Thanks! I Hate It – Scatterbrain | Album Review

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Take This To Heart Records

I haven’t been doing well. Frankly, I don’t think any of us have been. Burnout nips at my heels like a dog. I meet my own bleary gaze in the mirror each morning, blinking until the light hurts my eyes a little less. I follow the same routine, finding some small comfort in its familiarity: mediocre coffee scooped into my French press, damp hair in a towel, concealer and blush pressed into my sheet-marked skin. I pick an album to soundtrack my commute, hesitating between an old favorite and something new. I decide to try the new album. And so goes the day: a series of choices, ever the same, varied only slightly by my responses to them. 

Scatterbrain, the sophomore album from Central California rockers Thanks! I Hate It, speaks directly to the burnout and dissolution we’ve all been wrestling with. Poignant lyrics sung by vocalist Sam Hogan are braided with glittering hooks and immaculate fills, melding the band’s fifth-wave emo sound with sharp insight on navigating millennial adulthood. For the most part, Scatterbrain iterates on the band’s excellent (and under the radar) 2023 LP Lover’s Lane. Throughout the record, guitarists Ryan Jansky and William Loomis ignite the songs with prickly Midwest fireworks while bassist Joel Chandler and drummer Ryan Loomis pack catharsis into every moment of the instrumentals. Their discography is filled with tongue-in-cheek song titles like “Meatwood Flack” and “Disney Bland.” In true emo tradition, they’re goofy and lighthearted names that offer no hint of the emotionally weighty lyrics beneath.  

This theme is continued on Scatterbrain: the opening track is titled “LeatherFACGCE,” a clever mash-up of the fabled Texas Chainsaw Massacre killer and an emo-favorite alternate guitar tuning. An immediately catchy drum groove and tightly winding guitar riff draw the listener in as Sam sings, “Water doesn’t heal everything / But today we can forget about the past / Iced tea and lemonade / You hate it when I try to dig around in your head.” The track speaks of a relationship that the speaker refuses to give up on, even though they acknowledge it’s getting more difficult to do so: it feels one-sided, with Sam singing that, “I’m doing overtime to let you know what’s on my mind / but oxygen gets harder to find.” 

The captivating hooks and energetic, yet honest, lyricism continue onto “Sunrise Over Mt. Doom,” which is one of my favorite tracks on the album. I love Lord of the Rings (Aragorn fans, rise up), and on first listen, the title of the song immediately got my attention. Over classic pop-punk chord progressions and melodic earworms, Sam admits that they’ve been whiling the days away unproductively. However, this honest confession is tinged with hope, looking ahead to a brighter future despite the current bleakness.

I spend my time on the wrong things
Mostly unemployed
I wait to see what tomorrow brings
Oh what else can I avoid?
And I know I know
It’s not gonna last forever
And I know I know
It gets better.

In The Lord of the Rings, Mount Doom is the volcano in Mordor where the One Ring was forged. The parallel of the song title is clear: Mt. Doom is a dark and hopeless place, full of foreboding, but a sunrise shining above it is a symbol of hope. Samwise says to Frodo in The Two Towers: “But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it'll shine out the clearer.” And so both Sams are right: it will get better from here.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned how intertwined boundaries are with peace. I am a (mostly) recovered people pleaser, but getting used to putting my health and time first has been a journey. I still have to mentally work myself up to saying no to someone, even when I know I’m burned out. On lead single “Butterfly Tattoo Effect,” T!IHI tackle this subject, commenting that “I don’t want to waste time / I don’t want to ruin my life.” Saying yes to everything and everyone is more destructive than anything – if all your time is spoken for by others, your life isn’t really your own anymore, it’s theirs. Sam sings that “I never felt the future / Mattered till I got a chance to make it myself / So I say / Oh well / For once, I learned how to say no.” As I traverse my third decade of living and make my future, I’ve finally learned to say no too. 

