Otis Shanty – Shadow Of Doubt | Album Review

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Disposable America

The transition from summer to autumn is a holy ritual. As the early September warmth bows its head to cooler sunrises and the sun ploughs a lazier zenith across the dimming sky, I cherish this change, however brief it may be. Autumn is already such a short season, so I gladly search for hints of it even in late summer. The music I listen to at this time begins to shift as well – no longer does noisy, galvanized post-punk call my name, but instead I find myself leaning towards hazy, golden indie rock. The world is starting to slow down, and so do my listening habits. I want records that will help me savor those slow weather changes and dimly-lit afternoons. Otis Shanty is one such band: their delicate, shimmering brand of rock is perfect for watching the trees around my apartment turn from green to gold. 

The Boston-based quartet has been on an incredible streak of releases, from their first album, Suite 33, in 2021 and follow-up EP Early Birds in 2023 to their sophomore album, Up On The Hill, released in 2024. Singer and multi-instrumentalist Sadye Bobbette’s vocals are sweetly melancholic, weaving through the band’s gossamer sound like a bright thread, while guitarist Ryan DiLello’s precise, delicate playing keeps the songs whirling like spun sugar. Bassist Julian Snyder and drummer Jono Quinn skillfully anchor the group, keeping Otis Shanty tethered to earth with savory bass lines and crisply balanced percussion that never feels overpowering. I’ve been a fan of the band since I reviewed their single “Nobody’s Party” in 2024, instantly captivated by the earnest lyricism and ethereal build of the song. I’m happy to report that Otis Shanty has only gotten better over the past couple of years, as their new album, Shadow Of Doubt, has effortlessly proven.

I don’t know if it was intentional or just a stroke of luck and good timing, but I find that the themes discussed on Shadow Of Doubt perfectly suit the season in which it was released. I associate autumn with endings, transitions, and a thousand quiet slumbers as plants wither and animals prepare to hibernate. Throughout the album, Sadye sings about the changes and shifts that every human experiences in their relationships. Now that I’m a bit into my thirties, I feel that the past couple of years have been extremely telling in terms of the relationships that survived the past decade – and those that did not. Some friendships are more solid than ever, some faded like breath on cold glass, and others imploded on themselves, no matter what I did to try to save them. 

On Shadow Of Doubt, the band beautifully explores their own experiences with relationships, plunging into the deep end immediately with the opening track “Where to Look for Things.” A delicate, spinning guitar melody introduces the album as Sadye muses, “Everybody’s looking down / Sucked into self-doubt / Isn’t it funny how / We’re all looking for an out.” As the music progresses, the perspective of the lyrics begins to broaden. What starts as a very inhibited, narrow point of view turns into noticing “a twinkle in the pines” and then an encouragement to “stare in amazement at the sky.” I love how the music swells to match the words – the chord progression shifts, the hi-hat cymbal opens, and the band builds exuberantly as Sadye proclaims, “Let your mind surprise itself / Let your mind surprise itself!” It’s a joyous challenge to the listener, and with it, “Where to Look For Things” sets the bar high for the entire album. 

This theme of self-reflection is continued into the following track, “Ceiling,” trading the exuberant mood of the opening for a tone that’s more bittersweet. “Stripping a screw / And pulling it through / Is part of figuring it out” is the song’s first lyric, and those words hit my stomach like a cold swallow of water the first time I heard them. Few things are as frustrating as realizing you’ve ruined a screw while trying to build or fix something, and it’s even worse when you have to admit defeat and wrestle the offending screw out with pliers. The screw is thrown aside, no longer viable, and you’re faced with a gaping hole to fix. The clever metaphor used by Otis Shanty suggests a relationship that’s been stripped of the threads that used to hold it together, and no matter how much work was put in, all that resulted was an ugly hole where something beautiful used to be.

