Cheridomingo – Shapeshift | Album Review

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everybody lives!

Musical genres can be tricky. In theory, they’re a kind of shorthand used to categorize bands with vaguely similar sounds in order to help match them up with the right audience. However, the result often leaves musicians pigeon-holed into certain scenes or expectations. Sometimes, though, a band will decide to throw genre conventions out the window, finding ways to bring all of their influences together. Examples of this include emo stalwarts The World Is A Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid To Die, “nü pop” favorites Cheem, and newcomers Cheridomingo here on their first full-length release, Shapeshift.

The name of the record couldn’t feel more appropriate, as the Ventura County natives spend ten songs rapidly moving between different alternative genres with clear appreciation and reverence for the music that came before them. Be prepared for a combination of pop-punk, post-hardcore, electronic, nu-metal, emo, and more. It might seem like a lot to take in, but the songs have continuity in the form of vocalist and guitarist Anthony Avina.

It’s clear that the title Shapeshift has a dual meaning, referring both to the way the band weaves together different styles as well as the themes found within Avina’s lyrics. Across the tracks, the singer runs through a list of fears and anxieties keeping him at a distance from the world around him, all written in a way that feels relatable to any listener or onlooker. The most direct example of this universality is on “/cry,” the third single off Shapeshift, which finds Avina lamenting, “If I die young or I grow old, it makes no difference / I’m afraid of where I will go after my life ends.”

Discussing the album, Avina stated that he never had someone in his life to reassure him that things would be okay, forcing him to create that person within himself. We all do this to some extent–shifting between personas we’ve developed depending on the situation we find ourselves dealing with. While those themes recur across Shapeshift, there’s plenty of lighter fare, too, like the chorus of “Limerence,” which is delivered in a melody that accurately captures the nervous energy of falling in love.

Caught on the line, reeling me into you
I’m terrified that I’d die if you tell me to

The fact that Shapeshift moves so seamlessly between styles is also a testament to the band’s musicianship and songwriting. Credit should go to lead guitarist Adam Dobrucki and production from Zach Tuch (Movements, Trash Talk, ZULU), as the guitars sound crisp and easy to define. Nothing on the record feels unnatural or disjointed, which can be a common pitfall while trying to bring this many different genres to the table. The rhythm section keeps the proceedings moving smoothly with their own moments to shine, such as bassist Alex Gonzalez’s work throughout “/cry” and how drummer Simon Beck intertwines physical drumming with electronic beats.

The catchiest song on Shapeshift is “Disconnect,” a pop-punk-post-hardcore track that brings to mind the best output of bands like Saosin or Balance and Composure. With the chorus, Cheridomingo shows that they’re capable of coming up with hooks that can stick in your head for hours on end. It’s songs like this that have the power to win over hordes of fans at live shows, so here’s hoping “Disconnect” makes regular appearances on the band’s setlist. 

Of the album’s three singles, “/cry” is a clear standout. This track brings the band’s nu-metal influences to the forefront, with elements that harken to Deftones as Avina’s effects-laden voice is heard over a thumping bass line. This mood feels like it stands in direct contrast to the more emo-tinged opener “Like A Chain” or the 2000s alt-rock found on “Peace of Mind.”

Cheridomingo even dips into straightforward pop music at points, most notably with “Get In.” which picks up immediately where “Disconnect” leaves off. The song starts off on a somber note but quickly turns into something that wouldn’t feel out of place on mainstream pop radio. Similarly, the song “Sympathy” includes sections with strong Panic! At The Disco vibes while also folding in some post-hardcore elements that bring a harder edge. 

Shapeshift is a good album with moments that are great. Avina’s vocal melodies are very strong, and together, the band has already shown they’re capable of writing quality songs across different genres. By offering so many different styles on the same record, Cheridomingo encourages listeners to keep an open mind and explore something different than they might normally listen to.

