’s Song” and the unparalleled 30-second masterpiece “Sweater Song.” Weezer, eat your heart out. 

One final shoutout must be made for The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie: Music from the Movie and More… (official title) for bringing together Ween, Wilco, The Flaming Lips, and Motörhead all under one roof. Top that all off with “Goofy Goober Rock” and baby, you got a stew going. What a soundtrack. What a film. 

Baroness – Yellow & Green

Relapse

Is it yellow? Is it green? Is it both?? The answer here is an overarching yes, for Georgia metal institution Baroness’ third full-length album. After Weezer (whose only yellow-coded album, Raditude, I was lambasted from defending in this roundup), Baroness is certainly the next-most-notable band to name their albums after specific colors, beginning with Red Album in 2007. Frontman John Baizley is responsible for the gorgeous cover paintings for all of their color-coded albums, including a handful for other artists including Flight Of The Conchords and Gillian Welch. Yellow & Green is a sprawling double-disc collection that marks a stylistic shift for Baroness, with songs still rooted in their sludge and stoner metal background but now with a greater focus on hooks and melody. The “Yellow” disc features the riffy singles “Take My Bones Away” and “March To The Sea,” instant catalogue classics for the band, and its final track, “Eula,” is my favorite thing they’ve ever recorded. The “Green” disc follows with tracks like “Board Up The House” and “Stretchmarker” that help establish Baroness as one of the greatest melodic metal bands of the 2000s. Yellow & Green is not only my favorite Baroness album, but one of my favorite albums of all time since its release in 2012.

– Logan Archer Mounts

The Simpsons – The Yellow Album

Geffen Records

If you want to know how gigantic a cultural phenomenon The Simpsons was in the 90s, do yourself a favor and listen to The Yellow Album. This was the ultimate heat check, forty feet away from the basket. The Simpsons is my favorite animated show of all time. No one can touch them in my eyes, but no one in their right mind was asking for this album.

The Yellow Album was a cash grab so substantial even Krusty the Clown would blush. I imagine the corporate executives at Fox manically laughing while puffing cigars and lighting 100-dollar bills with a flamethrower when they decided to go ahead with this idea. Basically, they’re all Hank Scorpio. The Simpsons are known for their brilliant musical numbers, with standouts like “The Monorail Song” and Mr. Burns’ hilarious, non-PETA-compliant “See My Vest,” but everyone completely mailed in the ideas and performances on this record. Where were The Be Sharps? Where was Party Posse? Instead, we are left suffering with some of the worst-written songs this side of the Mississippi, coming mostly from a neutered Bart Simpson. Maybe if this were some kind of social experiment to see how far the company can thrust the Simpsons brand onto society, then I could see some method in the madness. Other than that, hunt down their best songs from the actual show on YouTube; I promise it’ll be better than the ten tracks on The Yellow Album. 

– David Williams

Bomb the Music Industry! – Vacation

Quote Unquote Records

It’s that hazy shade you only see at sunset in the middle of the summer. You only see it when you’re alone. You don’t really pay attention to the sunset when you’re with your friends, do you? This yellow, edged with pink, is the perfect color for Vacation, the final album by Jeff Rosenstock’s esteemed collective Bomb The Music Industry!, because Vacation is an album about mourning what isn’t even lost yet. Vacation is nostalgia for an occurrent past. Listening to Vacation is to be surrounded by everyone you love, and that loves you, and to be sad that these moments can’t last forever. Those moments that feel more like being in the real world than the daily grind, or as Rosenstock laments, “this vacation feels more like home.” Pay your rent tomorrow, grab your friends, and watch the sunset tonight. 

– Lillian Weber

Mil-Spec – Marathon

Lockin’ Out

You spend all winter waiting for the days to get longer again, then, all of a sudden, it’s still light out past 8 p.m., and the days just don’t end. That can be miserable too. Sometimes only a guitar solo can save you, at least that’s what Mil-Spec seems to prescribe. Marathon is an album full of agony and hope, of paralyzing grief and grasping at release. Not to be too earnest, but I can’t believe this album only came out in 2023. Three years and I am still moved by the question “could you trace the arc of the universe?” Three years and the “Belle Époque,” the almost six-minute synth monologue still makes me cry. The days, the days, the days don’t end.