Sometimes, though, setting those boundaries leads to resentment from people who liked you only because you said yes to them. The album’s closing track, “Tonight’s the Night You Fight Your Dad,” is an honest examination of such a relationship: Sam admits that, “I think you like me better when I’m being a sponge.” Standing up for yourself to a family member or friend is never easy. It’s a relief to passively take criticism or arguments instead of pushing back. Honesty can feel like you’re a salmon battling upstream, facing a waterfall that threatens to crush you. But living itself is a relentless experience, and peace exists only because it is the opposite of conflict. Facing these difficult conversations can be done graciously, and loving people with whom you disagree is a part of life. Sam notes, “I still like being around you / I don’t let it bother me too much / I’m careful in the way that I’m receiving your love.” Sometimes, self-preservation can look like holding the ones you love at arm’s length.

Later on Scatterbrain, the energy briefly mellows on “Detractor Supply.” A soft and thoughtful opening leads into a satisfyingly dense atmosphere, building the end into a sudden explosion of circle pit energy – the band fakes a quiet ending, then blasts into a joyous chorus of gang vocals and furiously precise drumming from Ryan Loomis. “Break it up and break it down / We’re gonna turn this life around / There’s no more wishing, no more wanting / No more patience, no more longing.” It’s a powerful and emotive moment: my skin pricks with goosebumps and I yell along to the lyrics with all the air in my lungs. T!IHI prove they can move the listener with more than just poetry. From razor-sharp tempo changes to tawny harmonies, the band communicates emotional highs and lows throughout the entire album. Not only is it gorgeous, it’s damn impressive, too. 

It’s supposed to rain in a few hours. The sky is ominously cast in deep grey, and I can smell the water on the breeze. My shoulders feel a little less heavy. Perhaps there is some relief in routine: one foot in front of the other, a series of choices to make. Even the familiar can be sacred. Scatterbrain is a relatable and beautifully comforting ode to being human and finding the light of hope in our darkest seasons. I close my eyes and let the first few raindrops brush my face.

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.

The Beths – Straight Line Was A Lie | Album Review

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Anti

It’s no secret, at least to The Beths, that human experience isn’t linear. The New Zealand pop rockers are far from the first to make this observation: Buddhist philosophy talks about Samsara, the cycle of birth, death, and existence that’s fueled by desire. Also called “the wheel of suffering,” Samsara can theoretically be escaped. But don’t ask me, or The Beths, how!

The band’s fourth album, Straight Line Was A Lie, kicks off with the title track, a treatise that hinges on the admission, “Guess I’ll take the long way / ‘Cause every way’s the long way.” Crunchy guitars circle around a verse and bridge; no chorus, just a recursive mantra. The fuzz gives way to sweetness on “Mosquitoes,” the second track, showcasing the soft side of frontwoman Elizabeth Stokes’ voice and songwriting. Throughout the song, she reflects vividly on a flood that wrecked her favorite local creek, grappling with impermanence and loss in the process. However, the reflective moment soon gives way to the up-tempo drums and thrumming bass of “No Joy,” a nod to The Beths’ power-pop past. On it goes throughout the track: fervor and tenderness, slow and fast, light and dark, back and forth, around and around. Indeed, as the album’s title forecasts, there is absolutely no straight line to be had here—and in light of life’s complexities, why would there be?

It’s not easy, making sense of *gestures to everything* All This. I won’t waste too many words talking about how much sorrow there is and how futile it all feels. Everyone I know—I am not even exaggerating—is reckoning with some kind of impossible misery right now, even if it’s just the struggle of surviving in this nightmare country. As for myself—well, I’m trying to move forward, to move on, but my life feels like it ended in 2023, and that cruel year just won’t loosen its awful grip on me. In fact, it’s lately felt like the more I thrash, the tighter it digs in. Perhaps if I knew how to loosen up, lighten up, I could shake off some of the pain. Three steps forward, two back, instead of the other way around. Salvation comes from letting go; otherwise, you’re stuck. Like the title track says: “I thought I was getting better, but I’m back to where I started / and the straight line was a circle, yeah the straight line was a lie.”