The state of music only changes through experimentation, and a lot of that happens through the blending of genres. With that in mind, if Shapeshift can be considered an experiment, it should be seen as a successful one on the part of Cheridomingo. As long as they continue to develop their style with future releases, they will undoubtedly be a band to keep an eye on.

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.

The Power of a Name: An Interview with Seth Graham of ---__--____

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INDIANAPOLIS – Some people see music as pleasant background noise. It’s a form of entertainment, trying to get through the workday or running errands in the car. In the case of Night of Fire, the new album from ---__--____ on Orange Milk Records, it is an album that forces the listener to engage within the first 30 seconds as the project unveils a new style of music that brings several different worlds together. 

Night of Fire, the newest LP from the experimental group ---__--____, which includes Seth Graham, as well as More Eaze and Recovery Girl, combines midwestern DIY hardcore with abstract classical and ambient tropes. 

In its brief 27 minutes, Night of Fire takes the listener on an emotional journey, seldom leaving time for respite. It features discordant strings, screams, and growls, as well as beautiful clean melodies, all of which come at different points within the album’s first 30 seconds. By the fifth track of the album, the listener is exhausted, only as the album once again builds up its intensity to an apex. 

The new album is the group’s follow-up to the critically acclaimed 2021 release The Heart Pumps Kool-Aid. Originally inspired by slowcore bands like Codeine and Bedhead, the new album morphed into a mix of slowcore and ambient, featuring Zao-style vocals. While there are some similarities between the group’s first two albums, Graham’s goal is to have a “clear distinction” between each release.

“I think it’s genuinely compelling. You can hate it, and you can shit on it, and that’s fine. But I don’t think you can say it sounds like something else,” Graham said. “That’s my goal. I feel like if I just pursue what I love and it lands there, then in my mind, I’m successful.” 

Swim Into The Sound spoke with Graham about the newest release from ---__--____, what inspired the sound of this album, what fans should expect out of the act’s live show, and where the project’s name came from. 

Follow-up to The Heart Pumps Kool-Aid

Graham said that the process of following up on the act’s 2021 debut started with a metal show near Dayton, Ohio. 

“I really like metal, and I’ve been really influenced by hardcore since I was a teenager,” Graham recounts. “I went to a lot of Christian hardcore shows because my parents were super religious… It was just a part of that culture in northern Ohio in the mid-to-late 90s when I was a teenager, and that stuck with me for a long time.” 

Even though metal inspires him, Graham wanted to create his own version of it when playing live, so he called upon Galen Tipton, aka Recovery Girl, to help. Ideally, Graham wanted his version to sound like early 2000s Christian hardcore, specifically like “Where Blood And Fire Bring Rest” by Zao. 

After the project’s Dayton show was over, Graham sent the music to Mari Maurice, the Brooklyn-based artist who goes by More Eaze, to see if this was something she could work with. 

“I’m not relying on Mari to… make the song fire,” Graham explained. “I don’t want to put that weight on her, so I try to make it so that even if it’s released as it is, I would be pretty happy with it and then hope that she can enhance it, which she does wonderfully. She does enhance it quite a bit.” 

Sound and inspiration for Night of Fire

Even as Graham was preparing for the one-off show, he said the idea of a full-length album was already on his mind.

“I liked the juxtaposition I was making between classical and hardcore,” he said. “I love, like you probably know, all kinds of music. But I love classical/avant-garde stuff. I always felt like people during the late 50s, 60s, and 70s, maybe into the 80s, avant-garde classical was such a hotbed of interesting stuff because it feels like poetry a little bit. You don’t meet a poet who wants to be famous. They just kind of make stuff, and they present stuff. I feel I just love that, you know?”

“I was sort of mixing hardcore and some classical and some kind of tropes of ambient music… Noise and hardcore equals it being kind of heavy, and I wanted it to be unbearably emotional and unbearable. [I wanted it to be] a bit unlistenable, if that makes sense. It’s listenable, I think, but I feel it really rides a line where I’m not sure if I want to listen to this anymore, but also, ‘I kind of love this.’”