– Caro Alt

The Thinking of the World Began Pounding in Our Ears the Moment We Hit Shore – The Thinking of the World Began Pounding in Our Ears the Moment We Hit Shore

Stroom

A fun fact about me is that I am awful at remembering the names of virtually anything or anyone, but I can probably tell you what color a given album cover is or what color shirt you were wearing that one nondescript night we spent at that shitty dive bar. So anytime a musical artist chooses to use a single color as the visual aspect of their work, it intrigues me. I’ve always thought that a pretty bold statement for an album, one that begs a very powerful question: how does this color specifically reflect the music within? The Thinking of the World Began Pounding in Our Ears the Moment We Hit Shore is a pretty good example. I, admittedly, know very little about this project. From what I can gather, The Thinking of the World Began Pounding in Our Ears the Moment We Hit Shore is not necessarily a band, in the traditional sense, but rather the project of artist Florian TM Zeisig and a whole crew of collaborators on various instruments and effects. It’s a nice little sonic-quilt of indie, jazz, ambient, Americana, shoegazey sounds, and autotuned vocals. I find myself drawn towards certain sounds depending on the context I’m listening in: the drum beats pulse with more weight in the car, the interlocking vocals and sparse guitars dance around each other more intimately on a late-night walk. Does it sound yellow? I think so. It reminds me of a hot day in the pool, sunlight bouncing off the water's surface, creating new shapes and shades as you look at it.  

– Nickolas Sackett

Metallica – 72 Seasons

Blackened Recordings

Coming almost 40 years to the date after their debut album, 72 Seasons showcases Metallica playing with more heart and purpose than they have in decades. Frontman James Hetfield described the concept as “The first 18 years of our lives that form our true or false selves. Much of our adult experience is reenactment or reaction to these childhood experiences.” It’s this constant inward reflection that separates Hetfield from his 80s thrash metal contemporaries. Long gone are the days where the ferocious guitar riffs need to be paired with themes of despair, fear, and hopelessness. The ability to recognize this and focus on more personal, relatable themes makes 72 Seasons the band’s best effort in over 25 years. 

On the final track, “Inamorata,” totaling 11 minutes and 10 seconds, Hetfield opens the first verse with an invitation, “Welcome, won’t you come inside? Meet the ghosts where I reside.” The song eventually reaches an extended bridge, with Trujillo laying down a pensive, slow-moving bass line. On top of this, Hetfield plays the only clean guitar found on the entire album. I interpret this moment as a breakthrough of clarity that comes from a person facing their traumas. Eventually, the song builds back up, and Hetfield exclaims, “Misery, she needs me. Oooh, but I need her more.” The realization that, as much as we can try to run from our woes and problems, those experiences shaped us into who we are, and that it’s best to face them all head-on. 

– Ryan Morrissey

Barenaked Ladies – Stunt

Rhino Entertainment Company

The Canadian alt-rockers may be best known for the smash hit “One Week,” which opens Stunt, but I promise this band, and even this album, are better than that already admittedly incredible song. A tour-de-force of harmonies, traded vocals, little synth stings, and acoustic guitar parts that are weirdly more complex than you’d expect, Stunt feels like a vision of radio-rock optimism. A sign that BNL is better than the few songs that have surfaced to the top of the charts and are capable of songs about introspection, longing, parenthood, sleep deprivation, and even recovering from addiction. The combination of vocalists Ed Robertson and Steven Page has always resulted in fun interplay between two incredible performers, and Stunt is no exception. When you need an album that just feels like the summer of 1998, you’ll never do better than running to your local record store’s Barenaked Ladies section and grabbing the yellow one.

– Noëlle Midnight

Parquet Courts – Light Up Gold

Rough Trade

The debut album from Parquet Courts was a way of life for me during college because, well, I was stoned… and I was starving. Light Up Gold came out during my sophomore year, and I was a slacker in need of direction. This album gave me direction, but only led me further down the path of slackerdom. Why would I give a shit about my future when I could hang out with my friends and shout the endless one-liners gifted to us by Andrew Savage and Austin Brown? It’s been thirteen years since then, and any time I listen to this album, it instantly conjures the taste of canned High Lifes and the stench of sweat that only occurs when you cram too many undergrads into a small apartment on a Saturday night. I don’t know if you know this, but SOCRATES DIED IN THE FUCKING GUTTER.

– Connor Fitzpatrick

Honorable Mentions

Hey, we can’t write about every album with this color, so here’s a list of some more that we feel like we should mention.

