Snarls – With Love, | Album Review

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Take This to Heart Records

In 2007, archaeologists in Italy unearthed a special find from an ancient tomb. Two skeletons who were buried face to face, arms wrapped around one another, locked in an embrace for literal millennia. These are the Lovers of Valdaro, a 6,000-year-old couple whose love was preserved for eternity. On a sliding scale of romance, their visage is on the pretty extreme end, but devotion is an extreme feeling. Just think of the word we use when we feel that way about another person: a crush. Personally, I’d never interrogated the meaning of that word until I was about halfway through Snarls’ blistering and lovestruck sophomore effort, With Love, and felt myself getting short of breath. The culprit was the chorus of “Moon Tides,” a mid-album highlight in which front-person Chlo White compares herself to waves, churning and crashing under the unwitting influence of a celestial body: 

And I see you standing there
And I’ve never felt more in love
And I’m spiraling into
The whitest light for you

It’s a fitting analogy that hits hard in part due to these words and the desperation of White’s delivery but also because she’s battling against a tornado of crunchy guitars and reverb that destroys any comfort to be found in the verses’ harmonies. The driving bass and guitar build until they threaten to crush the singer under their weight, making that particular schoolyard turn of phrase seem more appropriately literal than ever. On With Love, the warm and fuzzy feelings that come with a crush are thrown into sharp relief with Snarls’ most heavy and hard-hitting songs as the band explores just how painful love can get.  

Consisting of White, bassist Riley Hall, and guitarist Mick Martinez, Snarls are no strangers to heartbreak, whether it’s the overtly romantic kind or the disappointments they’ve endured as a band. Their debut album, Burst, dropped during the first wave of lockdown in 2020, cutting what could have been a breakthrough moment brutally short. Instead of wallowing in that misfortune, the Columbus trio regrouped and got in the studio with producer/indie rock super weapon Chris Walla to record 2021’s What About Flowers? EP, redefining their sound in the process. As such, the band’s second full-length album comes almost as a re-introduction. While Burst never strayed too far from pillowy shoegaze-infused pop, the scuzzy bass line that kicks off LP2’s anthemic title track should instantly let anyone know that Snarls are still here and they’re playing for keeps.  

Throughout With Love, Walla helps Snarls expand their arsenal to include more drive and pure power than ever before while still allowing room for some sweeter moments like the welcome acoustic breather “Driving Faster” that comes after a relentless first half. The album’s two lead singles, “Big Fish” and “Heavy Drinker,” show off this expanded range. The former won me over immediately with tides of fuzz rising and falling around the propulsive chorus and brooding verses, but the lyrics eventually betray the insecurities that plague the love story at the album’s center. Sure, there’s an inherent dorkiness to phrases like “I’m always a winner, and I eat my chicken dinner” or “It’s my lone wolf mentality,” but that awkward charm adds so much character to the narrator of the album. On the other hand, I’m still unsure if the twee “Oh yeah!” refrains all over “Heavy Drinker” stick the landing for me, but by the time the bridge comes around and White is lamenting about how she knows she’s not “her type of girl,” it’s hard not to root for her. This push and pull between adoration and inadequacy lies at the heart of these songs, with the band twisting their noisy pop rock to plumb the depths of feeling that come with love. 

With Love, is at its most impactful when that emotional dynamic is portrayed in the music as borderline claustrophobic. “Baby Bangs” sees the song's narrator obsessing over their appearance, acknowledging the vanity in it while still surrendering to the fear they won’t be good enough for their partner. It all comes to a head as thundering guitars come crashing down on the steady rhythm section while White gets lost in a storm of self-doubt, repeating: 

Wish I wasn’t so narcissistic
Wish that I was easier to deal with
Wish I could love you without needing
Some type of therapeutic assistance

This commitment to a crush can lead to some of these songs running together in the second half of the record. The grungy hook on “Star Power,” in particular, plays like a more downtrodden take on the more fiery one from “Wishing Bones,” which wouldn’t necessarily be a negative if the two weren’t placed one after the other in the tracklist, leading to the latter completely overshadowing the former. That being said, even this grievance reinforces how inescapable love can feel. No matter where a thought starts, it all circles back to one person in your mind. That tunnel vision taps into the paralyzing pain of knowing (or at least thinking) that there’s nothing you can do to win over your crush: who you are isn’t attractive to them, at least not in that way, trapping you in an endless cycle of yearning. 

