Pro Wrestling The Band – Weanling | EP Review

Thick Freakness

Coming down the aisle, hailing from London, Ontario, is Pro Wrestling The Band. Like any wrestling superstar, the group has a flair for the dramatic; they know how to play to the back of the room with over-the-top rock that’s fast, loud, and pumped-up. The four-man stable is led by frontman Danny Kidd, whose voice is so deadly that it can wrestle any crowd into submission. Behind him, you have Nitro Nathan Stock, known for his explosive drumming behind the sticks. Of course, we can’t forget the intercontinental champion of the bass, Bobby “Don’t Call Me” Calwell, and the most electrifying man in all of indie rock, Craig Gignac, giving the people what they want with magnetic guitar solos. In the words of WWE Hall of Fame wrestling announcer Jim Ross, “Bah Gawd, that’s Pro Wrestling the Band music.” 

The group’s new EP, Weanling, is a continuation of their jaw-droppingly fun Falling In Love With Pro Wrestling The Band, which bound together their first two EPs into one full-length. While Falling In Love With has some power pop tucked in, it’s impressively diverse, with a lot of punk influence, especially in the vocals, plus some twangy elements throughout for good measure. Weanling finds the four-piece fully leaning into their power pop ethos with contagious choruses and guitar chords struck to the max, all executed with sharp-shooter precision.

Opening track “Irish Goodbyes” is one of those songs that would melt the summer radio airwaves in the mid-90s. The track has everything people would want, laced with revving high-energy guitars, thudding drums, and an infectious stadium-level chorus. Kidd’s vocals on the chorus fly above the guitars like a Macho Man Randy Savage elbow drop. When he sings at the top of his lungs, “Was looking for something painless / But Irish goodbyes got so weighted / Left me breathless,” it’s one of those moments that feels mega.

I could have seen “Tarps” on the soundtrack for the Brendan Fraser-starring rom-com Blast from the Past, nestled right in between R.E.M.’s classic “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” and Squirrel Nut Zippers’ “Trou Macacq.” The chorus is sentimental, yet also feels like it was meant to be yelled from a rooftop. Pro Wrestling The Band is firing on all cylinders with these two lead singles, proving that their ear for pop-centric hooks is up there with the best of them going today.

This EP is only five songs, but the music flies free and fast at a suitably explosive breakneck speed. “Replacements” has the shortest runtime, but it’s just pure muscular intensity between the drums and guitars from the word go. There’s a real swagger with Kidd’s vocals on “Space,” giving the kind of flair and edginess that reminds me of Liam Gallagher in his heyday. Really enjoyable to hear that level of confidence being brought out in a song. I need more of that. 

At the tail end of the release, “Don’t Mind Me” kicks off with a triumphant classic rock guitar solo which soon gives way to soaring vocals that are nothing short of world-conquering. With a slower tempo that feels like last call at the bar, “Don’t Mind Me” feels like the bright, blaring lights were just turned on and it’s time for everyone to find their jackets and stumble on home.

Weanling is the best 1996 album made in 2026. The boys from up north seem to go about their music in an old-school wrestling kind of way, with vivid storytelling, technical proficiency, and respect for the artists who came before them. While the songs themselves aren’t strictly wrestling-themed, the four-man stable has a knack for memorable, anthem-level choruses that would fit pouring out of stadium speakers. Pro Wrestling the Band’s songs are filled with steel chair shots to the head, full of guitar solos, flying off the top rope power pop, and crowd-pleasing choruses that can beat any opponent for the 1, 2, 3 count. 

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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.

In Memoriam: Bo Lueders of Harm’s Way

Photo by Mikey McInnis

Growing up going to metal and hardcore shows in Chicago, it almost felt like a requirement to get into Harm’s Way. This wasn’t hard to do; the band are masters of their craft and what I refer to as a “perfect heavy band,” not pigeonholed into any one specific subgenre, but well-versed in all of them. They aren’t just a metal band, or a hardcore band, or a punk band, or an industrial band; they’re all of those and more. Their distinct sound has been established by a rotating cast of members since 2006, but at its core are monster vocalist James “Hammers” Pligge, powerhouse drummer Chris Mills, and thunderous guitarist Bo Lueders, who tragically passed away last Thursday morning.

