June 04, 2026

A MILLI

June 04, 2026/ Taylor Grimes

That’s right, with this post, Swim Into The Sound has officially hit one million words published! That’s one million words just on the main feed, so not counting Swim Selects, playlists, photography, or anything else. It’s also worth noting that Google Docs counts hyphenated phrases like “post-hardcore” as one word, not two, and knowing how much we hyphenate the shit out of stuff, we very well could have hit a million a while back.

Even still, I wanted to take a break from our regularly scheduled emoposting to commemorate this gargantuan milestone. This happens to be coming at a good time, as we’re also coming up on 600 posts and Swim Into The Sound’s eleventh birthday in June. Truth be told, I was hoping those things would overlap more, but we’ve been (expectedly) verbose, so I’m not surprised we reached this million milestone a little early.

If you are curious to see this website's word count over time, take a look at this plot from one of our resident data enthusiasts, Braden Allmond.

You may notice that flatline at the beginning. This is a stretch I’d like to refer to as “The Great False Start of Swim Into The Sound.”

Those of you in the know might remember our big-ass Tenth Anniversary Bash from last June. In that article, The Swim Team broke down our favorite albums from the ten-year window from when this site started on June 13th, 2015, to the date the article was published on June 13th, 2025. Goofy premise, but it resulted in an incredible list of really important and fun records.

That June 13th start date essentially comes from the day I published a review of Mogwai’s Come On Die Young to Tumblr. That’s how the site started, and I’m simultaneously proud of and embarrassed by that fact. Despite linking it above, I really don’t recommend that you go back and read that review. I would recommend you listen to that album, though.

Back to the timeline at hand.

Essentially, I spent a few days writing and editing that article, then shared it on June 13th. From that point, I proceeded to enjoy my Summer listening to Barter 6, DS2, and Donnie Trumpet. It was my last summer in college; what are ya gonna do?

The following summer, I graduated, worked an internship, and found myself committing to picking this thing back up after leaving it dormant for a full calendar year. I view this as one of the most pivotal decisions of my life, and it’s something that was initially borne of strife as I navigated the post-college world for the first time.

To this day, I remember someone, upon seeing my portfolio, asking me, “Sure you can write, but what do you care about?”

I spiraled out about that for an afternoon, went for a walk, treated myself to a 24-oz pour of an IPA at a pizza place near my old campus, and worked myself into an existential froth. I’d just spent the last four years focused on a business degree and building out a portfolio of copywriting for brands that I had no personal connection to. He was right: what do I care about?

After a little thinking and a few sips of beer, I realized that music is the thing I care about. It’s always been the thing. It was the thing when I was ripping CDs to my family laptop to fill my iPod Nano. It was the thing as a surly high schooler who was too cool for everything else. It was the thing all throughout college, and it will probably be the thing for the rest of my life. This is just the way my brain works.

At that moment, I decided to commit to Swim Into The Sound as something I did — a living entity that also served as an articulation of my fandom and obsession. Here’s that same timeline showing just the days between posts. It’s obvious to see this one-year incubation between the site’s first post and me truly committing to it.

Okay, time to put aside the fun graphs and move on to the posts that made us a millionaire.

In brainstorming how to celebrate this million-word milestone, a braintrust of Braden, coder-artist Alex Couts, and data visualist Katie Hayes, we arrived at a timeline breaking down each article that pushed us into a new 100k. When we ran the data, this resulted in a pretty great crop of articles that also mirrors this site’s growth from one nerd yappin’ about emo to many talented writers following their intuition and covering the music we love.

Please enjoy this miniature stroll back through the word count with an interactive timeline built by Alex with commentary by yours truly.

101,596 words

Universal Melodrama: Lorde and Medea

Grant Hillyer Febuary 25th, 2018

Funnily enough, the post that pushed us over our first 100k words was also this site's very first article from someone besides myself. Penned by Grant Hillyer, one of many lovely friends I met through the /r/indieheads subreddit, he had reached out to me sometime in the early days of 2018 asking if he could have the space to pontificate long-form about connections he was formulating between Lorde's sophomore album Melodrama and Medea, the ancient Greek tragedy by Euripides. This type of hyper-specific connection is exactly the kind of writing I had hoped to be putting out on Swim, and, up to this point, it had never even occurred to me that other people might want to write for this site. I gave him the thumbs up, and we worked together to craft the most compelling version of his argument. The result was this 3k-word piece that binds an ancient Greek play together with a pop album released over 2,000 years later. True nerd shit, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

202,442 words

Swim Into The Sound's 20 Favorite Albums of 2019

Taylor Grimes December 31st, 2019

New Year's Eve, I was really working on this one up to the eleventh hour, huh? Pretty solid list; some records here I still listen to regularly and a few that have fallen far out of rotation. Not to toot my own horn, but Morbid Stuff, Basking in the Glow, Super Enthusiast, Somewhere City, and It's Not Forever is an iron-clad Top 5 for an emo fool such as myself. Retroactively, both Greet Death and Mannequin Pussy should have both been way higher. Overall, a great crop of albums to cap off a really distinct phase of my life and, in a way, the world.

301,806 words

The Best of Febuary 2021

Taylor Grimes March 1st, 2021

Here, we have a 2021 articulation of me doing my own little “new notable release” lineup. Looking back half a decade later, Wild Pink's third album, A Billion Little Lights, absolutely remains a must-listen, especially if you find yourself on a road trip or anywhere else while driving serenely at 70+ miles an hour. For a more underrated pick, go check out Mister Goblin's Four People in an Elevator and One of Them Is the Devil , a beautiful, freaky little folk album from Sam Goblin where, yes, the opening track is devoted to recounting the 2010 M. Night Shyamalan film Devil.

400,665 words

I AM GOING TO TAKE THIS A LITTLE WHILE LONGER: 20 YEARS OF ALL HAIL WEST TEXAS

Grace Robins-Somerville February 19th, 2022

A beautiful and compelling retrospective from Grace as she looks back at her own history with the Goats and celebrates the two-decade anniversary of what is perhaps the most pivotal record in the band's discography, All Hail West Texas.

502,514 words

Fauxchella: The Only Music Festival That Matters - An Interview with Conor Alan of The Summit Shack

Taylor Grimes April 18th, 2023

This one was a beast. The final article weighed in at around 8k words and wound up composing a pretty comprehensive timeline of the pivotal Ohio-based emo festival. This included lots of pictures, videos, flyers with lineup history, and deep-in-the-weeds fun facts from festival organizer Conor Alan. Overall, I had a blast chatting with him and weaving together the history of this festival, which has been a central nexus for so much of the emo world.

600,005 words

The Best of Q1 2024

The Swim Team April 1st, 2024

Oh brother, another album roundup? Before you pull me off the stage with a comically-sized hook, I'd implore you to note that this roundup comes courtesy of The Swim Team! To me, this reflects the ongoing democratization of this Swim Into The Sound as it evolved from one guy talking about albums he loves to many people talking about records they're enjoying. Looking back, there were a few records from this timeframe that wound up being some of my favorites of the year; shout-out to Glitterer, Gulfer, and Katie Crutchfield- love you, divas.

702,191 words

The Name of the Band Is Pop Music Fever Dream

Lillian Weber September 9th, 2024

An absolutely excellent and, at times, hysterical interview that Lillian Weber conducted with the New York no-wave band Pop Music Fever Dream. Great band, great music, knockout live show. Don't sleep on them or this interview.

800,400 words

Beauty Saloon - BS | Album Review

Logan Archer Mounts May 2nd, 2025

Here we have Logan's review of a record that soundtracked much of my hot, hazy spring-summer of 2025, Beauty Saloon's semi-eponymous BS. A really fun record that deserved to be in the conversation with the Florrys and MJ Lendermans of the world.

900,974 words

Smashing Pumpkins Misunderstood Madness of Machina: 25 Years Later

David Williams November 24th, 2025

Last up, we have a great retrospective piece that David Williams put together, contextualizing (and going to bat for) Smashing Pumpkins' messy, bloated, beautiful, complicated, high-concept fifth album, Machina/The Machines of God.

That brings us to 1,000,000.

I truly owe a million thanks.
Thanks to anyone whose words have helped us reach this number.
Thanks to everyone who has encouraged me at any point in the last ten-plus years.
Thanks to anyone who’s read, shared, or connected with any of these million words.

I hope you enjoy it here.
No AI bullshit, no advertising, just a bunch of people writing about music they care about. Laboring over it. Meaning it.
As it should be.

Thank you, I love you, here’s to a few million more. 🥂

May 29, 2026

Widemouth – No Gasoline | Album Review

May 29, 2026/ Caro Alt

I have been meaning to buy a chair for my patio for months. I moved here last summer, and almost a year has gone by with nothing to sit on while I stare at the stars besides the steps to my neighbor’s apartment or the hood of my car. I like the idea of having a patio chair, though. Somewhere I can exist while listening to slow, syrupy music on my speaker at a reasonable volume. Somewhere I can bask in the hotter days while mosquitoes buzz around my ears. Somewhere I can watch the trees rustle at night. Maybe I’ll even get a table too. But after all this thinking about my own patio, I never thought about getting a second chair. That is, until I listened to No Gasoline by Widemouth.

For several years, Mak Carnahan and Jamie Eder have been toiling away in Chicago, writing song after song about growing up, growing into yourself, and how friendships bend and curve with all this growth. While they released Well, a twangy EP about a similar subject in 2024, No Gasoline is their debut album, with these same concepts paradoxically tightened up and everflowing.

This album will undoubtedly receive comparisons to the works of the current steel indie stars. These comparisons to people like Phoebe Bridgers, Katie Crutchfield, or Karly Hartzman won’t necessarily be wrong, but Widemouth makes the sound their own. The band points themselves away from Wednesday’s fuzz or Waxahatchee’s clarity, instead opting to build a minimal sound within the expansive space that alt-country provides. With the help of producers Jack Henry and Sam Genualdi, all attention is on Carnahan’s and Eder’s harmonies as they ruminate on the quietest moments of friendship.

