Documenting The Void: An Interview with Heavenly Blue

Started in the aftermath of Michigan band Youth Novel, Heavenly Blue is a seven-piece screamo/post-hardcore outfit that just issued their first release, We Have The Answer. Taking inspiration from a range of sounds in the genres of punk and hardcore, Heavenly Blue delivers an impressive collection of songs with their record. Swim Into The Sound guest writer Nick Miller recently sat down with guitarist Maya Chun and bassist Jon Riley to discuss the album, their musical influences, the band’s upcoming plans, and their love of Texas gas station food.


Heavenly Blue just got off a tour with Frail Body last month. How did that go?

Maya: It went super fucking well. I don’t think it really could’ve gone any better.

Jon: Yeah, the shows were well attended. We played with some great locals, which is always a plus. We met a bunch of pals that we hadn’t met before in person. It was cool.

In your Bandcamp bio, it says, “Screamo with dignity and integrity.” I feel like the screamo label can be sort of divisive. Some people get a little embarrassed, but Heavenly Blue seems to embrace it. What are your thoughts on “screamo?” 

Maya: Like the word and label?

The use of it. Some people are like, “I don’t know. I don’t really consider us a screamo band.” That’s kind of a standard thing you hear.

Jon: I would say it’s divisive, even internally. I personally don’t enjoy music labeled as “skramz,” but I do like bands that refer to themselves as screamo now, and I’m also into bands that referred to themselves that way in 2008. So I think it’s come full circle for me, where it’s like – okay, I like post-hardcore, metalcore, and screamo, that’s fine. I like “real screamo” screamo, that’s fine. I’m really not a big fan of “skramz,” both as a label and as a genre classifier that has a sound. I just don’t really like it. I guess some of our songs are screamo songs, some of our songs are decidedly not screamo songs. They’re way more post-hardcore. There’s some noise rock-y bits. The label screamo is kind of tongue-in-cheek, when we say, “With dignity and integrity.” It’s like a little inside joke.

How do you feel about genre labels in general? It feels like everything is a mix of different genres, so it’s kind of hard to place bands into genres today.

Maya: Especially these days, I would say a lot of music is just everything.

Jon: Yeah.

Maya: I think it’s helpful to have genre labels to understand today’s music specifically, but at the end of the day, if you don’t understand genre labels and you just listen to cool music, you’ll probably make cool music.

Jon: I think I’m similar to Maya in that I have a hard time with labels. We had this discussion on tour. What actually is “mathcore?” … I don’t think I like mathcore, and Maya says she likes mathcore. But I do like white-belt grind and Maya’s like, “Those are mathcore bands.” Now I’m thinking about the Venn diagram of mathcore. I don’t understand mathcore, and I’m not even going to pretend to understand mathcore. But then we have some songs that are kind of math-y. Like – what is that song even called?

Maya:Looming?”

Jon: “Looming” is like seven-eight-nine-five-five-seven-eight. The counting is so messed up. I’m like, ‘Is that a mathcore song? Do I like our music? I don’t know.’

Maya: That’s just a Drew [Coughlin] song.

Jon: Yeah, it’s drummer music, and maybe that’s what we should describe it as. We have drummer music, and then we have guitarist music.

Maya: Yeah, that’s honestly more accurate, because you can tell bands like Ulcerate or Origin in the metal genre specifically – it’s all about the drummer in those fucking bands. And then you have other bands like, I don’t know – Necrophagus or fucking Brain Drill is obviously all about the guitars.

Jon: I think maybe we start the Venn diagram at guitarist music [versus] drummer music and then go from there. But I actually do think genres are helpful in just understanding where people see their allegiances. I think when a band tells me what genre they are, it’s more interesting for me not because I’m trying to be like, “You’re not a real screamo band.” But it’s like, “Oh, but you listen to that stuff, and those are the things you’re influenced by, and now when I’m listening to your music, I’m listening for the things you like.” I think that’s kind of how I think about it – genre’s just like your influences now because everything is everything.

When you’re writing music, are you conscious of what your influences are, or do you let it sit subconsciously and figure it out later?

Jon: I personally only write music after I’ve been listening to other music. I never just wake up in the morning and have a riff in my head. I’m always listening to an Unwound song, and I’m like, “Oh, the way that song builds and everything is chaos and catharsis – I would want to do that for a Heavenly Blue song,” and I kind of use that motif as a starting point… I’m not taking notes or even riffs or whatever, I’m mostly just taking musical concepts and motifs, and seeing how I can interpret them in our musical lexicon.