Through his music, Graham said that he likes to draw from where he lives, taking inspiration from his experience growing up in the Midwest and approaching the album like a film.

“People sort of coming in and out of Christianity is really interesting to me because I was part of that growing up,” he said. “I’m not religious at all, but there’s just something really interesting about Midwestern America. A lot of people grow up really religious in various ways, and then they kind of depart from it when they’re younger, and then they kind of return to it. There are very different forms that it takes with people, and then (to see) how that affects art, I think, is really interesting.”

But while he was recording the songs that developed into Night of Fire, Graham said he takes an “emotion-only” approach, not trying to analyze it as he goes. If the songs make him feel something, he believes it will make others feel something as well. The album’s closer, “When God Released Me,” showcases that emotion-based approach perfectly, serving as the climax to the album as a whole.

“That song came together really really fast, and I was crying when I was working on it because I was so moved by it,” he said. “I was literally editing while I was crying and re-listening to it, and I was like, ‘This is it. This is good. I like this. I love this.’ It was just invoking that feeling, but why, I didn’t really know or care. I just try to abandon all analytics when I’m doing it.” 

Now that the album is recorded, Graham said he learned things about himself while he was making it. 

“Personally, it made me feel that all the therapy I’ve been through for depression and trauma throughout my life was just being crammed into a record,” he said. “That’s one thing I didn’t aim to do, but I think it happened. 

“Even though it was flushed out when I was making it. I just abandoned any kind of worry about it, about how it was going to go. I just kind of let go when I was making it.” 

Live sets for ---__--____

Through the various ---__--____ projects, Graham said he aims to make something that brings the question forward of whether or not they would be able to pull it off in a live setting. 

“I want to create something like Night of Fire where it’s like, what the fuck is this?” Graham said. “Can you even do this live? I don’t give a shit. I don’t give a fuck. What I want is just to make music like this.” 

Graham said he doesn’t relate to having a spiritual-like experience at shows but realized that people want an experience when they come to a show. Because of this, ---__--____ performances consist of a film being shown in the background while Maurice plays violin and strings. During the show, Graham lies down on the floor. It’s a similar approach to what Graham did at the initial concert in Ohio before he created Night of Fire.

“People want to be like, what just happened? I can present that, and I don’t have to play a damn fucking thing,” he said. “We’re all just going to lay there while this bizarre film plays with this hardcore classical music. We did this at a local bar in front of three metal bands and a crowd, and it felt deeply satisfying to me. This is what I wanted to present. This is what I wanted to do, and I didn’t really care. I don’t care at all about how anyone felt about it. This [was] liberation for me. I felt liberated from the burden of showing off my chops. I don’t have chops. It was not in the cards for me, but I shouldn’t be banned from playing music. I play music. I make art, and this is what I do.”

“I love it because I feel like when people come to see it, they’re like, ‘I’ve never seen this. I’ve never heard this. What the fuck is this?’” 

Origin of the ---__--____ project name 

When Graham and Maurice created the group, Graham said he didn’t initially want to name the project, stressing that it did not feel right to just use the two of their names as the project's name. At one point, Graham typed characters into a chat box, which ended up becoming the band’s name.

“I hate names,” he said. “I feel like names are all signifiers of what clan you belong to or what it’s all signaling. Words themselves are signals and the combination of words or how the word is just presented. I didn’t want to signal anything. I wanted there to be (a feeling of) ‘I’m not sure what I’m getting into.’ I wanted that, so it almost opens you up a little bit.” 

Graham sees the name ---__--____ as a rebuke of sorts, stressing that it’s okay to be recognized, but the capitalist-driven narrative of fame has an “awful side to it.” 

“If we have this name, we can’t go far. No one’s going to give a shit. No one’s going to go through the name, if that makes sense. A lot of people are like, what band is it? I don’t know,” he said. “I also like the idea of the album name becoming the band name - so then our name kind of changes.”