I did not know Bo personally, but there’s a weird weight to eulogizing someone who is so close to your circle. He was a friend, coworker, and collaborator with many of my friends, coworkers, and collaborators. Not only is Harm’s Way tied for the band I’ve seen the most times in my life, but I would often see Bo attending and moshing at many metal and hardcore shows around Chicago, including Life Of Agony, Obituary, and a handful of times at Riot Fest. He was one of our local celebrities, always repping for Chicago and Chicago bands, which strengthened my connection to him and his music. Bo was Chicago, Bo was hardcore, and most importantly, Bo was Chicago Hardcore.

Despite having mutual connections and similar musical interests, I always felt intimidated to strike up a conversation whenever I’d pass by him. I never wanted to feel like I was bothering him; I just continued to admire his presence from a short distance away. With his podcast, HardLore: Stories From Tour, co-hosted by Colin Young from Twitching Tongues, God’s Hate, and several other metal and hardcore bands, myself and hundreds of thousands of other fans got to learn a ton about Bo and his personal HardLore, and looked up to both him and Colin as trusted voices in our scene. When you hear or see someone on your devices on a weekly basis, it’s easy to feel like you’re close to them in some way, and I think I didn’t want him to feel like I was immediately cool with him just because we knew similar people or because I listened to his band and his podcast. But he always seemed charismatic, bright, and approachable, on and off stage, and on and off screen.

If you are even remotely tapped into alternative or heavy music discourse, you likely saw at least a portion of the immense outpouring of fandom, love, and support for Bo Lueders and Harm’s Way from regular fans and professional musicians alike. Icons like Claudio Sanchez of Coheed And Cambria, Jamey Jasta of Hatebreed, and Freddy “Madball” Cricien, all former guests of HardLore episodes, shared their condolences. Cricien’s was particularly stinging, as part two of his HardLore interview was published just hours before the news broke of Bo’s passing. And of course, Colin Young’s message to his friend, co-host, and brother in hardcore, is as beautiful, sorrowful, poignant, and heartfelt as a tribute can get.

The collected works of HardLore and Bo Lueders’ discography in Harm’s Way, Few And The Proud, Double Crossed, Convicted, Wolfnote, and XweaponX are all worth diving into for the uninitiated. My personal favorite HardLore episode is with Dan Seely of King Nine, and Harm’s Way’s latest album Common Suffering is a note-perfect reflection of everything the band is capable of. I am a proud fan of everything Bo was able to accomplish in his time, and he left a mark on Chicago that will never be forgotten. Rest in peace.

If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health, please use the following resources:
Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Call or text 988
Crisis Text Line: Text “HOME” to 741-741
National Alliance On Mental Health Helpline: 1-800-950-6264

Donate to Support for Bo's Memorial Service

Tigers Jaw – Lost on You | Album Review

Hopeless Records

Time is such an endless and abstract concept. It’s understandable why, from an early age, time is typically explained to us in the simplest terms: that it exists linearly. “The past is the past” is an adage most of us have heard at one point or another throughout our lives; however, not everyone prescribes to this idea, positing that time exists cyclically. The past, present, and future versions of ourselves exist at the same time, eternally replaying on our respective timelines. As unconventional as it is, it’s tempting to entertain this theory when many of us are feeling more reflective and sentimental than ever in the face of a world that continues to implode on itself with each passing day. 

Whether one views time as linear or otherwise, it feels inherently human to track its passage through our relationships with others. It’s easier to accept a past self as the superior version, even more refined when attached to someone else, but it’s always an illusion. If we measure ourselves only by bits and pieces of memory, we can become locked in stasis, never reaching our full potential. True evolution of the self lies in accepting where each entity lies in our timeline, rather than allowing one version to consume ourselves and our futures alike. 

In Lost on You, the latest album by Pennsylvania Indie quintet Tigers Jaw, the band explores this idea of our various selves existing alongside one another through their tried-and-true brand of melodic and multi-layered rock ballads. It’s been a trying and turbulent five-year-long interim since their last record, and, in a post-covid world, that half-decade has felt like an eternity. I Won’t Care How You Remember Me landed at such a different time in all of our lives; it’s hard not to feel like a completely different person. Having that time to marinate and sit with the band’s last album only makes Lost on You that much more gratifying. They’ve matured and been hardened by the years – and so have their listeners. Tigers Jaw elegantly navigates this parallel growth with their audience, leaning into what feels most natural without feeling overly harvested. 