Full face to the ceiling
Waiting for the tears to fall back
In my eyes
Sinking gently
I’m sick of revealing
Everything about my insides
Like a ball of string
Down stairs unwinding
Down stairs unwinding 

The band continues to wind their way down a shimmering path on “Lowballer,” a dryly clever track pinpointing a particular type of artificial person. “Well those cowboy killers are gonna give you cancer,” sings Ryan, who trades lyrics with Sadye throughout the song. “And that camo hat’s not hiding the fact that you / You’re always looking for something new to get in front of,” they add. If I’ve seen one person like this, I’ve seen a hundred of them - a pack of Marlboros tucked in their front shirt pocket, vintage silver rings on every finger, aforementioned camo hat and Carhartt jacket perfectly distressed. It’s almost a meme at this point - in my mind, I think of it as a stereotyped Silver Lake aesthetic, but it speaks to a much larger cultural phenomenon than just an internet trend. 

So many people today want to fit a particular look in order to send a message about themselves without actually putting in the effort to develop their own interests, style, and taste. The sound of the music here alludes to this as well - it’s heavy and spacey, fitting exactly into the genres that are popular online right now. There’s a distinct shoegaze revival, often co-opted by these same aesthetic grifters, who once again lay claim to a genre of music they find “aesthetic.” Latching on to a particular style made popular by online trends is easy, because you can just buy all the pieces -cigarettes, jewelry, and workwear- from a specific brand. “They dress you up, and then they try to set you free / You’re a well-read sailor just floating around at sea / Looking for a white whale and a sense of meaning / Just a lowballer running down a dream.” There is niche upon niche online, but in the real world, you are still faced with yourself. At the end of the day - costume off, cigarette extinguished, and all alone - there is nothing but your reflection staring back at you. You can no longer avoid facing the eternal question: who am I? 

My favorite track sits precisely halfway through the album, “Echoes of a Blue Moon.” It’s melancholy yet cathartic, swirling forward like high tide. It discusses a very on-again, off-again relationship as Sadye asks, “Echoes of a blue moon / Only happen maybe once or twice / Makes you wonder / If it feels right / Why don’t we do it all the time?” This song shows off Otis Shanty's ability to lead into a chorus like no other, teasing a build through a short bridge, building again, then crashing into themselves at last in huge fuzzy waves of sound. This skill is what first drew me to them years ago, and because of that, my heart was overjoyed to hear the build in this song. “It’s you all the time / Reframing / One thing at a time to do, to do, to do, to do.” I close my eyes, letting the cool wash of music surround me. “Catch up, fall behind / Adhering / Like bugs in wine / It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, it’s you.” The bass and drums push the song forward, thrumming under the frenetic haze of vocals, guitar, and synth that float atop the ocean of this song. The ache and longing for someone you always want to come back to is expressed so well - the cyclical feeling is captured perfectly through the arpeggiated guitar licks and swelling synth effects. And just like that, the song is over as quickly as it began, abruptly dying out after three lush minutes. Coincidence? Probably not.

The latter half of the album starts with a mellower track, “Polished Stone.” It’s a pleasant breath after the intensity of “Echoes,” and settles into a comfortable sway as Sadye sings, “Fell out of alignment / Two voices on their own / Repurpose the garden / Beneath the overgrowth / Grind against each other / Till we make a polished stone.” I find this to be such a beautiful way to capture how it feels to work through difficulty with a loved one - whether between each other or side-by-side. Those who truly love you will always see challenges through with you - Sadye admits, “Turns out people in my life want to give me / The benefit of the fucking doubt.” This comforting song reminds us of the grace we hold for those we love. 

A couple of tracks later, the band’s perspective shifts inward: “For Once” is a beautiful exploration of self-worth and seeing yourself through the lens of someone who loves you. “I’m painting still lifes on the couch / I see the world in twisting arms around heads / You’re drawing portraits of my mouth / Can’t help but see myself the way you see me / And it’s good for once.” I was deeply touched by this song - not only is it poetic and tender, but it speaks to struggles I have dealt with personally through my entire life. My throat tightened as I heard Sadye ask, “What would it take for me to love my face / What would it take to love my legs to love my shape / It’s been a long time coming, it’s been a long time spent / What would it take? What would it take? What would it take?” I have struggled since I was very young to love my legs in particular, and I frequently hide them underneath jeans or dresses, self-conscious of their size and shape. But as I listened to Sadye repeat “What would it take?” over and over, their voice rising to almost a scream, I asked myself what would it take? But my question is answered: “I can try your eyes on / And love my face,” Sadye admits. I can try my husband’s eyes on and love my legs. I can see myself as more, and I can see myself as loved.

