Jimmy Montague – All The Same | Single Review

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SELF-RELEASED

“All The Same” by Jimmy Montague feels like a breath of fresh air. His discography is full of soft-rock jams that meld contemplative and deliberate arrangements with the free-wheeling spirit of rock ‘n’ roll from days gone by, but the new single opens on a decidedly more vintage (and somehow even sweatier) vibe– a rollicking and expressive crescendo of jazz piano. If nothing else, it demonstrates the compositional and instrumental talents of the man himself. But that isn’t all it does. Its drawn-out and embellished chords also foreshadow the jaunty, Broadway-esque main riff of the piano-driven rocker, which is eventually propelled into motion by chunky drums played metronomically to a driving rock ‘n’ roll beat. Montague’s vocal delivery, which is simultaneously hushed and urgent, has never shined brighter than it has on this song. He sounds both impassioned and detached at once as he croons for a love he waits for by the phone. The verse elides into a wonderful backslide of a chorus before the inimitable Chris Farren takes the wheel with an almost effortless guitar solo and a falsetto disco verse. Truly a meeting of the minds guys.

The groove comes first to both him and Montague on this track– the verses slip by, the second chorus is unsung, and those driving drums play the song out. “All The Same” is an evolution from Montague’s last LP, honing his instinct for slick pop-rock without sacrificing musical complexity, vintage pastiche, pure rock and roll, or complete sincerity. It’s a perfect slice of ‘70s nostalgia to pair with a big-bodied automobile, a beautiful lover, some worn-in bell-bottom jeans, and whatever remaining marijuana you can pull together. You can stream the song now on your platform of choice, at the strong recommendation of this writer. Jimmy Montague’s new LP, Tomorrow’s Coffee, drops early 2024.

Mikey Montoni is a nonfiction writing student at the University of Pittsburgh, originally hailing from New York. When she's not writing, she's bruising herself attempting skateboard tricks, playing with her punk rock band, digging through bookstores for '70s pulp sci-fi paperbacks, and wandering Pittsburgh in search of good coffee.

Frog – Grog | Album Review

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tapewormies

The sailors survived off rum. Not in the nutritional sense, of course, but in the way one may survive by watching their favorite sports team. Everybody needs a little something to get through the day. The problem arose when the sailors realized they could stockpile their daily rum rations for two, three, four days at a time and then drink themselves silly. Eighteenth-century British naval ships were dangerous operations, and drunk or hungover sailors posed a threat to everybody’s safety. An enterprising admiral named Edward Vernon began mixing fresh water into the rum rations in a 4:1 ratio, shortening the liquor’s shelf life and thus forcing the sailors to consume responsibly. Vernon’s concoction took on his own nickname: Grog, after the grogham cloth he wore around his waist.

Daniel Bateman has always operated in this space, writing fiercely humanist songs under the moniker Frog about the ways in which people mete out coping mechanisms to survive. In the intervening years after 2019’s Count Bateman, his wife gave birth to twins. Faced with the twin specters of newfound responsibility in fatherhood and a pandemic-wracked world, Bateman suddenly found he needed to dig deeper within himself to be able to write and escape into his music; in this regard, it’s fitting that the fifth Frog album is titled Grog, after the beverage which kept the sailors able to focus on the tasks at hand. Grog is, in many ways, a culmination of the greater Frog project: a refinement of the musical and lyrical themes Bateman has pursued his whole career, with fuller arrangements and a bounce that never quite materialized on older records. It also marks the band’s first go-round as a family affair, with Bateman’s brother Steve taking over full-time on drums.

“Goes w/o Saying,” the first proper song on the album, is one in a long tradition of Frog songs that cloaks sexual pursuit in vaguely religious language. But this time, they let the instrumental—a series of chiming pianos—ride out for over a minute after Bateman stops singing until the song starts to sound like hourly church bells collapsing inward on themselves. It’s a new trick for the group, the music now working in greater tandem with the lyrics. Lead single “Black on Black on Black” rides a ferocious stomping groove as Bateman works in abstract notions about Odysseus and Athena. He’s long been obsessed with the modern American myth—2015’s Kind of Blah namechecks Judy Garland, Fred Astaire, MGM, and Patrick Ewing all within a three-song run—but this dive into more classic mythology represents a new frontier. Rather than using pop cultural knowledge as evocative shorthand, he taps into some of the oldest shared cultural knowledge available as a world-building device.

