Cry On, Space Cowboy: Cloakroom's 'Doubts' Sings the Sorrows

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Have you ever heard a song so affective that it ruined a band for you? It’s the sort of song that infiltrates every fiber of your being and sinks its claws deep into your soul. It becomes a fascination as you play it on repeat or skip straight to it. You feel that the song was made only for you. Anything else from the artist, no matter the quality, is rendered meaningless because you have this one song, and for you, that is enough.

I have this relationship with Cloakroom’s “Doubts.” The penultimate track from the Indiana stonergazers new album Dissolution Wave leaves me breathless with each lesson. It’s a relatively simple song, four short verses, a couple of short breaks, and a gentle guitar solo that plays as the music drifts to a close, but it’s how the band puts it all together that makes “Doubts” so special. Cloakroom are masters of texture, and they put their skills on display here. Negative space is filled with pristine guitar chords, and while infrequent, each strum is purposeful and emotive. A low, purring bassline provides warmth as a patient drum pattern crackles in the background. All of this is befitting of the album’s space-western concept as Doyle Martin’s lyrics feel like the slow-moving thoughts of an astronaut floating away in the ever-expanding universe.

I find the song chilling, and I believe it is the most beautiful thing Cloakroom has recorded. Maybe I’m too close-minded, but I don’t need anything else from the group. That’s not to say that I don’t think their bone-crushing riffs don’t do it for me, but when I put on “Doubts,” there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be than in those four minutes.

As I realized that I kept returning to the song, I tried to puzzle out why. Each time I listened, I found myself getting hung up on this brief guitar motif trying to think of what it reminded me of. After a week of it looping in my head, I realized that it’s reminiscent of a melody in “Goddamn Lonely Love” by Drive-By Truckers, a song with which I have a similar relationship. Now, I’m accusing Cloakroom of being copycats, but I can’t unhear what I’ve heard. In fact, I’m thankful for this great-minds-think-alike moment because the two songs have so much in common beyond some short melodies.

Like “Doubts,” “Goddamn Lonely Love” is a wistful yet gorgeous tune. Jason Isbell might sing his blues with more gusto than Martin, but both are blue nonetheless. These songs traffic in sorrow and regret more than they do in outright pain and misery. Upon this revelation, it became clear to me that much like “Goddamn Lonely Love,” “Doubts” is tears-in-your-beer music. It’s the kind of song destined to play over the speakers of a gloomy bar while a sad cowboy huddles over his third round of a beer and a shot combo. This, my friends, is very much my shit. While I may be just another city boy, I routinely find myself sympathizing with depressed plains walkers. Like these melancholic rancheros, I am not inclined to divulge my feelings. Healthy or not, I know I can always find solace in the company of songs like these.

I have no idea if Cloakroom intended to link themselves to crestfallen troubadours such as Isbell, Jason Molina, and the unimpeachably dolorous Townes Van Zandt, but this style of music fits them so well. They’ve hinted at their appreciation of this brand of song with covers of Songs: Ohia and Tom Petty, but this feels like their first true foray into downtrodden cowpoke-dom. Their interpretation of the tradition is earnest and done without pastiche. With “Doubts,” the band has hit upon something timeless, which is why I can, and will, listen to it forever.

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.

Follow him on Twitter or Instagram.

Chris Farren – Death Don’t Wait (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) | Album Review

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Best known as the frontman of Florida indie rock band Fake Problems, one half of pop-punk duo Antarctigo Vespucci, and the powerhouse behind two irreverent, high-energy solo albums, Chris Farren has always had a flair for the dramatic. His work as a songwriter and performer is never *just* about the music (though said music is certainly strong enough to speak for itself if needed). From his contributions to the Craig of the Creek soundtrack (with the show’s composer Jeff Rosenstock, Farren’s longtime best friend and collaborator), to his use of elaborate projected visuals in his live shows, and, let’s just say spirited self-portraits, the non-audio companion pieces have always been as essential to the “Chris Farren Experience” as the music itself. Even without these visual elements, Farren has always been a very illustrative musician, creating vivid scenes that make his songs often feel like short films. It’s easy– often lazy –music writer shorthand to call a song or an album or even a particular musician’s songwriting style “cinematic.” If by “cinematic” one means ‘yeah, I could see this song being used in a movie,’ then the term becomes almost meaningless. But listening to  Death Don’t Wait, I feel confident in this word’s necessity and specificity because Chris Farren has soundtracked the greatest crime drama that never existed. 