Maya: It’s sort of a mix for me. Obviously, we were just on tour for Frail Body for two weeks, and a couple of days ago – it was just a regular afternoon after I came home from work. I’m just playing guitar, and I’m like, “I have an idea.” And I write, for the first time in months, a song that’s like two-thirds Frail Body and one-third Nuvolascura, because I just love Nuvolascura. I think I get exposed to stuff and it influences me subconsciously, but then I’ll just randomly have an idea.

Talking about We Have The Answer, what do you feel like your influences were?

Maya: I think we all had a lot of pretty different influences coming into that record. … A fair amount of the guitar parts on that record are –

Jon: They’re holdovers from Youth Novel. Some John Dickinson riffs.

Maya: Yeah, John Dickinson wrote some riffs with us and sent them over following the release of the Youth Novel record, and I built songs around them, along with some older riffs. But for other parts of the record, I regularly take a lot of guitar influence, at least, from At The Drive-In and The Fall Of Troy, I guess as a quote-unquote lead guitarist or whatever.

Jon: Our drummer writes songs on drums, which is pretty different from most bands. There’s a few songs [like that] on the record. If you listen to the record, you’ll know which ones they are, because it’s very apparent. The drummer will write a drum song, and then we come in later. Maya writes guitars and we kind of workshop it and change the structure a little bit to make it more musical “song structure” sense. Because drummers have Drummer Brain and just want to drum, so you have to help them write songs. And then Kris, me, and Drew kind of jammed together, and we sort of talk about stuff as like – “Okay, so this song is ‘Screamo Banger.’” And that’s the way we think about that collection of riffs and parts. It’s all part of this song that’s loosely defined as “Screamo Banger.”

Maya: I barely remember what the actual name of it is. I just know it as “Screamo Banger.”

Jon: We have codes for all of our songs.

Can you tell me which one “Screamo Banger” is?

Jon and Maya:...And Like That, A Year Had Passed.”

Photo by Kyle Caraher

Let’s talk about the Metal Frat at the University of Michigan. Is that where you two met?

Jon: We met on a Facebook group, but yeah.

Maya: Because of Metal Frat.

What did you learn from your time living there or just being around there?

Jon: I know all the different types of mold. The types of mold that can hurt you and the types of mold that you can cohabitate with.

Maya: I know how to shotgun a beer in less than a second.

Jon: I know how to book a show. I think I learned how to do that there.

Maya: The pedal board that I built there is still the one I have.

Jon: Learned how to live in difficult situations. One of the things living in an environment like that teaches you – it’s actually good training for being in a band. You might not always get along with your close cohabitants, and you often have to learn how to make it work in creative ways. I think that has made being in a band with so many people easier for me and Maya specifically, because we’re used to living with 24 people, sometimes more.

Maya: Sometimes I forget that. It’s just like – yeah, I used to live with 20 fucking people.

Maya, you recorded and mixed much of the album. What were your goals going in? Did you have an idea of what you wanted it to sound like specifically?

Maya: The drums for seven of the songs were recorded in Baltimore when Drew was still living there. The remaining three or four songs we recorded here in different capacities. Due to the nature of how we recorded it, because it’s hard to get seven people in a room together, I think I just wanted it to sound as good as I could. And I think I also have a pretty distinct idea of what sounds good at the end of the day, and I think that’s born from listening to a lot of metal and maybe idolizing Devin Townsend in my early years, and loving “Wall of Sound” production. I just like things to sound big; I like things to sound live. I guess my ideal mix is the perfect live show experience. I can be both very forgiving and very picky about how I do that, which I why I spent like three months agonizing over the mix every day, for many hours every day. I really like mid-2000s Kurt Ballou. I really like fucking Adam from Killswitch [Engage]’s mixes of all those early metalcore records, like Norma Jean’s, Bless The Martyr and shit. I just like those dirty-ass, hard-hitting, stupid records. And I also played djent in the 2010s, so I can’t escape that either, I suppose.

What is your background in audio engineering?

Maya: I was self-taught from middle and high school. I was just on the internet, I didn’t have friends in real life, and I liked progressive metal. So I really didn’t have anything else to do other than just make music in my room alone.

Jon: I’m gonna interject and say Maya made quite possibly the best post-rock metal record of the 2010s when she was in early high school.

Maya: I did no such thing.

Jon: She lies to you.

Maya: It’s a prog record.

Jon: It’s a prog record but it’s actually great. It was one of the things where I was like, “This person has to join Metal Frat because one – you can record Youth Novel. Two – the record, it was better than anything I’ve ever done to this day. 

Maya: That’s not true.

Jon: It’s true.

What’s it called?

Jon: The project was called Goodthink, and the record is called Ascend. Is that right?