But Grog’s most salient change is Bateman’s status as a new parent. Where his prior character sketches often dealt with fumbling young adulthood in pseudo-autobiography, with all the impulsive drugs and awkward sex that entails, he’s trained his gaze on a younger generation this time around. “420!!” is a melancholy guitar symphony of adolescent shenanigans and early pot-smoking laced with a morbid undercurrent: “You’re gonna die, and yeah, it’s cool / You don’t know why you’re going to school.” It’s a weed-addled bildungsroman in miniature that recalls what its characters are experiencing in real-time: a firmer (and maybe sadder) understanding of the human condition undercut by buzzed euphoria that borders on acceptance. Fatherhood is tackled most explicitly on the tender “Ur Still Mine,” a musing where Bateman imagines talking to a fellow parent before offering words of encouragement to his own kids. “New Ro” lands a bit closer to the Frog songs of prior albums, a bluegrass romp that flashes back to his hometown “where the girls they put out in a car/and the pizza guys know who you are.” 

Everything converges on the stunning closer “Gone Back to Stanford,” a bleary vignette about a college underclassman having trouble adjusting to the next phase of her life. Like many of the best Frog songs, “Gone Back to Stanford” is a series of images that stops just short of adding up to a story, littered with asides, non-sequiturs, and foreboding undercurrents. This unnamed person goes to parties and drinks Ketel One and has unfulfilling one-night stands; through it, she’s trying to work up the nerve to tell her mother she wants to transfer out. Bateman fleshes out the scenes beautifully, able to capture the pain and elation and danger of these environments from afar without ever passing judgment; paternal, but never paternalistic. It’s also the most richly arranged song of the band’s career–never before have they been able to execute the kind of drop they pull off at the end with as much heft as they manage here. They bring it home on one of Bateman’s best turns of phrase over his years of writing about lost innocence: “Born in a manger/Going home with a stranger.”

Jason Sloan is a guy from Brooklyn by way of Long Island. You can find him on Twitter or occasionally rambling at Tributary.

Hotline TNT – Cartwheel | Album Review

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Third Man Records

I was 20 years old when I first found out about Weed… The band, not the substance.

I used to hang out at the record store where I currently work when- one day, a used copy of Running Back by Weed came in. When Dollhands (now Clearbody) put out our first EP, the label that pressed tapes for us compared our music to Weed, but I thought it was just a joke and not an actual band. As soon as this record was staring me in the face, I knew I had to buy it without a second thought. Sure enough, I got home, threw Running Back on my record player, and it changed my outlook on music forever. I had never heard anything like this collection of songs; I had found my first holy grail of a record. 

I think Will Anderson understands that feeling more than most people in bands do. Hotline TNT did an Audiotree Far Out back in 2019, this was my first exposure to the group. Having already spent countless hours with Weed’s KEXP session, I quickly realized that this was Will’s new band, and needless to say, I was an instant fan. The first thing I did after watching that Audiotree was open up Spotify and type in Hotline TNT- to my surprise, nothing showed up. I then searched YouTube and found out that the only way to get these songs was to download them through a Mediafire link in the description of Fireman’s Carry. Back then, the only way to hear Hotline TNT was through YouTube, vinyl, or this janky Mediafire link. I grew up torrenting on Limewire, so this wasn’t a foreign process to me, in fact, it felt special like I was the only person that had this on their phone. 

