worlds greatest dad  – Better Luck Next Time | Album Review

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SideOneDummy Records

Lately, I’ve been thinking about what we mean when we talk about a band maturing. With artists from the past, the subject is often clear cut; if you listen to Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash followed by Don’t Tell a Soul, it’s not difficult to pick out which of the two was made by kids, and when you listen to the records that came in between the two, it’s easy to see the progression that took us from one to the next. With newer bands, especially those that are still active, the conversation becomes a little more gray. In the realm of emo-adjacent music, I often see maturation used to describe a band whose newest release features fewer of the genre’s stylistic hallmarks than the one that came before it. It seems if you turn down the knob that says “emo” and turn up the knob that says “indie,” you're bound to have your record described as your most mature yet.

I don’t necessarily disagree with this assessment when I see it, but I do wish that the way bands progress was talked about more from other angles. Maturation doesn’t always present as a band becoming more stripped down or reserved. Sometimes, it can look like further commitment to a style or adding new elements without subtracting others. It can be a band growing into their identity rather than moving towards what others might think “mature” sounds like. This is the kind of maturation I thought about when listening to worlds greatest dad’s new album, Better Luck Next Time. 

Better Luck Next Time is the group’s second full-length and their first since 2018’s get well soon. A lot happened in the six years between the releases, including a lineup of Kegan Krogh, Ben Etter, and Matt Hendler coalescing around bandleader Maddie Duncan, as well as the four signing with SideOneDummy earlier this year. Despite how much time has passed, Better Luck Next Time feels like a natural sequel to get well soon, improving on what came before without moving too far away from the band’s sound. 

Where moments on get well soon caught my attention, moments on Better Luck Next Time go a step further and knock me over. Album opener “Twenty Deer” starts with a minute of wistful vocals over acoustic and slide guitar, then, suddenly, the full band enters, and you’re hit with crashing drums and a strong, luminous guitar lead. Beyond sounding huge, when the instruments come together here, they sound clear; you can hear every part and how it compliments the whole with washes of reverb and subtle synths acting as a bed for everything else to lay in. 

This balance can be found throughout the whole album and allows the guitar leads, in particular, to shine. On the intro of “Bike Song” and chorus of “Concrete (A Love Song),” the guitar is the locomotive that pulls everything along, and its placement in the mix allows for a tone that’s strong and ear-catching without being abrasive. On “Taking One for the Team,” the lead takes prominence during the first hook in a more complimentary role, still strong but deployed to dance around the main vocal line before joining up with strings and the more prominent bass of the verses. Most of these elements have been there in past worlds greatest dad releases but generally with fewer, more compressed layers. Here, we see the songwriting and arrangements bloom fully, a more substantial structure built on similar bones. 

The scale of the songs here sometimes gives Better Luck Next Time an almost stadium rock quality. “Two Birds,” in particular, is a song that feels grandiose, pairing its massive sound with one of the record’s best hooks; Duncan singing, “Cause I was watchin’ when your head fell from the clouds / And you could correct me now if I was what knocked your feet off of the ground” is something I haven’t been able to get out of my head since my first listen. Fourth single, “The Ocean,” is another song with a huge earworm chorus that feels made for radio, with the instrumentation around the hook made extra lush thanks to the more staccato sections that precede it. Sometimes, with bands in this lane, you wonder how the sound will translate to larger stages when the time comes, but that’s not a worry when listening to Better Luck Next Time. These are big songs that feel like they’re meant to be performed in front of big crowds.

One of the more reserved tracks on the album that really stuck with me was “Fakin’ a Smile.” Part of why many of the tracks on Better Luck Next Time sound so big is the masterful use of vocal doubles, reverb, and harmonies, allowing Duncan’s voice to contend with the big instrumentation surrounding it. This always sounds cool, but it’s nice on tracks like “Fakin’ A Smile,” where we hear a bit more raw vocal that highlights the pure quality of their voice. The little vocal quiver we hear as Duncan sings, “I don’t think I can get out of bed” right before the chorus is just so good; it’s the kind of vocal affect that can sound trite if overdone, but here it’s executed so perfectly that you feel it in your gut.