Maya: That’s correct. I released that in the summer of my senior year, just about to go into college.

Jon: That’s in writing, Maya. Everyone who reads this is gonna go listen to that record, and they’re gonna be like, “Wow.”

Maya: No, they’re not. They’re gonna listen to the first record and be like, ‘What is this Dream Theater bullshit?’

Jon: Maya’s magnum opus.

Maya: It was definitely my magnum opus at the time, in high school. Yeah. And that was 11 years ago.

Jon: Sorry to derail your question. Maya sells herself short. She’s been very good at audio engineering for a long time.

Maya: Then I went to U of M and did the Performing Arts Technology program, which is essentially their audio engineering program, for a few years. Now I’m here.

Do you think you’re going to keep recording the band?

Maya: Unless a lot of money is handed to us, with the condition being Maya doesn’t record the band, then sure, yeah. I’d like to, because I just like to. 

Let’s talk about the album art. Where did that come from?

Jon: So that was me. … It’s an interesting story. We kind of went back and forth on a lot of concepts for the album, just in terms of how the songs made us feel, or what are the types of imagery that kind of encapsulate both the lyrical and sonic content. God, I sound like I’m being a dick. I kind of feel like an asshole. You can tell I went to art school. So anyway, I kind of bounced a bunch of ideas off people. The things that kind of stood out were [that] it feels brutal and dense and kind of obstructive. It feels like it’s just in the way of something, but you don’t know what. It’s just like a rock in the middle of the road. It feels impactful. But then other people were like, “It makes me feel de-personified and absent, like the void.” So I kind of looked for a bunch of themes, and one of the things that stood out to me was the desert. And Maya’s like, “This is not a desert album.” And I was like, “It’s not a desert album.” Still think it was a great concept.

Maya: It’s not a desert album.

Jon: It’s not a desert album. 

Maya: We ain’t Kyuss.

Jon: We could be, though.

Maya: We’re not Kyuss. 

Jon: I’m telling you, Maya. The stoner rock arc is the next record, for sure.

Maya: I don’t think so.

Jon: Anyway… I kind of started to do some digging into the archives on those themes, and I found this photograph from 1960s San Francisco political organizing. I’m not gonna mention who the person in the photo is. That’s part of the purpose of obscuring their face – so you don’t know. It is a person from the San Francisco Bay Area who was integral in moving forward progressive politics in that time period. We obscured all the faces from that image in hopes that you understood that de-personification that we were feeling when we listened to it or when we wrote it… There are some other elements to the art, specifically the layout. The physical record has one of the alternative covers that I looked at, which is a person performing a ballet dance on a stage from the exact same event that you’re looking at in the first image. Part of it has to do with – you don’t know who these people are, you don’t know what the event is, but they’re obviously doing an evocative act. This is a performance of some sort. And that’s kind of how I view the record. I don’t know how people are going to describe it, but I know that they’ll kind of have a hard time. But you’ll listen to it. You have to kind of engage with it. You have to work through the songs to hopefully get what we were trying to do. … Oh, and the cross. This is the last thing I’ll say.

Maya: Oh, yeah.

Jon: Part of it was like, “What if we name the record We Have The Answer and put a cross on the cover? Are we a Christian band?” That was one of the things we kind of joked about. … But also, I’m personally interested in text-based design, and I like when people break conventions with text in a design. So I was trying to go for something that kind of mimicked the image. So if you look at the cover, you’ll see the person on the stage with this hand pose, and the text is supposed to kind of be a mirror image of that just in the shape of everything. It’s purely aesthetic, is what I’m saying. It’s not Christianity.

Are you going to put out lyrics with the album?

Maya: I think we are, yeah.

Jon: I know that they are in the liner knows. I don’t know if they’re going to make it [online]. … They are in the liner notes with the exception of some lyrics that we have withheld from the song “Certain Distance,” because some of those lyrics were written by the first vocalist of Heavenly Blue. We’ve already gone through one vocalist. That’s our friend Nathan. Nathan didn’t want to be in a band anymore. Nathan’s a spiritual member. 

I’m fascinated with sequencing and how people come up with that. Can you talk about how you decided on the order of the tracks? Was that carefully thought through?

Maya: I think usually I’m generally the one who does it. I’ll bring a certain tracklist to the band and be like, “What do you guys think of this?” And everyone will give their input and we’ll change it. We’ll have another tracklist and if we like that, we’ll go with it, or if we don’t like it, we’ll make some more changes.

Jon: With this record, I think Maya was intimately familiar with the songs.

Maya: That’s every record!

Jon: But this one specifically because you mixed it for three months straight.

Maya: How long – we worked on the Youth Novel record for seven years.