No Gasoline begins with familiarity and a lot of names: Meme’s paintings, Frances smoking, Christian gone, Rachel, your family, you, me, and her. As the listener, it is up to you to conjure images of these people while you take in the opener, “I Wish You Passed On a Little Anger.” The brushstrokes Meme painted, the steps that Frances is smoking on, whatever Rachel said to irritate us, and the emptiness that Christian left behind. By being so personal so immediately, Widemouth trusts you with their private reflections. As Lily Mitchell’s drums build, the observations turn more personal, something you could only bear to whisper: “I know you hate her / I know you dream about being choked out on the mattress / I wish you passed on a little anger / I just feel sorry / you’re getting older.” Both searingly specific and purposefully vague, the music swells as the song ends, leaving you with your hands outstretched as you desperately try to learn more about these people too.

As the pensive “Pinecone” shifts to “Hotel Pool,” the restraint Widemouth shows through the album briefly unwinds, unearthing the careful fragility that this project balances on. Part of weaving together moments of friendship is that it requires equal reflection on yourself. Amongst whispered voices and steadfast strumming, Carnahan’s voice wavers as she sings “no open tongue,” and again when she sees “no future, no intent.” The music matches these brief moments, the instruments breaking away from the haunted sound of the melodies to collide with each other while Carnahan and Eder sing, “blame your hands blame yourself / what’s the matter I can’t tell.” The song trips over itself, as one does when trying to outpace yourself, outpace your past, in an attempt to find a truer version of you.

Of all the songs in the album that teeter on the edge of an unstoppable misery, “You & Your Girlfriend,” spirals directly in. Not every memory of your friends is a good one, something Carnahan roils over as she sings “I think you said you loved me, but I really don’t know at all / you just sat up back to the wall, and you cried / hands on your temples / that’s what I recall.” It’s a plain memory, one so bleak that it’s shrouded in potential mismemory, but Carnahan knows she’s remembering this right. Eder takes over on the next verse, “you told us your girlfriend was not a good person / with fear in your eyes like a dog on the fourth / none of us knew what to say / drove into town in the morning for groceries.” These lyrics are stark, barren in their simplicity. Carnahan and Eder conjure an immediate closeness between these characters, but one so close that the fear of conflict hurts more than helps. It’s a song about whispered confessions left to linger heavily and uncomfortably in a dark but loving air.

After Eder’s voice joins Carnahan’s to ask, “Remember when you lost it?” in “The Water,” the titular song on No Gasoline arrives, carrying the cry of Sam Genualdi’s steel guitar. “No Gasoline.” A track that immediately envelopes the listener in a dimly lit atmosphere. The tension of the album–the friction caused by years of memories, secrets, and promises—had to break somewhere, and it turns out that's right here, only a few songs away from the end of the LP. Carnahan’s voice builds and builds as she croons “no gasoline / fourteen degrees” before demanding a promise and an apology from someone she loves. Despite the agonizing demand, she and Eder end on a hopeful note: “my last lonely winter / from what I can tell.”

After “Cattle,” the album ends on an instrumental reprise of “Pinecone” accompanied by the clatter and chatter of O’Hare’s bustling hallways as people desperately try to make their connections. A fitting button for an album quilted together by names and places and reflections on the unsaid complexities of building relationships with one another.

Summer is basically here with warm nights and loving friends. I need to buy two patio chairs.

Caro Alt (she/her) is from New Orleans, Louisiana, and if she could be anyone in The Simpsons, she would be Milhouse.

May 28, 2026

Cover Collector – May Purples

May 28, 2026/ The Swim Team

I don’t know about you guys, but I love a good album art 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 music 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 fifth edition of Cover Collector: a monthly installation where the Swim Team discusses some of our favorite albums based on album color. For May, we’re writing about posh purples.

Temple of the Dog – Temple of the Dog

If, like me, you are a Second Generation Grunge Fan, an album like Temple of the Dog seems impossible the first time you hear it. All the members of Pearl Jam *before* Pearl Jam had formed? Soundgarden’s Chris Cornell on lead vocals and an Eddie Vedder cameo *before* any of those guys had really worked with Eddie before? It seems insane, and it is. Temple of the Dog existed for about 18 months, recorded one album, played fewer than a dozen live shows, and launched its members into 90’s Music Royalty.

Tragically, the band was formed as a tribute to Andrew Wood, lead singer of Mother Love Bone and roommate of Cornell, who died of a heroin overdose in March of 1990. Grieving and directionless, bassist Jeff Ament described the band as “a really good thing at the time” for him and guitarist Stone Gossard, which put them in a “band situation where we could play and make music.”

Cornell had written the first two tracks, “Say Hello 2 Heaven” and “Reach Down,” before Wood passed, and lyrically those songs became ever more prescient in the aftermath. The music is jammier, heavier, and more melodic than the music the guys of Mother Love Bone and Soundgarden were making at the time, but the darker vibe of the music served as a perfect platform for Cornell’s otherworldly rock vocals.

The centerpiece and most notable track from the album, “Hunger Strike,” features the first lead vocal performance of Eddie Vedder, who had flown in to Seattle to audition for the new iteration of Mother Love Bone. Vedder sang the lead in his now-trademark low register, perfectly fitting the space that Cornell was aiming to fill. In Cornell’s words, “He sang half of that song not even knowing that I'd wanted the part to be, and he sang it exactly the way I was thinking about doing it, just instinctively.”

Temple of the Dog remains a colossal work of art in the scope of 90’s Grunge music, a testament to the healing power of creating art in times of pain, and a remarkable jumping-off point for the most influential titans of the era.

When my high school/college friend Colby Dorf passed away in 2024, Temple of the Dog was a huge comfort to me. I listened to “Say Hello 2 Heaven” and “Hunger Strike” on repeat for a week, and I played them both as loudly as local statutes would allow. I suggest, even if you aren’t in pain, that you do the same. Your neighbors deserve to hear Chris Cornell and Eddie Vedder trading melodies over huge guitars.

– Caleb Doyle

Method of Doubt – Total Soul Ignition

2025 saw a lot of stellar releases in the underground music community, and one EP in particular was a major standout to me: Method of Doubt’s Total Soul Ignition was my favorite hardcore release of the year. The purple-tinted cover, depicting a figure mid-two-step wearing a shirt that has the title emblazoned across it, feels classic and timeless. Even the elongated serif font the band chose to display their name is reminiscent of the font commonly used by hardcore titans Earth Crisis.

This EP spans four furious tracks, featuring guitars with just a hint of grit, snappy drumming, and urgent vocals that pack a punch without losing clarity. In a world that feels saturated with fuzz, excess reverb, and heavy compression, all of this caught my attention immediately. It’s a refreshingly crisp listen. The lyrics are a sharp stand against apathy, stating, “There’s got to be a different way, and I will live it out / Still in search of the quiet life / Still in search of the righteous life.” On the second track, the band follows this declaration with a snarling question directed at those in power: “Have you ever stopped to think, for once in your life, that you might not be right?” Method of Doubt offers up eight minutes of scintillating hardcore and doesn’t waste a single second.

– Britta Joseph

Olivia Rodrigo – SOUR

Summer 2021 felt like it was covered by an ecstatic purple haze. A cloud had descended, and every breath brought pain and exaltation into your lungs in equal measure. Everyone felt it. Olivia Rodrigo’s debut album, SOUR, was just that fucking good. I’m not speaking hyperbolically when I describe Rodrigo’s music as ecstatic. What makes her songs so good is that while, yes, they hurt, each song feels so fucking good. She’s not content for “drivers license” to just wallow in the agony of romantic euphoria being upended that she describes on the verses and choruses; she knows the song needs that chanting bridge declaring how much she still feels love for him during the small moments of sitting at red lights to make it hurt so damn good. Sure, she can be childish, like who doesn’t know Billy Joel? But who hasn’t felt a little childish in a breakup? They broke your heart. Why should you be charitable? That’s the other thing about Rodrigo’s music and why adults respect her songwriting so much: she reminds us we’re all a little childish.

– Lillian Weber

Prince – Purple Rain

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to talk about Purple Rain. Not only is this one of my favorite albums of all time, but it’s also easily the greatest soundtrack ever created. The film of the same title vaulted Prince from household name to international icon, a status he has held ever since. Prince’s star is a celestial one. Take, for instance, the vicious guitar solo on the ending of “Let’s Go Crazy,” or the monumental, career-defining ballad “Purple Rain.” The songs are transcendent, full stop. On Purple Rain, Prince kept climbing sky-high plateaus until he reached the very top of the mountain, something that only a select few artists ever reached.

My personal favorites, “I Would Die 4 U” and “Baby I’m Star,” bleed into one another back-to-back; the songs are jovial, glistening, and sound like a party I would never want to leave. Even the B-sides on the deluxe album that never made it to the official release, in the words of Martin Scorsese, are “pure cinema.” Tracks like “17 Days,” “Velvet Kitty Kat,” and “The Dance Electric” would be most pop artists’ best songs if we were being honest.

Since May is purple month over on Swim Into The Sound, it’s only right to write about “The Purple One.” No one, and I mean no one, has owned a color more than Prince. His Royal Badness has been the “Grand Poobah” growing strong for over forty years, steamrolling every other purple object in his path from lilacs to eggplants to Grimace. So, if the elevator tries to bring you down, put on Purple Rain. Game blouses.

– David Williams

A Day to Remember – Homesick

A Day to Remember’s tenure in the pop-punk and metalcore scene goes largely unappreciated for the run that they’re on. A band, formed in 2003, that’s kept the same lineup (for the most part) while still kicking 23 years later can garner respect from even the snobbiest of scene gatekeepers. While their more recent albums leave little to write home about, the Florida-based group’s early run is one for the history books. When discussing the best pop-punk units of all time, I firmly believe that ADTR remains strongly in contention, particularly with Homesick.

Homesick showcases ADTR’s patented seamless blend of infectious pop-punk choruses with crushing metalcore breakdowns at a time when the two genres were just beginning to converge. The band members find themselves at a thematic crossroads as well, as Homesick details their begrudging commitment to leave Ocala behind for a life on the road. The group’s range is on full display here, and it shines even in the sequencing of tracks where the circle-pit invoking “Mr. Highway's Thinking About The End” sits confidently before the arena-ready anthem “Have Faith In Me.” Ultimately, the record stands not only as an ode to the lives they left behind in Florida, but a vindictive lament to those who said they would never make it.