“I’m trying to force you to engage… I feel like if I saw it, my curiosity would be peaked. But maybe my curiosity is too easily peaked.” 

---__--____ is performing as part of a free Orange Milk Records showcase in Yellow Springs, Ohio in mid-September. Click here for more information about the free show at Antioch College. 

David Gay got into journalism to write about music but is now writing news and political articles for a living in Indiana. However, when he got the chance to jump back into the music world, he took it. David can be found on Twitter and Instagram at @DavidGayNews. (Just expect a lot of posts about jam bands.)

Combat – Stay Golden | Album Review

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Counter Intuitive Records

Somewhere in the back of Ottobar, I was sipping a drink with Deep Eddy's grapefruit vodka as I turned to answer my friend's question. He had tagged along with me to see Prince Daddy & the Hyena's summer tour and was asking about the local opener. The star-studded lineup included saturdays at your place, Riley!, and Carpool, but my friend was most curious about the first band on the list – Combat. I think I yelled something along the lines of “best band in Baltimore right now,” or “you wouldn’t believe their new single,” or “they’re probably going to bring the building down,” but was cut off because, at that moment, Combat crashed onto the stage. The air in the room that hung with pre-show humidity suddenly buzzed with electricity as we braced for what was coming. Within seconds of the first chord, the whole crowd was moving. 

I was really bad at physics in school, so don't quiz me on anything else, but I remember that the law of conservation of energy says that energy cannot be created or destroyed, but it can change form. I’m pretty sure that Combat’s sophomore album, Stay Golden, is sonic proof of that. Throughout the concept record, Combat bounces between speed and resonating impact, often at the turn of a lyric. Ultimately, the live wire sound keeps the momentum of the album at a thrashing high energy while the lyrics delve into insecurities, secrets, memories, and an ever-evolving outlook on the very album you’re listening to. Through meta self-analysis and music so emotive it feels impossible to capture, Combat’s latest is a legend in the making. 

After a brief piano intro, a sample from Spider-Man: Homecoming sets the tone, playing off the band’s name as a robotic Jennifer Connelly asks, “Would you like me to engage Enhanced Combat Mode?” to which an emphatic Peter Parker responds, “Enhanced Combat Mode? Yeah!” Seconds later, the band rips into the jingly cacophony of the titular “Stay Golden." which tears out in a thrash of whirlwind pop-punk. Before we get any further, I feel the need to explain the physical impact of this song. When I saw Combat in July, this song, the album’s first single, had only been out for a couple of weeks. It was received with rave reviews, appearances in 5x5 Friday grids, and apt comparisons to the wild and raucous sound of Bomb the Music Industry! But then I saw it live, and as much as I’ve tried to rework this sentence, it is impossible to describe the ferocity the band threw into this song and how much the crowd threw right back. I mean, the whole pit knew the words within a handful of days and was scrambling over each other to scream “Hey Holden!” back to the lyric’s namesake, frontman Holden Wolf. That split second pretty much explained the frenzy that Ottobar had turned into. Luckily, it’s immortalized on video here (and yes! That is the album's producer, Origami Angel's Ryland Heagy filling in on guitar, and yes! That is a Riley! cameo).

The whole album is a sprint from there. After being drop-kicked by the title track, “Faith” feels like being punted through the air, continuing the more meta side of the album as Wolf describes writing the song you’re listening to. “Put Me In, Coach” feels like falling but never hitting the ground and keeps up the impossible breakneck speed of the album’s introductory tracks. While a brick is on the gas pedal, the jaded side of the album’s lyrical themes are put into overdrive as Wolf sardonically asks, “Do I make you lots of money?”

This stretch of songs feels like someone who doesn’t know they have telekinesis on the brink of discovering their powers by accidentally exploding their room. It’s building and building and building. This cartoon tornado of energy spirals into the aptly titled “Full Speed Ahead,” a song that climbs like you’re on a broken elevator with a cord pulling you up and then dropping you in a way that makes everything that came before it somehow feel slower by comparison. Wolf yells with such a strain in his voice that it feels like the band is using everything they have left, and it’s only the fifth song. 