Jon: You worked on the Youth Novel record for seven years. I worked on the Youth Novel record for a total of three weeks. Anyway… I think there is an arc to the sequencing. The way that it sort of goes, which is kind of funny, is it goes in chronological order of how the songs were written.

Maya: Pretty closely, yeah.

Jon: So you kind of see the creative process of this band forming in this record. The first couple songs are all Youth Novel holdovers.

Maya: That plus riffs that John Dickinson wrote after the Youth Novel LP.

Jon: And then there’s the drummer songs, which are the middle of the record, and … kind of like a junction. Drew actually recorded drums for those songs before the songs were completed. Just recorded drums at the studio because we paid for studio time.

Maya: I had written the songs around it by that time, but they weren’t done.

Jon: The last three or four songs me, Kris, and Drew wrote together in a collaborative way, the skeleton of, and Maya took it into a DAW [digital audio workstation] and finished. That’s kind of how the sequencing came to be. I do think there’s kind of an arc of more melodic content at the beginning, and then it goes into more math-y, abrasive content in the middle, and then this build-up and fall-off for the last two tracks. I think there is a sequence. I don’t know if it was as intentional as most people because we didn’t sit down and write this record in a month. This record took two years, so it was a long process.

How do you see the writing process changing going forward, now that you sort of have a base?

Maya: We’re out of Youth Novel riffs. No more.

Jon: I’m ready for our new stuff because I do think it sounds a lot more like us, like the people in the room who are making the music. We got together and went to a cabin in Port Hope, Michigan [in] the thumb of Michigan. … [We] got together for a weekend, hung out, and wrote five or six songs. Parts for songs. They’re not done, but –

Maya: That, plus everything else we have – we have like 47 minutes of raw material for the next record.

Jon: We have a lot that we are toying with. I’m excited to start the next record.

Heavenly Blue is playing a couple of festivals this summer. Will you be touring on the way there?

Maya: Four shows, including PUG Fest.

Jon: Yeah, we’re doing a slew of shows with Dreamwell. … That’s gonna be fun. Good band. They put out a good record last year. And then we’re playing some shows before New Friends Fest with an unannounced band that I’m not gonna name yet. We’re gonna wait a little bit longer. We are gonna be playing with Flooding again, I think. We love Flooding. Best band ever. We got to play with Flooding for three dates on this last Frail Body tour. We’re hoping to play some shows with them because they’re also playing New Friends and we love their music. And they’re also sweet people. And we might have some other stuff coming at the end of the year.

What do you like to eat on the road?

Maya: Buc-ee’s

Jon: We fell in love with Buc-ee’s on the road.

I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of Buc-ee’s. Is it a Texas thing?

Jon: It’s a Texas thing.

Maya: Yeah, it’s like a big, old truck stop, except there’s no trucks allowed.

Jon: It’s a truck stop without the trucks. It’s amazing.

Maya: They have a whole deli bar kind of thing for just jerky. They have fresh-made BBQ sandwiches. They have burritos. It’s basically like gas station food but cranked up to the absolute max, and also in Texas. 

Jon: Everything’s bigger. I know they say everything’s bigger in Texas, but the sandwiches are enormous.

Maya: They were fucking good.

Jon: The cost-to-weight value of food there is unreal.

Maya: You can’t get a BBQ sandwich [in Michigan] that good.

Jon: Buc-ee’s is the best Texas gas station. I would say the other things we do for food – I don’t know, we try not to eat like absolute garbage. The band tries to buy people good food once a day because you gotta eat well to live a quality life, and we try to take that seriously. On this [last] tour, the band paid for everyone’s meals and we tried to buy ourselves good food. We love Taco Bell, too, especially for the vegetarians. 

Maya: We’ve got some vegetarian/vegan people, so we usually have to take that into account. Most of us will eat whatever.


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

Um, Jennifer? – The Girl Class | EP Review

Final Girl Records

It’s an unspoken rule that if you are a queer person who wants to be taken seriously as a purveyor of modern rock music, you should be miserable. It doesn’t necessarily have to be abject misery: melancholy, disaffection, and unrequited longing will suffice. This was as true of Melissa Etheridge’s wailing lamentations that she’s “the only one who’ll drown in [her] desire for you” in 1993, down to the three boys genius combining the strength of their collective ennui to Grammy-winning success more recently. From Tegan & Sara, to Perfume Genius, to Girlpool, and Ethel Cain, this much is true: to succeed as a queer rock musician, you must be willing to bleed.

I’m hopeful, dear reader, that you can not only recognize hyperbole but forgive it as well.

