Pet Symmetry – Future Suits | Album Review

It’s safe to say that none of us have come out of the past year the same. The collective experiences of a world in quarantine will continue to influence us in countless ways and have already left a mark that will never be truly erased. I’ll never know who I would’ve been if 2020 wasn’t a year of personal trials and global tragedies, but what can any of us do besides pick up the pieces of a life we used to know and carry on. Future Suits by Pet Symmetry is a reminder that we’ve all been subject to circumstances beyond our control. Perhaps even more importantly, the record is a bid to find some meaning in the indifferent chaos.

Future Suits is a new look for Evan Weiss, Erik Czaja, and Marcus Nuccio in more ways than one. The album cover’s QR code and sci-fi lettering don’t lie to listeners; this is a more digital and eclectic effort than we’ve seen from Pet Sym before. Synthesizer lines and tropically influenced drum beats are scattered across the record. The band also shows us their dynamic range throughout the release on softer, laid-back tracks like “Debt Symmetry.” Fans shouldn’t be wary though, as perhaps the group’s biggest triumph is maintaining their Chicago-rock edge while still growing their sound. 

This isn’t to understate the songwriting on Future Suits, which doesn’t depart from their trademark-style of introspective thoughts conveyed in sing-along choruses. The lyrics are still filled with clever wordplay and good humor, after all, what do you expect from a group with three songs on an album that are puns on their band name? (no disrespect to “Pet Sympathy” “Debt Symmetry” and “Pet Synergy,”). The Pet Symmetry gang still seem to have as much fun as you can while playing music, but impressively don’t shy away from the heavier topics of social commentary. 

While present throughout the album, tracks like “Bootlicker” and “2021: A Personal Space Odyssey” bring themes of social strife to the forefront. These songs acknowledge the personal traumas and hardships of living through unrest while also making a statement on the overarching issues causing societal damage. This bifocal perspective makes for a refreshing listen, especially when Evan Weiss’ knack for combining immersive imagery and slick phrasing is at full force. One such instance is “Bootlicker,” which boasts lines like “bruised blue from tension watching you / a numbered badge just wasting time on every avenue.” These tracks achieve an ambitious desire to encapsulate the environment of “post” COVID society and make a meaningful statement without coming off as preachy. 

This represents a serious increase in scope for the focus of Pet Symmetry’s music. Fan favorites off of previous records like “A Detailed and Poetic Physical Threat to the Person Who Intentionally Vandalized my 1994 Dodge Intrepid Behind Kate’s Apartment,” “You & Me & Mt. Hood,” and “Please Don’t Tell My Father That I Used His Honda Accord to Destroy the Town of Willow Grove, Pennsylvania in 2002” all detail formative adventures in loving detail, but are confined to being individual experiences. With Future Suits, Pet Symmetry face down a global pandemic, civil unrest, and political dishonesty with the same ethos of teenage joy-riding rebels. Admittedly, many people are understandably burnt out at the prospect of hearing about the doom and gloom of planet Earth in 2021. While this record can’t promise escapism, it does provide a novel perspective on the situation delivered in a distinct and well-executed style.

Not only is it not preachy, but this record oozes authenticity. It touches the big, small, good, bad, and ugly that comes with getting through life one day at a time. Future Suits chronicles the personal journeys of navigating relationships, fighting the monotony of everyday life, and finding a place for yourself in the universe. Tracks like “Window Pain” paint this picture of turmoil at every turn; “as the world keeps getting small / we’re just sailing through the darkness / we’re the ships that face the squall.” Yet another tune that perfectly evokes these emotions of personal reckoning is “Pet Synergy” with lines like; “times they are tough / vibes remain off / so how else do you break up with yourself / standing in the shade of your own shadow.” The same song also bears daunting reminders of our fragility; “you see, all my friends keep dying / if I don’t put my apologies into writing I’m scared they’ll never get to where they need to be.” Packaging these themes seamlessly into a driving, raucous jam is an accomplishment that not every band is capable of. Pet Symmetry’s emotional outpouring here doesn’t take on the tone of whiny venting (which can be great too!) but is a powerful display of heartfelt angst.  

