This Is the Scene on 11th Street When Black Midi Comes to Town | Concert Review

During the Year Of No Shows, I often daydreamed of a post-quarantine concert exuberant and outrageous enough to make up for all the nights that venues, once brimming with noisy liveliness, sat empty while musicians and would-be concertgoers alike waited patiently until they could breathe life into these spaces again. Now I’m not saying that a show must be rowdy and ear-splitting in order to be worthy of welcoming live music back from its pandemic-induced hiatus. In the months since tours having started up again, I’ve been blessed with the communal, campfire-like warmth of a Mountain Goats solo show at City Winery, the intimate giddiness of a post-Hurricane set Samia played at Union Pool, and a laid-back summer evening with Bright Eyes, Waxahatchee, and Lucy Dacus at Forest Hills Stadium. Each of these performances was moving and memorable, and each in its own way reminded me of something I’d desperately yearned for during quarantine. But it wasn’t until Tuesday night at Webster Hall that I was able to experience a concert that lived up to the magical, hell-raising insanity of my quarantine daydreams. And it wasn’t just the mosh pit-- though I’d heard from others that the pits at black midi shows go fucking crazy, and this one certainly did not disappoint. Beyond the simultaneously base and divine euphoria of getting tossed around in a sea of sweaty strangers, black midi’s show provided a fully immersive spectacle that felt as weirdly glamorous as it did grotesque. Like a night at the opera if said opera took place in the sewers where the Ninja Turtles live, or like Cirque du Soleil if Cirque du Soleil didn’t suck. From the moment they stepped onstage-- heralded by a faux pro-wrestling announcement that declared them “the heavyweight champions of London, England”  --it was like I’d entered another world. 

The whole scene was unassuming at first. The crowd had me feeling simultaneously too old and too young to be there-- mostly teenagers in Tripp pants and longhaired mid-30s white guys, at least three of whom were wearing Swans shirts. When I overheard a kid behind me in the merch line ask one of his companions, “so are you like, a black midi guy?” I had to stifle the urge to laugh and interrupt their conversation with, “it’s a black midi show; we’re ALL black midi guys.” I heard another group wishfully but doubtfully thinking aloud about whether the band would play bmbmbm, a song that some fans have christened black midi’s “Creep” (referring to both its status as the band’s signature song as well as the band’s seeming distaste for playing it live). Hours prior, bassist Cameron Picton had tweeted that they’d play it if they made $1,200 in merch tips that night. Clearly, this goal was not met (and Cam’s tweet was almost certainly made in jest-- the black midi boys are nothing if not constantly in on the joke), and their breakout track predictably did not make it onto the Webster Hall setlist. 

The band opened for themselves as alter-ego/blues fusion side project The Orange Tree Boys, an “amazing new band out of Las Vegas.” The Orange Tree Boys have previously made appearances at other live shows and on the black midi variety hour. Outfitted in camo, dark sunglasses, and delightfully faked American accents, they performed a short set of improvisational jams and AC/DC covers. Bowie had Ziggy Stardust, Beyonce had Sasha Fierce-- black midi have The Orange Tree Boys. They were followed by a haunting ambient set from Brooklyn-born multi-instrumentalist L’Rain, whose supporting spot on black midi’s US tour follows her residency at Mass MoCa. Her critically acclaimed 2021 sophomore album Fatigue lent itself beautifully to her live performance, her acrobatic vocals and delicately distorted experimental arrangements echoing through every inch of the ballroom. 

Between L’Rain’s set and black midi’s, I listened to a group of guys in front of me figure out their strategy re: opening up the pit-- who would go where, what was the best way to move up towards the front (this was before a few of them chorused “daddy? sorry. daddy? sorry. daddy? sorry” at black midi’s infinitely memeable frontman Geordie Greep). Of course, all strategy and logic dissipated the moment the lights dimmed and a disembodied voice introduced London’s heavyweight champions. The boys walked onstage to Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York,” which cut out as they began to play erratic Schlagenheim album opener “953.” The song’s starting chords set off an almost Pavlovian reaction in the audience, sweeping us up into a human tornado. As we thrashed about, Geordie alternated between what can only be described as a disemboweled Sinatra cover over 953’s jagged post-punk anti-melody, and the song’s actual lyrics. 

One of the most striking contradictions of black midi’s music is how it’s theatrical yet unemotional. The musical experience they provide is somewhat concerned with feeling, but not so much feelings. Their songs rarely reveal any easily definable emotion. This only furthers their worldbuilding abilities, especially in their live performances. To call what I witnessed at Webster Hall a “concert” almost feels reductive, unable to encompass the depth of the rabbit hole they drag their audiences down. We zoomed through the dystopian urban development of the 2019 single “Speedway” with Cameron and his sinister, monotone vocals in the driver’s seat. On this tour’s live standout, rumored to appear on LP3, “Welcome To Hell,” Geordie became the demonic carnival barker of our nightmares, calling for us to “listen, listen!” and setting the crowd aflame while chanting the names of plagues-- “Cholera! Malaria!” And how can I begin to adequately describe the mass psychosis that was this specific live rendition of “John L,” a song I’ve heard half a dozen live recordings of, all of which sound wildly different from one another. As Geordie reached the verse where he speaks from the perspective of the song’s titular disgraced cult leader, the audience seemed to become the cult itself-- “crowds of every age, creed, and gender...overwhelmed by their king.” Geordie Greep-as-John L’s “gargling non-song” incited what looked/sounded/felt like a collective exorcism, making all of us players black midi’s show.