After furious cymbal crashes and guitars that ricochet against each other, the front half of the album crescendos into the first 8-minute powerhouse, “Weird Ending Explained Pt. 1.” It’s chaotic. It’s a breather. It’s chilling. It’s miserable. It’s apologetic. It’s bitten. It bites back. The song is self-confident and self-referential, feeling like this album’s answer to 2022’s Text Me When You Get Back. “Weird Ending Pt. 1” gives the listener an abridged history of Combat thus far, closing a chapter mid-album while also showing the band’s cards and revealing the direction they’re taking now. The song weaves and winds, pulling together past musical motifs and forgotten chords from their catalog while the lyrics pile on top of each other, working into a building panic. The momentum picks back up when suddenly Wolf flips and describes the unending process of writing another album, jokes about using leitmotifs, and bemoans trying to stay golden despite it all. Honestly, it makes me feel silly to write that they used something like leitmotifs and recurring lyrics —  as if I walked directly into a trap. It’s yet another crack in the fourth wall of the album, a jab at what the song just did. As it slows and fades out, Combat is left standing in a kind of panopticon of their own making as they decide between expectations for the band, their future, and the audience.

From there, the album pumps the brakes, but only slightly. The blistering momentum cools down into longer songs and slower deliveries, but that doesn’t mean the raging is over. Guitars duke it out on the Prince Daddy-ish “Happy Again” and “Compound Sentences” feels like the fast-food-obsessed spiritual successor to Origami Angel’s "24 Hr Drive-Thru," but with a bit of twang thrown into the mix. Between those two songs, “Merrow Lanes” builds traction back up, using Magic the Gathering as a flexible metaphor for poking and prodding at something until it reaches perfection. To exemplify this, Wolf declares he’s “on the way to idealized far destinations” but “stuck on a freight train to Loserville.” The whole song ultimately turns against the notion of vapidly improving yourself as it repeats the cloying phrasing “you’re gonna have to do better,” mocking those who deal such flat advice while the music turns into a stampede that is sure to take the floor out of any venue they play this in. 

The energy of the final tracks oscillates between kinetic and potential. “Epic Season Finale” is a sort of pseudo-closer, pulling the self-depreciation, want, and meta sides of the album's lyrics to more forgiving heights. It soars up and sits in the same blue sky as the cover. It’s a buddy comedy of a song. Amongst the concept album framework, it has almost a final scene quality, an epic season finale if you will, one with forgotten conflict, accepted confessions, big smiles, and forever friendships.

The promised second part of “Weird Ending Explained Pt. 1” arrives to close out the album. Of the nine minutes that make up “Weird Ending Explained Pt. 2,” the first two are purely instrumental, a sturdy bass line holding it all together until the crash. If “Epic Season Finale” was the final scene, this would be the montage that plays over the credits. Much like its mid-album twin, “Weird Ending Explained Pt. 2” revisits prior melodies and themes but focuses on Stay Golden instead of prior Combat projects, all while staring directly through the hole in the 4th wall. With these meta devices in place, this song also continues to offer new perspectives on the album you're listening to as you're listening to it. One of the most jarring comes when Wolf amends "Faith," circling back to the complications of writing this particular album:

It's just getting harder
To try to get it through your skull
Sounding out your vowels and consonants
Barely make out compound sentences
George never played the upright bass
Was just a line to fill out space
With impersonal, infactual, and total witty quips.

These lyrics turn the entire album on its head, a simple glimpse at how many details and references are packed into its 40-minute runtime. The album begs to be replayed immediately, and it’s not even over yet. The quick admittance leads into the final few minutes of the song as it jumps from a fast-stepping melody into a wrenching wail, into a trumpet-laced dirge, into a last-ditch bouncy refrain, and into slowing violins that loop into the first track. 