To say there has never been a happy queer rock act would be patently untrue. One of the very first rock stars, queer or otherwise, was Little Richard, who built his career on frenetic party bangers. Classic rock stalwarts Elton John and Freddie Mercury famously brought queer joie de vivre to everything they ever did. Even Rob Halford has a sort of playfulness–at least, as much playfulness as his subgenre allows for. But listening to Um, Jennifer’s new EP, The Girl Class, had me wondering when the last time I heard a rock band be this queer and this effervescent at the same time.

Girl Class,” the title track, opens the EP with a throwback to late 90s/early 00s alternative rock: the answering machine message–not just an answering machine message, but the dialing of a rotary phone (in this, the year of our lord, two-thousand-and-twenty-four) that goes DIRECTLY to the machine after one ring.

I’m packing my bags for Camp Nostalgia.

I love this motif, and it’s used to great effect. Our singer, Fig, introduces themself and delivers the thesis statement of the song to the person they’re calling: “I’m having a lot of trouble being a girl, and you’re really good at being a girl, and I was wondering if you wanted to hang out, or we could get coffee or something, or whatever, yeah, give me a call back.” What follows is an ode to friendship and self-acceptance that concludes with actual, fool-proof instructions on how to be a girl: “Step 1: say you’re a girl; Step 2: you are a girl.”

On “Glamor Girl,” our second vocalist, Eli, moves in a different direction. They take an outside perspective on how a devastatingly sexy lady is driving them crazy and ruining their life. This theme continues with a later track, “Cut Me Open,” where Eli addresses someone who has them consumed with desire to the point that they want to be torn open and cannibalized by them: a universal experience I’m sure we can all relate to.

Something I really like about this band is the salty/sweet dynamic between the two singers. Eli’s songs are characterized by a frank and expressive discussion of sexuality, while Fig’s are more whimsical. For example, in “Jazz Machine,” Fig describes their paramour as a sort of fabulous intergalactic entity, a “roller rink jazz machine,” and still somehow very human, with insecurities and an absolutely filthy bedroom.

Photo by Avery Davis

The unifying factor between these two collaborators seems to be a willingness to just let things be fun and unserious. In fact, one could say that the overarching theme for this collection of songs is affirming the things that make you feel insecure don’t have to be the end of the world unless you treat them that way.

It's this sense of levity that really distinguishes Um, Jennifer from other, perhaps more established artists talking about their queer experience. Their willingness to say, “I’m not feeling all that great about myself, and I’m painfully horny,” while treating that like a hilarious anecdote, really sets them apart from queer singer/songwriters who would say the same thing and treat it as a dirge. Not to diminish either method, both are valid, but the lighthearted approach makes them feel distinct in the moodier musical landscape of 2024.

It also goes without saying that being witty and self-effacing is just naturally more inviting. It makes people want to like you and want to relate to you. Um, Jennifer is extremely charming in this way. This is a band that pitched the release party for this EP as “an exhilarating night of trans slut rock,” further describing the theme as “inspired by Jennifer’s Body - blood, guts, and being really hot.” I don’t know about you, but that sounds like my kind of party: they sound like the kind of people I want to be friends with, and I think this approach will win them many fans.

When it comes down to it, it’s no secret that we, as queer people, often face a lot of harrowing circumstances, a lot of sadness, and a lot of loneliness and inner turmoil. Likewise, it’s a well-documented fact that channeling hardship into creativity can generate powerful works of art. I think it speaks volumes about the way we're feeling in the current political climate that so many queer musicians are writing tons of sad songs. I think it’s important to acknowledge this. But I also think it’s important to see the joy in your queerness, to find the humor in it, and to celebrate it. So, in that way, I think we have really needed a band like this loud, funny, over-the-top duo of trans kids from Brooklyn to remind us that it’s okay to let loose and be ridiculous every once in a while.


Brad Walker is a writer, comedian, and storyteller from Columbus, Ohio. Find him on the World Wide Web:@bradurdaynightlive on Instagram and@bradurdaynightlive.bsky.social on Bluesky.

Carpool – My Life in Subtitles | Album Review

SideOneDummy

After working in several movie theaters throughout college, I've spent my fair share of time in projection booths. My favorite was filled floor to ceiling with old movie posters, each haphazardly taped on top of the other, with the oldest posters just barely peeking out behind the latest. The shelves were filled with odd memorabilia (Jurassic Park dinosaurs, B-list celebrity standees, promotional shirts for forgotten A24 films), and the lights were permanently low. 

Carpool’s latest album, My Life in Subtitles, takes me back to that projection booth. The Rochester band’s sophomore album captures the feeling you get watching a movie through a small glass window—the sensation of watching something bigger than you, something that excludes you, but something you still can peer in on. Projection booths are niche liminal spaces, rooms caught between an audience and invisibility. Like the complexities of the projection booth, this album operates from above, crafting story and sound from a secluded vantage point, and that all starts on the first track. 