This was also one of the few moments in which I was lucky enough to get a decent view of Morgan Simpson, quite possibly one of the greatest drummers working today. To hear his intricately crafted chaos on black midi’s records is one thing, but to see him in action is transcendent, his free jazz drumming tying together black midi’s genre-defying sound. Since the band first broke into the spotlight, it’s been clear that it’s Morgan’s intricate yet bombastic rhythms that anchor black midi’s wild sonic landscapes to some semblance of coherence. black midi’s music is like a rickety wooden rollercoaster-- there’s a thrill in feeling like it’s about to fall apart beneath you --Morgan’s drums are like the screws that hold the rollercoaster together, but not tight enough to keep you from wondering “is this safe?” (also, much like my first time riding the Cyclone, I was having so much fun getting knocked around that it wasn’t until later on that I realized that something-- or someone --had hit me in the mouth making me bleed a little). The boys are as in sync with one another as ever, and the addition of touring members Kaidi Akinnibi on saxophone and Seth Evans on keys have helped to fatten the band’s already larger-than-life sound to fill the increasingly spacious venues they’ve been booking since the release of 2021 sophomore album Cavalcade.

Memorable moments from the night went beyond just musical ones. Seth and Geordie sparred with one another between songs, the audience egging them on. Kaidi, in his ruffled shirt and sequined mask, mimicked the disciplinarian sternness of a disappointed teacher as he broke up their “fight” (the end of the show saw Geordie chasing Seth offstage with a toy sword). At one point, Cam hopped down from the stage with a pizza box in hand and passed out slices to the rabid crowd.

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black midi’s chameleonic nature transcends the versatility of their music. Known to make appearances dressed up as chefs, doctors, astronauts, businessmen, and as the aforementioned Orange Tree Boys, they’re always filling out the world of their performances. They’ve struck a perfect balance between how seriously they take their craft and how seriously they don’t take themselves. Their live shows have become masterclasses in the art of Committing To The Bit. Yet their campy, over-the-top presentation never feels like a gimmicky attempt to pander to their audience or solidify their status as a Definitive Gen-Z Band. Moreover, it makes the moments of true beauty and emotional resonance all the more striking. Live favorite “27 Q” had Geordie going full crooner; his vocal delivery was lovely, but it was a loveliness that still fit into the wacky Looney Tunes bullshit of the black midi musical universe. Then came cacophonous closer, “Slow,” in which Cameron’s melodic vocals guided the song to its violent, apocalyptic climax (the image of Cameron standing atop an amp stoically shrieking the word “slowly” over and over again will forever be burned into my memory). 

After the band put down their instruments and gathered at the edge of the stage to say goodnight, Geordie called out to us with a wink that he’d see us tomorrow night, “And the next night! And the night after that! And the night after that! In Hell, where you’ll burn for coming to this show, you fuckin’ sinners! Go home!” If Hell is anything like a black midi show, I don’t wanna go to Heaven.

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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.

Church Girls – Still Blooms | Album Review

The “get out of this town” narrative is well-trodden territory in pop-punk, pretty much a staple of the genre. On their third album, Still Blooms, Philly punk rockers Church Girls conjure up imagery of this kind of suffocating environment, letting it fuel their desire to break away from the things that keep them feeling trapped. And they aren’t just leaving their metaphorical dead-end town; they’re barreling away from it at top speed in a getaway car and refusing to look back. 

As a lifelong New Yorker, I used to romanticize the idea of growing up in some small town that I could rebel against. It was a fantasy within a fantasy-- I liked the idea of having somewhere to escape from. Much of that fantasy involved a rite-of-passage that, though standard for most US teens, was foreign to me: driving around my crappy hometown with the stereo at full volume, finally getting my first taste of freedom. Now, in my twenties, I remain un-licensed, able to count on one hand the number of times I’ve been behind the wheel, and wishing I could get up the invincible “fuck-it” energy I had when I was younger to counteract the fear that’s been holding me back from learning to drive. All that being said: move over Olivia Rodrigo, someone else’s songs made me want to get my driver’s license. Church Girls are making heart-pounding, windows-down pop-punk anthems that burn with the promise of liberation, even in their most desperate moments. 

Desperation and determination go hand in hand on this album. These songs are driven by a grim optimism, with lead vocalist Mariel Beaumont plunging into the depths of despair and surfacing with an even stronger resolve. Just look at lead single “Separated,” where Beaumont intones, “one day we won’t think about it much / the sky will lift up and we’ll be unstuck from these sickly cycles in an old patterned loop.” It’s these brash statements of hope, even when such notions seem illogical, that imbue the songs on Still Blooms with a revelatory spirit and earn them a place in a greater, genre-spanning musical lineage. Think The Mountain Goats’ 2005 autobiographical bildungsroman The Sunset Tree, with John Darnielle declaring that he will “make it through this year if it kills me” and forcing himself to believe in a day where he can “rise up free and easy.” Think Fiona Apple taking control of her narrative and demanding her freedom over the beautifully tangled cacophonies of last year’s instant classic, Fetch The Bolt Cutters. Church Girls’ liberatory vision is messy and challenged by self-doubt, but the shadows surrounding it make it all the more compelling. 