• Palette Knife - New Game+

• Hotline TNT - Cartwheel

• Turnstile - Time & Space

• Talking Kind - It Did Bring Me Down

• Tigers Jaw - Tigers Jaw

• Lower Definition - The Greatest Of All Lost Arts

• Oso Oso - Basking in the Glow

• Coldplay - Parachutes

• Man Overboard - Real Talk

• Wilco - Being There

• Subsonic Eye - Singapore Dreaming

• Stress Fractures - Stress Fractures

• Cloakroom - Dissolution Wave

• Bully - Lucky For You

• Owen - No Good For No One Now

• Cap’n Jazz - Analphabetapolothology

• Garret T. Capps - Life Is Strange

• A Day To Remember - Common Courtsey

• Adrianne Lenker - Live at Revolution Hall

• R.E.M. - Green

• Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot

• Yo La Tengo - I Can Hear The Heart Beating as One

• Yeesh - Confirmation Bias

• The Sidekicks - Happiness Hours

• Greg Mendez - Greg Mendez

• Pretty Rude - Ripe

• Built to Spill - There's Nothing Wrong with Love

• Deltron 3030 - Deltron 3030

Dry Socket – Self Defense Techniques | Album Review

Get Better Records

Every phone has a camera that can be turned on you at any moment. If you don’t think that reality shapes your behavior, you’re fooling yourself. But cameras in everyone’s pockets are only the latest tool in a long history of policing behavior. It wasn’t phones that kept me in the closet; it was getting harassed for acting femininely that stopped me from transitioning for so long. Our self-imposed panopticon polices every deviation from the norm, be it arguing against the current power structures, or for simply existing as a queer person, a person of color, or a person with disabilities. As Dani Allen, Dry Socket’s indomitable vocalist, puts it, “we were never quiet, we were silenced.” 

Dry Socket’s project is the ruthless disintegration of that panopticon that keeps us locked in a suffocating status quo. Hailing from Portland, Oregon, the quintet has amassed a discography so fast you’d be forgiven for thinking these songs fall out of them fully formed. Not only is their oeuvre vast, but each song hits with the chaotic energy of an IED. Last year's split with Tijuanense powerviolence luminaries Violencia was a watermark so high most bands would struggle to clear. Particularly exceptional is “Legal Tilling,” a piece of music so chilling that all you can do while listening to it is question every decision you’ve ever made that has helped uphold the status quo. Allen delivers the monologue as a surrealistic public service announcement and wrote it specifically addressing Trump voters, but the power comes from how it implicates everyone. Before you can even think up an excuse for your feelings, Allen is shouting about how “they’re voting for the rapists / their clapping for their lies” on the following “Last Chance.” That transition from “Legal Tilling” into “Last Chance” was the single greatest moment on a hardcore record since Christina Michelle screamed the final verse of Gouge Away’s “Hey Mercy.” How could Dry Socket top it?

From the moment Allen’s vocals open Self Defense Techniques, Dry Socket’s second LP, any concern that the well had run dry is gone. You might even start thinking you’re listening to a masterpiece. Don’t worry, you are. “Tired of being scared / exhausted by their hate / no longer living to appease and placate.” Before a single instrument has even started playing, Allen’s voice alone creates an entire world of emotion. The way the back half of the word ‘scared’ drops – still a scream, but with the hint of a whimper – expresses more about the conditions we live under than most other hardcore bands are able to capture on entire albums. Then the drums kick in, and Allen’s yells take on an almost triumphant tone. But the guitars, the guitars make the song sway like a boxer barely ducking jabs in the tenth round. Allen yells, “their muzzle is a slow death” as the band drops out, finding herself alone in the ring as the current champion of history attempts to knock out the remaining opposition. “The Chop” is “Rise Above” for a generation raised under a surveillance state. 

Every second of Self Defense Techniques is suffused with a righteous contempt at those who impose the conditions we are expected to suffer under. The lead single, “Rigged Survival,” is an epic of radicalization in miniature. It starts with Allen seething over the lack of change: “it’s fucking with my head / dread without end / no future I can see.” Then, she provides a litany of offensives over blastbeats: “every breath a debt we owe / promises we never chose.” She ends with eyes wide open: “Can’t face tomorrow kneeling in defeat / born for more than fear and greed.” It’s not victory, but isn’t it thrilling to realize you can’t take it anymore?