Energy cannot be created or destroyed, but on Stay Golden, it’s entirely infinite, and this is clearly only the beginning. Back at Ottobar in July, Combat’s set ended in the same frenzy it started, with constant collisions spiraling around the room and out into the crowd. But all kinetic energy eventually has to shift back into potential; the next band must go on, we need to find the owner of whoever lost a shoe in the pit, and I need to grab a beer before the next set. 

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.

Self Defense Family – Try Me | Album Retrospective

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Deathwish Inc.

“Children are gonna be pissed by this, but… yelling ‘all the dumb cunts they get what they want’ for a long time… it’s hard for me to even listen to.”

“It should thrill you!”

When people say “band X or album Y” changed their life, it’s easy to be skeptical. Not because it’s impossible to believe that a piece of music could do that, but it is a lofty claim that gets thrown around so much that it’s become its own meme. I’m sure the critical-yet-charismatic Patrick Kindlon would dislike me saying so, but Self Defense Family’s 2014 album Try Me is one of those life-changing albums for me. The album celebrated its tenth anniversary back in January, and it felt crucial for me to look back on it, given the indisputable impact it had on my 18-year-old brain.

A brief history: Self Defense Family was once called End Of A Year and first formed under that name in New York in 2003. That first iteration of the band released one demo, three albums, and a prolific amount of EPs and singles starting in 2004. In 2011, they briefly rebranded as the verbose “End Of A Year Self Defense Family” before finally landing on just Self Defense Family before the year was over. This change, alongside finding a new home at legendary punk label Deathwish Inc., re-established the band as a somewhat unclassifiable alternative outfit amongst a sea of emo and post-hardcore bands of the time. To me, they are the perfect kind of musical combo: their influences are heavily worn on their sleeves (Nick Cave, Lungfish, and Silkworm, to name a few), but they don’t sound exactly like any of them, nor any of their contemporaries. The same could be said for the doom-metallic-hardcore quintet Twitching Tongues or the ever-evolving, all-angles-of-punk rockers Ceremony. 

Since becoming more “popular” (as popular as an intentionally anachronistic band can be), Self Defense has garnered a cultish, deeply devoted following, and it’s very easy to fall deep into that hole. Vocalist and lyricist Patrick Kindlon is the only constant member, joining up with a rotating cast of regulars and one-off players whenever they’re available. Because of this, the group is ripe with side projects and associated acts; Kindlon himself is perhaps even better known for Drug Church than he is for Self Defense these days, and other members have been a part of bands like Aficionado, Militarie Gun, and PONY. 

My first exposure to Kindlon was at a Drug Church show in October 2013, opening for now-defunct New Jersey emo duo Dads. They played just four songs, and the other half of the set was filled with prolonged, involved stage banter from Kindlon. I was impressionable, on the verge of a melodramatic high school breakup, and desperately seeking something against the grain that spoke to my sensibilities. That Drug Church set delivered precisely what I needed, and after diving into their music throughout the following weeks, I discovered Self Defense. At this time, they were about four months shy from the release date of their full-length debut under their new name, and I couldn’t wait to hear it.

A wonderful surprise hit just before the turn of the year when Try Me began streaming early ahead of its physical street date. It’s one of a handful of times I remember exactly the experience of hearing an album for the first time. Alone over winter break, late at night in my bedroom at my mom’s old house, taking in a collection of songs that was absolutely unlike any I’d heard before. Everything about Try Me to someone who doesn’t know the roots sounds insane, from the lo-fi production to Kindlon’s signature bark-speak vocal delivery and the repetitive nature of both. It’s also a record that caused me to Google search unfamiliar lexicon, starting with album opener and catalog hit “Tithe Pig.” I was freshly eighteen and had no fucking idea what a “tithe pig” was, or what “tithe” was for that matter. Then, there’s the second track, “Nail House Music,” where Kindlon spins multiple variations of its core lyric: “I found you in the witch elm. Who put you in the witch elm? What man dares to put his hands to me?” Again, I go, what the fuck is “the witch elm?”