– Brandon Cortez

The Reptilian – Full Health

In the grand scheme of things, an old adage holds true. I do not remember it word for word, but it’s something to the effect of: Proximity can breed fondness. I think. Either way, because my formative years were in the thick of DIY activity in the 2010s, it is with utter fondness that I remember records that fell out of the general looping zeitgeist. Whether they deserve it or not is to be argued elsewhere; my real point here is one of recollection. Full Health is a record hewn from a time when post-hardcore was about a raised brew in-hand, waved and spilled to mathy, noodley punk packed out in a small room where every word shouted was known, and falling down felt only half as good as getting back up. The Reptilian’s positing of up-and-down thrashy emo felt like it was at the center of all things, and Full Health certainly had its own center of gravity, existing as an eternal marker for the scene at the time, perfectly held and suspended in that indescribable feeling. As the band captures it on the album closer, “Aerosmith Kids,” when they sing:

Now I'm living for myself / Varsity blues can't bring me down and stop me in my tracks / Don't bring me down / My best friends write the best riffs / Don't bring me down. / We'll stay to the end.

– Elias Amini

Cave In – Jupiter

Part space rock, part post-hardcore, part metalcore, and all parts uniquely brilliant, Cave In’s second album, Jupiter, is a shining satellite that kicked off the new millennium in a way no other band could. It was originally released on the legendary heavy label Hydra Head with a number of different colored cover variations, but one of the initial two, and the one used for the 25th anniversary edition via Relapse Records last year, was the purple-tinted crater close-up that allows its entry into this list. Cave In remains a limitless band even through their latest album, 2022’s Heavy Pendulum, with Jupiter being a defining moment of their expansive artistic reach. Coming off the already ambitious Until Your Heart Stops just a couple of years earlier, Cave In dialed back the chaos and focused on more accessible (but just as proficient) metal music, straying from their original hardcore roots but laying the foundation for a new take on the nebulous post-hardcore genre. It’s an essential transmission sequence from top to bottom, but “Big Riff” is a standout moment of the band’s entire catalog, a piece of media more important than the moon landing broadcast. Jupiter widened the lens of what a band in a hardcore space could be capable of, and it still sounds cosmically enchanting today.

– Logan Archer Mounts

Say Anything – In Defense of the Genre

I have a love/hate relationship with the band Say Anything and their vocalist, Max Bemis. I’ve been listening to their music for over two decades, with my fandom reaching its peak during my teen years. The irreverent humor, inflammatory verbiage, and erratic song-writing, while feeling right at home in the ears of my teenage self, have somewhat soured and left me with complicated feelings towards the band and the man behind it in the years since.

All that to say, I feel as though Say Anything’s third studio album, In Defense of the Genre, is the perfect capsule of everything the band has ever had to offer, both the good and the bad. In Defense holds many of my favorite Say Anything songs, from the R&B-inspired bops “Baby Girl, I’m A Blur” and “No Soul” to the musically chaotic “That Is Why” and the album’s grandiose title track. One of the album’s most glaring issues is its length. At a bloated 27 tracks (despite its 23 features from the era’s most iconic emo singers), it doesn’t always stick the landing, and the cringeworthy tracks like “Died A Jew” just leave me feeling puzzled and intensely rolling my eyes twenty years later. I don’t even feel comfortable dropping the title of one of my favorite tracks on the album in this space (yeah, that one).

There’s a part of me that will always love Say Anything, always feel perplexed and challenged by Max Bemis as both a person and a songwriter, and come to the defense of the band’s second, third, and fourth LPs. I ultimately feel as though there's beauty in that kind of relationship. Clinging to the music we used to love and the people we used to be in our adolescence, both to the ends of comfort and of protecting a piece of ourselves we can no longer fully relate to, but identify with all the same. In Defense of the Genre, shortcomings and blemishes and all, will forever be a chapter of my life I will inevitably and intermittently again forever.

– Ciara Rhiannon

Future – DS2

I don’t care if it’s not majority purple, this counts. Come on, that’s literally purple drink. Check out that crisp purple logo in the top right. Did you know that the CD version of this album is made from a reflective, holographic-type material and features a 9-panel foldout? Really adds to the overall effect. There’s also a face hidden in the blue swirl that I didn’t know about until researching this right now, almost eleven years later (squint and you’ll start to see an eye right by the bottom corner of the logo). There was also a rumored textbook cover that bears the same image, but there’s also a 13-minute YouTube video where a guy attempts to track it down and calls it “lost media”, so maybe that was just a meme all along. Cover aside, holy shit does this DS2 still hit hard as fuck over a decade later. “Stick Talk”? Come on. That beat on “I Serve the Base”? Unforgettable. “Blood on the Money”? Cold as ice. “Thought It Was a Drought”? Get the fuck outta here. I had the absolute best summer in 2015 riding around and listening to this record, and it’s genuinely surprising how consistent and fulfilling it remains this many years later. Peak Future.

– Taylor Grimes

Hum – Inlet

It's a great feeling to know that your legends can still dunk. After years of wear and tear on the body, you'd expect a decline in hops because, as we say in the game, “Father Time comes for us all.” So when you see your OGs get up for one final slam that turns out to be an all-time posterization, you're forced to rethink everything you ever thought about life and existence. Well, that's what Hum did with 2020's Inlet. They emerged from a twenty-two-year hiatus with their best album. By the time Inlet was released, Hum-indebted heavy shoegaze and spacerock had really started to pick up steam, and this felt like a direct response as if to say, “I see what you kids are doing, but don't forget why you ever attempted this sound in the first place.” This is Hum and their tightest and most titanic. Their riffs have never been more pummeling, and Bryan St. Pere's drums have never been so thunderous. A perfect exclamation point to a career-long highlight reel.

– Connor Fitzpatrick

My Chemical Romance – I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love

In Julio Torres’ new special, Color Theories, he declares that purple is the color of mystery and intrigue. I bring this up because I think this is the only My Chem album that actually embraced that feeling, and it’s the only one with a kinda purple cover. My Chem had to end up in this series for me somewhere, so it’s here. When I think of I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, I think about how it’s kind of bad. It’s an absolutely sloppy album, too wordy, too vampiric (not like their later albums), the fan lore is a bit obnoxious, and it gets a bit into Metallica in a way that sucks. But I love it.

Bullets has a real mythology around it. Gerard Way was in agonizing pain during the recording sessions. Mikey Way begged Geoff Rickly to listen to the songs at a house party, and Rickly essentially rolled his eyes. Ray Toro didn’t know the difference between lead guitar and rhythm guitar, so he rolled all of it into one. They almost poisoned themselves with spray paint fumes for a music video. Frank Iero got hold of a demo and couldn’t stop listening. The band stopped playing “Drowning Lessons” because they thought it was cursed. The CD declares that Gerard will suck your blood if you duplicate it. It’s messy and gross, and they eventually figured out how to do everything better on the next album, but that’s why it’s good. It’s a desperate project by desperate people. It’s their greatest trick. That’s why Houdini is on the cover.

– Caro Alt

MGMT – Oracular Spectacular

There are a handful of albums from each decade that now elicit pure, unadulterated nostalgia. For the late 2000s, MGMT’s debut album Oracular Spectacular fits the bill to a T. Work on the album initially began while the duo were still freshmen in college, before they signed to a label. Released in 2007, Oracular Spectacular remains instantly recognizable, with a sound that can immediately flood the listener with memories of a place, a feeling, or a very specific moment from 15-plus years ago.

Standout tracks are, of course, “Kids” and “Electric Feel,” which feel like decade-defining sounds of the late 2000’s, but the album still holds up beyond those nostalgia touchpoints. Some of the less synth-driven songs still sound great. A couple of my favorites are “Pieces of What” and “Of Moons, Birds & Monsters.” Turns out, if you want to encase 2007 in amber, it wouldn’t be yellow, but the purple-blue you see on the cover of Oracular Spectacular.

– Ryan Morrissey

Paw – Death to Traitors

This is grunge with a capital G, from the early ‘90s in Lawrence, Kansas. I’ve written before that this is proto divorced-dad rock, with lyrics like “Everyone is bored and boring / Not me, I am drunk and roaring.”

If the mainstream hadn’t had Nirvana, they would’ve had Paw. A&M picked them up on the strength of a demo recorded at Smart Sounds in 1992. With major label support, Paw released their debut album Dragline in 1993. Their sophomore release, Death to Traitors, came out two years later and treads similar territory, albeit with fewer off-genre intrusions. The record wasn’t significantly promoted due to internal difficulties at the label and never achieved major acclaim. This is surprising because every song in the hour-long album fucking rocks. Case in point, “Built Low” is a 6-minute cruiser, split perfectly into thirds with a 2-minute exposition, a 90-second breakdown, and a riff-filled instrumental outro. On first listen, you’d have no idea how long this song is. Like all really great bands, Paw broke up a few years later, with a smattering of reunion efforts afterward.

This album is just over 30 years old, released when the marketing machine was pre-internet, pre-iTunes, pre-Spotify, and pre-analytics. Compared to now, labels were basically throwing darts at a wall, drunk, with their eyes closed. Albums that sailed under the radar like this also tend to be preserved poorly. For example, the cover on Spotify, YouTube, and Discogs is a purple haze of storm clouds over a stampeding herd of horses. The image on Wikipedia is inexplicably red-hued and is not another version of the album, just a poorly digitized image. It’s hard to say how or why a band this talented falls through the cracks, but it’s a great example of why exploring and developing personal taste matters. It’s the only way to know for yourself what groups are being overlooked.

– Braden Allmond

Free Throw — Those Days Are Gone

If the emo genre were to have its own equivalent to a drinking song, one that nobody in the room could resist singing along to, it would undoubtedly be “Two Beers In.” Whether in a cramped basement or on the stereo between sets at a show, this beloved song instantly brings people together. But it’s far from the only recognizable track off of Free Throw’s debut LP, Those Days Are Gone. The entire record has become something of a modern classic amongst the scene, and it isn’t hard to see why.

Those Days Are Gone dives deep into the anger and grief-stricken reality of a love that didn’t last–a nearly universal pain. The contemplative intro to “Such Luck” quickly gives way to the guttural heart of the record, signaling to the listener that things are about to get uncomfortably honest.