With Shadow Of Doubt, Otis Shanty offers the listener a moving exploration of the deeply complex relationships we have with others and with ourselves. The band is at their very best - lyrically precise, with every track awash in scintillating texture and depth. As I watch the earth participate once again in autumn’s solemn ritual, I have come back to this album again and again to bask in its light. Shadow Of Doubt is an incandescent bulb, haloed with warmth, healing the heart of the listener. 

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

Harrison Gordon – BLISS | Album Review

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Hopeless Records

Harrison Gordon (the band) nearly died on a California highway en route to Santa Cruz. The control arm of their van had been steadily grinding away at one of their tires, suddenly bringing the Normal, Illinois natives within inches of death. Writing purely in hypotheticals– Harrison Gordon (the man) does not appear to be all that deterred by the idea of dying a tragic, grotesque death. After all, monotonous transit rides often elicit passing thoughts about our own mortality: the way in which we’ll die, when it’ll happen, who will care when we’re gone, etc. After a recent brush with death of my own, I have often caught myself wondering what others would attempt to say about me at my funeral. It’s something I have wracked my brain over for the past year or so, to no avail.

It’s difficult to imagine that anyone would stand before my casket and wax poetic about how affable I was or how much I’d be missed. A similar perspective seems to be held by Harrison Gordon (the man), given that a majority of his lyrical content is “punching himself in the face” relentlessly. It’s sort of the crux of Harrison Gordon’s debut LP, The Yuppies are Winning, in which heinous rent and healthcare prices, hating yourself, and selling your childhood Wii for $30 are the overriding themes. Frankly, these are the band’s overriding themes, who, in classic Midwest emo fashion, built their wealth via DIY-nomics, with a little assistance from viral TikToks as well. Those self-loathing, politically charged lyrics are littered all throughout Yuppies. By the penultimate track, even Gordon himself has run out of ways to address the situation, resigning, “I want to stop talking about how much I hate myself, but I don't have anything else to say.” 

After a string of self-released music, Harrison Gordon (the band) has found themselves as newcomers to Hopeless Records, delivering their sophomore album, BLISS. Mastered by Grammy Award-winning producer and scene legend Will Yip, the 11-track, 30-ish minute LP finds the band more abrasive in tone, both musically and in terms of their self-deprecating lyrics. Album single, “Like Me Less,” holds the flag for this as, four seconds in, Gordon admits, “I think I went up another waist size / Convinced you like me now a little less” before a barrage of cymbals and down-tuned strings. The music video for this track, co-directed by Hot Mulligan’s Tades Sanville, depicts Gordon hesitantly signing away his rights in order to receive botched-ass plastic surgery in hopes of improving his already distorted self-image. Undeniably a heavy-handed metaphor for Gordon’s desperate lack of self-confidence, but a funny and twisted video for a song track that will have sweaty basements piling on top of each other as they grab for the mic.

Characterized by severe reclusion and distress, BLISS wears its theatrics on its sleeve. Opening track, “Weirdo,” sees Gordon justifying his lack of reaching out: “No one thinks the way that you do / No one else has thoughts so sad / And it makes you a fucking weirdo / To talk about yourself like that.” Harrison Gordon is no stranger to commenting on twisted social norms, especially the lack of a shoulder to cry on when attempting to confess your insecurities. It’s a harrowing truth that is hard to swallow; no one really cares about what you’re going through because everyone else is a little worse off. Additional suck-it-ups can be found on “Not Working! Not Working!” where Gordon’s disdain for the feckless, middle manager office drone shines through.

Production-wise, BLISS evolves the gritty, raw imperfection found throughout the rest of the band's catalog. The downtuned, chunky bass hits listeners like a pit in your stomach after being delivered bad news. Such gut punches can be heard on “Pretty,” which sees the band leaning heavily into their influences. Hefty traces of PUP, Prince Daddy & The Hyena, and Jeff Rosenstock are chewed on from start to finish of the LP. 