All this to say, I’ve been closely watching the metamorphosis of this band, and Cartwheel feels like a victory lap after the longest possible NASCAR race of all time. The band is firing on all cylinders here, and with a bare-bones 33-minute runtime, not a moment is wasted. This record blends the perfect mix of cool style, cuteness, and loud-ass fuckin guitars. The textures of guitar tone are unlike anything I’ve heard in any other album, 100 other bands could try all the studio wizardry in the world and not achieve sounds like these. At its core, the tone sounds like it’s being built with an acoustic guitar, but it’s fuzzed out to the max. I especially love the color the 12-string adds on “Stump,” the record’s heartfelt closer. 

Cartwheel starts with the first two singles, “Protocol” and “I Thought You’d Change.” I was lucky enough to first hear “Protocol” last year when I saw Hotline open for Snail Mail and Momma. The song blew my mind then, and it somehow still does every time I hear it. My favorite track on the record is “Spot Me 100,” the way Will starts the song with “Squad car, caught you on the Autobahn” really does something for me. The lyrics are buried underneath all the layers of guitar, as God intended, but when one slips through the wall, it sticks with you for the rest of the runtime.

When you break down all the songs on this record, it’s the old man’s definition of Shoegaze, simply pop songs that are played deafeningly loud. Personally, I love how skewed the meaning of shoegaze has become; the genre can truly be whatever the artist (or the listener) wants it to be. Some people will call this a lo-fi record, maybe even just a rock record, but to me, this is the closest anyone has gotten to making our generation’s Loveless. Cartwheel is easily my favorite record that’s come out this year, even the interlude track is a contender for one of the best songs this year. 

After being a fan for so long, this LP exceeded my already high expectations. Cartwheel is a career-defining album for Hotline TNT. I love seeing this band win, I love it whenever I go to their Spotify page and see those monthlies go up. They’ve been grinding for years at this point and have been playing the game their way, and it’s really inspiring for someone like me to see that you can do it YOUR way. Being in a band is hard work, it took me the better part of two years to write songs for my band’s last release, so I can hear all the love and hard work that went into Cartwheel. I often think about how we’ll view records 20 years down the road; the process of putting out an album is so quick, and sometimes it feels like people forget about music a week after its release, but this is not one of those records. Even though it’s only a few weeks old at this point, it’s clear that Cartwheel will easily be a touchstone of this era of music.

My name is Eric Smeal, and I play in a band called Clearbody. We put out a record called Bend Into a Blur earlier this year, and I’m very proud of it. We play shows and tour sometimes, but right now, I’m just out here living life, writing our next record, working my day job, taking photos, etc. My handle everywhere is @amplifierwrship, thanks for reading!

Puppy Angst: One Year of Scorpio Season

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Dreamy, gazey Philadelphia rockers Puppy Angst celebrated one year of their debut LP Scorpio Season, hitting the road on an East Coast tour and releasing a vinyl edition to commemorate the occasion. Swim Into The Sound spoke with lead vocalist Alyssa Milman as they looked back on the genesis, recording, and touring of this creative and impressive contribution to indie rock. 

Milman was a founding member of bands Blushed and Past Life and has played as a touring member of Kississippi. They noted that touring with Kississippi and other bands has been a deeply generative experience, which helped shape and focus their sights on their own musical projects. 

“As of April 2022, Puppy Angst is my only band. It’s why I left Kississippi. Having those experiences on the stage as we played… definitely shaped me as a musician, in the sense that it taught me what tour was really like,” said Milman. “It was a whirlwind and definitely changed things for me. I had never played on a stage that big. It just [gave] me a bit of a hunger to have this band get to do that stuff, too.”

Puppy Angst is a rollicking rock outfit suffused with youthful energy and tenderness, nurturing both brashness and vulnerability. Milman described the sound as “like if Mannequin Pussy or Bully was a shoegaze band.” To my ear, it also recalls glam rock and pop-punk while being something entirely original.

The band’s grounding in the Philadelphia rock ecosystem is one of Puppy Angst’s great strengths. Every member in the band besides Milman is in other projects; drummer Eric Naroden is the frontman of In Lieu of Roses, synth player Pauli Mia is the frontwoman of Twin Princess, and bassist John Heywood tours with indie superstar Alex G. Guitarist Dan Leinweber played alongside Milman in Blushed, and makes ambient music under the name greenspace. “It is cool to have this intricate web,” said Milman. “A band family. Bands-in-law, as [synth player] Pauli would say.”

