Thank You, I’m Sorry – Repeating Threes | EP Review

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Self-Released

I’ve always been a little scatterbrained, and growing up in an age where constant content has seeped into every crevice of my life (especially as a teenager) hasn’t exactly helped. The supposedly simple act of sitting down to watch a movie or listen to an album in full still remains difficult to a degree. Thankfully, as I’ve grown up and acknowledged the existence of this short attention span, I’ve begun to develop practices to help, like tossing all my distractions outside of arm's length (aka throwing my phone on my bed). The very nature of an EP alleviates this problem since it presents a sizable portion of work without giving you room to get distracted. This is part of the reason why I was psyched to find out about Thank You, I’m Sorry’s latest project, Repeating Threes.

Formed in 2018, the Minneapolis, MN, indie rock band has been in high gear since the release of their third full-length, Growing in Strange Places, at the end of last year. In the time since, they’ve tackled two tours that have taken the quartet across the country, all while uploading informative TikToks about life on the road and teasing new music. Their new EP, Repeating Threes, comes less than six months after their latest full-length, and it showcases the band working in a similar vein, exploring an array of new sounds and ideas.

One of the aspects of Growing in Strange Places that stood out to me was singer Colleen Dow’s genius lyricism. The main standout on this front is the early album cut “Self Improvement,” where Dow’s ironic use of the term sheds light on the darkest parts of their life. On the other end, the directness of the lyrics on songs like “Chronically Online” offer a poignant reminder to unplug from the internet and ground yourself in the real world. There’s quite a bit of instrumental variety in this album too, from the synth-tinged “Brain Empty” to the fuzzy, punk rager “Head Climbing.” The band is able to explore all these flavors of indie rock without compromising the overall sound of the album.

Repeating Threes continues the quartet’s exploratory songwriting trajectory, albeit in a more bite-sized form. Our first taste of the EP came in the form of acoustic TikTok snippets of “Sneaking Off,” which the band labeled as “the song for your childhood best friend who you had a crush on (gay).” There isn’t a single lie within this description; a throughline of longing stretches across all nine minutes and fifteen seconds of the release. The EP’s first and only single, “When I Come East,” begins with the opening lyric, “If I mailed my heart through the midwest, would you read it,” reinforcing the yearning qualities underlying the entire collection of songs.

While the TikToks present a stripped-back version of “Sneaking Off,” the EP version is anything but. The real star of this show is the guitar that comes in during the 0:45 mark, which gives a nostalgic, twinkly sound that blends perfectly with the lyrics. There’s a sweet build-up around the minute-and-a-half mark where the band lets every instrument off the leash for a wonderful crescendo before they strip things back to a moment of serenity. The final leg of the track feels distinct from the rest of the song, with a reverberating mantra of “At least you let me hold your hand” that stays with you till long after the final guitar strum.

The final track, “Car Sick,” kicks off with a centrifugal eight-strum pattern that echoes and builds throughout the song, culminating in a refrain that kicks with the power of a 1990s Mustang. If you were ever looking to open up the pit during this EP, this would be the perfect time with the bridge packing the energy and unbridled chaos of that same Mustang doing donuts in a parking lot. The track is a high note to close on for this short but sweet EP, and it’s certainly one I’m looking forward to seeing live in the future.

Within the vast realm of emo/indie/pop/dreamy music, Thank You, I’m Sorry stands out as a voice of authenticity. The songwriting exudes an unfiltered quality, almost like Repeating Threes was born out of raw emotion alone. This unbridled passion is accompanied by an eye for detail that can only come with the methodical planning and craftsmanship of people who truly care about what they’re making. Works like Repeating Threes remind me of why I fell in love with these genres of music in the first place: there is pure, unbridled excitement in the sorrow, and finding that emotional connection is a beautiful thing. 

Samuel Leon (they/he) is a playwright/actor/music lover from Brooklyn. Sam writes musical theater but not musicals. They also don’t particularly care for the internet but will use it when necessary. You can find them on Instagram @sleon.k.

Excuse Me, Who Are You? – Maybe That Truck Hit Me… And This Is All a Dream | Single Review

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Thumbs Up Records

Excuse Me, Who Are You? (stylized as EMWAY) is an ironic name for a band that everyone will be talking about this year. Their newest single, “Maybe That Truck Hit Me… And This Is All a Dream,” brings a higher level of polish, composition, and maturity to their screamo sound. Before today, rabid fans could listen to live versions of this track on YouTube, but now we can hear this absolute banger in hi-fi on our preferred streaming service.

EMWAY released their debut EP in 2022, which is strange to say because the band sounds like they’ve been around forever. Each song on About That Beer I Owed Ya is an absolute groove of fun riffs and tightly connected instrumentation, filled with expert and cathartic vocalization. A noticeable element of their music is the thorough use of media samples, punctuating, bookending, or otherwise adorning their work, seemingly saying, “We sound pretty upset, but we’re still having fun.”