Photo by Chris Malchow 

Gordon has a knack for ungrandiose and relatable lyrics that hit just as hard as any traditionally ornate poet. Take, for instance, “Discard the garbage that you didn’t want / Pick at your old friends like scabs / Don’t have to treat me like royalty / But you don’t have to treat me like that” from the aptly titled “Scab,” which details the messy aftermath of a fractured friendship. A couple of songs later, the blisteringly fast “Middle Name” flies by listeners before they have the opportunity to digest: “I’ve known you way too long / To ask you ‘bout your middle name or how / You always notice when I cry / Even if I haven’t cried in days.” Gordon pens lyrics like street photography: mundane but immensely meaningful when pondered. 

If, in the five stages of grief, Yuppies served to represent depression, then BLISS surely depicts acceptance. Harrison Gordon’s first LP is littered with self-deprecating lyrics, fast guitars, and college regrets. Now, three years later, BLISS has all the same features; just drop-tuned some, crafted a bit more tightly, and with a narrator even more aware of his ineptitudes. The sophomore release also features Harrison Gordon as a full-band effort, whereas the first was essentially crafted as a solo venture, with Gordon tracking everything on his own. 

It’s on the crowd-surf-ready closing title track, “Bliss,” where Gordon delivers the following lines like repeated jabs to the face: 

I’ve learned happiness is something
You just have to strive for
Seems like such a chore
Bliss is good as I can get
Shallow as paper cuts
And hollowed out like bedsores
I want something more
But I don’t wanna chase it   

As seen above, Harrison Gordon’s honest-to-the-point-of-hurting perspective truly is what separates this band from their scene counterparts. This group consistently finds ways to inject their own style into rote emo conventions, creating a refreshing take on the genre’s sound. As Harrison Gordon put it himself: “Not slow enough for shoegaze. Not mathy enough for Midwest emo. Not fast enough for hardcore. Not catchy enough for pop-punk. And not smart enough for indie rock. Just 100% Gordon.” BLISS is the band absolutely crushing the infamous second-LP glass ceiling; they didn't simply copy and paste the formula that found them success with Yuppies; they clearly mulled over these 11 new tracks and delivered album-of-the-year-esque material. 

Maintaining a perpetual state of bliss sincerely eases the blow of the proximity of death. This is likely why Gordon so irreverently admitted that the band very nearly met their demise on the road. BLISS, as described by Harrison Gordon, is largely about the uncomplicated gratification of “pissing your life away” and the trepidation that comes with actually trying to get your shit together in a world that is consistently working against you. Gordon builds off of this sentiment: “I took stock of my life and realized it was passing me by.” The world as it stands is intended to beat the shit out of us until we’re too tired, anxious, and complacent to do anything about it. What BLISS appropriately conveys is that we’re not alone in destructively masking our modern anxieties. The question then becomes: what are you going to do about it?

Brandon Cortez is a coffee, football, and music nerd from Texas. He’s on Twitter @numetalrev.

Squirrel Flower – Say a Prayer to the Gods of Getting Going | Album Review

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Polyvinyl Record Co.

There’s an easy-to-understand romanticism when it comes to living a nomadic lifestyle. In its purest, most idealized form, your life has no rules; you simply make up your day as it goes along. The thought of being able to get up and go on a whim is one that many people dream of but can’t ever live. It’s a glamorous fantasy to imagine that one day you could be at a swanky bar in Los Angeles, then, on a whim, drive to the flat Midwest plains of Kansas. Maybe you’re struck with a sudden urge to venture north and visit the lush vegetation of the Pacific Northwest or head south to chase the warm weather. There are certain people who thrive with this sort of freedom, people who seem recharged, not drained, by that feeling of constant motion. Ella Williams is one of those people. 

The more I listen to the music of Ella Williams, better known by her stage name Squirrel Flower, the more I believe that this world is made for her. While her body may be based in Chicago when she’s at rest, her mind and soul will always be on the open road. Spiritually, Williams reminds me of Frances McDormand’s character in the Academy Award-winning film Nomadland. The music that Williams creates is a striking blend of raw, naturalistic, and ultra-relatable emotions. These revelations are channeled through her powerful voice and backed by reverb-drenched guitar in her early work, but scaled up to loud, cacophonous fury on more recent outings. 