Unlike earlier incarnations of emo that were steeped in figurative prose, Free Throw and their fourth wave counterparts tend to speak quite literally. Stories of heartbreak are sprinkled throughout the yelling and heaviness, and admissions of unhealthy coping mechanisms are sandwiched between twinkly guitar riffs. Nearly every song on the record makes space for both calmness and intensity, mimicking the whiplash one feels between anger and sadness. Those Days Are Gone feels like driving too fast, then slamming on the brakes, yelling at your phone, and staring into the distance. The final line of the record dwells on if things “could have stayed the same,” but deep down, we know that sometimes, it’s better to move on and begin healing.

– Annie Watson

Bladee – Gluee

For better or worse, I discovered Bladee through a Twitter meme- a video of a kid sleeping, and someone pours water on him- as he wakes up, they slap him across the face. Instead of screaming, what else could come out of this poor kid’s mouth but the undeniable intro to “Be Nice 2 Me.” I tracked the song down through the comments on the tweet, and thus began my journey into Drain Gang.

Gluee is Bladee’s debut mixtape, and, as a whole, one of the lesser-loved works by the world’s AutoTune Angel. And I can see why- much of what Bladee is doing on Gluee is much better executed in his later work as he becomes not only more confident in his rapping and singing but also in dialing in his AutoTune parameters. But it’s hard to deny just how unique Gluee sounds, not just in Bladee’s discography, but just in general. It is truly a marvel that this album exists. Here, we have a white boy from Sweden, taking in copious amounts of American rap and pop music via the internet, creating a sound that somehow captures the emotional undercurrent of it all, no matter how disparate the starting influences were. You can hear the braggadocio of Chief Keef, the rhythmic flows of Lil B, the digital haze of James Ferraro, the emotional vulnerability of the Beach Boys, often all in just one Bladee song- it really is incredible how he makes it sound so easy, so fresh.

In fact, it’s hard to imagine the current musical landscape without Bladee. What seemed to be just another internet curiosity turned out to be an artist who changed what music could sound like. Gluee, as amateurish as it can seem at times, planted the seeds for the whole Drain sound. Although Bladee’s influence can now be heard in more and more artists across the world, Gluee has a special, spectral vibe to it that isn’t quite like anything else. I can’t promise you’ll like it the first time, but I will promise that it will elicit a visceral reaction from you.

– Nickolas Sackett

The Buried Heart – Safe Harbor

One of the greatest gifts in this life, and one that I never try to take for granted, is how fortunate I am to call some of my favorite musicians my friends. Next year will mark a decade since my buddy Jack Wittich released his first EP under the project The Buried Heart. I am truly not exaggerating when I say Jack is one of the best musicians I know, and revisiting his first EP, Safe Harbor, only reminds me of how his passion for the game and his abilities as a creator have not faltered over the past decade.

The Buried Heart is a project that wears its influences on its sleeve; a cosmic amalgamation of emo, post-hardcore, Japanese video game music, and animated orchestration that has given this project such a unique feeling and scope. The five songs across Safe Harbor cover so much ground. While “Opia” has always been the standout track for me, “Veins,” “Dichotomy,” and “Flowers & Theft” can sling punches with the best of them in the hardcore scene and beyond. The heart of the EP, however, lies in the track “Garden,” a melancholic love letter to Jack’s younger brother, whom he lost far too young. Not only does this track cut deep as someone who has come to consider Jack a brother over the past several years, but its musicality is equal parts breathtaking and emotive on every listen.

Each time I’m treated to new Buried Heart music, whether it's the 2020 self-titled LP or various WIP demos, I’m thoroughly blown away by how much Jack has improved as a musician over the years and how obviously the magic was there from the start. If you’re lucky enough to be friends with some of your favorite artists, you know it's both a privilege and a gift to see their growth and to cherish these kinds of earlier works.

– Ciara Rhiannon

Glitterer – erer

While I think I’m still partial to the music and album art for Glitterer’s 2024 album Rationale, it’s hard to deny the striking design of erer. For this cover, the band embraced a prominent purple (hex code #992bd5 to be exact) stretched edge-to-edge that allows the red type band name and album title to pop out in a shocking contrast, smashed together, reading extra hypnotic and repetitive: “Glitterererer.” Below that, the album name is blown up to massive proportions, making it instantly recognizable from miles away. The band used this same color scheme to turn their name into a tricky little “face” logo and even gave them the namesake for their own “Purple Circle Records,” which they used to self-release this album. Beneath the cover, tracks like “Somebody” and “Stainless Steel” are instant career bests for Ned Russin & co. The tracks hit hard as fuck and sound great live, solidifying into a killer 25 minutes of punk music primed for shouting, sweating, and dancing along to.

– Taylor Grimes

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.

Erykah Badu - New Amerykah Part Two (Return of the Ankh)
Ben Seretan, John Thayer - Sunbeam of No Illusion
Alex G - I Saw The TV Glow (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)
Dehd - Poetry
Paramore - After Laughter
Cassandra Jenkins - My Light, My Destroyer
Bam Bam - Free Fall from Space
Teethe - Magic of the Sale
Cory Hanson - Western Cum
Infant Island - Obsidian Wreath
Footballhead - Overthinking Everything
Great Grandpa - Patience, Moonbeam
Chat Pile - Remove Your Skin Please
Buggin - Concrete Cowboys
Take Care - Southtowne Lanes
Shudder To Think - Pony Express Record
Boris - Heavy Rocks
Doomriders - Black Thunder
Paul Stanley - Paul Stanley
Fred - Fred
The Smiths - The Smiths
Edgar Froese - Aqua
Pallbearer - Sorrow And Extinction
Donovan - A Gift From A Flower To A Garden
Hot Mulligan - Why Would I Watch
Drug Church - Prude
Smashing Pumpkins - Gish
Cross My Heart - Cross My Heart
Fall Out Boy - MANIA

Collect some more Covers:

May 22, 2026

We Just Want to Live: Liberation Weekend II Recap

May 22, 2026/ Caroline Liaupsin

*All photos by Kyle Meyers // All Sketches by Galen Summers*

Naming a music festival Liberation Weekend takes some gumption. Liberation is a word I associate with only the most intense and daring of political movements, events that upend entire systems of power, carving a new path forward for a people. Not typically how I would describe a music festival. Yet Liberation Weekend, now in its second year, is willing to make this bold choice.

There is no need to recount Liberation Weekend 2025, as Swim Into The Sound had some brilliant coverage that does just the job, but there is a need to recount my Liberation Weekend 2025. A weekend where a young trans woman, hardly two months in on estrogen, not yet going by her chosen name, could be surrounded by other trans people. A weekend where she could watch other trans artists embrace themselves, their transness, and each other.

This was, in a sense, liberatory for me. A world where I could embrace my transness seemed possible. In the ensuing months, I found my voice on-air as the host of DIY Not, became ingrained in the DC DIY music community, and started playing bass for a trans punk band called thisdogllhunt. And as I have changed, so has Liberation Weekend.

In its second year, the festival has gotten bigger and (in this writer’s opinion) better. Now spanning three days instead of two, featuring late-night DJ sets and emo-centric day parties alike. The festival is split between two venues: Black Cat for the larger evening shows, and Transmission for the daytime sets and late-night after parties.

Just like last year, the festival is centered on raising money for trans people, with proceeds going to its partner orgs, Gender Liberation Movement and No More Dysphoria. Gender Liberation Movement is a non-profit group that brings together organizers, creatives, and community members to build power for gender liberation across culture, organizing, and policy. No More Dysphoria is a trans mutual aid non-profit, created to help transgender individuals pay for major aspects of their transition and necessities like housing and groceries. Early estimates from this year are looking to be around $20,000 going directly back to trans people, the people who care for them, and the people who fight for their rights.

This year’s edition of the fest sadly feels even more prescient than last. Attacks on the rights of trans people are only increasing, with the US Government designating “radical pro-transgender ideology” as a terrorist ideology on the same level as narcoterrorism. Among many of my friends, there is a growing sense of unease about our future in this country. There is a desperate need not just for the funds that an event like this can provide, but the space as well – somewhere that trans people can let their guard down, if only for a moment.

I spent the three days of Liberation Weekend looking for liberation. I searched for it in the artists on stage, the sweaty mosh pits of Transmission and Black Cat, and in the organizations fighting to make this world just a little easier for trans people. A year ago, I found it for myself. This year, I hope to find it again.

April 23: The Unofficial Liberation Weekend preshow in which Caroline watches the trans girls of DC two step to folk music

Liberation Weekend II began with what the DC trans community considered an unofficial preshow. On the night of Thursday, April 23rd, well over 100 people packed into a tiny warehouse art gallery called The Fridge, tucked in an alleyway near Capitol Hill. We came out for a night of somber folk, riotous country, and boot-stompin' Appalachian bluegrass, all played by trans women.

Beginning with a solo set of mostly covers from thisdogllhunt, AKA Bailey Payne, she brought her knowledge of country classics to us uneducated city slickers. She wore a Texas A&M football jersey – her hometown team and alma mater – but it had been lovingly modified, with the neckline cut out, a high crop, and sleeves nowhere to be seen. Transforming a symbol of Good Ol’ Boy culture into something just a little scandalous, maybe even a little sacrilegious, depending on which A&M fan you ask.

As Payne closed out with a blistering cover of Charlie Daniels’ “Trudy,” she was so deeply at ease with the audience. She joked her way through the cover, shouting out to the crowd between verses. As she led into the second verse, she took a moment to pause and ask in her best southern drawl, “Now who here can tell me who Johnny Lee Walker is?” She let the silence hang still in the air amongst a bewildered and entranced crowd, as she launched into the verse, finally telling us who this mystery man is. Nearing the end of “Trudy,” she took a moment to hop on the soapbox while still cycling through the chords. Addressing the crowd directly, she said, “A real transition goal was to play this song and feel free. And we aren’t all the way there yet, but we’re getting there.” She talked about how all these old country songs are just stories, elaborating, “I collect these stories, and I’m happy you’re part of my story.”

As she said this, I looked around the warehouse. I was surrounded by the friendly faces of trans people from across the District. We always show up for one another; we are all helping write each other’s stories.