These songs are hurtling into an unknown, but the reckless energy of their sound is in no way a reflection of a lack of thoughtful attention that Church Girls pay to their craft. They demonstrate a calculated chaos that Church Girls first began to cultivate on their 2017 debut Hidalgo, but have perfected as their sound has evolved. The four band members are now acutely attuned to one another, down to the smallest detail. On “Dune,” an electrifying guitar solo heralds in Beaumont's ethereal vocals at the bridge. From there, angelic harmonies build over a rolling snare. These vocals have an almost choir-like quality, which bring their vivid, emotionally resonant lyrics to shimmering heights. 

“Vacation,” the album’s final single, is another great example of the group’s undeniable chemistry. Instrumentally, it calls back to the energetic guitar riffs and pummeling drums of Bomb The Music Industry’s album of, coincidentally, the same title. The same can be said for the song thematically, as its unflinching confrontation with anxiety and regret will undoubtedly appeal to fans of Jeff Rosenstock’s vulnerable lyricism. “Vacation” shows Church Girls unafraid to engage with ugly feelings. It’s a strikingly honest commentary on the self-sabotaging impulse to isolate in sorrow rather than letting yourself need others. The album’s most profound moments are also some of its darkest. Beaumont has said that the aforementioned “Separated” is about a family member’s alcoholism. She attempts to make sense of her shifting ideas of home and family through lyrics like, “the known place has flamed out / and we’re learning not to yearn for it at all.” It’s an honest statement on love and addiction, and how the two complicate one another in ways that we might never quite make sense of. 

“Undone” opens with Beaumont dejectedly remarking, “so this is how it ends, huh?” Her voice softens at the bridge, the words “leave you at the water’s edge” floating delicately over contrasting parentheticals-- “Sink! Or! Swim!” is chanted almost militaristically by her bandmates. The drowning motif returns a few songs later on “Dissolve,” as does the contrast of shouted staccato backing vocals with Beaumont taking the melodic lead. We see drowning symbolism yet again on “Basement,” whose lyrics give us some fire as well as water. The flames that engulfed the broken home in “Separated” are now blazing through city streets. It’s another deeply personal track, one that sees Beaumont confessing, “I’m barely keeping it alive,” as she watches the moon from a dark, dusty basement. These tracks-- as well as supercharged album opener “Surface” --remind me of some of my favorite cuts from PUP’s discography, with their infectious pop-punk riffs, raucous gang vocals, and cutting delivery that’s somehow both miserable and triumphant. 

The album’s final few songs skew a bit more reflective, shifting the focus from the destination to what is left behind. Penultimate track, “Gone,” details a dismal homecoming scene, which questions whether or not this place can even be called home anymore:

All I got’s this ceiling fan
And the mattress on the floor
Now I’m stuck on dry land
Wondering what I came here for

It’s a familiar feeling of returning to a place associated with potent memories hoping for closure but ultimately coming up empty-handed. Closing track “Visions” looks to the future, begging the question of what happens once you’ve arrived in “a distant town like you wanted.” Church Girls provide a soundtrack to a ride off into the sunset, all while keeping that inescapable past in their periphery. Much of the album feels like a series of escape attempts, and ultimately all roads lead back to the very thing we were running away from.

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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.

Couplet – LP1 | Album Review

“Our letters wax and wane, but our stories will always end the same.”

When I learned that Couplet is a Tanner Jones project, my excitement hit peak levels. Having come of age musically in the heyday of You Blew It!, I was disappointed when their most ambitious effort, Abendrot, also turned out to be the band’s swan song. A songwriter and their vocals rarely match as well as Jones’s do. When yelps were needed, he went off; when ballads called for crooning, he soothed. His voice, both literally and lyrically, has been sorely missed and is now welcomed back with wide-open arms after a years-long break.

Adam Beck (Sincere Engineer) and Evan Weiss (Into It. Over It. and Pet Symmetry) are billed as re-imagining, arranging, and producing the songs written by Jones. In Couplet, the individual members’ contributions are each an embroidery unto the band’s musical tapestry. Through various filters, chorus, flangers, and reverb, Jones’s voice is more of an instrument that communicates the melodies through lyrics. Weiss’s recognizable style is not present and has changed drastically to fit this different style of music in contrast to his other projects. LP1 is both Jones’s show and a terrific, different new band.

Throughout the album’s 33 minutes, my head flowed and bobbed, swimming along to the songs as though I were floating in waves. Despite that summery vibe, LP1’s arrival is perfectly timed with autumn’s return. Evocations of American Football in the album’s title and overall somber atmosphere are present. Yes, with the emphasis on electronic elements, the comparison to The Postal Service is unavoidable, especially on opener “The Dregs,” first single “Old Elba,” and deeper cut “Forage.” The lyrics on “Page” even echo Ben Gibbard’s now-renowned style: 

We’ll take our time
record it in between the lines
If your lead should break
We’ll pretend it’s something we’d erase
If the page runs out of space
We’ll fold it into an origami shape.