On a laundry list of things I didn’t know prior to hearing this album for the first time is the album’s conceptual star, Angelique Bernstein, known publicly as Jeanna Fine. Much of the lyrics on Try Me are inspired by interviews Kindlon conducted with the former adult film actress, which are included in two 20-minute segments on the album, simply titled “Angelique One” and “Angelique Two.” Depending on whether you have the CD, streaming, or vinyl version of Try Me, these interviews appear at different moments in the tracklisting. The digital versions have them interspersed, the first after the initial five songs and the second after the final four songs. The vinyl is a double album, with one disc worth of songs and one disc worth of interviews, each disc housed in die-cut sleeves featuring high-quality pin-up portraits of Fine. 

Most of the time, I prefer the vinyl listening experience, but that’s only because nothing will match up to the very first time I listened to the album, having no idea what to expect with these pieces. I knew nothing about the album’s concept before listening, so when “Angelique One” began and I saw its runtime, I thought I was in for some post-progressive Mars Volta type shit (speaking of bands I spent a lot of time Google searching terms from). What I got was the first half of a captivating and emotional peek into a sordid life at the end of the 20th century, cutting and traumatic, bold and vulnerable.

A good time is often not the resonating feeling on a Self Defense release, whether Kindlon is singing about his own life or someone else’s. Try Me’s first single was “Turn The Fan On,” a dark lament that would probably be buried on the B-side for any other group. In a fan-filmed performance from Poland, Kindlon describes the song as simply “a bummer.” It’s an extremely tough song lyrically; the raw details are unclear, and the tone is truly unsettling: “A patch of grass outside the clinic. His wife’s at home, she’s gone ballistic. He places lips to palm, he starts crying. Finger to temple, he’s sobbing.” “Apport Birds” is about Kindlon’s dog dying, an unfortunate feeling many of us know, and he spares no grim notion about it. “It’s not like you to go without me. It must be lonely there without me. I understand the pull of religion when there’s a loss that won’t stop itching.” One song earlier, “Mistress Appears At Funeral,” which features lead vocals by frequent Self Defense collaborator Caroline Corrigan, reveals the details of an affair in humanity’s most inopportune setting. “Dressed in black, I’m ready for mourning. Show ample thigh to keep it sporty.” / “I kneel at my man, I take my time. Estate is theirs, but this is mine. Wife looks up, she finally sees unpleasant mirror, the miserable me.”

When Kindlon’s feelings aren’t masked in metaphors, they come directly and without interpretation. “Fear Of Poverty In Old Age” is the album’s prime example of this: “Feel dumb once, feel dumb again. Ring finger cut off your left hand. Ugly lisp, frustrated stammer. Wrong time again,” and the blunt chorus, “partnership is security, promise me.” The most “punk” that Try Me gets, a term Kindlon actively resents, is the 10-minute closer “Dingo Fence.” It’s a simple anthem: “Do you live nearby? Let’s go to your place now. All the dumb cocks, they get what they want. All the dumb cunts, they get what they want. All the dumb cops, they get what they want. If you’re happy, I’m happy.” Kindlon’s voice strains over the track’s duration by the end, where it culminates in a quiet coda. If basement krautrock was a subgenre, it’s Self Defense’s bag and only their bag to occupy.

The influence of Try Me on my life, my way of thinking, and my way of absorbing music cannot be overstated. It gave me a sense of identity when I had none to latch onto. It felt like Self Defense was my little secret band that only I understood after years of feeling alienated from my closest friends at the time. I actually convinced my high school journalism teacher to let me review it for the newspaper the month it was released. I went back to the same venue I saw Drug Church at just months before to see Self Defense perform with Pity Sex. I skipped my last day of Senior year to get in my friend’s band’s touring van to Bled Fest in Howell, Michigan, so I could see Self Defense again, and began the arduous process of collecting every piece of vinyl End Of A Year and Self Defense Family ever released (yes, I completed the mission). It was a fun challenge finding ways to explain to my family that “avant-garde spoken word hardcore” was my new favorite genre. 