Their new single amplifies all of these qualities, even sneaking in a tasteful nod to American Football: “Every time I dream of you / I wish I was somebody new / So we could start over again / But you and I were never meant.” That line perfectly opens up to a twinkly respite featuring vocalist Tyler Stodghill of Stars Hollow. I personally blast “Tadpole” about five times a week on my running playlist, and this new single is going right next to it. EMWAY’s rich tracks are not only great for a workout, but they’re also perfect for laying face down in a cozy room, being in the moment, and forgetting the outside world. 

From a quick Instagram perusal, you can tell the band has been working at maximum effort since their EP, and it’s paying off. These guys play show after show, go to festival after festival, and entertain in stages, dive bars, and skate parks alike. They just want people to listen, and people sure as hell are.

With a unique sound that is loud, fast-paced, and undeniably angsty (sorry), EMWAY centers their music around the uncomfortable feelings that arise from an ever-changing life. They take their licks in stride, and although they sing about the past, they are looking towards the future. Their lines about overthought and long-finished relationships causing sleepless nights are instantly relatable, and despite how mournful their lyrics might sound, they’re actually a hopeful expression of growth. Their songs are a catalog of feelings that must be dealt with before moving on. In addition to being healthy compositions of real emotional labor, their songs also kick major ass. Their latest single is no exception, closing with the lines “I’m all right on my own again / I’m all right.”

Braden is a huge nerd about emo music. You can find more of his writing on Substack and more of his opinions on TikTok and Twitter.

red sun – “red SUNFO” | Single Review

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Thumbs Up Records

Is there something in the water in Oklahoma? The Sooner State is home to a growing emo scene, producing bands like Ben Quad, Cliffdiver, and now red sun. The latter act released their first song, “Officer Jenny,” on a split last year with fellow OK bands The Others Like Us and Me Too, Thanks. Now they’re preparing to release their debut EP on Thumbs Up Records, and the first single is called “red SUNFO” – a mash-up of their name with another fellow Oklahoman band, SUNFO. 

This new dispatch from red sun feels like a clear and immediate level-up from the production found on “Officer Jenny,” beginning with a digitized guitar lick that is quickly joined by the rest of the band, including some brief dueling vocals that help bring the track to life. The first two verses feel inspired by Algernon Cadwallader, with a pair of jangly guitars offering complementary tapping leads and one of the two voices sounding reminiscent of Algernon’s Peter Helmis. In this opening section of the song, the two vocalists take turns airing out their frustrations toward a faceless figure who considers them overrated. After the first two verses, however, a quick sound clip of streamer FaZe Jev leads into a more straightforward pop-punk turn through the rest of the track. 

Here, red sun slows down just a bit to build up to the song’s main refrain. Lead vocalist Quinn Wilcox steps right up to the mic and begins this section by singing:

I hate waking up to the same song every morning

After running through the line a few times, things are pared down to just the first four words on repeat, soon joined by some gang vocals to back Wilcox up. Underneath the roaring shouts, dual guitars continue playing off one another, driving the track toward its conclusion. The song also includes some occasional drum fills peppered in to keep the energy high until the two-minute track comes to a close.

red sun might not be breaking new ground here, but “red SUNFO” proves that the band can write catchy songs. There is room to grow and take their music in new directions, but “red SUNFO” nails all the essential elements of the modern emo/pop-punk sound currently led by bands like Hot Mulligan. 

One thing that “red SUNFO” excels at is not overstaying its welcome. Keeping songs short and intense is a time-honored tradition in the various forms of punk rock over the last 50 years, and it’s a lesson red sun seems to have taken to heart. While there’s nothing wrong with expansive and exploratory music, there is something to be said for making a piece as short as possible while still maintaining what it’s meant to be. With this single, red sun delivers everything you need in a two-minute burst, and you almost feel as though the band is in the room with you, playing the song live. With a debut EP lined up in the months ahead, listeners will be able to experience more of what red sun has to offer soon. 

Nick Miller is a freelance writer from Ypsilanti, Michigan, primarily writing about the world of professional wrestling. He also enjoys playing music, reading, tabletop RPGs, and logging Letterboxd entries (AKA watching movies). You can find him on X at @nickmiller4321 or on Instagram at @nickmiller5678.