“Rigged Survival” segues directly into “Safety On,” where Allen perfectly distills the experience of having to behave “properly” for your existence to be respected: “swallow fire / speak in flowers / and still remain.” Likewise, on “Leglock,” Allen details how having a chronic illness informs collapsible notions of the future, setting the stage bluntly by declaring “no peace in life, only rest in the ground.” The whole track feels funereal, and then Allen starts laying to rest “the pain you’ll never know,” “the strength [she] couldn’t save,” and “the person [she] used to be.” The song moves from just having a mournful tone to being a eulogy. 

“Leglock” is the pinnacle of Dry Socket’s efforts on this record, forcing listeners to reckon with a lived reality they may never have considered – a reality they may never have considered because they’ve made it clear they don’t want to hear about it. “Leglock’s” successor, “Pressure Points,” also grapples with futures disappearing as Allen screams “no one is coming / no one survives / no god no justice / your savior is a fucking lie.” Just because you’re “healthy,” cis, white, or rich, doesn’t mean you will survive fascist accelerationism. When “your god is already ash,” what good will having been silent do for you? As Allen said on “Legal Tilling,” it’s not punishment to dig your own grave, it’s participation.

Until we decide we’ll no longer participate and tear down the panopticon, we’ll need to heed Allen’s warning on “95%,” Self Defense Techniques haunting closer, “softness will not serve you here.”

Footballhead – Weight of the Truth | Album Review

Tiny Engines

The biggest compliment I could ever give someone is that I think they're cool. Are there "better," more descriptive words I could use? Sure, but to me, cool isn’t any one thing, and the way I define it morphs over time. Cool is effortless, authentic, and alive. It’s more than clothes; it’s an expressive style and meaningful pieces. It’s not just liking specific bands; it’s well-listened personal opinions and treasuring music that resonates. You get the idea. I find it to be a rare quality in others, especially as I get older.

Now that you know my thoughts on Being Cool, let it be said: Footballhead is cool. The Chicago-based five-piece hit the DIY scene in 2022 with the release of their debut EP Kitchen Fly, and it was clear early on that the band had their nostalgic, early-2000s sound cornered. Kitchen Fly feels like it could soundtrack a coming-of-age movie with its laidback pop-rock feel stretching from the bright and upbeat “NERVOUS POS” to the almost-surf-rock closer “THINGS I’M HIDING NOW.” While that lightweight sound is a definitive contrast from the band’s current iteration, it’s clear that Footballhead has remained cool as they’ve continued to chase down their alt-rock sound. 

In 2024, the band released two albums – the first, Overthinking Everything, in March, and the second, Before I Die, in August. Both releases show Footballhead heading in a heavier direction, so it only makes sense that their latest album, Weight of the Truth, finds the band at their heaviest, and dare I say coolest, yet.

Opener “Peace of Mind” immediately sets the tone for the entire album, starting with a heavily filtered drumbeat and a guitar tone so crunchy it feels like eating asphalt off of a skateboard. Already bobbing my head to the beat, I grinned as a gnarly drum fill brought the vocals in. Frontman Ryan Nolen’s singing ranges from smooth and controlled to a raging scream, and each line is delivered with a ton of heart. Even just a minute into this song, Footballhead has made it clear that they know what they’re about. “Peace of Mind” is dense and satisfying, with the band’s performance landing tight and precise.

Growing up in Northern California, it was pretty standard for teenagers to get into skateboarding, BMX, watersports, and other “edgy” extreme sports. My brothers and I all did wakeboarding and wakesurfing, and we rode BMX bikes, so we would spend hours trying to come up with Cool Tricks on various equipment. As you can imagine, there were a lot of fails, but we doggedly tried again anyway. We repeatedly watched a DVD compilation of wakeboarding pros like Shaun Murray, Dallas Friday, and Aaron Rathy, marveling at the insane amount of air that these athletes could achieve. I wore puffy DC skate shoes, begged my mom to let me shop at Zumiez, and plastered the bulletin board in my room with tags and stickers from various skate brands. “Used to Be,” the second track on Weight of the Truth, feels like it could soundtrack a montage of my life at this point as the band kicks up the intensity, going even heavier and letting loose vocally. Chugging guitars are balanced by spacey riffs that float above the controlled chaos, all driving the energy forward to my favorite part of the song where Ryan launches into these lyrics:

And I let my ego death bloom
Shed the past, but forever in debt to
All of this, I could never regret you
‘Cause back then I could never accept you

The lyrics are repeated three times through the bridge, rising to an impassioned scream, creating one of the most powerful moments on the album – and it’s only track two. The following song, “Diversion,” is slightly more meditative and controlled, and the impact of nu-metal is apparent here – it’s easy to hear Deftones’ influence in the spacious, aesthetically understated vocals. The drums cut through the mix, featuring bright cymbal work that adds a chrome-like feel to the track. While the band still maintains their edge on “Diversion,” they also show off their ability to scale back into something softer. 