Pet Symmetry’s third album is an enjoyable listen all the way through in no small part due to its natural ebb and flow. More hard-hitting barnburners like “Pet Synergy” with its overdriven guitar and open-hi hat grooves transition cleanly into smoothly chilled tunes like “Bootlicker.” Even with this range, these dynamic rises and falls don’t at all seem forced, an excellent quality for a record that you’re going to want to listen to from front to back over and over again.

Future Suits is a masterclass in a band expanding their sound while staying true to their roots. Exploring new sonic territory while introducing lyrical content to their discography may seem like biting off more than they can chew, but Pet Symmetry has shown with this release that they can take these challenges in stride. Future Suits should scratch any Pet Sym itch that listeners have had and should excite you for their next chapter… Here’s to hoping we make it there.

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Jack Hansen-Reed is an avid music fan from Omaha, Nebraska with a passion for all things DIY. In his free time, he enjoys sticking it to the man, cheering on the Cubbies, and drumming in indie-americana act Bearwithus. Send him any music recommendations on Twitter at @jhansenreed.

Catbite – Nice One | Album Review

I’m not sure if you’ve heard the news, but ska is back. Like, back back. Well, it’s not like it ever left, but after a year and change of staying in our homes, perhaps people have decided to not be so self-serious. It’s easy to point to this ska revival as being akin to the reappraisal of nü metal, but I don’t think they quite reflect one another. The return of nü metal has more to do with it being accepted as smarter than people had initially given it credit for. The staying power and swathes of influence of bands like Deftones and Slipknot finds the genre en vogue, with artists like Rina Sawayama and Loathe putting new spins on its sonic touchstones. This is not the case with ska. 

Musically, this current moment in ska-story feels less like a new wave and more of a return to the sunburnt skate punk of third wave ska that invaded the mainstream in the ’90s. What makes ska great is that it overflows with exuberance, which bands like No Doubt and Rancid understood. They took the infectious choruses of The Specials and Oingo Boingo and morphed them into anthems by adding heavy power chords and gang vocals that every kid in the crowd could shout. Somewhere along the way, people grew tired of this bountiful joy and cast ska into the gutter. A new generation of musicians found ska lying there helpless and have dusted it off so that it may thrive once again. 

Catbite is one of these savior bands. The Philadelphia quartet’s sophomore LP, Nice One, is a gleeful slice of ska-punk that hearkens back to the genre’s heyday. The album is a strong piece of power pop, and its sole purpose is to have fun. Opening track “Asinine Aesthetic” catapults Nice One into your ears as frontperson Brittany Luna belts about posers over a chorus of “ooo-sha-la-la’s” and rapid guitar upstrokes. Lead single, “Call Your Bluff” is an endlessly hummable ripper that rails against wack posturing. Meanwhile, “Not Ur Baby” introduces a touch of melancholy without sacrificing Catbite’s ability to craft large radio-friendly hooks.

Nice One is an example of a band understanding their strengths and leaning all the way into them. What sets Catbite apart from so many groups, regardless of genre, is that they have a powerhouse singer in Brittany Luna. They know the rules; when you have a talent like Luna fronting the band, you gotta make big songs that get the crowd moving. Along with slick production courtesy of Davey Warsop, Catbite keep things simple in order to support Luna’s spectacular performances. While Catbite’s self-titled debut features such moments, the album comes across as a group still learning who they are. Nice One does not include its predecessor’s vibeier jams like “Already Gone,” instead, the songs on the group’s sophomore album get straight to the point, even on the mid-tempo rocksteady tracks, “Stay” and “Bad Influence.”

Like many power pop albums, Nice One falls prey to frontloading the tracklist. The songs on the back half are by no means lackluster, but when the first half is wall-to-wall bangers, it can be hard as a listener to keep up with the band’s pace. Perhaps the album could be better served with a more even distribution so as to give each song its due, but nailing the perfect song order might be one of the hardest things to do in music. Thankfully, Nice One is a relatively brief album, so any lull that might be experienced is momentary.