The last project we left off with Squirrel Flower was in 2023 with Tomorrow’s Fire. That record was a seminal highlight for Williams that offered the best music of her career thus far. Songs like “Full Time Job,” “Stick,” and “Canyon” had the capacity to be thunderous and devastating, but possessed a quiet, centering storm within them. To back her up, Williams assembled an all-star team of indie musicians, including MJ Lenderman and members of Bon Iver and the War On Drugs, all putting in full-time shifts. Above this instrumental landscape, Williams’ ironclad voice brought an intensity to the songs that were her loudest to date. The results came back positive, resulting not just in one of the best indie records, but one of the best albums of that year. 

On her fourth studio LP, Say a Prayer to the Gods of Getting Going, Williams continues to reflect the world as she sees it by amplifying what she does best. The loud moments are almost deafening while the quiet parts grasp for humanity in silence. All the while, Williams is a sturdy and reliable presence acting as the calm in the eye of the storm. 

There’s something to be said about how a change of scenery can influence your writing. A song written in the shadow of a towering New Mexico rock formation should sound different than one written while sitting beside a babbling brook in the middle of nowhere. Given how many times Williams has toured the country, both solo and with her rotating cast of road dog musicians, the influence of her accumulated miles is evident. Throughout this record, Williams sings about the physical landscapes of states like Indiana and California, but also the elements within them like the scorching-hot desert sun, foot-thick ice, and gusts of wind found on mountaintops. The opening title track sets the scene as an ear-splitting slow burner where the gods of “getting going” and “standing still” are held with equal reverence, because, sure, it’s great to be out there moving through the world, but if you don’t stop to take it all in, then what’s the point? 

The folk-inspired lead single, “Reelin,” is situated appropriately halfway through the album with shimmering acoustic guitar strokes that feel like a summer drive through the heartland. It’s a song about addiction to life on the road, contrasting flashes of normalcy in Williams’ life (“Drink my coffee / Do my chores / Trash on Sunday”) with the yearning to pack up a suitcase and leave on a whim as she sings “Oh mama I didn’t miss him / But he’s reelin’ me back again.” One song earlier, the subdued “Highway Woman” presents the restless heart of the album with Williams telling the story of a woman packing nothing but her guitar and a knife as she hits the road.  

One of the best songs on Say A Prayer to the Gods of Getting Going is “Cleveland,” where the distorted guitars hit like a freight train and have more muscles than Jean-Claude Van Damme. This track is a love letter to an overlooked city with Midwestern roots that finds itself on the outskirts of the East. It’s a city without a true home, which makes it hard to romanticize, yet the lyrics manage to find an underdog charm to it. Williams’ voice soars sky-high as she sings about liking a boy who doesn’t want to move, qualifying, “He’s cute, but he doesn’t like Cleveland.” She easily could have been singing about former Chicago Bulls center Joakim Noah, who famously said: “I never heard anybody say ‘I’m going to Cleveland on vacation.” In the end, “a few degrees of separation” provide some clarity to the other party’s lack of adventurousness and desire to take this leap, so Williams decides to hit the road solo, singing, “Guess I’ll go east on my own.” 

One of the heaviest songs on the album, “Foot Thick Ice,” feels like being caught in the middle of a Pacific Northwest rainstorm, starting gradually before building up to a torrential body-soaking downpour. The heavy feedback and guitar fuzz combine to create a sludgy tone that is beautiful as it is grimey. The soft-hard-soft guitar patterns feel like a modern approximation of the style popularized by countless PNW bands in the nineties. Immediately following, “Sick Tooth” has a little New York attitude, with Williams embracing a cool, nonchalant way of singing that Kim Gordon perfected in her heyday. Here, Williams puts her own spin on the old adage of “wherever you go there you are” by addressing the fact that new environments might seem like a solution or an escape, but often just end up presenting new problems of their own. It’s a rapid-fire rager with the shortest runtime on the album, coming in at only a minute and forty seconds. The song knows its exact assignment comes in, raises hell, and leaves. 

After the solitary sting of “Fought a Hornet,” Squirrel Flower hop back out to the West Coast for “Surfing USA,” which not only evokes The Beach Boys, but feels like a ride down the California coastline. On this track, Williams showcases her graceful vocal harmonies as she alludes to heartbreak while trying to ride off into the sunset on her bike. The shimmering guitar licks are just the cherry on top of the sundae for such a beautiful song. 