Unrequited love and rocky relationships are hardly fresh wells of inspiration in music, but Snarls consistently maintain a balance that brings out a teenage melodrama with a queer twist that sets With Love, apart from many other indie rock records. It’s an appeal that feels somewhere between recent phenomena like Olivia Rodrigo and boygenius but without people being annoying about them online. Although that could change - artists with the ability to capture how apocalyptic young love can feel tend to spark that level of fervor among people currently in the throes of it, and they often don’t stay small! 

If Snarls have proven anything in their brief history, it’s that they aren’t ones to be kept down. Instead of drowning in self-pity, they either make the most of the hands they’re dealt or pivot to a new perspective. The last two tracks on the album could serve as an encapsulation of that hard-won optimism. “Sugar Rush” dots its lumbering groove and jagged guitar riffs with gorgeous vocal harmonies that accentuate the sweetness of the song’s titular metaphor. White lets herself revel in the temporary and even unhealthy nature of this relationship, reasoning, “Let this liquid courage ignite me now / Nothing lasts forever, so why not try it out?” Even if this thing can’t last, why not at least enjoy how good it feels in the moment? 

That reckless abandon gives way to a healthier conclusion in the closer “Star Crossed / Lovers of Valdaro,” where White focuses on the more tender moments of this relationship, like listening to a song that reminds them of this person or how they comforted them during a spell of second-guessing. The last line of the album is “I like who I am when I’m with you,” and while this may sound like a familiar sentiment, it hits home as a sort of personal silver lining in the context of the record. Whether or not a partnership works out in the long run, it’s still worthwhile if you enjoyed most of your time with that person and grew because of them.

All of this brings me back to the titular Lovers of Valdaro: a couple that died young, estimated to be not much older than 20, and as such, they probably never got to find out just how strong their bond was. Still, a snapshot of their love story has now been viewed by millions of strangers in a world that barely resembles the one they left. People regularly live to be four times their age, and the vast majority don’t stay with the person they were with at 20. That’s exactly what makes their eternal embrace and the endless canon of star-crossed lovers in reality and fiction so beautiful. With Love, is Snarls’ attempt to etch something fleeting into stone. Or maybe it’s simply good old-fashioned catharsis. Either way, it’s another example for people to turn to when they need to understand or just feel what it means to be in love. 

Wes Cochran lives in Portland, OR where he works, writes, and enjoys keeping up with music of all kinds, with a particular fondness for indie rock. You can find him @ohcompassion on Twitter, via his email electricalmess@gmail.com, or at any Wilco show in the Pacific Northwest.

Microwave – Let’s Start Degeneracy | Album Review

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Pure Noise Records

What’s your drug of choice?

For some, it might be nicotine. For others, it might be weed. And some might not have any at all, claiming edge or sobriety. I personally have a caffeine addiction - cold brew or iced coffee is a morning staple in this house. As a kid, I swore up and down that I’d never get addicted to anything, but here I am, writing this review with a slightly diluted coffee in hand. Growing up, right?

While one could get addicted to almost anything - a substance, a routine, a morning coffee - I think that the power of emotion is particularly addicting. We, as humans, are always chasing a dopamine hit, looking for the next experience that will hit just right. Microwave’s latest release, Let’s Start Degeneracy, is a one-two punch that examines religious trauma and drug use through the lens of memory and all the conflicting emotions that come along with it. At times upbeat, sad, and even nostalgic, this record was a gut punch in a way that I could never have predicted.

I’ve been looking forward to this album for literal years, as in April 2022, Microwave began releasing singles that would eventually find their way onto the LP. The first track released, “Circling the Drain,” was a huge success and seemed to be stylistically in line with what the band had been writing up to that point. The group released a few more singles over the next two years that, while vastly different from “Circling the Drain,” promised that LSD was shaping up to be another great album from Microwave.