Where Couplet gets weird, though, is when they channel electronic Radiohead on “Mistresses All.” The main melody is more angular than the rest of the album; the boxy drums crash down in what will undoubtedly be an incredible live show. A synthesized bass line grounds the moody, spacey Moog. As accessible as LP1 is with its hooks abound, I hope Couplet’s upcoming music explores the soundscapes similar to those introduced in “Mistresses All.”

Couplet is not You Blew It! 2.0, and that is a good thing. The project is a totally different beast from the same musicians you already know and love in settings you do not typically find them. Nevertheless, if you fall into the camp that misses Tanner Jones, Couplet feels like a hot cup of coffee on a brisk October morning.

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Joe Wasserman is a high school English teacher in New York City. When he’s not listening to music, he’s writing short stories, writing and recording music in his shoebox apartment, or loving his dogs, Franklin and Maudie. You can find him on Twitter at @a_cuppajoe.

Lovely: A True North Story

Today, we release the most important Ship & Sail record to date. This is a labor of love spanning from solo sets in 2019, through many variations of full-band sets, many bedroom demos, and finally tracking it all with Mike Higgins and Sean Weyers- just to hit a wall in March 2020. With the pandemic, we ceased all operations on the record to make sure we put safety over this silly thing. Our biggest scheduled show to date, opening for Them Coulee Boys for Audiotree Presents, was canceled (which was, of course, the right decision). This sent me into a bit of a depressive spiral when it came to music. I just felt like I wasn’t going to be able to bounce back. I shelved it all for the time being. 

I don’t remember exactly when, or what led me to it, but I came back to it in early 2021. I began attempting to record lead parts and extra vocals on my own. I realized that Ship & Sail has always been mine, but it’s grown into something bigger than me. I’ve played sets with one other person, or 6 others. Some people have played multiple instruments at different shows, based on others’ availability. One of our best shows was our 7-piece at Two James Spirits in Detroit. The 7 of us had not even practiced all together, I practiced with half of the band and then the other on separate days. I think you could tell, we weren’t always perfect that night, but it became clear to me that it was the embodiment of the new songs. I knew I couldn’t, by reason and by lack of skill, make the record I wanted in my basement, emailing out-of-tune solos on my desperate-for-a-restring guitar.

So, I chatted with my friend Jake Rees (No Fun Club, In A Daydream) and he was on board to come to the studio and work on the record again. Jake sees guitar in a completely different way than me, and it’s amazing to watch. He intentionally didn’t write his parts before the studio. He had played them with me for a long time, and he had the stems to work with, so he came in and let it come all at once. I’ve long trusted Jake’s musicianship and generally never ask him to do a certain thing on guitar, unless he did it already and I loved it. I always wanted the bandmates to have their own ideas that they find through the songs. Jake continues to be one of my biggest supporters in music, and I loved it when I was able to join him on stage as the bassist for No Fun Club. I think the amount of fun we had and the friendship we’ve created outweighs my not-so-strong bass playing.

I eventually also reached out to Bryan Porter (In A Daydream, Boyfrienders) to see if he’d like to get in on the project. My primary reasoning was to get more people singing the choruses on The Plan, Junkie Love, I Know A Way Around Heaven’s Gates, and Lovely. Like always, though, I told him he had free range to try whatever he’d like on the album. I stepped out of the studio, bottle of champagne in hand, and waited a while. I chatted with Jake and Joel about the record and whatever other silly things we said. I goofed around as Jake took pictures of me on film. Eventually, Bryan would come out and tell me he’d worked on x amount of songs, and he’s excited for me to hear. I believe he called it creepy or spooky, the vocals and reverb on the guitar. I heard his vocals on the songs as I got them in the master, and I loved it. It wasn’t until Pushing Daisies, the last song finished before revisions, that I found out he had played guitar and completely changed the scope of the song. Bryan also provided a lot of laughs and jokes during the process, as he does. 

A song like Pushing Daisies is a perfect example of why it pays for me to be hands-off. I recorded a little easy progression on guitar and sang. I asked Sean if he knew any pianists to take the song over, and I was planning on taking my guitar part out and just having piano and vocals. Sean said he knew someone, Tyler Smith, who was a great pianist. That turned out to be a fact, and even an underestimate. Tyler made this song so beautiful, and Sean made me listen with my guitar and piano. He was right, I should keep the guitar and really mix in with Tyler. Then, I thought that was it. Song is done. When the final track came in with Bryan on guitar and Sean on bass, I was blown away. I told Sean I needed time to readjust to it and fully appreciate the change. I learned from Hymnal to leave some of it in other musicians’ hands. I think it helps connect with more people, because you’re getting multiple perspectives on the song through their musical contributions.