The title track further proves that Footballhead can master whatever style they set their mind to, as “Weight of the Truth” brings a blink-182-esque pop-punk pivot to an album that, thus far, has been sitting squarely in rock territory. The lyrics push deeper too, asking “Search your cabinets for medicine, but what will it do? / Won’t get better if you can’t bear the weight of the truth.” They understand a key aspect of existence: if I’m going to be introspective, why shouldn’t I also get to jam? 

As the album progresses, Footballhead continues to make subtle stylistic shifts from song to song without compromising continuity – the album feels like it evolves smoothly. There are nods to all sorts of genres that crystallized in the 2000s, such as butt rock, emo, and grunge. The brash-yet-controlled guitars hearken to bands like Nickelback and Puddle of Mudd, while the vocals range feels equally indebted to nu-metal and pop-punk. As a musician myself, I understand this as a calculated risk, just like the wakeboard tricks my brothers and I were so desperate to try in middle school. However, Footballhead stays in control of their evolution and sticks the landing without a hitch. 

On late-album cut “Chosen Brother,” a plucked guitar intro feels like it’s soundtracking the beginning of an emotional Call of Duty or Halo edit. That feeling, alongside the tender, vulnerable lyrics, makes this song a deeply moving moment amidst the more energetic tracks on Weight of the Truth. The pain of losing a close friend is front and center on this track, but in the midst of his grief, Ryan is able to cling to the hope of seeing his friend, his “chosen brother” again. It’s bittersweet. “So I’ll sit still, I’ll hold on tight / And follow my way to you, chosen brother of mine.” 

The mood shifts instantly as the penultimate track, “What You’re Whispering,” crashes through my eardrums with a killer drum intro. I love the feel of this song: the guitars drive the music forward with precision and grit, vocals soar in aching harmonies, and the underlying frenetic energy adds impact to the heartfelt lyrics: “Drenched here in ache / I’ve had enough / If it wasn’t so vain and familiar / I’d bluff / But my obsession’s you / I know you know that much.” The ending is cathartic and spatially massive, pierced by beautiful screamo vocals layered against the chorus melody. As the song trails out, bringing the heightened emotion down to a chilled pace, it transitions neatly into the closing track “Focus,” which offers a perfect landing spot at the tail end of the record. 

Every single song on this album had me moving and grooving. I sensed influences from bands such as the aforementioned blink-182 and Deftones, but also Three Days Grace, Breaking Benjamin, and P.O.D. Somehow, Footballhead manages to capture the nostalgia of this era of music without coming across as dated, corny, or overly derivative. So many artists want to emulate other eras of music and often miss the mark, but Footballhead feel true to themselves while also making music steeped in clear reverence for these sounds. They sound good. They sound cool. I love it, and have returned to spin Weight of the Truth over and over without tiring of their sound. The 2000s are so back, and Footballhead is leading the charge.

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Britta Joseph is a musician and artist who, when she isn’t listening to records or deep-diving emo archives on the internet, enjoys writing poetry, reading existential literature, and a good iced matcha. You can find her on Instagram @brittajoes.

Gladie – No Need To Be Lonely | Album Review

Get Better Records

When things get bleak, you can talk to the chatbots. You can talk to the one your coworker uses for recipes and travel tips; you can talk to the one that lives in a necklace; you can talk to whatever the hell a Freakbob is. You can talk to them even when you can’t talk to fellow humans, when you’re ostracized at school, when your marriage is crumbling, or when you’re working long hours and haven’t seen your friends in weeks. And you can practically envision the misanthropic computer nerd, an odd sheen over his face, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth as he sells you this glorious vision of the future. The words unfurl as a threat: “There’s no need to be lonely.” Reassurance and menace, two sides of a coin.