I’m a huge fan of the albums Much Love (2016) and Stovall (2014) in particular, and I find myself listening to them regularly. Much Love is a warm, oddly comforting album, and I love playing it on my commute home from work. I let each song wash over me like a hug, allowing tracks like “Drown” and “Lighterless” to take my mind off the drive. (If you see me sobbing along to every word, mind your business!) In contrast, when I feel like having a cathartic screamo sing-along, I’ll blast “The Fever” off Stovall. The build of this song is incredible, layering the instruments and pushing the vocals until the last chorus explodes with raw emotion. It’s purely incredible. With their third album, Death Is A Warm Blanket (2019),  Microwave leaned into a dense, heavy grunge sound. Tracks like “The Brakeman Has Resigned” and the title track, “DIAWB,” showcase the band’s ability to write gritty music that makes you want to absolutely throw down. Each album is like a microcosm to me, creating its own little world and mood.

Since Microwave took their time with their rollout of LSD, fans had been waiting for two years to explore the next world the band had created. You can imagine my surprise when I clicked on the first track of Let’s Start Degeneracy, and a beautiful hymn began to play. I sat in stunned silence as “Softly and Tenderly Jesus is Calling” flowed out of my speakers. This was the last thing I expected as an opening track. What exactly has Microwave been up to?

A sizable departure from their previous work, Let’s Start Degeneracy shows Microwave experimenting and pushing boundaries with their sound. Instead of layers of gritty guitar texture, heavy drums, and vocals that would occasionally verge into screamo territory, this album features warm synths, restrained guitar, and smooth vocals that allow the lyrics to take center stage. The songs are lighter, with a spacey feel that sounds extremely modern. The tracklist reminds me of a shelf of tchotchkes, each song a sentimental collectible, with the album itself as the shelf. The band currently has an inspiration playlist pinned to their Spotify page with ten tracks ranging from Frank Ocean and Mac Miller to Nine Inch Nails and Radiohead. The crazy part is that you can hear bits and pieces of all those disparate sounds at various points on this album as the band dips into adjacent genres while still maintaining their personal style at the core. 

In “Circling the Drain,” perhaps the closest song on the record to Microwave’s previous grungy sound, Nathan Hardy shouts in the exuberant-yet-jaded chorus: “You can dig for pity in the hearts of your peers / Or cover up your eyes and make the world disappear / You can start a fire / But everyone’s singing the same stale song.” Whenever the song gets to this part, I want to stand up through the sunroof of my car and scream the lyrics in an in-that-moment-I-swear-we-were-infinite kind of way: “I’m here justifying the future, not redeeming the dead!” This is my favorite song on the album and one that is eternally in my listening rotation. 

Furthering the nostalgia that this record elicits, “Strangers” sent me back a few decades, reminding me immediately of the 1995 DC Talk album Jesus Freak that I would constantly play on my clunky CD player as a little kid. The guitar tone and subdued vocals are eerily similar, which is interesting considering that DC Talk is a contemporary Christian band, and Microwave’s album opens with a hymn cover. Coincidence? Probably, but the parallel is undeniable. “Strangers” is a mellow track with a little bit of groove, with Nathan sighing over a dancy beat that he’s “ready to leave.” The song is followed by an equally calm track called “Concertito in G Major.” As the title suggests, this delightful piano piece is a welcome interlude on the album. The sounds of running water and an otherworldly voice humming and muttering lyrics create a beautiful soundscape that I wish lasted longer. I am reminded of quiet afternoons at home, practicing the piano for hours as a teenager. The pairing of these two tracks is oddly charming and is a wonderful listening experience.

Of course, a major highlight of Let’s Start Degeneracy is the title track that made me recall my heavy indie/electronic phase of the 2010s - it’s a little bit beep-boop and a little bit weird, but what else would you expect from a song whose acronym is LSD? “Laying on the carpet, barely tethered to the ground / Shut the door and turn your lights off…I wanna wrap around and break you like a glowstick.” Man, I would’ve eaten those lyrics up in 2014. The repetitive synths and sound effects are addictive earworms that I couldn’t shake for days. Although the song is upbeat and fun, the lyrics wrestle with the serious subject of drug use and facing a strict religious upbringing. The band themselves have openly mentioned that much of the album was inspired after Hardy and drummer Tito Pittard took ayahuasca on a trip to Peru. The message is intended to be one of healing: Hardy says, “It’s about learning to be happy and take care of yourself.” These sentiments are summarized in the chorus of “Let’s Start Degeneracy:”

A fleeting moment of clarity
At the end of a dead-end street
Caught up in shit you don’t believe
Shoveling a way out
Mixing styrofoam and gasoline
Better living through chemistry
Ready to be a liability
Blowing out a war cloud

As someone who attended a strict church during my adolescence and then went to an equally strict religious college, the lyrics of this song resonated with me deeply. Growing older has forced me to reckon with my own beliefs and standards, and though everyone’s journey is unique, it is comforting to know that I’m not alone as I grow, heal, and change. While Microwave writing music like this wasn’t on my 2024 bingo card, I understand why they did. Seeing a band I admire open up and be vulnerable with their audience is special. Not every artist offers such an intimate view into their internal struggles and thoughts, and Microwave did it beautifully on this album.