Continuing into that song’s chorus, we’re hit with some of my favorite lines on the album, as Duncan sings, “And I got so drunk that I turned sober / And my stomach soured over / And I felt the floor fall with me.” I don’t know that I’ve heard a more succinct distillation of the moment that you realize that you’re too drunk and the consequences that come with it, particularly when your intention for drinking was to escape or find comfort. When the realization hits that the comfort’s not coming, but you’re already deep into a bottle, it really can send you into freefall, which is described perfectly here. 

One thing that’s tough about being in your late teens and early twenties is that you often engage in these cycles of behavior but aren’t equipped to fully identify them. I don’t think lyrics or realizations like those on “Fakin’ a Smile” generally can come from someone in the early throes of young adulthood, even though they’re related to behaviors and experiences that come in that part of your life. 

I feel similarly about the lines “It wasn’t that you gave up on your dreams / But at the same time you stopped believing in me” from “Bad Neighborhood” and plenty of other sections throughout the record. So much of the lyrical content feels like it can be summed up as reckoning with the inevitable mistakes one made when they were younger, specifically the type of reckoning that can only come with some time and distance. This ultimately is one of the things that really got me thinking about maturity when I was listening through. Better Luck Next Time is an album of progression for worlds greatest dad both sonically and emotionally. It’s their most mature record yet, and also their best. 

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.

The Name of the Band Is Pop Music Fever Dream

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Photo by Sydney Tate

I don’t know how to be alone with my thoughts. Even when I’m playing a video game or reading a book, things I love doing to relax, I need an endless queue of YouTube videos or music to keep my brain preoccupied. I used to think it was because my ADHD has been left untreated since I was diagnosed in the second grade, but now I think I just hate myself. 

I talk a big game about loving art that makes you feel bad. I call movies like Blue Velvet my favorites, saying I love films that make you confront the darkest parts of your psyche, but when the credits roll, I’m looking for something else to fill the air. I am afraid that if I’m left alone with my thoughts, I won’t like what I see. I’ve let my brain get hijacked by the algorithms that get off on serving content that makes me want to fight; I’ve become just “an extension of that glass and metal,” as Tim Seeberger sing-talks on “Another Screen,” the lead single for Pop Music Fever Dream's new EP, Songs for Emotion.

I have a setlist from Pop Music Fever Dream’s show on December 30th at Our Wicked Lady that says at the bottom, “ALL NOISE ALL THE TIME!” an apt description of the band's sound, but also how it feels to be alive. As Seeberger puts it, the “tailored presence of bad emotions / blue light cuts through my brain” helps drown out any negative thought I could have, leaving me with good feelings forever. 

I first saw PMFD (what the real heads call ‘em) at Bushwick’s premier cemetery-adjacent venue, Purgatory, in March 2023. That night was the release show of Frog Era by ok, cuddle, the brilliant fifth-wave emo project helmed by PMFD guitarist Nicole Harwayne. I hadn’t heard any of the bands on the bill at that point, except for my beloved Crush Fund, so I didn’t anticipate leaving with two new favorite bands. 

Watching PMFD that night was like falling in love. The band has the chaotic energy you read about the first wave of punk stars possessing. Their songs tap into the no-wave era Parquet Courts had on Content Nausea and have the confidence to drop in snippets of Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ classic “Maps.” On any given night, you can find Seeberger climbing precariously placed speaker stacks, shimmying their way up a pole, or crawling under the stage. These aren’t just the antics of a band desperate to hold your attention; the shambolic mess of a PMFD set is required by the music. When Seeberger drops the mic and leaves the room at the bridge of “The Internet (And Other Modern Observations), Vol. 1,” it’s not just a consistent gimmick; I imagine they need the time away from the stage to regroup. 