With Nice One, Catbite have proven themselves worthy of being amongst the new standard-bearers of ska. Like their contemporaries Ska Tune Network, We Are the Union, and Bad Operation, Catbite are shifting the perception of ska away from the unsavory white dude aesthetic that partially maligned the genre in the ‘90s, instead centering it on the joy that the music brings. Today’s ska is a safe space where anyone, regardless of race, sexual preference, and gender identity, can express themselves and skank their hearts out. Perhaps the demand for inclusion alone is enough for the current ska scene to be considered a fourth wave? Honestly, I’m not sure, and the more time I spend thinking about criteria is time away from enjoying the music. With Nice One, Catbite aren’t looking to reinvent the wheel; rather they are putting new air in the tires so the car can keep on cruising.

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Connor lives in San Francisco with his partner and their cat, Toni. Connor has an MFA in creative writing and is working toward becoming a community college professor. When he isn’t listening to music or writing about killer riffs, Connor is obsessing over coffee and sandwiches.

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VIAL – LOUDMOUTH | Album Review

There’s a special type of baggage that comes with being a “TikTok Band.” It’s not uncommon to see Tiktokers who also happen to make music express their reluctance to promote their songs on the app for fear of such stigma. This phenomenon also goes both ways with groups like Beach Bunny, who have enjoyed “hit” TikTok songs, but refuse to let themselves be defined by that success. With the lines between “art” and “content” becoming increasingly blurred, the desire for such separation is understandable (not to mention the unsavory company that TikTok musicians may find themselves among). But unlike the now-infamous trio of pop-punk girlbosses, VIAL’s rage runs deeper than Manic Panic hair and performative vulgarity— as does their collaborative spirit. They’ve embraced the “TikTok band” label and everything that comes with it, sharing goofy videos about their idiosyncratic fashion choices and how they found their drummer on Tinder, all the while using the platform to promote their band. Perhaps most importantly, the rapport the band members have with one another feels natural. Their friendship seems like a genuine necessity of their creative process rather than a tacked-on marketing gimmick. 

VIAL are musicians, not influencers, and on their sophomore LP, LOUDMOUTH, they’re making pop-punk for the Extremely Online. Their targets are often digital age villains like the irony bros and devil’s advocates they roast on the roaring album opener, “Ego Death.” Lyrics like “What about your life on Twitter?/What about me makes you bitter?/I won’t be your babysitter!” make it clear from the get-go that VIAL are taking their riot grrrl roots and updating them for the 21st century.

That’s not the only way that VIAL draws inspiration from the groundbreaking genre while filling in some of its blind spots. For decades, the riot grrrl movement has been rightfully criticized for being overwhelmingly white, cis, and privileged. VIAL find themselves in good company with artists like Meet Me At The Altar, Nova Twins, illuminati hotties, and Pom Pom Squad, who are bringing refreshing inclusivity to the riot grrrl revival. Nonbinary identity and rejection of gender roles are central to VIAL’s music— as it says in their social media bios, they are NOT a girl band.

Even when VIAL’s influences are apparent, they manage to put an original spin on the ideas of their foremothers. Songs like “Roadkill” and “Piss Punk” see them channeling early Sleater-Kinney as they take aim at sexism in the music industry. Inspiration from punk predecessors like Bikini Kill and Bratmobile is clear in lead vocalist Taylor Kraemer’s snarky, flippant delivery on “Planet Drool” and in the song’s schoolyard taunt intro: “bratty, bitchy, money-hungry/ruin the fun for everybody” is chanted in unison over Miss Mary Mack-style hand claps. Standout single “Violet” is a power-pop ballad about queer longing and the confusion between romantic and platonic feelings. Its title-- along with its plucky guitar riffs and rolling snare-heavy drum fills --call to mind the riot grrrl classic of the same name from one of the genre’s most controversial icons. 