Augusta Koch, the songwriter behind scrappy Philly DIY veterans Gladie, hears a similar dual meaning in this phrase. It’s the title of the band’s third album, invoked in both senses on the recent single “I Want That For You.” At the beginning of the song, Koch wanders the city at sunrise and marvels at its emptiness, eschewing human contact wherever possible. If she gets good enough at the temporary condition of being alone, she surmises, then perhaps she could negate the more permanent condition of loneliness. But she course-corrects immediately, clutching tightly to those who push her away, choosing friendship even at its most difficult: “If you stick around I’ll stick around / Now there’s no need to be lonely.” Understanding this tonal dichotomy leads directly to its refutation, humanism always outweighing its corresponding cynical refraction. 

Koch’s first band, Cayetana, was born out of friendship before any of the members had even picked up instruments. It would ultimately end in an effort to preserve that intimacy rather than surrender it to the stressors of a life in the arts. The group played pop-punk at a canted angle, the shaggy guitar chords offset by buoyant lead basslines (particularly instructive here is their 2017 split with like-minded trio Camp Cope). Koch wrote songs that reflected her immediate surroundings about the follies and foibles of Philadelphians in their mid-20s navigating romances, shitty jobs, and lives in the arts. She delivered her lyrics in a signature rasp, the kind of voice that immediately positioned her as a friend or peer. 

Gladie emerged from the wreckage as a collaboration between Koch and her longtime romantic partner Matt Schimelfenig. Her lyrics now tackled similar subject matter, albeit for a slightly older set, accounting for milestones like aging, sobriety, and the way in-groups diffuse over time. On Gladie’s last record, she penned one of the best indie rock songs in recent memory about wanting to separate herself from desire entirely. For its bridge, she turned early thirties existentialism, singing the endlessly relatable refrain “Do you feel it in your knees? / Does it settle in your gut?”

Friendship is a recurring theme in Koch’s writing, one she documents in almost survivalist terms, like on “Brace Yourself,” where she sings, “Instead I brace myself / To embrace you / To face you / To hear your voice.” In recent interviews, she’s extolled her love for the novelist and poet Ocean Vuong, honing in on Vuong’s idea that an artist’s entire body of work is often in service of answering key questions about that person. To hear Koch tell it, her writing is all about how to “remain an optimistic person who is also a depressed person.” It would also suggest that friendship is just about the best reason a depressed person could have for continued optimism.

For the first time, this “it takes a village” philosophy manifests itself in Gladie’s creative process. Beyond Koch and Schimelfenig, Gladie has always been fleshed out by a rotating cast of fellow Philly stalwarts, at times including members of Slaughter Beach Dog, Tigers Jaw, Spirit of the Beehive, and more. Currently, the lineup has solidified to include Evan Demianczyk on bass, Miles Ziskind on drums, and Liz Parsons on backing vocals. After hearing Koch’s new demos, longtime friend and DIY compatriot Jeff Rosenstock offered to man the boards for this record, and the crew decamped to record at Jack Shirley’s studio out in Oakland, CA. Koch pared her writing down, inspired by economical punks like The Marked Men, and surrendered more riff duty than ever to Schimelfenig. Rosenstock’s fingerprints can be found in the production through the sharpness of each instrument and the way Koch’s voice is situated therein. Where most prior Gladie releases layer her singing in reverb, fuzz, or pointed double tracking, her vocals here are dry and center-stage, putting more emphasis than ever on her tales of modern anxieties. 

These stories are at their sharpest when Koch interweaves her inner world with the one outside, such as when she likens her bouts of unnameable dread to broken car alarms, or later on the tracklist when poisonous air reinforces all of the self-doubt and broken dreams that accumulate over time. Conversely, she can occasionally veer into the language of therapy and pop psychology in ways that jar the listener out of the scene, like the reference to “people pleasing” on “Talk Past Each Other.” Luckily, these extremes are unified by a clear care for her subjects’ interiority, whether she’s writing about herself or others.

On “Future Spring,” Koch consoles a distraught companion by telling them, “Hey, you’re invited, and we’re glad you’re here.” To return briefly to the chatbots: sure, maybe one of these phantasms could conjure up a similar phrase if prompted for comforting words, but it couldn’t deliver that phrase with the conviction of a fellow person, one who has also felt pain and sadness. It couldn’t pour you a cup of coffee or hold you and cry, as Koch does earlier in the song. These gestures are what hold us together; the moments of solidarity between flesh-and-blood humans who struggle through modern life in the same ways. 