PMFD are pure, perpetual motion machines; they have to keep going, pushing, grinding, hitting harder, faster. If they stop for even a second, the thoughts will come flooding back in. That energy extends into the audience. I once told Seeberger that PMFD pits are the only ones I’ve ever actually been afraid to be in, and not just because I’ve taken guitar headstocks to the skull but because the crowd is as reckless with their bodies as Seeberger and the band are with their music. 

The shows offer ecstatic release, but this is not fun music. Like how listening to Gilla Band brings you into Dara Kiely’s panic attacks, Songs for Emotion is like getting trapped in Seeberger’s head as they have a mental breakdown trying to break free from the Matrix. From the liminal music video for “Another Screen,” to the torn personality manifesto of “Split,” to the drowning sound of “Elegy for Memory,” to the pipe bomb in the mailbox of transphobic legislatures of “18 States,” Songs for Emotion is music to rip your head from the screen. 

Over three Zoom calls interrupted by spotty internet and free plan time limits, as well as a couple of text messages, Seeberger and I talked about the role the internet plays in our lives, the recording of Songs for Emotion, self-hatred, and Neon Genesis Evangelion. 

This interview has been edited for length and clarity. 

Swim Into The Sound: I wanted to start by talking with you about your relationship with the internet because I think it’s pretty obvious you have a fraught one. Something you do a good job of on “Another Screen” is talking about seeking the internet for comfort, which often spirals into doomscrolling and other forms of despair. When I was young, what got me into the internet was Cartoon Network games, which has since spiraled into having YouTube on in the background all the time or scrolling on my phone to constantly stimulate my brain. So I was wondering what was the thing that brought you to the internet?

Tim Seeberger: Like, what made me say the internet is for me? I think around the same vibe. I was into Nick dot com, playing all the games up there, Disney channel dot com, and I still think of the Ed, Edd, and Eddy game. There was Postopia, which was all about Cereals. I remember getting shown YouTube pretty early on. My uncle and aunt showed me the numa numa video, and I said, “This is the best thing ever.” Or, like “muffins,” which I loved but was creeped out by. And then I got really into RollerCoaster Tycoon 3, and there were all these videos of people doing mods that I would watch. I had my own little YouTube channel, and I would post my Roller Coaster POV’s. I think the channel is long gone. 

I would say that put me on the internet. I had AIM as well and would talk to the same three people in my middle school class. Then I got Facebook in the sixth or seventh grade and was like, “This is pretty sick.” I lied to get on there, I think I was 11 and said I was 13. I was an early adopter of everything. I saw the dawn of a lot of things that are now ruining my life. Instagram, I was on there early. I got on Twitter when you had to type “RT” to quote tweet. I was early on Snapchat. I had an iPhone that didn’t have a front-facing camera, but I remember when Facetime came around. All that to say, I’ve seen it all. Being 27, I’m kinda some of the last people to live a pre-internet life. Like, I started out with a dumb phone, but now I work a remote job on my laptop all day writing emails.

SWIM: Do you know when the relationship switched when it became an “issue” in your life? 

TIM: I would say around the time that it became an issue for everybody. I was a senior in high school and a freshman in college around 2015/2016. I feel like that’s when the internet started taking a dark turn. It was always on a dark turn, but it seemed less creative and more mind-numbing as the first election cycle of Trump came around. I started getting into deep-fried memes and becoming friends with people who were, as we know now, internet-pilled. 

I was on Vine too, and that probably shortened my attention span a little bit. But I would say that it was a noticeable issue around the pandemic. We had so much time to be on our phones, so I downloaded TikTok, and the rest is history. There’s one thing to be involved in memes and be brain rotted that way, but when you get into niche political content online, that’s when I was fucked. With everything that’s happening in the world, there is a whole new level of doomerism on the internet because you have niche political content that makes you wanna die, and then you jump to memes that make you wanna die, then you jump to memes that are brain rotted, then you somehow sink down into what the kids are looking at these days, and it’s like that’s a whole other level of dark. 

Photo by Sydney Tate

SWIM: That issue with switching tones feels like whiplash is constantly happening in your brain. Do you think it’s possible to manage having a brain that can take in this much information?