Say A Prayer to the Gods of Getting Going is as spacious as the plains of the Midwest and as textured as the rock spires of South Dakota. Each song feels like a portrait of Williams, her travels, and truths found out on the road. The record plays out like a sonic scrapbook, presenting these lessons with the understanding that the experiences aren’t universal, but the path that connects them is. Through these glimpses into her own life, Williams inspires the listener to find their own driving force, their own incantation, their own prayer to the gods of getting going. There’s an endless network of roads with the possibility to deliver you to new experiences, relationships, and emotions, and that all starts as soon as you step out your front door. Get going. Stand still. Open yourself up to something new. Even if it’s just a half step away from your normal routine, you might be surprised what’s waiting for you. 

David is a content mercenary based in Chicago. He’s also a freelance writer specializing in music, movies, and culture. His hidden talents are his mid-range jump shot and the ability to always be able to tell when someone is uncomfortable at a party. You can find him scrolling away on Instagram @davidmwill89, Twitter @Cobretti24, or Medium @davidmwms.

Wild Pink – Still Coming Down | Album Review

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Fire Talk

I've been thinking, maybe too much, about the many ways you can interpret the title of Wild Pink's new album Still Coming Down. I imagine my mom on the phone with a faraway friend, looking out the kitchen window, neck crooked, telling her friend, “Yeah, it’s still coming down.” I think about myself nervously texting a friend, asking if they’re planning on still coming down for a visit. I see a stranger at a bar ordering another beer, saying they’re still coming down from a bad day at work. It’s a title that demands characters and scenes, and throughout these nine songs, John Ross delivers. 

Still Coming Down is Wild Pink’s sixth LP and their first since 2024’s barnstormer Dulling the Horns. Back when that album was released, Aly Eleanor aptly described it as “rougher and rowdier than the band has ever sounded before,” and it absolutely was. Saxophone chaos and lyrics wound so tight around a steel pedal that one misstep could have veered into cacophony. Wild Pink’s previous four albums all varied between soft heartland rock and an emo twinge, but Dulling the Horns offered a foray into that sweet alternative country sound and stuck the landing. Twangier. Looser. Still Coming Down is still rough and still rowdy, but this roughness and rowdiness have been transferred away from the sound and into the stories that Ross creates within each song; imagining different people — a pleased shopper, a bank robber, someone pumping gas — living in the landscape of Wild Pink’s sound.

The album begins with “Box Store,” a track that sounds like a monologue Jason Lee’s character in Mallrats would give while walking the aisles of different stores — lyrics about a strip mall, a beloved air conditioner, and how underrated William Fichtner’s acting is. Instrumentally, the song also serves to establish the robust sound of the album, confident and solidified compared to the crunchier, still-experimental elements of Dulling the Horns. Ross has always had a fullness to his music, but with longtime bandmate Dan Keegan smashing through this record on drums and both Meg Duffy (Hand Habits) and MJ Lenderman (+ his collaborators in The Wind, Landon George and Xandy Chelmis), this is simply the loudest Wild Pink has ever been. This approach of burying complex feelings about life between opinions on Mark Wahlberg’s acting career and a cruisin’ guitar make “Box Store” a total dudes rock song, maybe the first in years that makes me think dudes rock is worth saving. 

One song later, the Remembering-Some-Guys of “Box Store” is turned on its head in “Round of Applause for the End of the World,” where Ross uses the Kennedy assassinations and the surrounding conspiracies to build up to the realization “I don’t know / What my idea of fun is anymore.” The character that Ross is singing from the perspective of in this song is interested in the shooters themselves, not Lee Harvey Oswald but his assassin Jack Ruby and Robert F. Kennedy’s killer Sirhan Sirhan, particularly the space they occupy between innocence and guilt. The guitars on the track are just as conversational as the conspiratorial lyrics, beginning an unending sound as if lost in thought alongside Ross. Next comes the album’s title track, almost slinking behind the lingering notes of the song before, its guitars washed in relentless feedback and buzz, attempting to swallow itself Ouroboros-style. Here, Ross uses the phrase “still coming down” to describe a cleansing storm raining thunderous love — a heartening notion that there’s still room for salvation in all of his observations. 