The last words uttered on No Need To Be Lonely are “Nostalgia’s just fool’s gold,” repeated over and over again on “Unfolding” like an incantation; a poignant idea as society collapses and people begin romanticizing the past. If things are ever going to improve for the people depicted in these songs, we will need to embrace each other and our flaws to imagine a future that is not just better than the present, but the past as well.

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Jason Sloan is a guy from Brooklyn by way of Long Island. He’s on Twitter, and more of his writing can be found at Tributary.

more eaze – sentence structure in the country | Album Review

Thrill Jockey

On one of my family’s many trips to Southern California to visit my grandparents, we made our customary stop at Carpinteria Beach. Consumed with excitement, I burst out of the car the moment it stopped, scuttling towards the shore as fast as the uneven terrain would allow. The Pacific beckoned to me as a long-lost friend, pale green waves rushing to hug my short, sturdy legs. I smiled at the waving sea and noticed the way the sand felt between my toes. At my big age of six, I felt very important because I knew that the sand on these beaches was really just lots of tiny pebbles, so tiny that you couldn’t tell unless you looked really closely. Of course, looking really closely at things was my favorite pastime. I had recently received a child’s microscope for Christmas, complete with real slides and many delightful cross-sections to examine. The tide pools at this particular beach were another thing I liked looking closely at, each feeling like its own little microscope slide, a cross-section of the ocean that I loved so dearly. The textures, colors, and gentle motion within each pool enchanted me, and every visit provided some new fascination for my curious mind.

I have been drawn to texture and color in music for as long as I have loved the ocean. Every moment deserves precise decoration and shading, filled with a gentle motion that undulates without end as the tides do. I love music that swirls and crunches and buzzes and hums, any given moment displaying a vivid cross-section of its aural ecosystem. more eaze, the pen name of musician Mari Rubio, composes in this wonderful, variegated vein. Her most recent release, sentence structure in the country, is a beautiful and tapestried release that is yellow-warm with detail. Synthesizers, found sounds, string instruments, and vocals hang together like a dense kelp forest, every glitch and murmur precisely where it belongs. Rubio tapped musicians Alice Gerlach (cello), Jade Guterman (acoustic guitar), Ryan Sawyer (drums), Henry Earnest (electric guitar), and Wendy Eisenberg (piano, vocals, electric guitar) to realize the artistic vision alongside her.

Last year, I had the privilege of reviewing one of Mari’s previous albums, No Floor, a collaborative release with ambient artist claire rousay. The detailed, thoughtful placement of each sound throughout that album deeply impressed me. This type of composing is especially challenging, as it requires an innate understanding of the balance and relationship between each sound chosen for a song. You have to be able to achieve depth without busyness, clarity without sounding shallow, and intention without becoming predictable. The talent I observed from more eaze on No Floor is reflected and amplified on sentence structure in the country. 

The album opens with “leave (again),” a track lush with synth effects, pleasingly autotuned vocals, and emotive strings. It’s an incredibly impactful opener, immediately pulling the listener inside more eaze’s world, succinct and organized like the tide pools of my youth. “If you only knew why I lock the doors / You’d say it's illogical / and I’d say of course,” Mari hums as a melancholic synth organ repeats a rising melody line. “I’d say let’s go outside / but it’s far too warm.” Static crackles over these words, and I am reminded of one of my favorite perfumes, Warm Bulb by Clue. The perfume has a note called “burning dust” that fizzes in my nostrils and makes my nose wrinkle in the best way. It smells like a hot attic and old vanilla. This is exactly how “leave (again)” feels; the static hum is warm, dusty, and comforting, Mari’s vocals soothe, and the entire effect is incandescently cozy. 