Self Defense’s band activity has been a bit less frequent since Drug Church’s popularity has risen, and admittedly, some of the newer, singles-based SDF material doesn’t strike the same chord with me as their mid-2010s output. But that will never change how Self Defense affected me in more ways than one, and revisiting Try Me ten years later, it still has the same chokehold on me. Even as I typed out lyrics here that I’ve had memorized for a decade, or gave a close re-relisten to the emotionally gripping interview segments, or played the record at home that I’ve heard across four different turntables in six different bedrooms, Try Me remains a one-of-a-kind album that should be essential listening for those yearning for something new in their musical rotation. In Kindlon’s own words, the final three of Try Me’s liner notes: “Enjoy or don’t.”

Logan Archer Mounts once almost got kicked out of Warped Tour for doing the Disturbed scream during a band’s acoustic set. He currently lives in Rolling Meadows, IL, but tells everyone he lives in Palatine.

Ben Seretan – Allora | Album Review

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Tiny Engines

I’ve gotten really into meditation this year. It’s become one of those habits that has gone beyond performative. Instead, meditation has become a practice that makes me feel better and supports my neverending human endeavor to grow in warmth, beauty, and happiness.

Ben Seretan’s Allora has also been instrumental in my spiritual development. Through its lens of a ripping, anthemic indie rock album, I find myself selfishly excited to meditate on its drone. Every song basks in the overdriven tube warmth of a guitar amp. Plucked strings and shredding leads guide listeners to Seretan’s gospel about resilience and love. A congregation of bassist Nico Hedley and drummer Dan Knishkowy backs Seretan to form a kind of garage band trinity. 

At over eight minutes, album opener “New Air” introduces his thesis as Seretan repeats, “We breathe new air for the first time.” The single is grounded by a driving bassline and groove that ascends into an explosive solo, awash in crashing cymbals and tremolo picking. Given the track’s length and droning structure, the song begs listeners to give in, let go, and enjoy the moment. In that trance, though, there is respite and rebirth, as Seretan and co. offer dynamics that allow for breathing room, processing, and gratitude. Long songs are always a risk, especially as first tracks, but despite that inherent challenge, Seretan sets the bar high right out of the gate.

If “New Air” is a meditation on rebirth, “Bend” is a sobering reflection on the compounding nature of one’s past. The lyrics-cum-poetry are memories:

flowers on the road
bending toward the sun
I will follow slowly
you were almost free
I could hear you singing
for the last time.

These flashes of imagery push Seretan to the edge with an emotional weight that is exhumed through his climatically delivered refrain: “Bending with the weight of it / what I want could fill the world up / I will bend, not break.” Similarly to how Dan “Soupy” Campbell of The Wonder Years encouraged a younger me to push through depression and apathy with the war cry “I’m not sad anymore,” Seretan encourages me now to be flexible in the face of adversity, tragedy, and grief. 

“Free” is the eight-minute tails to the head of “New Air.” Mostly instrumental and darker in tone, the track is plain and clear in a desire for liberation: “Were it that I was free / ah, free.” Although Allora is not without conflict, “Free” is the most obvious and direct. There is love and resilience and joy, but some shackles still remain. Even then, though, Seretan remains grateful on the closer, “Every Morning Is A,” where he sings, “Every morning is a / glory hallelujah.” The final song is simply those lyrics and Seretan’s now familiar guitar noodling over an organ pad. Reverbed up to heaven, you’d swear you were in a church yourself.

A skeptic myself, I had some unwelcome flashbacks to being in church in elementary and high school. In spite of the emotions that accompanied those memories, Ben Seretan’s Allora left me peaceful, hopeful, and surprisingly grateful to carry my weight because it is mine, and I will not break under it.

Brooklyn native Joe Wasserman moonlights as an English teacher when he’s not playing bass in the LVP. Find more of his writing on Substack.