Payne was followed by Rosslyn Station AKA Guinnivere Tully, who performed a slow and somber set of covers. Tully opted to take a seat on stage, drawing us in with intricate finger picking and delicate vocals. Her anti-folk came at the perfect time to give us all a breather following Payne’s high-energy country showcase and before what was sure to be an absolute barn burner of a set from Clover-Lynn. She is a dyke, an Appalachian folk musician, and a trans woman. And she would likely tell you it's in that order. She beams with a natural charisma, telling stories about family and acceptance with an accent so country you almost can’t believe it. Clover-Lynn’s music pulls from a deep tradition, discussing how one of her songs is meant for a traditional dance style called Appalachian flatfooting. Here in DC, we don’t know flatfooting, but we certainly know how to mosh. Trans people began running into each other, giving friendly shoves. There were even a few couples in the mix spinning each other around with the widest smiles on their faces. In this room, there was no shame and no judgment, just the joy of moving our bodies in ways that felt right. Maybe this is liberation.

April 24th – Day 1: In which Caroline meets her heroes, has a cheerleading squad, and thinks about God

On the first day of Liberation Weekend, I pretended I was a rock star. Along with my journalistic duties, I was also playing bass for the DC-based cow-punk act, thisdogllhunt. We were slotted to play second on the first day of the festival, right after Brooklyn-based punk act Eevie Echoes & the Locations.

Liberation Weekend gave me and a number of other small trans artists the opportunity to be part of the “big leagues.” With few exceptions (Laura Jane Grace, Ethel Cain, underscores), most trans musicians and artists exist on the DIY circuit, tracing paths from bars to basements to community centers along the endless highways of this country. Those spaces are home to me as a performer.

Before this show, we had largely played DIY venues, so loading into Black Cat, my bandmates and I felt a little out of our element. Real catering, access to a shower, and having to try our absolute hardest to be normal about sharing our green room with Laura Jane Grace. We sat quietly and kept mostly to ourselves, staking out a claim on a single couch, too nervous to eat any of the various charcuterie prepared for us.

With my stomach still churning and my nerves on edge, I found time in the early afternoon to sit down with Philly emo legends, Snowing. Born from the same scene that gave birth to acts like Algernon Cadwallader, Snowing had called it quits years ago, only recently reuniting to start playing shows again with the resurgence in popularity of fourth-wave emo. The four-piece was a hero to a younger Caroline as she first dipped her toe into emo and DIY music, and now here I was, sitting in a small green room with them, most of the band crammed onto a small love seat. This interview would not calm my nerves.

I began by asking the band why they wanted to play Liberation Weekend. Guitarist Willow Brazuk gave me an incredibly straightforward answer. “I mean, it's a pretty important cause to me personally as a trans woman.” She continued, “We need it [money] right now. It's a pretty desperate, scary situation in the United States.”

Unsurprisingly, as a band born from a scene known for its tight-knit nature, Snowing is deeply committed to playing fundraiser and benefit shows as a “fundamental part of punk ideology for your community.” Explaining, “The only way that we win is to live in community and care for small communities that work and spread it.”

Sitting with Snowing, it is apparent how much this band loves each other. Over the course of our interview, someone would break out in laughter at some point during nearly every question. Breaking through this laughter, Willow offered perhaps the most workable definition of liberation I would receive all weekend:

“To me, personally, I just want to live a normal-ass life. It doesn't need to be fancy. I don't need power. I would love to walk down the street and feel safe. I would love to be able to go to the bathroom in every state I go to. I would like to keep accessing my health care, whether it's transition-related or not. I would like to not be discriminated against in any area: employment, housing, et cetera. That's liberation. It's not a huge thing. It's just like… I want what everyone else has. It's not a lot to ask for. I think when people in marginalized groups ask for something, it feels like they're asking for the world. It's really just wanting what everyone else has. That's liberation to me.”

Liberation Weekend has the capacity to make that real, even if only for a weekend. Sometimes that can be enough, as Willow notes, “We're not going to stop legislation from being passed because we played a fucking show in DC I know that, but maybe some people could feel better because they got to go do this and be among people they like.”

”**I just want to live a normal-ass life**”

– Willow Brazuk, Snowing

This comes to the central challenge of Liberation Weekend: how does a music festival move us towards liberation, in whatever sense of the word that means? There are small actions, like bands that make sure people know where they stand. A seemingly small gesture offered by lead singer John Galm at every show is “If you are at a Snowing show, and something makes you uncomfortable, you can come and find one of us at the merch table, and we will figure it out, because everyone that comes through these doors needs to be safe.” I appreciate that it’s something concrete, and the passion with which John delivers this tells me that it’s something he believes with his whole heart.

As we began to wrap, Black Cat’s lovely audio engineer popped her head in, asking if we could sound check early. I lost my place a little bit. I’d been able to lose myself in Snowing’s love for one another and for music just enough to forget I actually had to get up on that stage. I told her five more minutes and proceeded to take ten to wrap up with Snowing.

Soundcheck was professional, yet eerie. Standing on stage, looking out at a venue as large as Black Cat and its empty floor with enough space for 800 people. It is a venue steeped in history, having hosted local heroes like Fugazi and The Dismemberment Plan, as well as national acts like Weezer and Foo Fighters. It all weighs down on you, straining your shoulders. Every pluck of a string, every step, requires you to focus just a little more. Act with a little more intentionality. Find composure within yourself.

We blazed through a song and a half, got the levels set, and suddenly found ourselves off stage just as quickly as we were whisked onto it. I now faced the prospect of sitting, waiting, and doing everything in my power to prevent my anxiety from growing like a festering algae bloom, sudden and suffocating.

A couple of hours after soundcheck, the doors opened, and I ventured into the crowd. A trickle of people slowly began to fill the cavernous space. I was finding peace in this moment when suddenly I heard a group of voices screaming “Caroline!!” and felt arms thrown around my shoulders.

Before a single note was played, the first person to speak at Liberation Weekend was Rayceen Pendarvis. Rayceen is an icon of the DC queer community, and was respected as such the whole weekend. She was the host for the Black Cat shows, appearing between sets, talking about the organizations, complimenting the crowd, and constantly discussing which cities she had made, or lost, a lot of money in. She was charming, sweet, and endlessly entertaining.

Pendarvis introduced the first act of the night, Eevie Echoes & the Locations, who delivered a raucous set, with frontwoman Eevie venturing into the crowd to make sure a mosh pit got going.

Before heading on, we stood side stage to do our goofy thisdogllhunt chant. “Hands in, and on three, thisdogllhunt! One! Two! Three! This-dog-llhunt!” The syllables don’t match the count. We’re never quite in sync, and the rhythm is never quite right. I hope it never changes; this is sisterhood to me.

Climbing the four steps up to the stage of Black Cat, it didn’t take long to feel at home. Despite gazing out at a crowd of at least a hundred, suddenly a chorus of voices erupted right at the front, chanting my name. Amongst that endless sea of faces, some of my closest friends made sure they were seen and heard by me. It was hard not to feel like an embarrassed high school graduate, just trying to make her way across the stage while her family makes absolute fools of themselves, but having a personal section of trans girl cheerleaders can calm even the shakiest of nerves. I could tell you all about the set, but why do that when you can just watch the whole thing right here:

After our set, as I navigated my way down the stairs side stage, the first person to notice my frazzled state was Augusta Koch, the lead singer of Gladie, who had been watching just off stage. She looked me in the eyes and, with a calm, collected voice, simply asked, “How are you feeling?” I was forced to take in my surroundings and live in the moment.

At that point, I didn’t have words to describe the feeling. I do now. Fulfilled. Fulfilled by my community, by music, by trans love. This moment grounded me. I needed all of these little grounding moments – the type of moments that can only come from a community that is tight-knit and allied both locally and afar. I believe this is one facet of liberation: to have confidence in your community and their support.

It also hit me that we were just the second set of the entire festival. I’d better find my grounding ASAP because there was a whole lot of festival left to go.

After catching my breath in the green room, I popped out to catch the tail end of Spring Silver. K Nkanza’s indie emo project has been a mainstay of the DMV scene for years, and sounded right at home on Black Cat’s stage.

The rest of the evening would be out-of-towners, with Gladie taking the stage. As the Philly-based indie rockers launched into their set with “Push Me Down,” I traced a path through the crowd like a snake in the prairie grass to make my way to the front of the stage and scream along. Gladie offers a unique brand of indie rock, with guitars swirling and unraveling behind Koch’s wonderfully sweet and gravely voice. Everything is just a little fuzzed-out, but still catchy and thoughtfully laden with a deeper meaning. After first helping me find grounding, Augusta helped me fall into the music, carried away and out of my body.

Shortly after Gladie was Snowing, who repeated many of the same beliefs they had shared with me during our interview. Lead singer John Galm explicitly asked audience members to find him if anything makes them feel uncomfortable. The set, of course, was excellent, as if you had any doubts in their abilities. I was transported back to the first time I saw them in the dust bowl that was the Second Annual DIY Superbowl in 2022. Eighteen years in, absolutely no one in Snowing has lost their edge, still able to get a crowd screaming their lungs out about drinking too much as a 20-something in Philly. Nothing is more cathartic than a good Midwest emo set.

Nearing the end of their set, I ran into an old friend, a former partner who had seen me go from man to woman. We embraced. We were brought together by emo music nearly seven years ago, making the trek up to Philly together to see Snowing in 2022. After hugs and pleasantries, we briefly caught up before settling in together to watch the final set of the night, Laura Jane Grace.

Laura and her band delivered a rapid-fire set of hits, hits, and, dare I say it, more hits. The setlist spanned both her solo catalog and the Against Me! discography. As she ascended to the stage, the entirety of Black Cat came to life. Myself and many trans punks of my generation and a little older owe a great deal to Mrs. Jane Grace and her music. So many of us felt a strange attraction to her music for years before any of us had the realization or the confidence to live as ourselves. From my vantage point about halfway back in the venue, I could see a wave of hands rising up in front of the stage, bodies moving in tides, waves of people crashing into the stage as choruses of voices rose up, nearly drowning out Laura at times. Her set, and the night, fittingly closed on “True Trans Soul Rebel.” When she asks, “Does God bless your transsexual heart?” I don’t need to know the answer, because I am already blessed by my community. Blessed by the love I have for trans people and the love they have for me. Perhaps that is liberation: being blessed by one another.