Joel! Joel came, and I was so happy. It was a pretty last-minute thing. It’d been a while since we’d worked together in music, but he is always someone I feel comfortable with and I always admire and learn from his talent. Plus, it was a great time to catch up with him while others worked on things. His contributions are sometimes subtle, but you can hear him singing if you listen to the choruses with group vocals. He also played electric guitar alongside me throughout Heaven’s Gates. You can hear his guitar panned left, and mine right. We got to go across the train tracks and have some good ol’ chicken shawarma sandwiches. The memories I have with Joel, music and non-music, are just incredible. I hope one day we can play Gump Ball again.

Mike Higgins came into my life when I met him at a show in Oak Park. He was leaning against the brick house, smoking a clove, and talking in a New York accent. I was with Brij Bondy, and she, of course, jumped into the New York accent between smokes. I found out he knew Pat Ray and played with him before, and played at the time with Jake Rees. We riffed, clearly thought he was a cool guy. It wasn’t until a while later that I really got to know him. I was in a position where I needed a new drummer, and I don’t remember if Pat Ray or Jake Rees mentioned him, but I asked him to join the band. This was when From Seeds had just come out. I had only seen him in punk bands like Koopa Kid and No Fun Club (and I think one Seaholm set, but I may be misremembering), and I was nervous about how he’d like the tunes. He showed up to Ghost House and brought brushes and mallets and said “I’ve wanted to play more folk-style music for so long” and he had already listened to our set. He fit in perfectly and changed the band forever. As we started really grooving as band members, we also became great friends. I started playing bass in No Fun Club, Jake Rees’, with him on drums and Pat Budesky on lead guitar. We all grew to become great friends during the process, and I was so happy to be part of this little group. Mike has been my friend through some hard times, and he’s the best person to hang with if you want to be shown a good time by a good host. I am so thankful for the relationship that came out of this, and so happy with the level he’s taken my music to with his multi-track percussion and new ideas.

Tanner Ellis has been a big part of this record since I began writing it. We were always sending demos to each other, and playing new songs for each other in my little apartment. Tanner’s voice can be heard on The Plan, Junkie Love, and Lovely. The Plan was fun, I actually recorded his part on a late night of us having drinks and smokes in my apartment. I directed him on how to do the “oooooo’s” and he thought I was crazy. I slapped some reverb on it, asked him to do it again in harmony, slapped reverb on that, panned the vocals, and it exists basically as that on the record today. I had a vocal vision that I couldn’t hit, but he could. Tanner’s biggest contribution was vocally on Lovely. He and Hannah Vanwingen had the demo and worked on it in I believe one night, and they added things I would have never thought of. The vocals are incredible, and the repeat callbacks of the verses add to the intense nostalgia of the song. Tanner was able to know what I meant for everything in every song, it seems. Whether I told him what I meant or he picked it up, he was always keen on it. I think that helped him bring out the best in the song. Tanner had been playing Lovely live with the band for a good while, and he was one of the first to hear a demo, so he understands what this song means to me like only him, Jake, Mike, Anthony Zito, and Sean Weyers really could. In “A Star is Born,” Bradley Cooper talks about how music is just 12 notes, and it just depends on how a musician sees ‘em. In an equally romantic way to his brother telling this to Lady Gaga, I love the way Tanner sees ‘em. 

Sean Weyers- the mastermind behind all the music I’ve ever made. Sean is able to see my songs through my eyes and help them come to life. I am endlessly thankful for the way Sean supports me as a musician. The way he will coach me through a tough vocal take, the way he intakes my lyrics and shapes the music around the emotion I am trying to evoke in a song, and the way he encourages me to be myself in the studio. Every Time we’ve made something, I put it out and start to hate it because I’ve generally written an entire new record by the time it’s done, but he always helps me look back fondly on my projects. Sean has become a wonderful friend to have, whether in music or when I just need a friend. He’s helped me put my parents' voices in my songs, and that will last forever. Before he got his studio, we would be in his parents’ basement and talk for hours while we recorded. There were times when I think we did more talking than anything else. When we would get burnt out, we’d walk around the block once or twice, or hit the Wendy’s across the road, to regroup and re-assess whatever is dragging on me. Sean is a special guy, and I’m lucky to have him in my corner and behind the music- on bass for this record and always the best producer.

The artwork was done by Gabby Marderosian. Go support their work! She painted a lovely portrait of a picture taken by Jake Rees:

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The Plan

“You say ‘I love you’ like a goodbye to an old friend”

A classic song about unrequited love and false confidence, and as usual with my songs, references to themes from a religious upbringing that I’ve shed so many years ago but cannot shake from the deep parts of my brain, especially when it comes to anything creative. Catholicism is a masterful piece of fiction, and it’s hard to stop scooping from that well. 

“If the savior comes back and forgets the plan
I’ll whisper gently, while I still can
And sing of temptation,
Spark your fascination,
And give you every chance”

This is a chest-puffing moment: I am the one who can save you, Jesus is not coming back, and I will bring the deliverance of love and forgiveness.

“I keep your old notes closed
In boxes deep inside a closet.
So, when I need them, I know
They’re always right there where I hid ‘em”

This line is just true. The person knows who they are. My cat knocked down said box one night, the one-year anniversary of my mother’s death at about the same time she died, and I woke up and my visitation pass to the hospital had fallen out, amongst notes from the previously-alluded-to person. Strange. I wrote this in the following days. 