TIM: There’s way too much information available to us at this moment in time and in the wrong way. With the internet, all of this information was technically available to us, but it was less accessible. 

It’s been tough watching what is happening in Palestine because it is just an onslaught of terrors every day. As it should be to get the word out of how terrible this is, and there’s no internet access, and we’re purposely cut off from this. But it can get tough. I come from a journalism background, so it’s always just an onslaught of news and online stuff. But way back when you had to go searching for stuff, it wasn’t always this way. 

On the whole, without getting into nuances that obviously change this answer, there is just too much information all at once coming at you. And it’s done on purpose to keep you on there, to numb your head. I wanted to capture that feeling a little bit in “Another Screen.” That’s why there is that dissonance between the verses and the sound of the chorus and the end of the song. I felt like it had movements to it, like I wanted to write a very normal post-punk song, and then I wanted to really fuck it up. And I guess in some way, it kinda is an allegory for how the internet feels sometimes, like very normal and then at its core very intense and all-consuming. 

SWIM: That bit where you scream at the very end is the last vocal we hear, and it gets drowned out in the mix by the rest of the band. It feels like screaming into the void. Because that’s all you do when you tweet or post anything.

TIM: There is definitely intention to having it be just all of the same lyrics in that section. “At some point, it’s all too much / it never ends / it never ends.” That’s what I wanted to nail into people’s heads. It never ends, that’s it. 

That is what it feels, like you’re screaming into this void, but in my head, the void isn’t this dark and black; it’s like TV static and scrolling on your phone super fast until your eyes bleed.

SWIM: It’s like shoving your head into the TV in I Saw the TV Glow. 

TIM: Yeah, 1000%. With “I stick my head into the phone, to not explain the unexplainable,” I had this idea of my head falling back into my phone. My phone was like water, and I was drowning in it. 

SWIM: “Split” has been stuck with me for weeks.

TIM: That’s a hard one.

SWIM: Every time I listen to it, I am forced to reflect on being in the closet. Obviously, there’s the line, “and just shove myself back into the closet.” That was how I felt when I realized I was trans. Every time I listen to it, I think about how terrible of a partner or friend I was because I was just shoving myself into a corner. It’s a terrifying song. 

TIM: It was a very difficult song to write. That instrumental had kicked around in my head for close to two years, and I knew it had to be something intense. It was coming down to the wire; I was writing the lyrics on the way to record the vocals simply because I didn’t know what I wanted it to be about. 

The only lines I had that stuck from day one were “the rites of spring aren’t right anymore” and “the lights are off and no one's home,” which really summarized my existence for a while, whether when I was coming out, or be it just figuring myself out these days: “The lights are off and no one’s home.”

I was having a conversation with Nicole and Carmen in the car on the way to practice and asked, “Hey, should I put this in the song? Is this too heavy? Is this too much?” Nicole said, “You should write about whatever you’re feeling. I think the best stuff is about what you’re feeling.” In ok, cuddle, Nicole is certainly someone who puts her heart on her sleeve in her lyrics, and I admire that. I think I was very scared because it was me being open and painfully brutal about many things in my life that were going on at the time, and it applies to things that are still happening. Now that I’m in a better place, it is a little sad to look back on the line “In the name of all that is good in thee, get the fuck away from me” because it is like “I am a terrible person, do not love me. I’m gonna fuck you over.” Not the case, not true; that’s just my mental health talking. But it was basically like, ‘I don’t deserve love, run.’ 

The thing I’m most proud of is “You don’t know what you’re running from / but it scares you anyway / and you don’t know what scares you / but you run anyway.” That was something I wrote, and I was like, “I need to figure out what this means,” and I still am. It just came to me. Sometimes things sound good, and I put them in a song and I have to figure out later on what it is. I think I’m in the process of figuring that out. 

SWIM: That whole bridge where layers of your voice are echoing on top of each other is so painful because what you’re saying is so true about reckoning with yourself. You mentioned that it’s hard to look back on those lyrics of “get the fuck away from me,” but it’s so refreshing to hear someone admit that they aren’t always a good person or reckon with how they see themselves.