April 25th – Day 2: In which Caroline aids the downfall of capitalism, rediscovers her inner child, and guesses which band member has hemorrhoids

Day 2 got off to a rough start. The night prior, my car got snowed in at the venue. (Snowing’s van was blocking us from leaving). My head did not hit my pillow until around 2 AM, two and a half hours later than I usually like it to. I was also still riding the high of the previous night.

Upon waking up, I managed to race over to Transmission, where I met up with Max Narotzky from Ultra Deluxe in the alley behind the club to chat. She was sporting a cheery and busy dress covered in smiling tomatoes, waving ladybugs, and a lovely orange ruffle flowing along the shoulders. Her face was adorned with a bushy red beard and a blazing mess of curling hair atop her head. Despite being the frontperson of Ultra Deluxe, Narotzky is, in some DIY circles, known just as much for her posting around leftist organizing as she is for her music. Max is a self-avowed communist and Marxist-Leninist who believes liberation will be achieved through the organization of the working class and the eventual overthrow of capitalism. Her politics are radical but straightforward, and it’s refreshing to hear that.

For an event titled so boldly as “Liberation Weekend,” it takes a radical to truly articulate liberation and how to get there. At one point, Max prompts me, “What's affecting trans people the most? Access to medicine, that's a capitalist problem. That's not just for trans people, it's for everyone who is working class, because our medicine costs money. Housing costs money. I mean, we know homelessness rates in trans people are much higher than in cis people, right? So how do we help trans people? We have to destroy capitalism.”

Lofty goals certainly, but incredibly clear. Max sees the utility of events like Liberation Weekend for getting us there as the spoonful of sugar to make the medicine go down, “It's like kind of tricking people to go because obviously going to a punk show is more fun than going to a fucking communist meeting. I mean, even most communists would agree with that.”

While I appreciated the matter-of-factness of Willow’s answer the day before, Max is precise and consistent in recognizing capitalism as the thing that holds us back from liberation. “Liberation means the things that are coercing us into work or coercing us into cis heteronormativity, those need to be abolished. Abolition of private property, the abolition of capitalism and imperialism.”

As Day 2 went on, I came to appreciate Max’s radicalism more and more. Between sets, organizers from different groups would come on stage and share platitudes about the importance of voting and how our existence itself is resistance. That being here is in itself radical. I can appreciate the feel-good nature of this, but I think about what Max said, “music is important. But liberation is not going to be done through vibes alone.” Her words resonated with me throughout the rest of this weekend as I looked for the individuals and the movements that went beyond just asking for Instagram followers. A striking example was watching members of the DC Democratic Socialists of America Bodily Autonomy Working Group walking up to members of the audience and giving them Narcan, intent on getting as many people as possible to begin carrying the potentially life-saving drug.

The second day of Liberation Weekend began with my friends in Somebody’s Daughter, who are rising alt-punk stars in the DC scene. Up next was Ok Cuddle, fronted by Nicole Harwayne, who was at Liberation Weekend last year as a member of Pop Music Fever Dream. I don’t think anyone this weekend was having more fun on stage than her as she orchestrated a wall of death and told the crowd, “Transmission, it is 2 PM, I want to see some goddamn blood in this building!” DC riot grrrl rockers RenRiot took the stage next, where they embodied the spirit of Rage Against The Machine if they were black queer 20-somethings instead of middle-aged white guys.

*“Music is important, but liberation is not going to be done through vibes alone.”*

– Max Narotzky, Ultra Deluxe

As Ultra Deluxe took the stage, I was curious how Max’s beliefs would translate to the stage. Turns out the answer was, simply put, by providing the most batshit concert experience I have ever seen. I am no stranger to inflatables being tossed into the crowd (see literally any DRAIN show), but there is a certain whimsy when those inflatables are brightly colored inflatable hammers, letting you feel like Mario running through the pit, whacking one another on the head. But then, during “Manufacturing Medicine,” she got the parachute out, as in one of those parachutes you’d use during elementary gym class. Most of us found an edge to grab and started rhythmically waving it up and down in time with the pounding bass. While the parachute pulsed up and down, Max unveiled her greatest weapon, a giant bubble gun, which rained whimsy down on to the crowd.

Truly, nothing is more freeing, more liberating, than a mosh pit underneath a parachute while hitting each other with blow-up hammers. Suddenly, I was seven years old all over again. I had insisted I was too tired to mosh, but none of this mattered; how could it? She offered all of us the chance to let go of our current world and just be kids again. I couldn’t turn her down.

Following the batshit fun of Ultra Deluxe, Local DC indie rockers Cryptid Summer took the stage, and their lead singer, L Mazer, had the most striking look I’d seen all weekend. She had painted three eyes on each cheekbone, creating perhaps the most ominous vibe of any act in the lineup.

Headlining Transmission that afternoon was none other than NYC dance-punk darlings Crush Fund. Late last year, I had them on my radio show; check out that interview here. The Crush Fund girls are gearing up for the release of their first LP, and they are sounding as incredible as ever. Their sound is massive and abrasive. At any moment during their set, it felt like the roof was about to be blown clear off Transmission. Instead, I witnessed them make this little room feel claustrophobic as ever, bodies crashing into each other, climbing on top of one another as the band ripped through their set. Especially of note was a three-song run of “Shooting 2,” “FFS,” and “Shooting 1,” the first and last of which are as yet unreleased. Crush Fund shows off their hardcore chops on those tracks, delivering absolutely punishing vocals over instrumentals that are not dissimilar to someone taking a real (not inflatable) hammer and repeatedly (yet rhythmically) beating you into a semiconscious state. Even as their set slowed for a moment at the end with their unreleased track “Go,” people still managed to mosh. I watched a pit form where two trans girls pirouetted into a crowd functioning like human pinball bumpers, sending them careening back and forth across the venue.

I was starting to crash as I arrived at Black Cat for the evening shows. But within me, the journalistic flame burned bright, giving me just enough energy to survive this night. As I prepared for the evening shows, I found myself thinking about those around me and what their Liberation looked like. I have stories of two people that I’d love to share. The first is a trans woman named Tommi Parashos. She flew in from San Diego to be a part of this weekend. Over the course of the festival, she became the talk of the town for her attempt to get every artist to sign the instructions for her estrogen injections. Tommi told me that it “started as an idea for a cool keepsake, but it’s also a fun way for me to interact with the bands and force myself to be social and make friends.

She continued saying, “Liberation Weekend was the first time I felt like a girl. Before Liberation Weekend, I literally didn’t think that I was pretty enough or confident enough to call myself a doll; I guess dysphoria does that to you. Being surrounded by a festival’s worth of wonderful trans people all complementing me and wanting to be my friend made me feel like, yeah, I can call myself a doll. It was so liberating being in a space where I didn't need to flag the fact that I was trans or do the cotton candy barf look to be seen as a woman. Initially, I came out to Liberation Weekend to have a fun trip with my friend, who’s also a big fan of the DC scene, but I left wanting to build a trans community back home in San Diego.”

The other is a trans woman named Lizzie Rose from Fayetteville, Arkansas, who made her way up to DC for the festival. For her, Liberation Weekend was a rare opportunity to be surrounded by other trans people. She told me how “growing up queer in the south, you spend your life trying to prove you belong, prove that your existence has worth. I’ve always struggled when creating music because of this, because I felt the need to prove my worth as a person through art. But at Liberation Weekend, watching people who were just like me perform songs about experiences just like mine, surrounded by people who celebrated and cherished me for existing, I realized that my music didn’t have to do that. Anything I create matters because it is an extension of my life, a life that, despite the pain and anguish I’ve experienced, is beautiful.” In the weeks since Liberation Weekend, she told me she has started writing music and rededicated herself to learning both the guitar and drums.

Kicking things off for the evening session back at Black Cat was Adult Human Females. Their track “Tuck Tuck Goose” has the most sardonic approach to the realities of trans life in this country, with the line “Hiding in the bathroom / Creeping on the playground / It’s a drive-by grooming.” Sometimes we need to laugh through the oppression.

The standout set of Day 2 belonged to Brooklyn’s MX LONELY. Admittedly, this was mostly due to lead singer Rae Haas and their tendency to jump on top of large objects. What can I say? I’m a sucker for someone looking big and giant on stage. While performing “Big Hips,” they ascended to the top of their amp again as every member of this very Brooklyn-looking band would headbang in unison, long hair and mustaches flying everywhere, kind of like a Gen Z version of whatever the hell they were doing in that one Attack Attack! music video.

Following them was the Pacific Northwest dark and ethereal metal duo Ragana. They were loud and all-encompassing, which is deeply impressive to accomplish with just a guitar and drums. New York post-punkers Bambara took the stage after, providing some of the most oddly danceable post-punk I’ve heard in quite a while. Pissed Jeans followed, fronted by Matt Korvette, who was one of the most energetic frontmen I had ever seen. He began the set dressed in a too-big black long-sleeve that I suspect he wore just to flail the sleeves around wildly. Eventually, he’d lose the shirt as he careened back and forth across the stage. In one of the few moments of calm during a tuning break, he treated us to perhaps the most bizarre stage banter I’ve ever heard as Korvette began pointing at his fellow band members, asking us to guess which two had hemorrhoids. I don’t know if this is liberation, but it was funny as hell.

Closing out the evening was a solo performance by Devi McCallion, who commanded the space, using the entire room as her stage. McCallion stepped directly off the stage of Black Cat and into the crowd, imploring audience members to circle close around her. She began her set saying, “This song is dedicated to Charlie Kirk.” It was sadly not a cover of “We Are Charlie Kirk.”

April 26th – Day 3: In which Caroline learns about the South, wishes she could dodge parking tickets, and takes flight

I rolled up on my bike outside a small Ethiopian coffee shop just in time to catch Peach Rings as they were headed in to meet me. They hail from North Carolina, and I mean this in the nicest way possible… what a North-Carolina-ass-looking band. We’re talking Realtree hats, long, ratty punk hair, a rugged coolness to every single one of them. And here they are, talking to Caroline, the city slicker, in her Sydney Sweeney x Ford x Dickies collab khakis (listen, my friend gave them to me for free, and they look great). Despite this, they still think I’m cool, and lead singer Ramona Barton agrees to an interview on the back patio of the coffee shop. Peach Rings got started by making emo music about being trans. At least that’s what Ramona did back when this was a solo project by a 19-year-old girl. “With a song like ‘dream girl,’ which we're playing tonight, I wrote that at a time when I wanted nothing more than to not be trans. I've 180'd on that, but we still play it because I think it's a beautiful song and it captures a feeling. That was me at one point. It feels special to touch on that, and it also resonates with a lot of people who might be in that part of transition.”