“If the savior comes back and forgets the plan
I’ll be there to help you, for as long as I can
And sing of starvation,
Spark humiliation,
And give you my last chance”

This is the point in the song where the ridiculousness of the first chorus comes into play and an admission of mortality.

Junkie Love

“We bleed a happiness too unfamiliar to see”

Ahh, another unrequited love song, this time encompassed in being too late, and biting off more than one can chew. I look back on relationships that I’ve had that were always viewed as a temporary engagement, only to feel that I was happy then without knowing. The feeling is too estranged from my memory to know it when it sits next to me, smiling and assuring of better things to come.

“It’s a Junkie Love,
Couldn’t get enough to keep it all for one
It’s a cover-up
And now you’re stuck

You cut ‘em up, said you don’t touch the stuff
Now we’re back to where we started
You had enough
Went and called my bluff”

This is about…. Infidelity. Or at least, the inability to commit - although I say I want to get married and have children. The line “You cut ‘em up, said you don’t touch the stuff, now we’re back to where we started” sounds negative, but it's actually romanticizing my dreams of having a kid and thinking of feeding my niblings and laughing with them as they just play with the food. It’s a fond moment for me, always. 

“Stop the river and bury me
In a gold and silver effigy
Release the river over me
Never find my body underneath”

I was listening to a Stuff You Should Know episode about an ancient leader that was worshiped and his people stopped the flow of the river to bury him in a beautiful, heavy coffin made of gold and silver, then let the river flow over him so that he would be part of the river forever and never found. I don’t recall who this was, and looking it up I see many legends of leaders being buried in this fashion. Either way, I thought it was absolutely fascinating.

Ancient History

This was an attempt to not write about myself, or anything truthful for that matter. I wanted to invoke some sort of story that feels larger than a relationship between me and someone else now. This song also came to light out of an unrequited love.

“You went beggin’ for fools gold
And came back in a lasso,
Spent the summer all alone,
All kept up in a foxhole

You were living long ago
Then came the big snow,
Spent the ice age all froze,
Emerged as a fossil

But that’s ancient history
And you will find it hard even just to believe
In something you can’t see
Is it god or make-believe?”

Another stab at the Catholic part of my Irish-Catholic childhood. I loved the imagery of feeling like you’ve lost someone and drifted so far apart that the years have changed memories into dream-like sequences.

“Tanner, I’ll stop singing about sleep
When you stop singing about teeth
And everybody will get clean
When they are good and ready.”

Someone had told me I sing about sleep too much, which is true, and I believe Tanner agreed when I told them. So I wrote this in spite. The first two lines are dogging him, the next are dogging my old song “Get Clean.” Pretty funny, I think.

Find Your Own Way Home

“You’re not alone,
You’ll find your way home,
The things you can’t say,
They get in the way…
But you’ll be home real soon”

For the purposes of this song, and often in life, home is finding a place where you feel at home. This was written when I had a solid sense of community around me. I was always with some combination of Zito and the Detroit gang or Pat Ray, Gabe Clemens, and Tanner Ellis. It is sort of me speaking to myself, remembering that I can be part of something larger than me.

“Where do they go?
And how do they know
To keep the time,
To stay for a while,
And then find their own way home”

This line is about watching a crowd disperse in groups from a basement show and leaving alone. This does not mean that I am being left behind, rather that I don’t know how to join. The anxiety of being afraid of being alone is isolating enough in itself.

“I tried to drive between the lines,
But the engine’s on fire.
I could never learn how to cross the wires.”

I hate driving and don’t know how to fix cars or wire a car and steal it like a real cool cat. This is a metaphor for focusing on the wrong things in life. I’m trying to drive between the lines, that’s great. However, the bigger problem is that the engine itself is on fire.

True North

My father, James Edward Haggerty, wrote True North. I can only speak to what this song means to me. I remember hearing this song for the first time, and I thought it was so genius.

“A lover’s heart’s a shaky compass,
And True North is hard to find”

My whole family loves this song and it was the favorite for me to play in his band with him, or more accurately to this recording- us two singing in the music room at the condo. Never perfect, I could never figure out how to harmonize with him. He was a much better singer than I am. 

This recording was made on an EP my father and I made under our traditional Irish surname, O’Hegarty. We recorded it together, with Sean of course, and I have always loved it. When he passed, I knew I wanted to bring this song into my next record. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do. At first, I thought we will keep his voice and I will play a bunch of instruments and get the band in, etc. Which I would like to do eventually. But, the right thing felt like doing what would sound just like we did when we would play together and just adding my vocals to the song. It originally had my father on guitar and singing and me on banjo. We kept all of that and added me singing along. It’s hard for me to listen to, at times, because I remember that feeling. But, that’s also why I put it on this record - so we could have us singing together forever. I and our family will always be using True North as a phrase for thinking of our future, and we always will have him in our minds.