Inspired primarily by Bond films and Marvin Gaye’s soundtrack to Trouble Man, Chris Farren has tried his hand at filmmaking– he’s just skipped over the part where an actual film is made. Though Death Don’t Wait does not exist in its full, feature-length, audiovisual form– no script, no actors, no footage –it’s not that far off to imagine it. 

As the album’s title track and only non-instrumental opens with sparkling strings and delicately tapping hi-hat cymbals, you can imagine the opening credits rolling in– “…and featuring the music of Chris Farren” unfolding across a background of rainy city streets at twilight. This track sees guest vocalist and frequent Farren collaborator Laura Stevenson going full Nancy Sinatra, purring over a ‘60s Spectoresque girl group progression with a voice as sweet and slow as honey. Tonally, this opener is a microcosm of the soundtrack as a whole– though it’s evocative of a bygone era, none of it feels outdated or stale. 

While listening to Farren’s soundtrack, I found myself watching the events of the story unfold, beat by beat. Even just looking at the tracklist, the song titles read as a sort of storyboard that maps out the rise and fall of a movie plot. Just the other day I affectionately described the Mission Impossible-esque “Red Wire Blue Wire” as “music to commit a heist to.” “Helicopter Shuffle” kicks off with a fat bassline, which gives our unnamed and unseen heroes a head start on their run from the cops before the drums start rumbling in. “Car Chase!” sounds like, well, exactly what the title would suggest. The moody guitars and suspenseful, rattling snare give “Chris Farren Noir” a “Riders On The Storm” vibe. This lonesome cowboy moment is further proof of Chris Farren’s versatility– he can be both a character actor AND a leading man. 

Farren’s multi-genre influences are apparent throughout the soundtrack. The fantastically titled “Attacked By Dogs” sees a crashing cacophony of horns and drums giving way to what almost sounds like a ska track towards the end, and that ska influence comes through the plucky, dissolving guitars on “Cash Is Heavy” as well. Evoking the ambience of a smoke-filled nightclub, “Here’s Your Disguise” bravely poses the question, “what if The Stranglers tried to make a lyricless bossa nova song?” (Answer: it would fucking slap). In “Night Walk (Harmonic Suite),” three haunting piano notes are repeated ominously over a slow-burning drone, building up a creeping sense of fear before the mournful, dirge-like horns come in. 

The film reaches its climax with “Hot Pursuit,” which kicks off with fluttering surf-rock guitars, a mad-dashing drum beat, and a fierce, doom-portending horn section. This is the turning point, the final showdown, the grand finale. But after our heroes make their great escape, as the slow, forlorn strings and piano notes of  “Cold Pursuit” fade in, we get the sense that it was a pyrrhic victory. This could all be just an assumption, though. With no film to accompany this soundtrack, Farren lets the listener choose their own adventure. Though it might be tempting, on a surface level, to assume that his intention is to parody, Farren’s admiration for his musical and film influences is apparent throughout. The genre tropes he employs are familiar touchstones that give Death Don’t Wait an arc that feels full despite what is deliberately missing. The white page, the darkened screen– these absences that Farren leaves us with are, in their own way, essential to the completed story. They give us– the listeners –the opportunity to fill in the blanks with our own imagination before letting the credits roll. 

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

Colleen Dow – Bumbum | Single Review

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Blanketed in soft layers of reverb, the guitar intro of “Bumbum” is an invitation to a dream. A much-needed lullaby for the time when it’s a little bit too past your bedtime. Here, in the third single under their own name, Colleen Dow muses on a midnight daydream of falling asleep in a warm white room, listening to city sirens while wrapped in sheets and someone else’s embrace. It’s a fantasy I could only describe as “everything I could ever ask for.” 

But it’s not meant to last. Even before the first verse comes to a close, Dow starts having doubts about the staying power of this situation. The guitar is joined by bass, drums, and a plunky piano that simultaneously maintain the bedtime tempo while creating a march. It’s giving pacing around your kitchen at one a.m. waiting for the water for your sleepytime tea to boil. 