For Scorpio Season, Puppy Angst’s debut album, the creative process was a mix of gradual cultivation and rapid finalization. The songs were written slowly, starting in 2019 and continuing over the next three years. Lead single “Yellow Paint,” a catchy and dynamic song, which offers an early high point on the album. The revving guitars deliver energy and strength, while the warbling synths add a layer of gauzy beauty and complexity.

“‘Yellow Paint,’ as soon as I wrote it, I was like “this is the one. This is the greatest song I’ve ever written!” Milman adds, “It was one of those moments where I was like “I can’t believe I wrote that.”

Writing the album was as much a process of transmogrifying old songs as it was coming up with new material; some of the songs, like “Aftermath,” had been reworked from early versions performed with previous bands.

“‘Aftermath’ was a really fast [song], it fit the Blushed world of the surf punk, super quick, chaotic type of thing, which we do a lot of in Puppy Angst! But something about it felt wrong to just take the song that Blushed wrote and record it verbatim on our album,” said Milman. “To record it, I wanted it to be a new song while still honoring some of that old song, like put it into the Puppy Angst world while also not taking too much from what Blushed did in the past.”

In contrast to the slow and intricate writing process, recording was done in a flash, with the band eager to finish the record in time for an (on-brand) Scorpio season release. “We went into Headroom Studios, just me, John, and Eric. We got all the drums and bass done in a day and a half,” said Milman. 

Additional recording took place in the home studio of the sound engineer Joanna Baumann with the help of Dan Leinweber while Milman left for tour with Kississippi. “I was worried I just wouldn’t have the time or the creative energy to write all these guitar parts for an album, but I knew I wanted to have the bottom layers on it, to make it really textural, really lush,” said Milman.

“We finished mixing it in the summer of 2022 and put it out on October 24, 2022. So it was a long-winded process, but in the end, it was really quick,” said Milman. “I wanted it to be called Scorpio Season, I’d had this plan for so long… I wanted it to be for the fall and winter, I wanted it to match the season it came out in.”

The album indeed carries a punchy melancholy that feels appropriate for the autumn months; the album is colored with themes of both decay and renewal, a certain bitterness and pain, and is tempered with perspective and reflection. Even the songs that are by no means soft carry an unshakable vulnerability; on “Your Bones,” Milman sings, “I would’ve comforted you, I would’ve comforted you, but… you would never do the same.” The strong doses of anguish and abandon make the record feel at home in the darkest months of the year.

After the album’s release, the band embarked on an extensive tour, playing everything from college radio shows to two official showcases as South By Southwest.

“Our two official showcases were so, so much better than I ever could have imagined. Packed rooms! It was bizarre!” recounts Milman. “There were shows where the venue staff and bartenders were buying our merch. I was like, ‘You guys see so many bands! It’s so wild you would want to buy a tee shirt from us.’ That felt very affirming.”

The smaller shows were also memorable, with Milman noting that the younger audiences carry different (higher!) energy. “We played a really insane house show where Pauli was scared her beer was going to get knocked over by kids moshing,” Milman recalls, laughing.

Ultimately, the tour’s success has represented more than a good record; it represents a validation of individual and collective ambition, a deserved reward for Milman and the band’s dedication. In this way, Scorpio Season is a triumph, both personal and artistic.

“It’s been a really long process of realizing that I can put my own art, my creative pursuit first, it can be my first priority, and I can be all in on it,” said Milman. “Sometimes I feel like I’m making a fool out of myself. But then, on this tour, I was like, “No, the dream is happening! This is the dream.”

Elizabeth is a neuroscience researcher in Chicago. She writes about many things—art, the internet, apocalyptic thought, genetically modified mice–on her substack handgun.substack.com. She is from Northern Nevada.