Never Suffer Fools

“Never suffer fools, it comes to haunt you,
Never come back home, I swear to god
I don't make the rules, but you should listen,
I will not repent when I’ve done wrong”

I heard the phrase “never suffer fools” on Dax Shepherd’s podcast when Charlie Day said that Rob McElhenney never suffers fools. Had no clue what it meant, though it was catchy. I had this little Slaughter Beach, Dog-inspired progression and I just rolled with whatever came out of my mouth as I played. The second line is just a brief reference to being kicked out of the house for various reasons as a teenager when staying with my mother. The final line of the first bit here is a reference to how hard it can be to admit guilt. It all has more religious themes to it in my brain that are portrayed here and reminds me of being in church in high school and just feeling strange. 

“Pat knocks on my door to walk to school now,
Everyday from third to eighth grade
I wish I could turn back the dial,
I wish we were playing ball today”

This is mostly true, except it was more like I was ready first and sat in Pat’s living room for a few minutes before we left for school. That doesn’t sound as catchy, though. We would walk to and from school together everyday, often bringing along some of the other Redford boys on the way home for backyard soccer in the fall and snowball fights in the winter. Of course, anytime the weather allows you’d find at least one of us playing basketball in the street or in Pat’s backyard. These memories are some of my favorite in the world, and there are so many more I could share about the Redford crew. Love to Pat Maher, Collin Kelly, and Tommy Brady a.k.a Backpack Kid Quarterback TOOOOOMMMMMMM BRADY! 

“In every nightmare, holding daddy dying
Everyday I’m waking up in tears.
From picking up Petoskey rocks with grandma,
To counting up the years since she’s been here

She forgets what we sound like
Always tries to get the names right
We always cry at the right times
No one knows that it’s just fright”

I wrote this all before my dad passed away. I would have these dreams that I was sitting with him in his bed, talking about music or history. He would have a heart attack in my arms and I would watch him die. These nightmares haunted me. Then, that’s what happened to him, although not in my arms. It feels so eerie to have written this then.

I wrote the rest of these lyrics about my Grandma Jan, who I knew was going to pass anytime. She had been sick with Alzheimer’s for long enough, and she was ready. Sometimes it feels like the decade-plus that it has been since we were picking up Petoskey stones and polishing them between bowls of Moose Tracks, other times it feels like yesterday that I was lying to her that I was old enough to drive and smoke, and she believed me. 

She used to collect McDonald’s toys and a bunch of other kid’s movie knick-knacks and things like that. I remember being very young and sword-fighting her on the hill behind her house. I remember playing with her little 7 Dwarves characters and pretending to be Sleepy. I remember the time my mom called her and the face she made when she realized my grandma did not remember who my mother was anymore. Now that the suffering is over, it is all something I can look at and find the beauty in.

I Know A Way Around Heaven’s Gates

This song came into my head when thinking about religion, again. Part of me always has these spite-filled thoughts going through my head. I thought of the devil, and how he was once an angel. And it popped in my head- “he says, ‘I know a way around heaven’s gates.’”

So I started writing that, and I knew that line would be repeated bigger and bigger, so I had to figure out a verse. In true Ship & Sail fashion, I thought about Redford again, my Irish-Catholic neighborhood that bore these ideals, and the schools that engraved the stories in our brains. Nostalgia.

“I know my way around these streets that I came about,
These streets that I came about”

Next is really a dream of love and I can see it in my mind as part of a drama movie. I don’t know why, but it’s always given me butterflies. It’s cute and innocently playful.

“I chase you ‘round like a child,
You run around goin’ wild
I spin around, you stay a while
I spin around, you stay a while”

Later is the line that I love the most in the song because it embodies me being in a world where there is a devil and heaven and he’s gotten into my head and is responsible for the bad decisions in my life. I suppose- acting catholic again. The book part is especially real, I want to be an avid reader so badly, but it takes work for me to get into it and not feel like it’s homework. I’ve gotten better since writing this song, but it is a line I am proud of. 

“Now Lucifer sleeps in my head
And he’s read all the books I said I would back then
And says ‘don’t waste your time, they’re just what you’d expect.
No, don’t waste your time, they’re just what you’d expect.

He says ‘I know a way around heaven’s gates’”

This is how I can cheat my way into the promised land, and get around the gates.

Pushing Daisies

I wrote the chorus first in this song, like I generally do. It was a tough one for me to build the verses because I like the chorus so much, I wanted to stay with that catchy melody. The chorus came into my head after talking with someone about that old show that I think only lasted one season, called Pushing Daisies. My dad and I loved that show, and we always said that it was before its time and would work now. 

“We’ll be pushing daisies, or disintegrating
In the backyard, slow
But I’ll be laying next to you
Like I always was”

The verses are stories made up of different feelings. Beginning with a lovely dream-like scenario of dancing and joking on the beach and going into the sea fully-clothed because who cares and we are in this moment together. Our clothes get covered in salt-water and sand- a little shell stuck to the elbow of my shirt, the sunset just far enough to where we can’t see very well anymore.

“I think the tide runs high tonight,
Let’s swim while we still can
You made a mess of your mother’s dress
When we crossed from sea to sand

One day you’ll find that between the lines,
The colors seem to shine less bright
And every time that you pray at night,
Your wishes don’t appear in sight”

So I revert back to lack of conformity and religion, so what?