I normally wouldn’t compare Wild Pink to the Drive-By Truckers, maybe something closer to the looseness of Son Volt or the wild guitars of Drivin’ n’ Cryin — but not all twangy rock music sounds the same, Jesus. That said, there is something distinctly Mike Cooley about the first whine of Ross’ guitar in “Plates Keep Spinning”; it’s that laid-back, dry shred I’ve become accustomed to hearing right before someone starts singing about a life-altering party foul on a sticky night. “Plates Keep Spinning” isn’t far off from that; Ross compares heaven and hell to the threat of a second location being discussed at a fading party. Much like the title of the album itself, Ross’ notion about keeping the plates spinning points to this feeling of endlessness. 

The album slows down around “Simple,” a kind of modern-day bank robber epic. Over a cascading pedal steel, Ross pictures a well-insured, cheeky robber just in it for the thrill. On “500 Is The New 250,” the character observed in the story is less friendly: a man under a foreboding sky pumping gas with a “fuck you, Yankee bitch” tattoo. This proximity to hatred, just one gas pump over, fills the already dense song with dread. 

Still Coming Down ends on a rocker, “Relaxing, Special Interests,” with gentle lyrics about rewatching something you love. These softer lyrics don’t match the track's initial, harsher rhythm, yet as Ross sings about this comfortable familiarity, the song steadies too, becoming the loudest lullaby in the world. 

In the album’s final moments, Ross opts to end things with an optimistic perspective on hypothermia and the human body, singing, “Your brain is very kind / To make you think you’re warm inside / When you’re so cold / You’re dying.” It’s here where Ross answers what still coming down means to him. Despite relentless pain or sorrow or frustration, the notion that something or someone is “still coming down” implies that you believe it will eventually stop or won’t happen. It can be about rain in a desert or a tough day, but there’s a reliable sense of brevity and relief. It’s a hopeful outlook buried deep throughout an album contemplating private embarrassments or a longing to be someone else. It’ll change soon.

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

Crush Fund – GO | Album Review

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Lonely Ghost Records

The stories that can be told about trans women have undergone a dramatic shift in the past decade. A landscape that was once dominated by tales of coming out has since given way to stories of drama, friendship, and love… but especially drama. Cat Fitzpatrick’s The Callout and Emily Zhou’s Girlfriends are two books capturing the complexity of relationships in communities filled with people discovering themselves. The former is a novel in verse detailing a messy web of love, lust, and hate between six trans women in the city. The latter is a collection of short stories about Gen Z women living in New York and the everyday interpersonal drama that defines being a mid-twenties woman; roommates who won’t do the dishes, messy one-off encounters at parties, and awkward trips home. Contrast this with the book that helped popularize modern trans literature in the early 2010s: Imogen Binnie’s Nevada, a story about a trans woman who lives in New York and has limited encounters with other trans women. The novel follows her destructive behavior and simple attempts to survive while staying true to her punk roots. 

Since 2022, Crush Fund has explored this same delicious doll drama across their short but hard-hitting discography. The group’s most popular track, “Drama,” is like listening to your messiest friend gossip over lunch – easy to see how cramming that feeling into a two-minute punk track is nothing short of addictive. Members Nora Knox, Wendy Kya, Sean Kovacs, and July Brown also have a knack for putting on some of the most cathartic live shows I’ve ever seen, encouraging every crowd to exorcise their emotions, whether that’s frustration with a fling, anger at an ex lover, resentment toward your unaccepting parents, or just feeling fed up with how fucking hard it is to be trans. The band’s first full-length, GO, certainly does not abandon their obsession with drama, though as the album unfolds, Crush Fund are able to tap into some raw and honest rage, displaying their capacity to tackle all of the harsh realities of being a trans woman in 2026. 

Photo by @Ashtray_angels

Opening track “GO” sets the stage expertly, making it clear this record is not quite the same fare that Crush Fund has previously delivered. The band evokes the usual touchstone of online drama as Wendy Kya sneers, “one of us is showing symptoms of the internet,” but as the track opens up, all members join in on some stellar gang vocals insisting “you're gonna have to go.” It closes with a memory of childhood and alludes to what lies ahead for the trans youth, a declaration that “this is one of the last times home will feel like home.” It becomes apparent this is the beginning for a trans woman who is fleeing an unaccepting home to head for New York, as painful and difficult as that may be.  