Lake Saint Daniel – Small Thoughts | Album Review

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Take This To Heart Records

Daniel Radin wears many hats: Bummer Pop musician, producer, pinball operator, and b-horror VHS enthusiast. With Lake Saint Daniel, I’m gonna make a case for alt-country philosopher as well. Don’t believe me? Well, I have receipts: check out the band’s playlist, Songs that Give me Existential Dread but in a Good Way. Beginning with modern cuts from Wild Pink and The Tallest Man on Earth and stretching all the way back to classic singer-songwriter fare like James Taylor and Judee Sill, it’s immediately clear that self-proclaimed adult contemporary artist Lake Saint Daniel is operating in a very different realm than the emo-adjacent indie rock Radin is known for.

The title of Lake Saint Daniel’s new record, Small Thoughts, might lead you to believe that you’re about to hear an unassuming collection of everyday observations, and while that’s true on a certain level, I think there’s a level of ironic self-deprecation at play there. Although Radin spends the album’s first track resolving to “keep [his] thinking small,” things get existential real quick. In the House of Small Thoughts, the mundane is all part of the cosmic gumbo.

Throughout Radin’s second outing as his folksy side-project, the music remains cozy and reassuring even when it gets heavy, a quaintly furnished safe place where you can let your thoughts wander. Soon enough, you can’t remember what triggered it, but you were washing the dishes, and now you’re having a flashback to 3rd grade, soundtracked by the distant lilt of pedal steel.

There’s a compelling ease to the way Radin and friends have pushed the sound from their debut into widescreen here. There are even conceptual throughlines from Good Things, such as the fact that both albums begin with one-minute songs that introduce the themes of the record, though it seems to start with slightly more optimism this time around. It’s almost like an indie folk “producer tag” welcoming you back to Radin’s world, which is something I can confidently say I haven’t heard in this style of music before. The project’s throughlines of childhood nostalgia, friendship, and relentless self-reflection all reprise their roles, but every new insight feels novel, and the vision has only grown sharper.

On Small Thoughts, we find little leafy green synth tendrils coming up through the cracks amid the gently grounding presence of piano. The atmosphere is breezy and familiar, buoyed by production that really makes it all sparkle. Though the album largely operates in the bucolic universe we’ve come to expect from Lake Saint Daniel, the project quickly ventures into some uncharted territory. Mid-album cut “Strange Timing” starts as the project’s quietest song to date but gradually mounts to hit the listener with some legitimately disrespectful fuzz as the band rips into a full downtempo indie rock tilt. The energy of this song’s arrangement is also somewhat reminiscent of “Sister” by Sufjan Stevens, one of the songs featured on the aforementioned existential dread playlist. Overall, though, the aesthetic hallmarks are comfort and warmth. Every melody is effortless, even when floating over clever chord choices that bear witness to Radin’s power pop chops.

The sweetness of it all might be a bit much if it weren’t cut so deftly by Radin’s dark humor, stark self-reflection, and a guileless sprinkling of expletives. It’s thorny, but there’s something so pure at the core. It’s like a dead flower bouquet. This is the only project that could cover Kermit the Frog’s “Rainbow Connection” and pull off a video where the singer is benevolently haunted by the muppet's likeness. 

The album’s second single, “Faithless,” offers a perfect example of Lake Saint Daniel’s signature blend of humor, horror, and epistemology:

Guess I’ve been reading
Too much Stephen King
Now I don’t believe anything

In the suitably grisly lead single “Blood, Guts, and Gross Stuff,” Radin delivers a line that reads like an apt thesis statement for the album when he sings, “Trying my best to make meaning less meaningless.” In addition to showcasing the songwriter’s knack for turning a phrase, it feels like the embodiment of a more metamodern approach to meaning-making. It takes a certain kind of humility and self-awareness to admit that it’s helpful to construct significance, even when you doubt there’s any real substance to it. Am I holding onto hope because I think things are actually going to get better, or is it all just an act of self-preservation? Personally, I think it’s good to have things that help us get out of bed in the morning (or rather, keep us dreaming). I’m a meaning-making machine by nature, and I’d rather lean in than disintegrate.

The tension of cynicism and reluctant hope that animates Small Thoughts is something I’ve been reflecting on at my tech support day job. It feels like I’m always just one phone call away from a bracingly life-affirming interaction or losing my faith in humanity. On one level, I’ve developed some thicker skin, which can be helpful, but the shadow side is a sort of baseline mistrust towards other people. On songs like “Real Darkness,” Lake Saint Daniel finds a way to hold out for something better without trivializing the bleak state of our reality. There’s a real empathy at the core, but despair still has a seat at the table. 

“But most people try their best just in case you had forgot.” I think that’s true. I need reminders.

There’s so much I want to touch on here that I don’t have words for, and so many quotable lines. The first Lake Saint Daniel record reminds me of driving to my dear friend’s wedding in New Mexico, a little lost on dirt roads and giddy with anticipation. The Future Teens album from 2022 found me right when I needed it, stumbling through an abandoned playground at midnight, lost in a different way. These songs have made a real difference in my life, and I’d encourage you to spend some time with them. And maybe (just maybe) consider sharing some of your own thoughts, however small they might seem.