Following a melancholy piano introduction, Carpool throws the listener directly into their lead single, “Can We Just Get High?,” a song the band dubbed the spiritual successor to their 2020 entry to the emo canon, “The Salty Song.” On the surface, “Can We Just Get High?” is a full-force rocker that feels like the rush of a sweaty beer pong win. The song has an anthemic quality that makes it feel like the performance a hot new pop-punk band would blast through at a house party during their minute-long cameo in a 2000s dramedy. The track practically demands to be chanted along with, featuring a binary chorus of, “Love me / hate me / can we just get high?” The band intersperses that kinetic energy with musical tricks that push the entire song into overdrive — extended guitar notes, signature Carpool screams, and a solo from lead guitarist Tommy Eckerson that flows like a knocked-over Miller High Life. 

In the music video, the band leans into the chaos through a disorienting backyard rager and a well-placed Animal House reference executed by bassist Torri Ross. Directors Kevin Flanagan and Christian Payment capture the surreal panic of the song through a musical fantasia of beers in the tub, high-stakes poker, and falling into a pool with your suit and tie on. The band followed this video up with one for “Open Container Blues,” a slightly more mournful track with a stunning feature from Briana Wright of Cliffdiver. While the song balances on frustration and tragedy, the video intersperses lyrics with glowing footage of the band’s joint tour in the summer of 2023. A joyous reminder that at the end of the day, Carpool will always be for sharing smiles with friends. 

The final music video released for My Life In Subtitles was for “CAR,” a post-hardcore departure from Carpool’s typical pop-tinged emo sound. With this tonal shift in music came an accompanying change in visuals. Directors Kevin Flanagan and Christian Payment moved away from the absurdity of “Can We Just Get High” and the camaraderie of “Open Container Blues” for something darker – a nightmare designed to knock listeners off-kilter and keep them on their toes. Soundtracked by his own screaming, the video depicts lyricist/vocalist/guitarist Stoph Colasanto trapped on the roof of a building and being chased through a parking garage by cloaked cult figures. For an album as thematically broad as My Life in Subtitles, the diverse array of genres and emotions depicted through the music videos do a good job representing the vast emotional complexities found throughout these songs.

Between the first stretch of songs of this album, I found myself asking, what does it mean to feel doomed? Not be doomed; just feel it. This theme is familiar territory in Carpool’s lyricism; their debut album, Erotic Nightmare Summer, was tinged with this urgency and pangs of frustration. The band’s follow-up EP, 2022’s For Nasal Use Only, offered a synthier, sunnier companion to the TV-static melancholy of ENS. It also provided a five-song glimpse into Carpool’s growing sonic capabilities, suggesting that the band was ready to fly.

Perhaps no one understands that sensation of soaring doom more than Icarus, the mythological boy who flew too close to the sun in search of freedom. Shifting away from broken-in emo and power-chord pop found in the opening stretch of the album, “Kid Icarus” sits comfortably in the middle of the record as a highly visual song with a winding, stadium-like delivery. It’s a song that takes up the whole room, with Stoph Colasanto envisioning himself as Icarus, affirming that, “If I could fly towards the sun, I would fly towards the sun.” Not to be confused with soaking up the sun, don’t get it twisted. Like many Carpool songs, the music and lyrics weave two conflicting emotions, in this case, an aerial melody paired with free-falling notions of self-doubt. That tangible longing and sense of closeness with something just out of reach echoes my projection booth memories. Do you join the crowd? Or do you keep your turmoil to yourself?

Of all the tracks on the album, “Thom York New City” was the song I found myself replaying the most: listening to it in the still of the night, listening to it while lying flat on my back and staring at the ceiling, listening to it while walking home from seeing friends. “Thom Yorke New City” is a hell of a final act. Lyrically, it illustrates the repetitive balancing act of choosing to look on the bright side even though that bright side is never guaranteed to happen, moving forward with a knowing and predicated voice. Sonically, it mirrors the flight patterns of “Kid Icarus” and calls back to the comfort of prior Carpool songs with a song-shifting drum fill from drummer Alec Westover.

 But that can’t be where this album stops, so it isn’t. Instead, My Life in Subtitles ends on punctuation, a small button in the form of “Every Time I Think of You I Smile.” This is the musical equivalent of the lights slowly coming up in a theater as the credits roll. After an album full of contemplating what it means to feel doomed in your own life despite your best efforts, this final track relies on memory to offer evidence that the doom isn’t forever and that the sky will clear eventually. This song bookends the opening titular track, forming an infinite loop of gray uncertainty turning into wavering assuredness, and then back again.