The song is a move away from the syrupy indie-punk of Dow’s main band Thank You, I’m Sorry towards a more intimate and inward sound inflicted by bands like Postal Service and Now, Now. Together with producer Abe Anderson, they’ve crafted a sonic treat that allows Dow’s personality as a songwriter to shine through these influences.

The second half of “Bumbum” is where the lyrics begin to hit a little *too* close to home for me. If the first verse is a cozy dream, the second verse is a rude wake-up call from Dow’s internal critic. Their fantasy turns to a vision of abandonment, loss, and fear of waking to find your partner’s bags packed so they can flee. Worse even, Dow begins to wonder if these anxieties are mutual.

Look, I’m no stranger to imagining worst-case scenarios and projecting them onto my partner's. I just wasn’t expecting to feel called out about it today. It is nice to know that the person I usually trust with playlist recommendations on Tik Tok has the same insecurities as me.

Historically, the kind of music I would compare to an anxiety attack involves a lot of screaming and thrashing guitars—the sort of thing you can see coming from miles away. But I’m actually pretty good at keeping anxiety attacks to myself. Sure, I’ll talk the ear off of anyone who will listen, but I mean this more in a physical sense. I wring my hands, I clench my jaw, and I carry it all in my chest. The choruses of “Bumbum” are an incredibly accurate representation of the feelings inside of my body. The tension of my chest lives in this bassline. Bum bum goes my beating heart. Even the layer of acoustic guitar is in rhythm with the wringing of my hands.

“Bumbum” feels like a reflection of both my physical and mental state at my most anxious. It’s as if Dow took my own desires, fears, and insecurities and wove them into a pop song. That may not be an experience most listeners would willingly flock to but, in addition to being catchy as heck, it really is incredibly comforting to have these feelings echoed back at me. In this way, “Bumbum” feels like an anxiety attack and a security blanket at the same time. It’s the sheets in a warm white room I look forward to wrapping myself in for the rest of the winter. 

Cailen Alcorn Pygott is a writer, musician, and general sadsack from Halifax, Nova Scotia. He’ll tell you even more about his anxieties on his band No, It’s Fine.’s album I Promise. Tell him how brave you think that is on Twitter @noitsfinereally and on Instagram @_no_its_fine_.

Swim Into The Sound's Staff Favorites of 2021

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Back in the early days of this site, I would feel a strange sense of accomplishment whenever someone would talk about Swim Into The Sound as if it were run by multiple people. I suppose sometimes it’s just common practice to refer to a website with plural terms like “you guys” or “the team,” but it always made me proud that I alone was making something that could possibly be mistaken for the work of multiple people. 

And sure, we’ve had guest writers before 2021, but they were usually few and far between. Previously, guest posts were typically just one-off articles, published once or twice per year. All of that changed in 2021 as a lineup of a half-dozen or so writers solidified into regular contributors over the course of the year.

At the beginning of 2021, I made a resolution to myself to post one article here every week. I’m proud to say that we surpassed that goal and then some, and it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of these talented writers. In total, we had 22 guest posts throughout the year (23, if you count this one), and I could not be more appreciative of that fact. Without these writer’s talent and hard work, this site would have had long gaps between posts at multiple points throughout the year. Simply put, they helped this site immensely throughout 2021 and really helped Swim Into The Sound feel like a legitimate music blog. 

Another cool thing about bringing in this wealth of outside talent and perspectives is that I can connect the dots a little bit more. On any given week, I receive a number of emails and DMs that I consider “suffocating.” Whether they’re for an upcoming song, music video, or album, these things pile up in my inboxes and bury me alive. Even if these solicitations come from bands or labels that I love, I don’t have the time to personally write about every release that I want to. Now that I have something resembling a staff, I can send these upcoming releases to a group chat and quickly find someone who’s eager to write about this music with the love and care that it deserves. 

Connecting those dots has led to some cool opportunities and extraordinary pieces of writing this year. Amongst other things, our staff wrote awesome album reviews, single write-ups, multiple incredible interviews, premieres, concert reviews, and more. I’m immensely proud of everything that’s been published on the site this year, and I’m excited to see what 2022 has in store for us. For now though, let’s take one last look through 2021 as I turn the site over to our staff to hear about their favorite records of the year.