All this being said, some of their efforts to make riot grrrl sound original and up-to-date are less fruitful than others. Lines like “I can’t begin to explain how much that I fucking hate you/you fucked me up/you talk too much/and I will never date you” come off more whiny and juvenile than subversive. “Therapy Pt. II” (the sequel to “Therapy” from their debut album Grow Up) leans on straw feminist sloganeering— if sloppy rhyming of “get therapy” with “toxic masculinity” doesn’t give you enough second-hand embarrassment, ad-libs like “plus you’re really bad in bed!” will have listeners questioning how far VIAL’s gender politics have progressed past 2016 Tumblr discourse.

Their talents shine brightest when they’re making spunky pop songs that are sweet without being saccharine. Cuts like “Thumb” and “Something More” incorporate tinny drums, bouncy surf-rock guitar progressions, and infectiously catchy hooks destined to delight fans of The Regrettes and the aforementioned Beach Bunny. “Vodka Lemonade,” a ridiculously fun song about some decidedly un-fun things-- social anxiety, self-doubt -- features captivating stop-and-start progression, sparkling vocal harmonies, and a kickass horn solo. Even during moments of frustration, uncertainty, and despair, VIAL aren’t above joking about drinking their weight in caffeine and being left alone while their friends go out without them. “21” is an excellent album closer, a quarter-life crisis anthem whose sincerity doesn’t come at the sacrifice of its sense of humor. This seems to be the key ingredient to VIAL’s recipe-- no matter what they do, they’re gonna have fun with it, and we’re lucky that they’ve brought us along for the ride.

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Grace Robins-Somerville is a writer from Brooklyn, New York. You can find her on Instagram @grace_roso and on Twitter @grace_roso.

Celebration Guns – The Visiting Years | EP Premiere

As you may have heard, pop-punk is having a post-pandemic revival, and 5th wave emo is in full swing. Arizona indie rockers Celebration Guns are doing more than just riding the wave. They’ve been pumping out catchy, hook-heavy, Midwest Emo-adjacent bangers since the mid-2010s, and their latest project with Chillwavve Records is no exception. The Visiting Years sees them seamlessly interweaving poppy melodies, charmingly fuzzy production, and math-y guitar riffs that’ll draw in fans of American Football and Foxing. This is all paired with gang vocals that practically beg to be screamed along to at post-vax shows. Lyrically, these songs are anthemic and emotionally resonant, without taking themselves too seriously. 

Celebration Guns are occasionally anthemic to a fault. On “The Tools That Take From Us,” they run into a problem similar to the one that kneecapped the most recent IDLES album, where it becomes a bit too obvious that they’re trying to write a capital-P Protest Song about these troubling and uncertain times we’re living in. A cringe-inducing line like “I can’t wait to hear how I’ve been dumb/A snowflake and liberal to some” cheapens an otherwise thoughtful track about a generation’s frustration with the policymakers who’ve failed them. The COVID-19 pandemic had artists brimming with “now more than ever” energy-- often well-meaning but misplaced --and Celebration Guns are not immune to these moments of heavy-handedness. This isn’t to say that the concerns they’re expressing become devoid of their power, but their unsubtle wink and nod swiftly derails the song, making its youthful urgency seem cloying and juvenile. 

However, it’s not as though this borderline immaturity never works in their favor-- quite the contrary. With its driving drum beat and fun pop-punk hooks, “Obnoxious. Loud. Undoubtedly Fulfilled” stands out as a sweet and rowdy ode to finding your niche both creatively and socially. It begins with a lament about being “picked last by people that you don’t like for a game you never cared to play” and leads us to a misfit utopia where the things that make us feel ostracized are the same things that allow us to find community and artistic fulfillment. It’s a song that speaks to the deeply relatable experience of the reluctant outcast who feigns disinterest in fitting in because there’s nothing less cool than trying to be cool and failing. Like Michelle Zauner of Japanese Breakfast expressed in a recent installment of her music video breakdown series, “there’s this kind of fear that you want to fit in, you just don’t...it’s just [about] finding something of your own that makes not fitting in worthwhile.” In a similar vein, the song’s narrator recognizes that he isn’t above caring what the cool kids think of him and admits that at times he’s been “desperate to say that he’s better than them.” It’s vulnerable, multi-faceted storytelling like this that makes Celebration Guns’ music so human and so welcoming, as if they’re inviting you to join them “up on the hill” with all the other freaks and weirdos. We get to follow our gang of misfits on their journey to the place where they can revel in their uncoolness and recognize their outcast status as an integral part of their triumph. On a more meta level, lines like “I never thought I’d see acceptance for who I could be/I never got to say thank you for who I am today” come off as a group of bandmates expressing their gratitude to and for each other. The result is heartwarming without becoming overly precious. 