Nick Webber lives in Denver, CO, where he makes music with his friends in A Place For Owls and under his own name.

Late Bloomer – Another One Again | Album Review

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Self Aware Records

Late Bloomer seem to think their name is a designation; I’d argue it’s a misnomer. The Charlotte “Wait, they’re a three-piece?” three-piece arrived in near-full-bloom on their sophomore album, Things Change, which served as a buffet of fist-pumping bar rock heroics and shout-along emotional anthems. Filled with texture and rambling structures, the album speaks to a band that has a very complete sense of self, with shades of Dinosaur Jr. coloring in the open-chord choruses of The Replacements and the driving rustbelt-rock verses of Guided By Voices. 

Late Bloomer name-checks those latter two bands, along with therapy, as primary touchstones on their new swing-for-the-rafters album, Another One Again, out March 1st via Self Aware Records. While those influences check out, they don’t fully capture the sound of the record, specifically the pop-punk flavors found in the back half of the LP. This is an album that seems to be caught between two states, but the deeper you dig, the more that seems to be a feature, not a bug. 

Opener “Self Control” seems like an explanation for the 6-year gap since their last proper record, Waiting. “It’s getting hard to keep it together.” Neil Mauney confides over gentle, Eels-esque guitar before telling you the root issue: “I don’t have the self-control.” It’s immediately endearing, like hearing a heartfelt reunion happening the next table over from you. This first minute pulls you in with its honesty. Before you know it, you’re forgiving someone for something they haven’t even done to you yet; a grace note for a stranger. Then, we’re thrust forward into a triumphant riff straight out of the 90s Merge scene. It’s a statement: this is music to get your shit together to. 

You feel that self-determined drive all over the ten tracks on Another One Again. Late Bloomer is here to show their growth, especially in their production. Mauney’s guitar tone has been supersized, with his Nashville-sized doubled riffs soaring over Scott Wishart’s cathedral-filling hi-hats. Josh Robbin’s bass creates an enveloping platform for the band’s genre-bending mixture of giant hooks and scrappy, palm-muted syncopations. The whole thing rings clearly, inviting you to sink into the songs like a reupholstered easy chair. 

Those sonic upgrades complement the more indie-rock cuts, specifically “Mother Mary,” with its cavernous drums, 90s emo bassline, and earnest country-adjacent vocals. Here, the room to breathe afforded by the pristine production is used to pull the listener into a quasi-religious environment. Late Bloomer is at their best when painting personal histories with the vibrant reverence of stained glass, creating songs that function as both ends of the confession booth. Penned by Robbins, lines like “Tell me all your secrets. Show me where it hurts” feel like a doubting Thomas realizing that he’s been asking the wrong questions the whole time. The space between each note lets the emotion bloom, shattering the wall between us and them. 

Elsewhere, in pop-punk adjacent tracks like “Video Days” and “What Do You Say,” the pristine production feels conversely restraining. You find yourself wanting a bit more grit, a bit less room. With such propulsive rhythms, you should feel the tightness of it all. This ends up leaving these songs stranded a bit in the sonic context of the album. Thematically, however, they have a lot on their mind.

“Video Days,” one of the pop-punkier tracks on the record, seems to be written as an example of the type of “songs we used to sing” invoked in the opening, the same ones that Mauney would listen to while “bombing hills.” In a song about an old bond that may never be reconciled, those teenage textures and melodramatic vocals bring the lyrics to life. It has the effect of a 3D memory, one that you can step inside and explore, examining it from new angles. Personally, I prefer the band in Westerberg mode rather than Wonder Years, but these genre digressions come across as endearingly genuine rather than calculated nostalgia bait. Like the fellas in Late Bloomer, I’ve been to therapy and know that unabashed sentimentality is a strength.  

The two sides of the band come together brilliantly in album closer “Bright Kid,” where a tight-fisted chugged verse splits wide to near-psychedelic openness. Here, the expanse threatens to dissolve the weight of the song, but a sinewy guitar pulls you through the liminal space and towards a mighty refrain: “You’re a bright kid, just listen.” It’s the type of message you wish you could tell your younger self – but you can at least pass it on. 

In its best moments, Another One Again doles out self-reflective anthems, turning personal revelations into cathartic shout-alongs. The sound of the record is highly considered and engineered to feel as big as possible. It’s a step forward from a band who want to seem like they’re two steps behind. 

Josh Sullivan is a writer, filmmaker, and musician based out of Wilmington, NC. Find him on Twitter (not X) at @brotherheavenz and Instagram at @human_giant.