Sitting with myself after listening to this album, I am sorting through the mixed bag of emotions it elicited in me. It felt like I was sitting in a movie theater watching scenes from my childhood played back to me: I’m twelve and gripping a clammy hymnal in a church pew, then I’m eight and listening to my parents’ CDs, and then I’m a lonely seventeen and practicing the piano at home on a rainy afternoon. I am moved to smile, to wince, to laugh. I am again pushed to look inward and face my fears and feelings. I did not expect this album to move me as deeply as it did: I anticipated a rock-heavy, emo romp, not ego death set to music. But I’m not upset about it, not even a little bit. I’m grateful.

Britta Joseph is a musician and artist who, when she isn’t listening to records or deep-diving emo archives on the internet, enjoys writing poetry, reading existential literature, and a good iced matcha. You can find her on Instagram @brittajoes.

Clementine Was Right – Tell Yourself You’re Going Home | Album Review

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The Blue Turn

On Tell Yourself You’re Going Home, the third LP by Denver’s Clementine Was Right, songwriters Mike Young and Gion Davis give us a joyous road trip album–a rock and roll Paris, Texas for nomads weaving their way through state lines across every corner of the United States. Rowdy country-rock anthems, paint-huffed hellions, wood-chipped workers, cowboy chord croonings, and “boys, boys, boys” sleeping in the river: Tell Yourself You’re Going Home is one hell of a party. For Young and Davis, the party is bigger than ever with over 30 friends contributing to Clementine’s lineup.

Clementine Was Right continue their signature blend of barroom rock and country campfire ballads heard on 2020’s Lightning and Regret and 2022’s Can’t Get Right With the Darkness. This time, the production is a little more polished and calculated. Whether it’s a perfectly placed backing vocal harmony singing “It’s ketchup, we’re fuckups” or guitar licks that flicker like flames in stereo, there are little flourishes here and there that bring the recording side of CWR to the next level. The production choices and sequencing of tracks make the album feel like a house party hosted by the band themselves. Throughout the album, you’ll find Young and Company holding your hand, dragging you through a crowded living room, leading you to the bathroom to get high, and meeting you out back for a smoke.

Tell Yourself You’re Going Home is largely carried by Young’s brilliant Springsteen-esque songwriting. Young, who consistently bills himself as a poet, happens to be quite the storyteller, and each song on Tell Yourself is a chapter or short story into a slice of American life. With drug-addled characters slipping in and out of excitement and despair, “Attic Full of Barbie Limousines” feels like it could fit somewhere in the pages of Denis Johnson’s Jesus’ Son. Elsewhere, cuts like “Coca Cola Vigil” and “River Boys” tell tales of working-class grief with such specifics you’d think Young is letting us in on a secret. 

Tell Yourself You’re Going Home isn’t a downer, though. The darkness found on these ballads is often balanced with Young’s constant reminiscing on the many friendships he’s made across life and state lines. As previously mentioned, Clementine Was Right created this album with the help of upwards of 30 friends. The narrative of the album complements the band lore quite well. These 30 creatives live all over the place, and as the songs take us from California and Colorado to Mississippi and Tennessee, you get the feeling Young and Davis are meeting up to record with the very same characters depicted in the songs.

On an album so thematically heavy about friendships, it’s no surprise that two of the highlights are when Young lets a bandmate take the lead vocal role. “Attic Full of Barbie Limousines” is possibly Clementine’s best song–it’s certainly a contender for my favorite (though “Nazarene Sheen” from the band’s debut is hard to beat). Young, perhaps graciously or with full artistic genius, lets drummer Dick Darden hop in the vocal booth for a song Young wrote. Darden’s suave rasp couldn’t be more perfect for the bouncy, somber-disguised-as-happy country tune.