Cailen Pygott | Weakened Friends - Quitter

It was October 28th when Taylor initially proposed this collection of album of the year reviews. At the time, two albums were neck and neck for my personal first place. As I was busy prepping for multiple re-listens, massive pro and con lists, and an east coast west coast style song bracket to determine who would reign supreme, a thought occurred to me: ‘I should probably wait for the three weeks until Weakened Friends release Quitter.’ This is an album I’ve been expecting to top my year-end list ever since the single “What You Like” came out (holy shit) two years ago. Sonia Sturino is one of a handful of songwriters whose lyrics feel could have been ripped straight from my daily journaling practice if I had kept at it for longer than two days. The way Sturino’s songs express feelings of isolation, heartbreak, and the fear that you, yes you specifically, are fucking everything up is a pure reflection of my inner monologue on my worst days. Am I just projecting? Survey says probably, but this album friggin’ rips all the same. I graduated from a two-year community college music program, and the technical term for these guitars is “frickin’ thick dude.” I’ve believed for years that we as a society don’t talk about Annie Hoffman the bass player enough, but Quitter is also a brilliant showcase of her work as a producer. There’s an ever-rising level of intensity throughout that hits its climax in “Haunted House” and carries through the final two tracks showing off a mastery of compositional arrangement. All of the songs on Quitter stand on their own, but it’s this care and attention paid to the album as a singular work of art that makes it my AOTY. 

Fun fact: My band No, It’s Fine. included a version of “Early” on our 2021 cover album (It’s Nice To Pretend) We Wrote These Songs. Now here are some made-up superlatives to highlight most of the music that shaped my year. Some of these are older, but they’re still important to me, dang it!

  • Best Guitar Solo - Cheekface “Next to Me”

  • Best New song by a Twitter mutual I’ve never met - Pictoria Vark “I Can’t Bike”

  • Band I’d most like to be friends with - Year Twins

  • Favourite band I discovered due to mutual barista rage - Puppy Angst

  • Favorite Rediscovery - The Drew Thomson Foundation - Self Titled

  • Song that made me cry the most times - Rosie Tucker “Ambrosia” and “Habanero”

  • Best podcast soundtrack - Planet Arcana

  • Best band I got into this year only to realize they already broke up - Lonely Parade

  • Album that got me through running 5ks when I still had the motivation to run 5ks - Gregory Pepper & His Problems - I Know Now Why You Cry

  • Song that made me feel better about my body for but one fleeting moment - Durry “Who’s Laughing Now”

Connor Fitzpatrick | Mdou Moctar - Afrique Victime

Mdou Moctar is the most important guitarist in the game right now, and 2021 has been his year. I’ve been a fan of his for a few years now, so it’s been rewarding to see him and his band get their shine. Afrique Victime is Moctar’s best work yet. It’s not much of a departure from Ilana: The Creator, but a refinement of what makes their music so special. The album’s got loud shredding (“Chismiten”), hypnotic grooves (“Ya Habibiti”), and heartfelt balladry (“Tala Tannam”). What sets the virtuosic Tuareg guitar player apart from the pack is just how expressive and unpredictable his phrasing is. On the title track, the band spends four minutes developing an entrancing rhythm before Moctar’s guitar drops off only to come back, detached from the rest of the band, in a firestorm of noise and anger while the band continues to play faster and faster. It’s a breathtaking moment that mirrors Mdou’s lyrics of colonial destruction in Western Africa. One of the most frustrating things for me in the coverage of Mdou Moctar has been the knee-jerk reaction to compare him to guitar gods of the past. It’s an attempt to display his prowess as a musician, but ultimately it takes the spotlight away from how singular he is. There is only one Mdou Moctar, and Afrique Victime is his crowning achievement. 


My 10 favorite Bandcamp purchases of 2021:

Joe Wasserman | Mo Troper - Dilettante

I am a sucker for hearing the warm buzz of a tube amp. “My Parrot,” a song about an avian existential crisis, is what sold me on Dilettante despite my already being totally sold on Mo Troper. “Wet T-Shirt Contest” has a rumbling, buoyant bass line while the listener yearns to discern just why the speaker “never [wants] to see those nipples again.” These are just two tracks off Dilettante’s 28-song playlist-as-album/data dump. Troper is masterful in crafting infectious songs that can withstand the test of time, much like The Beatles.