It makes sense that to be light and free, holding onto nothing and no one, would solve this problem of suffering. Like, I get why the Buddha said that. Unfortunately, it just doesn’t feel practical for me, a person who loves to get attached to everything.

In the album’s penultimate song, “Ark of the Covenant,” Stokes reckons with her dark side over brooding chords and an urgent drum tempo. “If I go digging, I’ll never stop,” she frets, worried that introspection will only lead to deeper misery. Is there a way to excavate these cursed artifacts safely, to sap them of their power? 

In the wake of The Beths’ beloved third album, Expert In a Dying Field, Stokes was prescribed antidepressants. She sought a way out of life’s difficulties; what happened instead was that she stalled out: unfulfilled and unable to write music as creatively as she had before. Slowly, though, she and her bandmates pushed through, and the process itself (and all its extrapolations into their personal relationships) became the subject matter. “So you need the metal in your blood,” a chorus of background vocals chants in the album’s second single, “Metal.” 

Stokes said she and the band intentionally avoided keyboards on Straight Line, a move that proves crucial to the album’s success. With her bubblegum voice and the band’s easygoing melodies, an Alvvays pastiche could have been an obvious route, but, as illustrated throughout the album, the band wasn’t interested in taking any shortcuts. Instead, they turn the dial up on bouncy bass riffs, lively drums, and chiming guitar tones that almost sound like a harpsichord on “Roundabout.” We get caught in these recursive riptides, yes, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t press forward, continue hacking through the jungle. 

Grit is the key to Straight Line Was A Lie. “I wanna ride my bike in the rain / I wanna fly my kite in the hurricane,” Stokes sings in the middle of the record on “Til My Heart Stops.” So you found yourself back where you started, or stuck in a rainstorm. What are you going to do about it? Perhaps for some of us, the response to suffering isn’t to fade out, but to double down. And that doesn’t have to mean the toxic kind of clinging that fuels Samsara; conversely, it might mean deciding what’s actually worth saving in the midst of life’s wreckage. 

Nowhere is this wreckage more evident than “Mother, Pray For Me,” a crushing choice for a pre-album single and my favorite song on the record. It’s not easy to sit with the paradox of a loving but difficult relationship, much less put it into words, but The Beths have done it here. “I cried the whole time writing it,” Stokes says, though in the spirit of the album, her persistence paid off. Softly underscored by organ chords, she offers up six verses and a bridge asking for the seemingly impossible. Despite the song’s title and mantra, it’s not her own salvation that she seeks. The bridge goes:

I called off the search
For evidence of an after
Decided I'm fine without
Forever is this right now
But one day, if you arrive
Just send me a small sign
I don't need the proof of place
Just tell me you got there safe

If there’s a heaven, a nirvana, it’s in what we share with those we love. It’s not a destination we arrive at; it’s a prayer we say for each other again and again. 

Before her final entreaty to her mother’s intercession, Stokes confesses, “I never know what to say anyway.” I disagree. I think she’s hit the nail on the head.

Katie Hayes is a music writer and karaoke superstar in Austin, Texas. She is from there, but between 2010 and now, also lived in Lubbock, TX, Portland, OR, and a camper. Her life is a movie in which her bearded dragon Pancake is the star. You can check out her Substack here, and some of her other writing here. She’s writing a book about growing up alongside her favorite band, Paramore.

Aren’t We Amphibians – Parade! Parade! | Album Review

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PNWK Records

It took five years of living in New York for me to finally make it to the ever-elusive Trans-Pecos, but one show there was all I needed to understand the venue’s popularity. The 250-cap room is situated on the border of Brooklyn and Queens – technically part of Ridgewood – and sits right next to a Vietnamese restaurant, only a stone’s throw from the Halsey St. stop on the L train. Last year, I ventured from my apartment on a cold November night to catch a now-otherworldly bill of emotional rock bands, including the local rockstars in better living., Japanese act ANORAK!, legendary New Jersey headliner Ogbert the Nerd, and an introduction to the California-based rock outfit Aren’t We Amphibians. As if that lineup wasn’t enough, that gig was the cap to a weekend packed with fantastic shows: I caught Cloud Nothings and Equipment tearing up Baby’s All Right on Friday, then watched saturdays at your place headline Market Hotel the night after. The pure excitement led me to create a playlist called “Last Weekend Changed Me” and, as emo music often does, I was changed.