The credits end, and I am left in the projection booth, accompanied by the soft clicking of the projector. I turn it off, stretch my legs, and leave to get the broom to sweep up popcorn, reflecting on what I had just watched. I feel as if I have truly witnessed a full story play out through this album, one chronicling the ups and downs of Stoph Colasanto’s recent life and the distance between reality and subtitles—the difference between what’s said and what’s shown. 

From my view in the projection booth, I can feel the atmosphere created by this album. I immediately knew the script, the characters, and the setting, but I also didn’t know them at all because I was only watching from afar. Years of songwriting, musical experimentation, and life have gone into this record. While other Carpool projects have looked back or yearned forward, My Life in Subtitles looks from above. This is an album where the entire band soars. With its earnest lyricism, acrobatic guitar solos, and genre-shifting delivery, My Life in Subtitles is an album with altitude.


Caro Alt’s (she/her) favorite thing in the world is probably collecting CDs. Caro is from New Orleans, Louisiana and spends her time not sorting her CD collection even though she really, really needs to.

Barely Civil – I'd Say I'm Not Fine | Album Review

Take This To Heart Records

How are you doing? Like, how are you really doing? This is a question that terrifies me, especially if it’s asked by someone who doesn't just want to make polite chit-chat.

To answer my own question, I’m not doing that great! To be honest, I’m depressed and stressed out. And I’m fully aware of how depression manifests in me: it’s less that I feel like I’m sad and more that I feel so exhausted I can't even be bothered with anything. It’s a lack of hope that things will get better, so I just either cruise or self-destruct. That’s how I’m doing right now, to be real. I’m coasting, mostly, but I want to get better.

Milwaukee emo band Barely Civil is familiar with this reality. Each song on their third LP, I’d Say I’m Not Fine, attempts to answer the question, “How are you doing? Really?” 

The sound of the drums is deafening.
I can’t take your questions at this time.
Alive in the sense that I’m not dead.
I think I would say that I’m not fine.

When asked about the lyrical themes, lead singer Connor Erickson said, “We had to, obviously, take a break when everybody else did for COVID. And the sort of pent-up frustration and aggression that came with losing your job, and losing the friendships that you have, and trying to pick up those relationships, virtually over the phone, and then try and figure out how to how to piece those back together, I started to feel like a lot of the people that I cared a lot for sort of stopped caring about me. And not in a way where I’m bitter about it, but in a way where it was just like, wow, this is the reality of the world we live in.”

Staying still now, there’s a bad man,
he’s stealing my wage.
I hope that he dies soon.
How else will I pay back my rent?
I’m taking a long walk, try to cool off,
does that make much sense?

It makes sense to me, my guy! I am also run through with a sense of exhaustion and ennui. I am trying my best, showing up faithfully to the friends around me, and mostly trying hard at work and in my other obligations. But I am tired, man. And almost everybody I know feels this way. 

Calm down. Everyone’s got doubts.

Barely Civil is Connor Erickson (vocals, guitar), Eric Doucette (bass, vocals), Alex Larsen (guitar), and Isaac Marquardt (drums).

Let me stop and say that I like Barely Civil a lot. They are the sort of band that I’ve always wanted to be in. They are aggressive, melodic, catchy as hell, and grounded in thoughtful lyrics. I rank Barely Civil with some of my favorite bands who are accomplishing this same level of poetic and musical excellence: Manchester Orchestra, mewithoutYou, Valleyheart, The World Is A Beautiful Place… Speaking of which, TWIABP’s own Chris Teti recorded and produced this record, as well as the band’s last album, 2020's I'll Figure This Out

Barely Civil are writing about real shit and recording music that sounds so good and fun and heavy and heartfelt. This album makes me ask myself: what do I do with the feeling of “I’m not fine”? Where does it come from? How can I move forward as if my life was a redemptive story? 

In my experience, a breakthrough is really only possible on the other side of a breakdown. Wholeness and healing only show themselves to those who are desperate enough to want to see them. Nobody builds an appetite for a better world unless they become thoroughly disgusted with the world as it is. 

And there’s plenty to be disgusted at: Working class pain. Cost of living. The feeling of loneliness that results from carrying hurt that’s invisible to others. A society that rewards unkindness. The death of childlike dreams. The pain of showing up for friends that don’t show up for you. The knowledge that you’re being taken advantage of by your bosses, by your landlord, by the system. 

There’s a desperation that manifests in anger. Where do you direct it? Smoke another cigarette? Crush another six-pack? Distract yourself again with the television or the computer? Speak unkindly to your loved ones? 