Peach Rings, like Snowing, is yet another artist whose music has shaped my life in some small way. Her music helped me discover my own gender identity, with songs like “i'm going to be a girl for halloween” serving as a safe outlet for my confusing feelings about gender in college. Her music was liberating to me, and she is aware of how important it has been to people. She describes how “being a teenager and hearing a song that speaks to you is extremely important. We're not, like, a super successful band by any means, but having moms come to shows and say, ‘My 13-year-old daughter just came out, and your music means so much to her’ is extremely touching. It just makes me cry. To me, that is liberatory for someone younger than me.” Maybe liberation is loving yourself.

For Ramona, someone who is about six years into transition, liberation is “to just be able to live freely without bigotry around us. I shouldn't have to worry about going to the bathroom.” As harsher and harsher anti-trans laws are passed around the country (see Idaho’s bathroom ban law, which could result in life sentences for violators), trans people have simple requests. “We're just trying to hang out and exist, and they want us eradicated.”

Many of these laws are being passed in Southern and red states, but despite this Ramona is “very proud of being from the South and being a southerner,” explaining, “I think that there are obviously difficulties, and there are a lot of prejudiced people, but I also have had experiences back home with old conservative religious people who treat me as more of a woman than people in, say, New York have… All of our friends back home are trans people. There are lots of trans people in the South, and I think that is just overlooked because it's a red state.”

I appreciate having the influence and perspective of trans people outside of the Washington-Philly-New York core that largely makes up this festival. Especially after learning that Peach Rings just today released some new music with banjo on it, which this author welcomes with open arms. Peach Rings isn’t even the only southern trans band here, as they brought their friends in Motocrossed, who also hail from North Carolina. While this lineup is over-representative of Philly, NYC, and DC, trans musicians being able to thrive and create in places outside the traditional blue cities points towards a potential of what liberation could look like for trans people. A reality where, from the biggest metropolis to the smallest hamlets, there are thriving communities of trans and queer artists and musicians able to live in peace.

I was only able to catch a couple of sets at Transmission before needing to depart for my interview with Pool Kids, but this sampling did not disappoint. First was DC emogaze act Emotional World, whose delicately layered sound was enough to warm the frozen heart of this staunch shoegaze skeptic.

DC punk band Soul Meets Body were outstanding, delivering a ripping set of grungey punky tracks. Frontwoman Genevieve Moore controlled the stage as well as anyone at Black Cat or Transmission all weekend long with an undeniable swagger. They closed with “No Youth No Future,” suddenly turning into a seasoned hardcore band, making me dearly wish I had the energy to crowdkill my fellow dolls.

I don’t want to forget about the acts that closed things out at Transmission, Motocrossed, Latchkey Kids, Jade Weapon, and Peach Rings. Though I know every single one of those bands can, and did, put on an amazing show while I raced back over to Black Cat.

Hailing from Tallahassee, Florida, Pool Kids have been rising stars in the emo scene ever since releasing their cult classic debut, Music to Practice Safe Sex to. Their self-titled sophomore record began to add a more refined touch, cleaning up the rough edges of the first record and rounding out the two-piece into a full four-person setup. With the recent release of their third LP, Easier Said Than Done, Pool Kids has been leaning further into the poppy songwriting that we only heard glimpses of on their second album. Lead singer and guitarist Christine Goodwyne told me that “we sort of just keep trying to sound like Pool Kids without repeating ourselves.”

As their sound has changed, their philosophy has not, as bassist Nicolette Alvarez highlights how it’s “important to show up to things and be there as allies. Now more than ever, it's important to stand up and loudly and proudly say that we're here. We stand with trans people.” Christine shares how “If you don't clarify where you stand on that stuff, people who you don't agree with might be thinking that you actually are on their side.” Later that evening, when Pool Kids played, guitarist Andy Anaya would drape Christine in a trans pride flag, much to the delight of a raucous, almost out of breath crowd. I think it's clear where they stand.

Throughout the weekend, Pool Kids were the only band I interviewed, and one of the few bands on the entire bill, without an openly transgender member. Despite this, they still have a compelling vision of what liberation could look like. Drummer Caden Clinton provided the perfect white guy perspective on this. “Everybody gets to live the same life that I do. I'm a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, cis male. I will never get a speeding ticket, but it's not fair that all my other friends have to struggle with that.” Pool Kids are a perfect example of what allyship actually looks like.

I was lucky enough to catch Nicole Maroulis from Hit Like A Girl immediately after talking to Pool Kids. Much like me, Nicole was also pulling double duty at this weekend’s festival. Outside of their frontperson duties singing and playing guitar in Hit Like A Girl, Nicole is also executive director and one of the co-founders of No More Dysphoria – one of the two main beneficiaries of Liberation Weekend, along with Gender Liberation Movement.

When asked how they describe the organization, Maroulis explains that No More Dysphoria is ”a punk rock, mutual aid effort, where we essentially just directly give financial resources, aid, or assistance to people in the transgender, gender nonconforming communities.”

As I ushered them into the spare green room, grateful I could fit a quick chat in their busy schedule, I noticed that Nicole has the DIY punk look down to a T: an oversized septum piercing, tattoos spilling out of a long-sleeve flannel, and a mullet with the bangs dyed a bleach blonde. Nicole is DIY through and through, and the ethos of being a DIY musician has bled into their work at No More Dysphoria. “So the way a band normally starts is like you get a little group of friends. You write some songs. You make some T-shirts. You play some basement shows. The organization started kind of similarly with a group of friends. We made some T-shirts and sold them at my friend's basement shows in New Brunswick.”

After starting Hit Like a Girl, Nicole was able to “bring a mutual aid effort with us on tour in all these different cities and all these different communities, getting the word out there.”

This work can genuinely be life-saving, helping trans people secure housing, medication, and necessary medical care that they otherwise couldn’t get. I wanted to hear from Nicole exactly why this work matters, and they explained, “It is important to give money to trans people because we are so fucking at a disadvantage. The moment we were born, we were ahead of goddamn disadvantage because, unfortunately, everyone is actively working their hardest to fucking erase us and dismember our existence.” As they answered, I visibly saw them building with rage at the system. Nicole is a rare breed, someone who so genuinely, with every fiber of their body, wants to help their community, wants to give and help build a cycle that will support everyone. “Helping people is like such a crazy, radical idea, right? Because it's not directly servicing yourself or being selfish. I think that's like what a lot of society wants us to think you're supposed to do. ‘Just be selfish and only worry about yourself.’ But like that's just not at all how the world works, you know? I think of mutual aid as kind of like a cycle, so you need to give in order to get.”

”**I think of mutual aid as kind of like a cycle, so you need to give in order to get”**

– Nicole Maroulis, Hit Like A Girl

The way Nicole sees it, Liberation Weekend is helping provide money directly to this mutual aid cycle and also “creates a safe space for queer people to gather and to have this common ground. You're in a room with like-minded people, and you can relax your shoulders a little bit. That is such a small thing that a lot of cis people don't really think about. That is huge because you know you're gonna go to work tomorrow and probably get misgendered the next day. At least tonight I can be myself and, you know, the people around me are gonna respect me, and I know it.”

No More Dysphoria has become essential to who Nicole is, as they described how “mutual aid is really important to me because I really love helping people. It's a privilege that I have the resources and the capability to help people. It's important to me that, if you can, you should.”

Along with Max, there was no one else I wanted to hear more from about the actions we can take to help move us towards Liberation. Nicole shared that, “I think a good step that people can take, whether you're a musician or not, is just to keep the conversation going. How many bands in the middle of their set say 'fuck ICE' and 'free Palestine'? I hope a lot of them. The importance of it is that we bring it up and keep it fresh in our minds. There are probably going to be kids who are going to get inspired to go to protests because they watched you play and heard you speak. Those are kids that are going to go tell their conservative parents to fuck off because they were inspired by whatever you said to them.”

After wrapping up with Nicole, I made my way into the audience to catch the first act of the night, Pinky Lemon. Hailing from DC and Philly, they have long been stalwarts of the scene. Every chance I get to see them is a treat, and this occasion was no different.

One set later, Hit Like A Girl took the stage, and Nicole spoke with more passion and care than anyone else I met this weekend. It came out in their set, and it came out through the way they so fiercely advocated for the work No More Dysphoria is doing. They invited Miri Tyler and Mel Bleker from Pretty Bitter on stage to join the band for “Are You In Love.” Their set wrapped with “Dismay” from their hardcore EP Becoming, marking the second time today a group suddenly became a hardcore band right before my eyes. Nicole threw themselves into the crowd as the crowdkilling switch in my head was suddenly flipped. Before I knew it, my arms and limbs were flying around me in a whirlwind with no care for who may be near me. Maybe this is liberation.

Pretty Bitter took the stage shortly after Hit Like a Girl for what promised to be a triumphal performance. As was shared by one of the front people, Miri, in an interview shortly after, “this is our last DC show for a little bit. We are moving to Chicago in early July. And it is really, really powerful how much love and energy exists in the city and exists in this very, very special scene.”

The energy in the crowd made it apparent that Pretty Bitter are truly hometown heroes, and heroes to trans people across the entire East Coast. During their final song, “The Damn Thing Is Cursed,” I found myself next to July Brown from Crush Fund, screaming the words at each other. Mel and Miri simply radiate energy from the stage, while guitarist Kira Campbell and drummer Jason Hayes are two of the most effortlessly cool and talented people I have ever seen. Pretty Bitter exuded confidence, but they were feeling much more than just confidence. As Mel shared, “I started the set in tears. By the end of it, I was feeling so much love and joy that it was still tears, but it wasn't sad tears.”

Punctuating the set was a moment at the end of “The Damn Thing is Cursed” when Mel announced a special guest was coming on stage. I saw peering out of the corner of my eye, none other than Bailey “thisdogllhunt” Payne. On bringing up Bailey, Mel shared, “If there is anyone that we could pass the proverbial torch to, it is this woman. We got to meet her through the scene. We snuck her into a show we were playing in Baltimore because she wanted to take photos and didn't have a ticket, so we snuck her in the back of a church, and then we just became best friends. She became one of the most important people in my life, but also she is so infinitely important to this city and to the scene, so when we were talking about who to bring up, it was no question.”