Aren’t We Amphibians have found a lot of love in the DIY circuit throughout their short tenure as a band, thanks to their infectious energy and reliable output of consistently great music. Formed by vocalist/guitarist Joshua Talbot and brothers Brandon and Tyler Cunningham on drums and bass respectively, the San-Diego trio has put out two EPs and a couple of splits, including one earlier this year with awakebutstillinbed, california cousins, and your arms are my cocoon. Give it a handful of years, and I guarantee this split will be considered a classic entry in a genre with a long lineage of historic four-way splits.

All of this is to say my hopes were quite high when rumors of a 2025 release for Aren’t We Amphibians’ debut full-length started bubbling up, and it finally arrived in the form of Parade! Parade!. The ten-track record sees the group move forward with effective midsong tempo switches and Talbot’s high register belting the most depressing lyrics you can imagine, this time with even more anthemic sing-alongs. Take the opening track, “Rock, Etc.,” which initially paints a portrait of a morbid future as the first lyric lays out, “This time next year, I won’t be still around.” However, the track blossoms into a triumphant declaration of “I’m here right now,” alongside hard-hitting guitars and trumpets, transforming a moment of helplessness into a symbol of hope within four simple words.

Throughout this record, there are multiple instances where Talbot writes lyrics that practically beg to be screamed along to in rooms full of people who are also, for lack of a better term, going through it. Talbot cries out, “I’ve said a thousand times that I never want to be anything but small” in the track “532.” There’s also the incredibly sorrowful cut “The Hallway,” which kicks off with a slower guitar passage before progressing into an explosive guitar pattern alongside the repeated lyric “I think I’d be better off if I never existed at all.” Now that’s what I call emo.

It’s not only the lyricism that feels incredibly raw and heartbreaking: many of the instrumental choices have a sense of constructed impulsivity to them. While they might seem abrupt on first pass, there’s a free-flowing ease between the hallmark time signature switches in the lead single “Dunce Hat,” almost like Aren’t We Amphibians are identifying new paths of communicating what needs to be said in real time. This high level of musicianship makes it easy for the group to pull it off multiple times without ever feeling so far out of left field that the listener gets disoriented. There’s also a personal favorite, “Forgiving Jeff,” which boasts some amazing guitars shifting from throttling to methodical at the drop of a hat, all accompanying the ultra-earnest mantra “Take this to heart,” which I have found myself screaming every time I throw this song on.

Throughout the album, Talbot articulates the pain of feeling stuck while everyone around you seems to be growing up. His ability to shift from singing to passionate cries to flat-out screams, multiple times in the same song, works in tandem with the ever-evolving instrumental passages. A brilliant example of this can be found in “Family on 6,” which erupts into a straight-up screamo passage, accompanied by an explosion of guitars and drums, as Talbot screams “I never learn from my mistakes” at the top of his lungs. It’s easily one of the craziest moments in an already fast-paced record.

What keeps this album glued together, both in terms of sonic and thematic value, is the idea of the parade. The first bits that we hear come from the horns in the opening track, and they make bolder appearances on tracks such as the laid-back “Bookworm,” where the band pairs the brass alongside some acoustic guitar passages. On the flipside, the album’s second single, “This Is Teamwork!,” sees the trumpets placed right before a hardcore-inspired breakdown. It’s always fantastic to see an emo band put together more of these non-traditional instruments into a record, especially when its use becomes a cornerstone of what the project represents.

The real centerpiece of Parade! Parade! comes at the end with the de facto title track “Parade,” cued up by a (shocker) parade-style intro. The song launches into a powerhouse guitar riff, with lyrics that focus on turning everything you have been through into a celebration of the person you are now. The group pulls through with a slower passage as Talbot sings “When the street is empty / after the parade / just take it all in / and feel everything,” extending an invitation to be a human again throughout the suffering. 