TIM: I’m not a person who is going to push anyone away; I’m not gonna be shitty on purpose.

SWIM: No, you’re one of the most lovely people I know.

TIM: Thanks, that was me fishing for compliments. I’m kidding.

SWIM: That’s staying in the article. 

TIM: Of course it is.

That [lyric] spoke to my perception of myself and the love that I thought I deserved for a long, long time, and honestly, it’s not even because I knew… That line came from me doing that to myself so many times. In the end, I realized that it was just not true. It was an intense and painful song. 

Sonically, this is one of the best songs I’ve ever written because it’s so weird. It was such a big, overwhelming idea in my head because I had a grandiose vision of what I wanted it to be, and I could make it happen now. 

SWIM: It’s interesting to me that the instrumental came so early and the lyrics came so late because it does feel of a piece. There are moments in the song where I’m like, this is a Black Flag song with how the guitars are like scrambling. Listening, I feel like I’m having a panic attack and literally punching a mirror. It captures what the lyrics are saying, so it’s incredible that it wasn’t a cohesive piece from the start.

TIM: We had to record it in four parts because we were still learning the song. We were very down to the wire on that one.

Thankfully, I wrote the song with four distinct movements with a stop and a start to everything. But it was an undertaking for sure. I remember Dominico sitting there for 30 minutes getting that drum fill in at the end. To his credit, he got it. There’s this video Violette (Grim, production/engineer) got of me orchestrating in the recording room, and when he did it, I remember making this fun face. 

SWIM: Because you said you had a vision for this song, and now you could execute it, I was curious how bringing in Carmen, Nicole, and Dominico changed your approach to crafting these songs.

TIM: It’s an ever-evolving process. Whereas “Another Screen” came as a fully formed idea, what you hear, save for Nicole because she writes all her own parts, is essentially the same thing. “Elegy for Memory,” Carmen wrote the bassline for that. I wrote it, and then she pushed it over the edge. That’s the dynamic of the band. I’ll come to them with these songs, and then immediately they’ll take it and be like, “What about this?” 

One of my favorite bass parts on “Spilt,” or dare I say the entire EP, is that part where Carmen goes Don Bum Bom Bum Bon Um at the end of that freakout section. That is all her. She was saving that for something, and when she did it, I was like, “You get the vision!” 

It’s a push-and-pull that feels really good. I still have creative control in some aspects, but the ideas flow very freely between us.

SWIM: I know you’re a big film buff because you and I have talked a lot about movies. Is there a film you would emotionally compare to Songs for Emotion?

TIM: Although I connect emotionally way more to the aesthetics of a film, I have to say that Neon Genesis Evangelion deeply moved me on an emotional level. First, it’s 14-year-olds in robot suits battling aliens, and then next thing you know, it’s about God and the existence of suffering. It’s incredible. I watched it at a really dark time in my life years ago, and both the last two episodes of the series, End of Evangelion, and the last Rebuild movie wrecked me and put me back together. It changed my viewpoint on life. At my lowest, I think about the scenes of Shinji crying at the thought of causing others pain when he doesn’t even realize getting hung up on that in the first place is causing the suffering. It comforts me to know you can still cry about your life and then eventually do something about it, knowing that the journey was necessary. Wrestling with suffering and trying to get out of my own way to be a better person is something I connected with in the series, which I hope is evident in the EP. 

SWIM: What’s next for PMFD? You’re going on tour with A Place to Bury Strangers later in the year, but what else?

TIM: We’re opening for Sunflower Bean. I’m super excited; they were a major inspiration for me to start PMFD in the first place. Then, take some downtime to write and record and see what happens. The beauty of naming my band Pop Music Fever Dream is that I describe it as listening to pop music in a fever dream. Who knows what is going to come out the other side? 

Stream “Another Screen” today. Songs for Emotion is out September 18th,
you can pre-save it here.

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.

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.