Then there’s “Goddamn Universe,” the penultimate track written and spoken by Gion Davis. On this track, Clementine Was Right drop the country-rock act and put on their post-rock boots. Davis recites his poetry over ambient guitar squeals and soft percussion, and the result is the most unique song in CWR’s catalog. Though the sonic qualities cause the song to stand out, it’s Davis’ lyrics that truly bring the track to another level. Rich with cross-country imagery like “Tennessee is a hallway stretching between the lottery numbers in a gas station and sprays of redbud trees in some unmarked canyon” and “I have measured out my life in Cook Out trays,” Davis puts me in every corner of America I’ve ever been. His lyrics sit perfectly between “I have no idea what this means” and “I know exactly what he’s talking about.” Davis is a powerhouse of lyricism, and “Goddamn Universe” is, frankly, a very beautiful song.

There are so many themes and ideas woven through the songwriting of Tell Yourself You’re Going Home it would be impossible to dissect them all in one simple album review. The album isn’t just about road-tripping and partying–it’s equally about returning home from your travels and realizing what has changed while you were gone. Whether it is returning to your birthplace, returning to a city you lived in briefly, or returning to the ones you love, there is this sense that you should “tell yourself you’re going home” no matter where you’re headed. It’s this constant homeward-bound sentiment trickling through the tracks that make Tell Yourself You’re Going Home Clementine Was Right’s strongest album yet. 

Russ Finn is a writer and musician who leads the band Dialup Ghost in Nashville, TN.

Origami Angel – Fruit Wine | Single Review

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Counter Intuitive Records

Origami Angel, the Washington, D.C. second-wave easycore duo, is back to dunk on the haters with their newest single, “Fruit Wine.” 

This is the first we’ve heard from Gami since their sunny summer mixtape, 2023’s The Brightest Days. This time teaming up with Grammy-nominated producer Will Yip, the track features vocalist/guitarist Ryland Heagy slamming an anonymous antagonist, akin to the Drake vs. Kendrick discourse currently unfolding in the rap community. Heagy drops barbs such as “You’re only as strong as your greatest weakness, so you better get used to your obsoleteness.” While the aforementioned rappers have their fair share of gripes with each other, it’s hard to imagine anyone having beef with Gami when all they do is release banger after banger. 

The lyrics find Heagy comparing himself to Jesus in the humblest way possible when he lays out, “As simple as it seems, it’s still so hard for me to make it look easy… turning water into fruit wine.” Admittedly, I don’t know shit about wine, but here are my findings: fruit wines are generally harder to vint than plain grape wine, so Heagy seems to be speaking to the extra hard work himself and drummer Pat Doherty have been investing in the band. Formed in 2016, Origami Angel have released something (an album, EP, mixtape) each year for eight years straight now, keeping fans fed and letting their work speak for itself. The “gami gang” is real, and the duo didn’t build it by merely reaching for the low-hanging fruit. 

Clocking in at a brief two minutes and fifty-one seconds, “Fruit Wine” leans into the patented Gami Gang easycore-emo blend more than ever, maintaining those catchy vocals while still finding room for gritty chugs. After the feel-good breezy bops of The Brightest Days, it’s a welcome return to form to hear Gami spout off again. And, of course, none of this would be complete without Pat Doherty’s impeccable drumwork driving the track forward, bringing the perfect blend of power and detail that we’ve come to adore. The band has never shied away from disclosing their love for French easycore band Chunk! No, Captain Chunk!, and that affinity is on full display in this track, which builds to a fist-balling breakdown in the last minute, narrated by Heagy’s guttural screams. 

It’s easy to see where Heagy is coming from when, even after the band released arguably one of the best emo albums of all time in Somewhere City, they were still paying their dues and working at grocery stores to make ends meet. So, while the band has smashed through various ceilings (and is even about to embark on a nationwide tour with Microwave), they’re still perpetually grinding away for something better. 

Brandon Cortez is a writer/musician residing in El Paso, Texas, with his girlfriend and two cats. When not playing in shitty local emo bands, you can find him grinding Elden Ring on his second cup of cold brew. Find him on Twitter @numetalrev.