Runner-up: Dazy - MAXIMUMBLASTSUPERLOUD: The First 24 Songs
To some, I might be cheating with this one. Only the first 16 songs are from 2021; the rest are off 2020 EPs. Regardless, Dazy’s MAXIMUMBLASTSUPERLOUD: The First 24 Songs is another masterclass in to-the-point, effective, worming power pop that is not too sugary. After discovering Dazy while reading an interview with David Anthony, I listened to the album while playing Call of Duty, exercising, doing the dishes, walking the dogs, and pretty much anything else in my life. MAXIMUMBLASTSUPERLOUD is upbeat, frenetic, and makes me feel happy, which speaks droves given how the last few years have gone on both the grand and granular levels.


Albums/EPs That Deserve More Attention (in no specific order):

Grace Robins-Somerville | black midi - Cavalcade

Likes: the abundance of exciting new bands coming out of the Windmill Brixton scene. Dislikes: nearly everything that’s been written about them. 

I’ll sit down to read almost any piece about a group like black midi, and here come the critic’s thoughts on Squid, Shame, Dry Cleaning, Black Country New Road, Goat Girl– as though they can’t help but lump all these groups together. Sure, there are some surface-level similarities between the heavy hitters– they’re British, they all make guitar-led post-rock adjacent music that often includes talk-singing, many have worked with producer Dan Carey, and 2021 was a big year for all of them. But in reality, these bands don’t have much else in common, and the tendency to hyperfocus on one band’s niche in a particular scene often overlooks what makes them unique. 

Anyway, now that I’ve hypocritically discussed black midi solely in the context of their contemporaries, let’s dive into my AOTY: the decadent kaleidoscope of controlled chaos that is their sophomore album Cavalcade. My love for black midi is well-documented. Their music often feels like the audio equivalent of this picture in the best possible way. They have a penchant for sequencing their albums in a way that shouldn’t work but somehow does: How better to follow up a satirical prog-rock cautionary tale about a cult leader who gets overthrown by his once-loyal followers (complete with a helicopter feature), than with a bossa nova ballad for German-American film-and-cabaret star Marlene Dietrich? An abrasive punk track about two runaway thieves (who may or may not be chickens?) somehow segues perfectly into a 10-minute pun-based Scott Walker-esque closer about a musician interrogating the integrity of his art. And yeah, the middle of an album is totally the best place for a delicately droning slow-burner inspired by an Isabel Waidner novel. This all might paint an unfairly pretentious picture of black midi, but the real magic of their music is that it never gets quite so esoteric or technical that it stops being fun. If I haven’t convinced you of that, perhaps this Britney Spears cover will.


Runners-Up: 

Jack Hansen-Reed | Home Is Where – I Became Birds

2021 was a great year, and this was shaping up to be a tough decision for me until I Became Birds blew me away. In only an 18 minute “album,” Home Is Where deliver a release that can only be described as an enigma. The record has been (frequently) likened to Neutral Milk Hotel due to its folk influence/instrumentation and unique vocal deliveries, but it would be an injustice to say that I Became Birds is truly following in anyone’s footsteps. This record weaves capriciously between genres, transporting you from insanely cathartic rushes of power and emotion to serene moments of haunting beauty. If you’re a first-time listener, get ready for some goosebumps, because they’re coming.

With a release like this that so boisterously defies singular categorization, you’re forced to describe it by no one else’s labels or descriptors, only through your own experience. First, I have to say that vocally this is a powerhouse performance that continues to impress me every time I go back to it. Somehow, vocalist Brandon MacDonald is able to match the furious range of the instrumentals showcased here and add endlessly to their intensity. More than anything else, to me, this release is a powerful and kinetic journey that would be impossible to achieve without its mix of jarring yet apt lyrics, incredibly expressive tone, and just in general great instrumental performances. I Became Birds stands above the rest as my release of 2021 because it excites me like nothing else this year. It sparks me to go wild at shows, plumb the darkest corners of my mind, and of course, to hear what incredible material Home Is Where is cooking up next.