This intimate mood shifts on the second track, “distance,” where the atmosphere is immediately cooler, sparser, and more reserved. Dense, blurred harmonies fill the piece's background like fog, inviting yet unimpenetrable. The lyrics of “distance” capture the unsettling feeling of growing apart from a friend or even completely losing a relationship. Life rushes on regardless, but there are subtle shifts in routine as certain things, once so significant, become mundane or disappear entirely. more eaze’s vocals create an otherworldly ambiance as they melt into the surrounding landscape of sound.

from the ground
to the stairs
one time
the last time

four o clock
for me
means something less to you

the scene changes
but mood
does not improve

“distance” is a track on this album that I have already found myself returning to regularly. I wish to fall into the song and let its velvety grey fog surround me, catching me mid-air as the alien atmosphere captivates every sense. This is what sets the work of more eaze apart — she creates landscapes, microcosms, dioramas. Each track is a glimpse of a world in miniature, a tide pool of sound and texture and emotion. 

more eaze continues her exploration of these worlds on “biters,” which stands in stark contrast to the atmosphere of “distance.” This particular microcosm is metallic, and as I listen with my eyes closed, I feel as if I am standing in the middle of a post-apocalyptic wasteland. There is something large and ominous looming ahead, and there is something else much faster than I, roaring past. The wind whips my legs and pulls the jacket on my back taut against my skin. Electronic sounds glitch and garble through my ears. I wince as everything starts to sound closer and louder, but there is something familiar too. A smooth vocal line weaves its way through the chaos and razor edges of the noises crowding against my ears. Everything — the sounds, the voice, the volume — presses against my eardrums until it is almost too much, and then suddenly it is quiet. A breath, and a twangy guitar jangles in my ears. Where am I now? Drums skitter behind me like a tumbleweed and violins warm the air. There is singing again, raw and very close by. Everything crashes against my ears once more, but now I am floating, and I feel something like the sun against my eyelids. The whir of something fast intertwines with the guitar, acoustic against electronic. The air is very hot. I open my eyes as the dust settles and I am back on Earth.

“a chorale” is the world I love most on the journey this album takes. I have always been peculiarly drawn to works for strings, marveling at the depth of feeling that such simple instruments can create. Works like the evergreen “Adagio for Strings” by Barber, “Violin Concerto No. 1” by Philip Glass, and “Different Trains” by Steve Reich all hold a treasured place in my heart. They are moving to the point of being gut-wrenching, but I find myself returning to this sort of work again and again anyway. Because of this, I was delighted when the raw opening notes of “a chorale” met my ears for the first time. This piece is like coming upon a sunlit clearing in a dense forest, feeling the air suddenly warm around you and watching the light dance through it. This fleeting, gorgeous track ends with a poignant sustained note that feels like a heartbreak. As the echoes of that final note still resonate in my head, the next track, “healing attempt,” immediately shifts to a sunrise-warm synth. Little glitches scintillate through the beginning of the song as mari sings, “Princess of the texture / is looking quite vexed / at last year’s biography / It’s not a good mixture / when you win Best Picture for making a fool of me.” Suddenly, the song shifts stylistically, adding twangy acoustic guitar and background vocals that are charmingly reminiscent of Sufjan Stevens. “healing attempt” is a clever, tongue-in-cheek dissection of navigating growing fame and recognition, recognizing that it is just “the same hollow entry to something new.”

For the entire album so far, I have pondered the meaning of the title. What is sentence structure in the country? I like ambiguous, abstract concepts in art, so it appealed to me immediately; however, I also wanted to figure out the hidden meaning, so I was excited to finally listen to the title track. Though solely instrumental, this piece feels like bearing witness to a heated conversation. Strings slide and snap, skittering melodies are plucked on a guitar, electronic sounds murmur and scoff. A fiddle tune begins to worm its way into the piece, becoming more agitated, rushing through a fiery jig as the argument continues. It becomes obvious that, though the title seemed abstract to me at first, this song captures the precise feeling of sentence structure in the country. This is a brilliantly executed idea: the explanation of the title is saved until the penultimate track, and though “sentence structure” implies the use of language and grammar, more eaze achieves this reveal without using either. 

Tide pools fill at high tide and meet their mother ocean again. These tiny worlds become part of the vast Pacific, though but for a few hours. sentence structure in the country is filled with exquisitely crafted songs that each stand as their own tide pool, but together they swirl and froth into something bigger and even more beautiful. Mari Rubio has once again proven her mastery in creating immersive, thoughtful works of art with this release.

I sense that the tide is rolling in as the waves swirling around my sandy legs feel a little more eager than before, and I carefully wave goodbye before running up the sand.

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Britta Joseph is a musician and artist who, when she isn’t listening to records or deep-diving emo archives on the internet, enjoys writing poetry, reading existential literature, and a good iced matcha. You can find her on Instagram @brittajoes.