These parades that Aren’t We Amphibians speak of might not be that far away from you. While one might not catch a line of countless people cheering and screaming to the sound of music in the streets, you can certainly find them in music venues large and small. There’s something about the safety of being surrounded by people who all have the same love of music that brings you back to life after navigating through the hostile environment outside of the venue. At the end of the opening track, a radio broadcast says the words, "Let's talk about rock and roll, let’s talk about concerts, let’s talk about banging your head,” almost like a personal invitation to the celebration. We’re all going through it, so you may as well recognize everything you’ve overcome. If you are ever in doubt, take yourself out to the gig! There’s a chance you could be changed like I was back in November of last year.

The optimism throughout the pain is what keeps Parade! Parade! from being a downtrodden, melancholic emo project and instead cements it with a nuanced mood. There’s hope throughout all of the craziness, no matter what you are going through. There’s a joy that comes with being in the same room as a bunch of strangers who all have the same love of music, and we certainly feel it all once we step outside of those rooms. It’s hard to progress without hope, so why not celebrate all you have accomplished whenever you can? 

Samuel Leon (they/he) is a Brooklyn-based performance photographer, playwright, and retired performer. Sam writes plays about music but not musicals. Sam doesn’t like using the internet, but they will if they have to. If you are even remotely close to Brooklyn and want Sam to make you look cool on camera, hit them up on @sleonpics.

Equipment – First time using slang | EP Review

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Brain Synthesizer

In recent years, I’ve found myself growing tired of the increased reliance on nostalgia that seems to hold up a lot of the art being released into the world. I definitely understand the desire to move back to a more familiar time and place, particularly when we’re facing so much uncertainty and myriad anxieties, but too often it feels lazier than it does compelling. This all said, I don’t think the allure of nostalgia should be ignored entirely in the creative process, because it’s still a viable tool and, when done right, can really fucking hit. 

First time using slang, the latest EP from Ohio-based punk band Equipment covers so much ground in its quick, yet impressive thirteen minutes. “GLOVES” gets things moving with a fuzzy, heavy riff and repeating lines, “she only wears gloves inside.” Straight out of the gate, this EP feels so incredibly tight, relying mainly on instrumentation and textures to fill out this deceptively uncomplicated opener. The way the colors in the melody shift with each reprisal of the main line results in a stellar, catchy punk track that has a repeat listenability I’ve very much come to associate with Equipment after falling hard for their two most recent singles, “espresso lemonade” and “tequila redbull.”

“LAB COAT” is the track that sticks out for me the most in this collection, drawing you in with one simple guitar line that starts as a modest acoustic riff, playfully swings around to electric, then comes back in full force like a punch to the face… But like, if for some odd reason you really wanted a punch in the face. With lyrics that specifically call out “listening to bands from ‘03,” this track is a perfect example of Equipment’s ability to harness the mystical powers of nostalgia while still keeping things fresh as fuck. The vocals like warm butter in the first few seconds, the bouncy, playful rhythms, the brutally honest and relatable line “Guess I grew out of utility / I’m entitled to my mediocrity" – it all hits. Also, Rainier Beer mentioned. 

It's rare to see a band employ the use of a musical suite in an EP, let alone one of this particular genre. Seeing a 7-plus-minute song wrap up an EP in the emo and punk genres is more than welcome to my Coheed-loving-ass, and each piece of “FACIAL PROTECTION” flows like water. It’s contemplative, pensive, and over in a second if you just let it wash over you. “Ensnaring” is the word I keep wanting to come back to, because that’s precisely what these melodies, rhythms, and guitar lines are excelling at. The three movements of this final track deploy three unique approaches, but each arrive at the same spot – wrenching, melancholic mysticism. 