As Mel announced their special guest, Bailey stormed onto the stage, wrapping Mel in the warmest of embraces before Mel leaped into the crowd to finish singing the final chorus, Bailey dancing around, eventually welcoming Mel back with a warm embrace, both in tears. I always tell people that DC's scene is tight-knit, that we always love each other and show up for one another. I don’t think there is clearer evidence than this.

I asked Miri what the DC scene can do for bands, and she shared, “I think that this scene lifts up its members and shares resources. All the things we are able to do, it's all because bands were nice to us when we first started out, and bands gave us invaluable information about how to do this thing.”

No set during the weekend felt more “liberatory” to me than the firestorm that Pretty Bitter unleashed that Sunday night. The pure love displayed on stage made me truly proud to be a Washingtonian, to be a musician, and to be a trans woman. They also used their time to share genuinely radical positions on liberation, proclaiming, “Material aid makes our lives better. It lets us be safe. Talk about trans people in rooms that trans people aren’t in. Money doesn’t fix everything, but it does fix a lot of things.”

After their set, Mel and Miri would share with me that they have “been in situations where we have used No More Dysphoria to make sure that we did not lose our housing.” It can be sobering remembering how many of us are constantly living on the razor’s edge. We are often in unsafe situations financially, physically, and emotionally. It’s why Mel believes liberation is “Safety. Trans liberation means that all of my friends, all of my family, are safe, supported, and not in distress.” Miri added, “It's the safety to just exist as who you are and not having to explain yourself and not having to feel like you're going to be ridiculed for it on the street, in any public space, or even private space. All those things are the groundwork for happiness.”

Echoing sentiments shared by Max on Saturday, Miri continued, adding, “trans liberation doesn't happen without black liberation. It doesn't happen without Palestinian liberation. It doesn't happen without the liberation of all working-class people. It's all tied in because the fascists only want one thing, and that's all of us dead.”

To get to this liberation, Mel believes that if “you bring people into a room, I think that you associate liberation with freedom and with happiness, and you act like you're already there because here you are. It's a good way to collectively imagine the world that we could all share together in the future. Miri added, “In a much more sort of material way, it introduces people to organizations and mutual aid funds and efforts that are happening in their community that they might not have known about.”

“Trans liberation doesn't happen without black liberation. It doesn't happen without Palestinian liberation. It doesn't happen without the liberation of all working-class people”

– Miri Tyler

With this being their final hometown show for the foreseeable future, I wanted to know if these hometown heroes have any lessons to leave for the scene. “Be excellent to each other.” Perfectly put, Mel. “If you have a chance to share and lift someone else up, you should take every single opportunity that you have, because you might meet some of your best friends by doing that.”

As for Miri’s lesson, “I think the thing that makes this scene so cool is that a lot of these bands in this city don't feel like we're in competition with each other – we're in collaboration with each other. I think just keep that in mind, don't feel like you have to compete, you know? Just be collaborative.”

Following Pretty Bitter was the brilliant Pom Pom Squad, who vacillated between sweet bubble-punk and delicate ballads. One moment, front woman Mia Berrin would be dancing with cheerleader pom poms, and the next be on her knees, screaming to the heavens.

Ezra Furman took the stage next, and while I sadly missed most of the set while talking to Miri and Mel, what I caught was excellent. Her soft touch transforms the pain of transness into something romantic and grandiose. She closed with the song “Book of Our Names,” which she has described as a protest song against an empire that wants us dead. It is triumphant and defiant, calling for trans people to be known and remembered by our chosen names. She demonstrates that power and righteousness don’t necessarily have to be accompanied by overdriven guitars and pounding drums.

Finally, it was time for Pool Kids with the last set of the night. They closed out the festival with “Conscious Uncoupling,” the raucous opener from their 2022 self-titled. I started cutting through the crowd, a speeding car weaving through traffic as I made my way to the front of the stage. I locked eyes with Mel from Pretty Bitter as we screamed the lyrics with each other. The signs at Black Cat might have said no stage diving or crowd surfing, but I had no interest in listening to this sign during the final song of the festival. Neither Mel nor Nicole had respected it, so why should I? So I swung my leg up onto the stage, launching myself first up, then out into the awaiting crowd.

I was floating. Screaming my head off, held aloft by my trans brothers and sisters. An eternity passed. By the time I finally hit the ground, my legs were vibrating, adrenaline coursing through my veins, my heart a redlining engine. I felt invincible. I believe I was. If that wasn’t liberation, I don’t know what is.

Caroline Liaupsin is a DC area radio host and musician. She’s live every other Tuesday from 2–4 PM EST on WOWD-LP bringing you the hottest new DIY tracks, interviews with artists, show previews, and features on the world of DIY in DC and beyond. When she’s not too busy she writes biweekly DIY show previews and other things on her substack. She also plays bass for a trans cowpunk band called thisdogllhunt.

May 15, 2026

Rhododendron – Ascent Effort | Album Review

May 15, 2026/ Poppy Sinclaire

Now, I could be wrong, but I think that something’s going down on the intergalactic genre interstate. If so, it might have something to do with these juiced, plinky jazz runs and chugging riffs that have been singing off my eyebrows.

Anyone who’s been on the alternative side of the music-inclined internet long enough knows the inundation, in the last few years, of every variety of “gaze” and “core”—enough to frazzle even the most dedicated RateYourMusic bro. Part and parcel of this collision of genres is an air of musical discovery; perhaps the mere idea of a “blackened twinkle digi-core” implies a new frontier being paved by hungry DIY-ers. Maybe it's the renewed sense that already trodden roads still have new, unexplored trails that can reignite and revitalize an audience’s attention. This could certainly be said for dominant musical institutions as well, such as the popularization of hyperpop or the commercial stabilization of alt-country “nuGrass,” but it’s not hard to see how this snowballs in the annals of subcultural musical movements.

Portland trio Rhododendron’s sophomore LP, Ascent Effort, arrives to push the conversation over the proverbial edge.

Ascent Effort organizes itself as a radiant mirage of genres and the great soup of musical influences one reminisces about while listening; simultaneously genre-full and genre-less. A lesser band would buckle under these contradictions, but these Portlanders are playing their fucking asses off—perfect additions to The Flenser’s ever-undulating cohort of badass savants and freaks.

The album’s kickstarter, “Firmament,” introduces us to a kind of ethereal death-ambient à la Blood Incantation or Opeth at their most massive. Noah Mortola’s drums invent and surprise, the bass keeps everything in line, and the guitar tone somehow straddles groove and grit. The song finishes with a percussive assault and leads into the inquisitive, angular “Like Spitting Out Copper.” Rhododendron definitely play their jazziest for the greater part of the track before picking the pace back up with the album’s first vocals. Guitarist-vocalist Ezra Chong’s screams are cutting and dripping with personality, especially on the following track, “Stow,” where the album’s influences thus far coalesce into a sometimes pounding, sometimes slinking saga that consistently highlights the rhythm section’s uncanny unity.

None of this is to suggest that Ascent Effort ever broaches the usual pitfalls of post-hardcore or progressive trios, namely becoming too “mathy,” endlessly “jammy,” or otherwise unfocused. Rhododendron maintain a sense of integrity that’s hard to pin down; through each exploration, they prove yet again that they know how to take their ideas from initial kernels to kaleidoscopic sagas. No better example exists than the penultimate “Family Photo,” which sees a delightful, if spare, return of vocals and a perfect showcase of Gage Walker’s driving bass that I can’t get out of my head. The record concludes with “Within Crippling Light,” an epic in the truest sense of the word—a ceaselessly technical and progressive mixture of form and content to mostly delightful ends. I found my mind drifting throughout the piece’s 13-minute runtime and, upon relistens, couldn’t find the same urgency from that first spin. Of course, the same has often been said of the equally tempestuous compositions of Godspeed You! Black Emperor or Sunn O))), so this is all to taste.

In the same vein, Ascent Effort’s blazes many paths toward its ultimate, emotional absolution, and there are moments where I wonder whether the band lingers on a musical motif for just a tad too long. But whether or not that’s the case couldn’t dream of overshadowing just how enjoyable the whole album is to listen to, nor the manifold pleasures of hearing constantly evolving ideas play out over the 40-minute runtime. Part of me also wonders how Ascent Effort would sound with Chong’s vocals across the entire mix, bringing screamo further into the fold, but that would compromise the extreme tact with which vocals are presented. Nothing about the vocal delivery is boilerplate, nor do they feel like a checked-off box; the band brilliantly uproots traditional expectations of what vox signal in the modern western tradition. They are a gateway bridging ideas—combining them to become more than the sum of their parts. This is why such criticisms hit a significant barrier when specifically applied to Rhododendron, and I believe the key lies in the album’s title itself.

I can’t remember a recent time I thought of a band, “wow, these folks are rocking my fucking world right now.” In this way, Ascent Effort reminds me of some of the genre make-or-break classics—to name a few: Loveless, Aja, Burnin’, Bitches Brew, or whatever wizards like John Zorn and Keiji Haino have been cooking up for decades. This record, in name and in function, really does feel like a concerted effort to ascend, as though in tireless search of fresh views formerly obscured by one’s first effort. Returning to their 2021 release, Protozoan Battle Hymns, it’s quite rewarding to see where and what the trio decided to expand upon. So many thematic elements of “Moloch Whose Eyes are a Thousand Blind Windows”—sometimes prog, sometimes post-rockian onslaught—make a cameo, but never in such a way that I thought, “oh, this is like that other thing.” It’s a difficult alchemy to master—blending what was and what was good with what wants to be—but I think Rhododendron really pull it off here.

Listening to Ascent Effort is, at turns, a test, a revelation, an unanswerable problem, and too much fun. And that’s where I leave off: this album is a ton of fun. That’s a treat these days—to be able to sit, listen, smile, and say “hell yeah.” I really don’t know where the gang goes from here, but without question, this is only the (new) beginning.

Poppy Bishop Sinclaire is a southern writer, educator, and literary theorist. You can follow their pug, Dimple, on Instagram @disco_christ.

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