Where does relief come from? From which direction? From outside or in? What do you do with the anger in the bottom of your belly that just lives there all the time? 

If I could breathe again,
I swear I would breathe again,
I swear I would.

Barely Civil doesn’t totally give us any advice about what to do with all our frustration and disappointment, and that’s appropriate! All my favorite artists ask good questions and don’t put too much pressure on themselves to tie it up with a bow by the last track. But there are hints:

Right now I’m finding out
what it takes to feel let down.
How to take that and swallow it down.
It’s a process, but I digress.
I’m shaping a town of stone.
It’s a new age, a singing bowl.
It’s a belly ache, a cosmic drone.
Wait, there’s that sound again.

The cosmic drone! The ancient sound from before the beginning of the world! The ineffable, the unexplainable, the unknown! Maybe there’s something there.

I’m learning to speak in tongues again.
I’m burning the candle at both ends.

I’m not sure where that breakthrough is coming from, but I, personally, really hope to experience one. It would be nice to feel like I’m in relationships where care is mutual and reciprocated, not just one-sided. It would be nice to be able to comfortably afford rent in the city I live in. Would be sick to feel like I’m able to find some answers to these lingering questions.

If a breakthrough is really on the other side of a breakdown, maybe I’m not actually in a bad spot. Regardless, it would be a nice surprise to be asked, “How are you doing?” and legitimately say, “I’m fine, actually! Things are getting better!”


Ben Sooy lives in Denver, Colorado, where he writes songs and plays guitar with his best friends in the band A Place For Owls.

Crush Fund – New Fixation | EP Review

Blixworld Records

I do not dance. Whenever I try to dance at a show, I feel deeply self-conscious as I shuffle my feet back and forth in a box the width of my shoulders and swing my arms out of time with the band. So I don’t dance. I do, however, find catharsis in diving into the pit occasionally. I enjoy writhing around in a mass of humanity that swirls me across the floor regardless of where I want to be. Diving into the pit is cathartic because it lets me release control of my body. I don’t have a chance to get self-conscious about my dance moves because I’m more worried about staying on my feet. 

I’ve seen Crush Fund ten times since they released their debut EP, Drama, back in 2021, and I love that their shows offer a chance for trans girls to experience liberation. Even still, I’ve never been the one to start the pit, even when they tried to peer-pressure me into it the time I saw them in D.C. But the first time I put on New Fixation, I felt compelled to dance. Any moment I found myself alone, be it in the office, the bathroom, the elevator, or the kitchen, was a chance to two-step to “Womanhood.” Only one other album has triggered this impulse: Gel’s Only Constant.

The songs on New Fixation are manifestations of the pure reactionary impulse that comes from roiling under the patriarchy. The EP’s centerpiece, “Unwanted Attention,” features vocalist and drummer Nora Knox gazing back at someone treating her like a piece of meat over a knotty, bouncy riff on the verses before things escalate to a boiling hardcore chorus. The first time the chorus comes around, we only get one run-through of it, just a taste of the feeling of pushing back, so when they immediately go into the second verse, we’re already craving another chance to shout, “fuck you! Get off my dick!” It’s a fabulous pop songwriting trick tucked into a song you can two-step with.

My favorite track is “Tender is the Night” for how it turns being desperately horny into a minute and a half of pit-churning fury. In the first verse, Knox details an illicit tryst in the park that quickly dissolves to reveal it is a masturbatory fantasy. The choruses don’t just revel in that solo pleasure; each repetition of the cyclical guitar and bass hectically races towards collapse, and each bar adds another layer of Knox’s vocals, all coming together to mimic the taut, singular sensation of the body and mind being overwhelmed by pure feeling until she finally cries out, “right there!” The short stop between the second chorus and coda is a satisfactory reprieve, a chance to catch your breath. 

While “Tender is the Night'' is all about reaching satisfaction, “W.W.Y.D.” offers no reprieve as it crams a panic attack into each 5/4 bar. Each chorus ends with the instruments piled up on each other like a car wreck before pulling themselves back together. The song is a neverending cycle of doubt in yourself and desperation for someone to tell you what to do. “W.W.Y.D.” is a song trying its hardest to keep you from dancing, but you just can’t be stopped. 

This is the beauty of Crush Fund’s version of dance music. It taps into your impulses and gives you a chance to hand off control of your body to the beat. New Fixation is an offer to dance yourself clean of your frustrations.


Lillian Weber is a fake librarian in NYC. She writes about gender, music, and other inane thoughts on her substack, all my selves aligned. You can follow her burner account on twitter @Lilymweber