Runners-up:

  • Like a Stone – Remember Sports

  • Future Suits – Pet Symmetry

  • Pono - A Great Big Pile of Leaves

​​BURSTING THE BUBBLE: AN INVESTIGATION INTO BUBBLEGRUNGE

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Wednesday December 1st was a Big Day For Annoying People. If you’re reading this, I can assume that you’re already aware of its significance, but on the off chance that you’re not, it was Spotify Wrapped, the day that good little Spotify users everywhere woke up to find their yearly listening history compiled into a brightly-colored slideshow of stats. Along with some new features (Have you ever wondered which song would play over the opening credits in a movie of your life, or what color your “audio aura” is?) and some cringey, shoehorned-in buzzwords du jour (“While everyone else was trying to figure out what an NFT is, you were slaying 2021 with your main character vibes!”), were the traditional Spotify Wrapped presents we’ve come to expect-- a playlist of your 100 most-played songs of the year, as well as a ranking of your top 5 artists and genres. The latter category is what I want to focus on here. My own Spotify Wrapped raised a notable question-- no, not “did I really listen to 11 episodes of True Anon in one day?” although I did ask myself that. I, like many other Spotify users, took a look at my top 5 genres laid out in that disgusting “graphic design is my passion” font and asked, “What in the goddamn hell is ‘bubblegrunge?’”

My first encounter with the term ‘bubblegrunge’ was about a week before Spotify Wrapped on the application Stats For Spotify. I assumed it was one of those seemingly algorithm-generated music genres like ‘escape room’-- a similarly puzzling item on my top genres list from last year. On the day that Spotify Wrapped came out, it seemed like everyone on my Twitter feed was both trying to pin down a definition of the genre and ripping it to shreds. A quick glance at the tweets from music fans with bubblegrunge in their top 5 genres and those from artists who’d had the bubblegrunge label thrust upon them initially led me (and others) to believe that it was corporate streaming platform-speak for “pop-punk sung by a woman,” but I decided to investigate further.

Tracking “bubblegrunge” as a search term on Google Trends revealed a sharp uptick in google searches on December 1st, peaking at around 11:00 am (presumably shortly after most Spotify users checked their Spotify Wrapped). When I googled the term a few hours after its peak popularity, I found the following Urban Dictionary definition from 2013:

I assumed that this definition was somewhat obsolete by 2021’s standards. I’ve listened to almost no radio-friendly 90s/early 00s grunge-pop of this sort recently, so if this were the definition that Spotify was working with, it wouldn’t make much sense data-wise for the genre to show up on my year-end list. Most of the artists I’d been seeing in the lists of people with bubblegrunge as one of their top genres were bands that blended modern pop-punk with elements of 90s garage rock nostalgia-- think Kississippi, Charly Bliss, and Diet Cig. I wondered if, in this context, bubblegrunge might refer to what illuminati hotties frontwoman Sarah Tudzin has coined “tenderpunk,” defined by its irreverent yet affectionate infusion of DIY punk. “There’s a sweeter vulnerability to it, and then there’s a tongue-in-cheek, give-no-fucks attitude,” Tudzin explained in a 2019 interview with SF Weekly. 

I searched “bubblegrunge” on Spotify. The first result was Spotify’s official Sound of Bubblegrunge playlist. Among the related playlists linked in its description were ones dedicated to Indie Pop, Midwest Emo, 5th Wave Emo, Philly Indie, and a playlist exclusively dedicated to female-fronted bands in the bubblegrunge genre. This did little to disprove my initial write-off of bubblegrunge as just another attempt from the music streaming industrial complex to push “female-fronted” as its own musical genre. 

Returning to the Sounds of Bubblegrunge playlist, I saw that many of the artists featured on it were ones that I’d expected based on previous context clues. Each of the aforementioned artists had at least one song on the playlist, and other artists with overlapping fanbases were featured prominently as well. Generally, it seemed like a convergence of bedroom pop (Cherry Glazerr, Adult Mom, Sir Babygirl), emo (Slaughter Beach Dog, Radiator Hospital, Home Is Where), pop-punk (Pinkshift, Oceanator, Antarctigo Vespucci), and some folk-infused alt-pop (Lucy Dacus, Waxahatchee, Samia). There was also some straightforward guitar rock like Snail Mail, some more experimental cuts from artists like Spirit of the Beehive, and even a few ska tracks from bands like Bomb The Music Industry and We Are The Union. For the most part, all of the songs included seemed to be from the 2010s or early 2020s. Other than that, and the tendency toward the broad umbrella category of “indie,” I saw little cohesion that would warrant grouping these songs into a defined genre or subgenre. A similar algorithmically-generated playlist titled Intro to Bubblegrunge had a link to Sounds of Bubblegrunge in its description and seemed to offer a smaller sample of bubblegrunge highlights, though its content seemed somewhat indistinguishable from one of the algorithm’s standard indie rock playlists.