Celebration Guns’ optimism is not without its obstacles. The EP’s title track has lead vocalist Justin Weir opening up about his experiences with chronic illness and suicidal ideation. The recurring themes of survival and perseverance coexist with-- and are necessitated by --circumstances that make living feel like an impossible thing to do. “I’m tired of telling lies so you won’t worry about me,” he sings, clinging to his ability to stay alive in a body that’s trying to destroy itself and a world that’s falling apart. The song’s emotional climax comes when he addresses the listener directly-- “if you’re hearing this, I’m still alive.” It’s a duality that’s present throughout the project-- the bitterness of adversity and the sweetness of survival are intertwined, a reminder that sometimes survival is a victory in and of itself. The Visiting Years is a life-affirming project that boldly follows its bittersweet heart. The result is obnoxious, loud, and undoubtedly fulfilling. 

The Visiting Years is out July 30th on Chillwavve Records.

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Grace Robins-Somerville is a writer from Brooklyn, New York. You can find her on Instagram @grace_roso and on Twitter @grace_roso.

Kevin Devine – No One's Waiting Up For Me Tonight | EP Review

For nearly two decades, Brooklyn’s Kevin Devine has carved out cross-genre niches in his musical pursuits, whether it’s with emo cult favorite Miracle of 86, folk rock supergroup Bad Books, or collaborations with the likes of Craig Finn and Meredith Graves on his Divinyls Splits Series. Devine’s latest solo project sees him going back to singer-songwriterly basics. No One’s Waiting Up For Me Tonight is wistful and introspective, allowing for Devine’s delicate melodies and thoughtful lyricism to take center stage. Though at times the moody-broody Elliott Smith worship goes a bit too far-- lines like “God transmissions through my higher mind” warrant an eye roll --Devine manages to build off of his indie folk influences in a striking way.

Take the standout track “I’ve Never Been Happier Than I Was In That Picture,” a rose-tinted waltz through memories of a past romance. As he paints vivid scenes of still life drawings in deserts and barefoot fountain dances during a Brooklyn heatwave, Devine gives thanks to a former lover for the moments of joy that have been preserved by memory. His bittersweet gratitude is backed by a shimmering, Sufjan-esque string arrangement-- the most elaborate on an otherwise instrumentally sparse EP. 

These songs float between appreciation and regret, with memory serving as the throughline that tethers them to one another. There are times where it would seem easy for Devine to overindulge in nostalgia, an impulse which he artfully resists. The EP’s most striking moments come when Devine undercuts his own tendency toward romanticism with the occasional blunt one-liner: “you weren’t peaceful, you weren’t in love,” he sings on closing track “All There Is Now.” His ability to embrace both the beauty and the ugliness in his reflections on the past strengthens each emotional blow. The regretful “Taking Shape” juxtaposes Devine “coughing bloody yolk, threading a minefield blind” with Simon And Garfunkel-style vocal harmonies. Meanwhile, “Lakes On The Moon” is a stripped-down acoustic statement of humility, forgiveness, and loss. 

Composed in quarantine, No One’s Waiting Up For Me Tonight is imbued with anxieties about an uncertain future as well as the promise of personal growth. It’s a testament to self-reflection, but more than that, it shows Devine questioning how he can use this period of solitude to head into the unknown. Even in its loneliest moments, there remains a quiet hope. 

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Grace Robins-Somerville is a writer from Brooklyn, New York. You can find her on Instagram @grace_roso and on Twitter @grace_roso.