I’ve very much come to love the cadence that Equipment is delivering their music – releasing singles and EPs when they have the material that they know will land, and obviously having a preference for quality over quantity. From the minute I listened to this EP, particularly the standout track “LAB COAT,” I knew this release was going to be one to shine as we reflect on the releases of this year. There’s just enough familiarity to rope you in while the Quippiness™ of it all keeps you smashing that replay button. In an era where nostalgia is often used as a crutch, Equipment is using it as any other weapon in their arsenal. 

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. 

The Merrier – Green Mages | EP Review

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Lonely Ghost Records

Perhaps it’s because I was born on Thanksgiving Day, but something in my soul begins to really awaken during the fall. My favorite albums suit the dreary weather and shortened days, lending themselves to the innate hibernation of these months. Crunchy, fuzzy guitars, screamo vocals, and dense instrumentals are my ideal backdrop for rainy commutes and chilly weekends at home. Naturally, when Jake Stephens of The Merrier sent me the project’s new EP, Green Mages, back at the peak of summer, I knew it was perfect for autumn even then. When we were chatting about the release, I mentioned this to Jake, who was in agreement and excited that I had picked up on this. 

Bridging the genres of dreamo, chiptune, bedroom pop, and electronica, The Merrier is known for his immersively warm music and stellar collaborations. And when I say ‘collaborations,’ I mean it: practically every Merrier song features vocals from another artist, usually from within the online DIY sphere. His release If We Fall Asleep Too Early was one of my favorites of 2023, featuring underground heroes like exciting!!excellent!! and Equipment. One year later, Jake released an album titled i hope i'm with my cats when the flood comes, which was the project’s first full-length release. Genre boundaries are pushed throughout the album, verging into neo-soul on “iso,” flirting with hyperpop on “the mid outdoors,” and even offering a couple of the project’s first fully solo songs without accompanying features. This constant experimentation and expansion continues onto Green Mages – Jake is compelling, fresh, and innovative as ever, acting as architect and mastermind as he constructs seven brilliant songs.

The EP opens with a blast of chiptune notes on “jester,” a charming and upbeat track featuring fellow Cleveland rock band Mud Whale. It’s dotted with cozy electronic sound effects that make you feel like the main character in a video game. I love a rowdy album opener, and “jester” pulls you in with raucous vocals like “Get on your feet and dance with me!” and “TWERK UPSIDE DOWN ON THE WALL!” Even though I can’t do any of that on my daily commute, it’s deeply cathartic to scream those lyrics while I wither away at yet another red light. As chaotically as “jester” begins, it immediately ends and transitions into the groovy track “timing,” featuring neo kiio. “timing” is a little more mellow, and I feel my shoulders relax as the beat dances through my ears. This is a delicious amalgam of genres: screamo melds effortlessly with hyperpop and hip-hop influences, decorated with Jake’s guitar lines that spin like sugar around the track’s core.

When I was little, my family would regularly take our Land Cruiser up to the high country of the Sierra Nevadas. As we wound up incline after incline, I used to close my eyes and watch the muted colors of the autumn sunlight dance across my eyelids. It was just us five up there, golden aspens whispering to each other as we explored the deep forests and quiet lakes hidden above the tree line. Listening to the second half of Green Mages reminds me of these days: “we saw it!” featuring Gabbo is soft and tender. Cascading melodies and sumptuous reverb surround the listener like a fleece pullover, cozy and warm. If only music were a time machine – I’d give anything to transport myself back to one of those adventures, just for an hour. Even so, I suppose “we saw it!” brings me as close as it gets to time travel without atomic reassembly. The energy of Green Mages amps back up with the closing track “eclipse!,” featuring Midwest emo stalwarts Short Fictions. This is a song for blasting out your car windows as dusk wraps the horizon. Brash and raucous, “eclipse!” makes me feel brave: proof that sometimes medicine comes in the form of a good emo song. 

The wizardry of The Merrier is proven on every magical track of Green Mages. Creativity and innovation are woven through the entire EP: Jake’s emotive writing is complemented brilliantly by each guest he brings on board, no matter their niche. And as the days get darker and colder at last, Green Mages is autumn’s welcome herald.

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.