Buck Meek – Haunted Mountain | Album Review

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4AD

I’ve often felt that it takes at least three listens for an album to truly imprint itself on my brain, but Buck Meek’s latest struck me with a stunning immediacy and an absorbency that was almost magnetic. Best known for being one-quarter of the Grammy-nominated Pitchfork-headlining indie band Big Thief, Meek has released two prior solo records, appeared in a Bob Dylan concert film, and also used to be married to Adrianne Lenker. From a life as full and complex as Meek’s, his prior solo work has been lovely and simple, but this has expanded considerably with Haunted Mountain.

Right from the beginning of the record, “Mood Ring” strikes the listener with something buzzy and complicated and new, a blurry melange of notes from guitars, maracas, and modular synthesizers. This track is fresh without being off-puttingly experimental; it bears almost no resemblance to the straightforward country-folk notes that composed his previous solo releases. “Cyclades” is another bright spot in the album’s progression, with electric guitars reminiscent of 60s power rock in both chord progression and instrumentation. (I scribbled “delectable” in my notes during my first listen.) “There are too many stories to remember / Too many stories to tell,” Meek sings, with the sonic richness of the music complementing the feeling of abundance. 

Meek soon returns to his mellow folk roots further in the record; the title track, “Haunted Mountain,” co-written with Jolie Holland, features glossy lap steel guitar and a square dance percussion. “Lullabies” dips into the American folk classic “You Are My Sunshine” to touching effect. Meek strikes a delicate balance between rock and folk in “Undae Dunes.” This song features thumping percussion and a prominent bass romping behind the lap steel guitar; the composition feels crowded with influences and emotions. 

At moments, the jaunty folk-inflected rock reminded me of contemporaries like MJ Lenderman and Wednesday, but without the restlessness and brashness that grants energy and power to the newcomers’ work. Meek’s music is reflective, dealing with themes of soulfulness and travel rather than Formula One racing and high-end butcher stores. It’s almost as though the newcomers to the country-rock scene (or bootgaze, or whatever you want to call it) are more grounded, while Buck Meek, although perhaps older and more worldly, seems to have less of a sense of self.

The album ends with an unusual collaboration of sorts; Meek was given the opportunity to finish a song by the Christian songwriter Judee Sill, who died in 1979, eight years before Meek was born. “The Rainbow,” with lyrics written three weeks before Sill’s death, is a partnership that crosses generations and folk styles to arrive, gauzelike, in our ears. I have complicated feelings about this song; it sounds vaguely like Sill, with slight seventies folk sensibilities; it sounds more like an influence and less like a replica. Whether or not it matches up with Sill’s intentions for the piece is unknowable. Meek stated that his intention with this song was to act as a “vessel” for the late Sill, and this is a staggeringly difficult role for any musician to play, technically and ethically. Yet what I hear is fundamentally a Buck Meek song, and to include it as the album’s closer is an extremely bold move.

In parsing this record for weakness, I could find only the unfortunate fact of the voice. Buck Meek is an extraordinary instrumentalist, but he is markedly less extraordinary of a singer. His voice has a smallness to it, a reedy and almost nasal quality, which leaves the instruments to fill the space where stronger vocals might be in other artists’ songs. I like his previous solo work a tremendous amount, which largely consists of him singing alongside a single guitar; the simplicity works for his voice there in a way that the more complex formulations fail to do. The upward-tilting vocals also make these songs feel exceedingly wistful, almost like children’s music. The overall effect is saccharine and goopy, with all the sincerity of a Big Thief song but none of the elegance.

That being said, this record is a remarkable and sometimes enjoyable foray, a valuable addition to the rapidly growing catalog of American country-rock music. There is a certain looseness in the production that befits the impromptu jam-like feeling that suffuses this record. This record reminds me of a family, commenting on love in all its complicated, imperfect, myriad forms.

Elizabeth is a neuroscience researcher in Chicago. She writes about many things—art, the internet, apocalyptic thought, genetically modified mice–on her substack handgun.substack.com. She is from Northern Nevada.