Following the opener is a selection of three tracks which most closely align with the Crush Fund we’ve known so far – salacious and drama-obsessed. A highlight is the track “OPEN SECRET,” which dials up the paranoia and petty drama to eleven. The joyfully saccharine whistles at the beginning bring Crush Fund together as DIY’s most sardonic cheerleaders. The synth takes center stage, providing the most danceable melody on the LP as the track lays bare the frustrations with rumors and drama in online trans spaces. Yet it's clear that Crush Fund feel a gravitational pull toward messy drama, maybe even a reverence, as infuriating as it may be. Each of these tracks provides the perfect push pit soundtrack; they’re simply too fun to believe these girls truly hate the drama they sing about. 

Shifting their focus to more traditional emo fare, Crush Fund penned two excellent songs about heartbreak, “ILY IHY” and “BURN IT ALL.” “ILY IHY” is a standout, with a bouncy, anthemic guitar melody and a chorus designed for the heartbroken fan: “I love you, I hate you, I miss you, no fuck you.” This track also previews what is to come later on this record, as Kya puts her capacity for absolutely crushing vocals on display, layered over a breakdown that makes this reviewer want to crowdkill someone. 

Continuing to show their range, the sullen (and intentionally lowercase) “the dream” marks a tone shift. The gang vocals disappear. The instrumentation is stripped down to a lonely acoustic guitar. The lyrics are deeply haunting: “the public parks are being watched by quiet men with guns.” The song closes, warning the listener, “if you wait too long, your body will forget the dream it had.” And suddenly the dream is over, as immediately following this is a three-song run of hardcore tracks, delivering intense tonal whiplash as the album drives into the tragic core of trans existence.

There is no subtlety here. “SHOOTING II” begins with heavy feedback and a rising growl as Kya roars “I will never feel safe in public again!” Immediately the song transitions to “FFS” and its slow, tension-filled drum beat, the kind that signals to any hardcore kid that it’s time to absolutely fuck shit up. Suddenly, the lines “Forever for our sisters, forever for our hearts, forever for the ones we loved and the ones we lost” break through, screamed with such intensity that you hope Kya was able to recover her voice after. The track then opens wide, the guitars crashing down, imploring the listener to start dancing in their room. “SHOOTING I” explicitly names what has wrought so much pain and horror on the members of Crush Fund, referencing the 2022 shooting at the Colorado Springs queer club, Club Q, in which five people were killed, and 25 were injured. 

It is here that Crush Fund diverges from the drama-obsessed stories of the modern trans woman. They (correctly) recognize that the role of a trans punk band is to get loud and get angry about the endless hate that trans people endure. This year alone, at least 36 trans people that we know of have lost their lives in the United States, either as a result of murder or taking their own lives. 

Bringing the listener down from the intensity of those three tracks is the album closer, “bloody nose.” A friend of mine talks about how being trans is a series of small humiliations. Crush Fund understands this, with the refrain of “every bloody nose you get is unique.” Trans people are always being hurt. It is being misgendered at the store, it is being forced to use a deadname, it is being stared at in public. And despite this, you will always find trans people “sucking clotted blood out between [their] teeth.” Through every bloody nose and every injustice, trans people must find a way to dust themselves off and soldier onwards. 

Photo by @Ashtray_angels

GO provides the soundtrack for the modern trans woman navigating life. The woman who feels enveloped in beef, obsessing over Twitter posts and who said what about who. The woman who has her heart torn out by a messy t4t relationship. The woman who has to be suddenly and brutally reminded that she is a member of a highly oppressed group of people who are targeted on the regular simply for existing. Crush Fund deftly moves between all of these emotions. They give trans women a space to mosh, to get out all of their pent-up frustration toward a world that simply wants to see them fail. I have never seen such an overwhelming display of energy, both joyful and wrathful, than seeing them play at Liberation Weekend earlier this year.

After fighting through all of the trials and tribulations that trans people must deal with, gritting their teeth through the pain, the album closes on what is perhaps the greatest tragedy for many trans people. Relating back to the opening track “GO,” Knox sings “I cracked, and I called home to no answer.” When dealing with the everyday horrors we face, we can’t return home to safety. There is only the ability to go forward. 

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 thisdogllhunt.