Mister Goblin – Frog Poems | Album Review

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Spartan Records

Growing up, I was always too scared to download music illegally. Because of this, a large chunk of my iTunes library was ripped from CDs that I had borrowed either from my older brother or from the public library (I’m not sure about the legality of ripping the latter, but there were no commercials telling me not to do it, so I figured it was fine). Most of the time, I was just grabbing CDs with no real concept of what was on them; as a middle schooler, my depth of music knowledge was pretty shallow, and I was mostly interested in ripping as many things as possible so that I could brag about how many songs I had on my iPod. 

During this period there were two CDs that really stood out to me, both taken from my brother. One was The Vines’ 2002 album Highly Evolved. The other was a mixtape made for him by an old girlfriend that was a sampler of hits from poppier 90s alternative bands like Toad the Wet Sprocket and Better than Ezra. On Highly Evolved, I fell in love with the aggression of The Vines, and on the mixtape, I fell in love with the melodic hooks and great pop songwriting on tracks like “All I Want” and “The Freshman”. 

I thought back on both of these CDs frequently while listening to Frog Poems, the fourth album from Mister Goblin. Throughout Frog Poems, you find the kind of well-crafted melodies and arrangements that helped make bands like Toad the Wet Sprocket and The Wallflowers radio mainstays throughout the 90s, but with an edge that those groups lacked. There are plenty of bands around right now that pull from this era of alternative, but the way that Mister Goblin mixes these influences with heavier elements taken from post-hardcore and Braid-era emo means what they’re putting out isn’t something you’ve heard before.

The album’s third track, “The Notary,” is a song that stood out to me immediately. It starts with a driving but controlled full band sound before falling away, a softer drumbeat acting as the backdrop for a subdued guitar lead and mellow bass. “I want to be a notary,” bandleader Sam Goblin sings, “so somebody somewhere will always need me.” Goblin continues to opine on the desire to be essential as the song builds back to the intensity of the beginning through its hook before falling away again, leading us into another verse and then another build, this time surpassing where we started.

I’ve always loved songs like this that build, fall away, and then build again; the alternating periods of restraint and outburst make you appreciate each section more than you would with a less dynamic structure. When your songs are as well put together as the ones on Frog Poems, each vocal line and instruments’ part is strong enough to stand alone in this type of deconstruction; “Goodnight Sun,” “Grown Man,” and “Lost Data” all follow a similar path, though the peaks and valleys differ from track to track, which means things never get stale.

Another highlight of Frog Poems that comes through both in production and arrangements are the vocal harmonies. Throughout the softer section of the album harmonies, especially those punching through in the higher register, do as much to contribute to the songs’ depth and width as anything else in the mix.  One place this happens is “Mike Shinoda”, a spooky Halloween-themed song about indecision that erupts into fractals of harmony during the final third of the track. The higher harmonies remind me a bit of Nicole Johnson’s vocal work on early Modest Mouse songs like “Head South” and “Interstate 8,” becoming essential without overtaking or diminishing the lead vocals. 

When things get heavier on songs like “Run, Hide, Fight” and “Open Up This Pit,” Mister Goblin show that they can deliver fierce sledgehammer power just as adeptly as they can work with reserved finesse. It’s these sections of the album that reminded me of listening to Highly Evolved on the bus home from school and just letting the power and grit wash over me. Sonically, these tracks are far removed from other songs on the record, like the mellow “Goodnight Sun” or the alt-country-tinged “Saw V,” but rather than result in an uneven listening experience, these half-shade genre explorations only make the band's vision feel more singular. If Mister Goblin are a baseball player, they’re prime Yu Darvish: they have a ton of different pitches in their arsenal, and they throw them all well.

Often, when someone is putting together songs with eclectic influences, you can see the stitches; a verse might clearly be “the grunge part” before transitioning into a chorus that is “the pop-punk part.” There’s nothing wrong with this, and it can be fun to see different styles that someone clearly loves set right next to each other in one track, but what I think makes Frog Poems unique is that each song’s mixed influences have been fully incorporated to create new sounds that stand on their own as more than the sum of their parts. The result is an album that feels like a continuation of the music that came before it rather than an homage, a new must-read chapter written in the neverending story of alternative rock.  

Josh Ejnes is a writer and musician living in Chicago. You can keep up with his writing on music and sports on Twitter and listen to his band Cutaway Car here.