Sticking to what works creatively isn’t inherently bad, but certain bands suffer when they rely too heavily on what feels comfortable. It’s been particularly exhausting in recent years to wade through albums that mostly iterate on previous releases without any sense of risk. There’s seemingly an overabundance of confidence in what works and not enough confidence in being adventurous. Lost on You only reinforces that I wouldn’t want Tigers Jaw to tweak their creative method in a million years, because they seem incapable of losing that balance. 

Throughout their seventh studio album, the band expands on their load-bearing qualities – gentle, swinging rhythms meeting harsh guitar tones, ornamental keyboard work, dynamic sequencing, rich instrumental color – approaching it all with a fresh touch. When you have as symbiotic a setup as Tigers Jaw, especially the vocal back-and-forth of Ben Walsh and Brianna Collins, why tinker with that kind of sonic chemistry? Being a massive Menzingers fan for years as well, it’s hard not to draw the comparison to lead vocalists Greg Barnett and Tom May’s reciprocity, their own chemistry similarly evident in each of their releases. Whether Ben and Brianna are switching lead vocals for entire songs or imperceptibly shifting between lead and backing vocals on tracks like “Primary Colors” or “Staring at Empty Faces,” their mutual confidence in one another is as palpable as ever. 

Every element of Tigers Jaw is performing at their absolute best on this album, fluently exploring new ways to do what they’ve been doing for years. Teddy Roberts’ drumming and Colin Gorman’s basswork anchor every track tightly, with Mark Lebiecki’s guitar tones and solo lines giving form and shape to standout tracks like “Lost on You.” The old upright piano textures of “It’s ok” are enchanting in a way that’s unmistakably Brianna – sensibilities that can only come as a product of being with a band that she has known since her teen years. Lost on You delivers a novel experience while still laying down quintessential Tigers Jaw bangers like “Baptized on a Redwood Drive,” which exude the classic elements that make this project so special. 

The band’s consistent writing style and unique way of weaving their lyrics together have never felt more potent. It may seem trite to view a Tigers Jaw album as a collection of poems when that describes most albums, but this description feels especially apt for Lost on You. Each song acts as a small vignette of time, place, and feeling, cleverly wrapped in abstract metaphors that harken to a time when the only tool one had to pick apart an album was their own thoughts and best guesses about the musician’s intentions. 

As someone who is constantly thinking about previous relationships as they relate to the past, present, and future, Lost on You hits like a ton of bricks. Tigers Jaw’s particular composition style only complements the ways in which time and our own idiosyncrasies can distort our approach to relationships. “Roses + Thorns” feels deceptively melancholic despite the “love song” essence in its lyricism, while “Light Leaks Through” unabashedly eviscerates with the lines “It hurts to be alive and not beside you / The version of the person that you miss does not exist / I’m learning everything I was refusing to admit.” When it comes to the people or the relationships we’ve lost, we hang on to idealized concepts because those scraps are all we have. They’re frozen in time as our own subjective versions, but that isn’t real life. The key to moving on is letting go of those apparitions.

The final track, “Lost on You,” returns to the beginning of the album with a single progression shift that feels so rewarding, both as a thematic and compositional device. Repeating the lines “I am blood in the gums of a sensitive mouth / I am looking for peace in a world full of doubt” established in the opening track, “It’s ok,” articulates this idea of time being recursive and allowing your past to come back and haunt you. Lost on You seamlessly evolves from start to finish, and it almost feels a disservice to ever digest it piecemeal. The album features so much diversity in its melodies and concepts, yet forms a cohesive experience thanks to the band’s ability to ensnare the listener and lead them anywhere. 

Consistency doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing, and Lost on You is proof of that. There is a heartwrenching, pensive message to this album, achieved by a gravitas so uniquely Tigers Jaw. Perennial art helps us to navigate challenging ideas wrapped in illusion and abstract concepts, hiding their meaning in plain sight. It can help tap into past versions of oneself, enrich our current self, and challenge us to be a better version of ourselves tomorrow. Tigers Jaw has delivered on all fronts in Lost on You, and it’s evident that they are in tune with all of the best versions of themselves, too. 

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Ciara Rhiannon (she/her) is a pathological music lover writing out of a nebulous location somewhere in the Pacific Northwest within close proximity of her two cats. She consistently appears on most socials as @rhiannon_comma, and you can read more of her musical musings over at rhiannoncomma.substack.com.

Dry Socket – Self Defense Techniques | Album Review

Get Better Records

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Footballhead – Weight of the Truth | Album Review

Tiny Engines

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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