Lovely

Originally the album title, our closer for our shows for the last year of playing shows, probably. A song I cry to while I’m singing, or walk out into the crowd and grab Dylan Grantham by his jacket and sing the hook, or drop to the ground while singing and knock half of the band’s power outlets out of place and lose the bass and lights. 

I told Tanner when I began writing a new album that I was working on a new concept for me. I’ve always written about my trauma. On this record, I wanted to write something positive. I called it ‘writing for later.’ I may not feel this way, or even be able to yet, but I chose to believe that it can be better.

I begin, yet again, with unrequited love. However, the line stayed because months after I wrote it, I went down to Bowling Green for a show and saw that the Ohio sign was changed to “Ohio: Find It Here” - I couldn’t help but laugh at yet another coincidence on this record.

“What you can’t find here,
You’ll find in Ohio
You were always near,
Where did you go?”

In this song, I talk about my Grandma Kay, my dad’s dad, and how much fun I had with my Aunts, Uncles, and cousins at her lake. Fishing, cooking, swimming, joking around. It was some of our best times as kids. I wrote this while she was moving out of that apartment and to a facility for folks with dementia. I miss those days, but she created a family, along with Papa, that can never stop finding ways to have a blast together.

“At grandma’s lake, we swam for hours
For heaven’s sake, can you take me back there?”

Then, the line to end it all, truly writing for later. One of my favorite lines that I’ve ever written; the meaning of it is clear and truthful, while hearing the begging for it to ring true in the end.

“On my last day,
I will be thankful
For the things I saw
When I was a child

When I am dismissed,
I will go gently
No angry fits,
My life was lovely”

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Finally, I want to talk about the one person that I didn’t mention in the beginning, my dad.

My dad has always been a huge supporter of my music. He’s always listened and inquired about parts that were especially good or too sad for him. He’d help me with certain phrases and words that he thought, correctly, would sound better. But most of all, my dad was my best friend who created an atmosphere for me to be myself in. He made me feel at home with his voice over the phone or the hug we had outside the Irish joint we would meet up halfway at on Sashabaw Road when I was busy in college and you were working. I couldn’t have asked for a better father, a better partner for 24 years of my life, or a better friend. We are the rare example in the world of someone who lost a father too early, but can truly be comfortable in knowing that we both knew how the other felt- it was all love, trust, and memories. 

I will forever wish that he could hear this record as it currently exists, but he did get to hear most of it during the early process. He heard the words and my feelings. We discussed my nightmares about him dying. I know this is something he would be proud of, and while I am sad that I’ll never fulfill our goal of bringing him up on stage for True North, this will be out there forever.

I love you, Dad. Here’s to finding True North.

Greet Death – I Hate Everything | Single Review

New misanthropy anthem just dropped!

Michigan shoegazers Greet Death have returned with “I Hate Everything,” their first single since 2019’s New Hell. The track is more of a changeup than a curveball; gone are the soul-crushing of the guitars and bass of their previous songs, in their place are gently strummed acoustic chords and faint drum patterns. There’s still a sick guitar solo, but even it feels restrained in comparison to the soaring solos of songs like “You’re Gonna Hate What You’ve Done.”

When I listen to “I Hate Everything,” I can’t help but think of “Crush,” the penultimate song on New Hell. Both tracks have an almost pop-like quality while still featuring some of the band’s most dour lyrics. “Crush” is a tranquil little diddy propped up by a gorgeous slide guitar motif as Logan Gaval sings of a heartbreak that has him fantasizing “different ways [his] body could die.” Sonically, the song is soft and gentle, yet lyrically, the content is nothing short of arresting. It serves as a sort of palette cleanser for New Hell, priming the lister for the punishing ten-minute title track that comes in its wake. 

Much like “Crush,” “I Hate Everything” doesn’t need to be loud to make itself heard. Sam Boyhtari acts as the song’s storyteller, laying out the mundane existence of a functioning depressive. Boyhtari’s lyrics and delivery sound like Andy Shauf making a Songs: Ohia record; clear and conversational, but incredibly dark. He’s getting wasted on Thursdays, sitting in meetings, and taking pictures of dead birds on the street. It’s a sad and lonely life, but in many ways, it’s not too different from what a lot of people are going through. Being depressed doesn’t make someone unique, but everyone’s depression is unique to them. You can traverse through a seemingly normal life and still be in immense pain; it’s not an either-or situation.

I know my analysis of the song might feel like a lot, so I want to make it clear that I love “I Hate Everything.” I love Greet Death’s colossal sound, but what makes their music truly special is that it is so validating. Life really fucking sucks sometimes, and Greet Death get that. As of now, it’s unclear if this track is the precursor of a new album or if it’s just a one-off single, but either way, I’m excited to see the band tweaking their sound while also remaining true to the sound of their previous releases. Not only are they tinkering with their music, but with their lineup as well. “I Hate Everything” sees Jackie Kalmink entering the fold as the band’s bassist and recording/engineer of this song, officially turning Greet Death into a four-piece. I don’t think the band has completely abandoned their loud shoegaze sound, but it’s clear that even without crushing guitars, Greet Death will always be heavy.

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Connor lives in San Francisco with his partner and their cat and dog, Toni and Hachi. Connor is a student at San Francisco State University 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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