I decided that if I was going to do a deep dive into the genre, I had to also look into the users’ interpretations of the ‘bubblegrunge’ label. One of the first user-curated playlists to come up was one that mainly consisted of what I might jokingly refer to as “tiktokcore”-- I’d use the term not as a genre descriptor, so much as a means of categorizing music associated with a certain platform, grouping together artists like beabadoobee and girl in red. Much of the playlist also included big-name contemporary pop artists like Solange and Lorde, as well as some 90s shoegaze icons like Cocteau Twins and Mazzy Star. Once again, I saw very little cohesion within the genre label; the main commonality tying together all the music I was encountering was that most of it would be at home on a playlist called something like “songs for pretending that you’re the main character.” The bubblegrunge for beginners playlist was a bit more streamlined-- partly by virtue of its brevity, at least compared to the other bubblegrunge playlists that clocked in at 10+ hours with tracklists in the triple digits --and had a focus on late-2010s/early 2020s pop-punk and emo. This playlist, which called bubblegrunge “the best genre!” had a similar blend of emo, indie rock, and tiktok-adjacent alt-pop, with a focus on female vocals. Had there been more inclusion of earlier acts— ones that have influenced the sound of contemporary bubblegrunge —the case could be made for artists like Letters to Cleo, Veruca Salt, and Juliana Hatfield to be called bubblegrunge pioneers.

Though a decent number of non-female fronted acts were featured on bubblegrunge playlists, I was feeling a certain frustration with the “genre,” not unlike the frustration I feel towards the “sad girl indie” movement in music (many of the recommended playlists in featured below the bubblegrunge playlists I checked out were ones along the lines of Spotify’s sad girl starter pack). Much has already been written about the subtle sexism of the “sad girl” label and how it casts a limiting, two-dimensional view of female musicians and their work. Several of the so-called “sad girls” of indie music have publicly criticized the label. In a 2017 interview, Mitski confronted the perception of her as a “fevered priestess,” calling out the ways in which public discussion of female musicians often implicitly strips them of their ownership over their work and disregards their intentionality and technical skill. In a tweet from earlier this year, Lucy Dacus expressed her qualms with “sad girl indie”-- how it often exploits female pain, flattens complex emotional expression by slapping on the vague label of “sadness,” and pushes a harmful narrative that equates womanhood with suffering.

I know that on the surface, it may seem hypocritical of me to point to the inclusion of “sad girl indie” artists like Soccer Mommy and Indigo De Souza on bubblegrunge playlists as my reason for finding the two genre labels similarly frustrating. In doing so, aren’t I feeding into the “women-as-genre” propaganda? Not to mention the various non-female voices included on the bubblegrunge playlists I’ve come across in my investigation. Still, between the cutesy genre name and the algorithmic emphasis on female vocalists, it’s hard not to be skeptical. The other commonalities that make the argument for bubblegrunge to be considered a “real” genre of music paint with a broad brush at best (“post-2010 indie guitar-led pop-rock” is pretty vague criteria). 

This is not to entirely disregard newer music genres as illegitimate-- if someone said the word “hyperpop” to you three years ago, would you have any idea what they were talking about? New genres arise all the time as music evolves-- my issue isn’t with the newness, but with the attempt to put a name to a category that does not exist. What “bubblegrunge” really reveals is how detached corporate streaming platforms are from the artists that they’re featuring (and grossly underpaying). I’m not the first to point out that Spotify Wrapped is essentially a brand’s approximation of personal connection-- they made you a personalized mixtape; look how well they know their artists and users! When they try to put a name to a genre that isn’t really a genre at all, it’s nothing more than a lame attempt to homogenize and generalize a vast variety of artists, disregarding their creative and sonic diversity. Bottom line: corporations don’t define music, musicians do. 

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