Babe Rainbow – Slipper imp and shakaerator | Album Review

p(doom) records

I was a freshman in college the first time I heard Babe Rainbow. I have a relatively blurry view of my life up until this point, but for some reason, this memory is clear. Driving around my hometown on a school break, one of my friends pulled a classic “Have you ever heard this?” and put on “Johny Says Stay Cool” off the Aussie psych-rock trio’s self-titled debut. We drove to nowhere in particular, and let the song play at least 15 times, paying attention to something new each go around. At that point in time, my Tumblr-ified “indie” alternative music taste hadn’t prepared me for something so light and quippy and fun. The congas, the warbly falsetto vocals, the whole “breathe in / breathe out” motif. It floors me to think that my early adolescence was exclusively soundtracked by gut-wrenching songs like The 1975’s “Sex” or Halsey’s Room 93 EP (real ones know that was her peak) when there was music out there that felt like the sun was shining down on you. 

Babe Rainbow have stayed in my rotation ever since that drive around Long Island suburbia. As I’ve grown, they have, too; traveling the world, exploring new ways to approach their sound, and bringing on a rotating cast of collaborators. Now, just past their tenth year as a group, Babe Rainbow are going back to their roots—in more ways than one.

Their first album since 2022, Slipper imp and shakaerator sees Babe Rainbow using everything that was so irresistible about their self-titled and reimagining it through all of the sounds and styles they’ve absorbed over the last decade. But before even giving the album a listen, I had to answer one question: What exactly is a slipper imp and shakaerator? All those letters strung together didn’t feel like English. At first, I thought it was some Australian slang, but after doing some research, I found that it’s actually a farming tool. A plow. A specific brand of plow. The Bunyip Slipper Imp and Shakaerator was a new, stronger kind of plow meant to cut through the harsh Australian terrain. 

What the hell, sure. 

An early ad for the Bunyip Slipper Imp and Shakaerator

It seemed random until I was reminded that the members of Babe Rainbow (Angus Dowling, Jack “Cool-Breeze” Crowther, and Elliot “Dr. Love Wisdom” O’Reilly) lived in the macadamia orchard of an avocado farm as teens. Talk about literally going back to your roots. The title makes it all a little concept-y, serving as a signal that the music underneath it will feel like the group coming home to their psychedelic surf rock sound. 

It’s probably self-evident, but Babe Rainbow have never been ones to take themselves too seriously. I saw the group last October at the Brooklyn Bowl, where they kept letting the audience know how grateful they were to be playing in this half-bowling-alley, half-concert-venue in Williamsburg. I swore Dowling was gonna fall off the stage from spinning around so much. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find out he was mid-shrooms trip during their set. They continually returned to the fact that they’re just some surfer bros from Byron Bay, as if we already couldn’t tell from their thick accents, luscious blond locks, and overall hippie disposition.

Babe Rainbow exist in the same ecosystem as psych-rock groups like Allah-Las and King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, but they take it to an entirely different level, leaning even further into what Dowling refers to as “the powers of the Rainbow,” which may or may not include the powers of magic mushrooms. 

Gizz leader Stu Mackenzie has played a major role in Babe Rainbow’s story. He acted as their guide into the Aussie scene, producing their breakout self-titled debut. Slipper imp and shakaerator is Babe Rainbow’s first album on KGLW’s independent label, p(doom), and Mackenzie is back at the helm as a producer, while also catching a few features in the tracklist. Their long-standing relationship speaks to the hyper-collaborative ethos of the psych-rock scene, and definitely helps Babe Rainbow get even weirder with it (if that’s even possible).

Slipper imp and shakaerator opens with the deep-fried, phaser-heavy, ultra-funky “What is ashwagandha,” using a gritty spoken word intro to guide listeners into the seemingly endless layers of surfy guitars, thick basslines, and echoey flute. It gave me the same fuzzy feelings I got the first time I heard “Johny Says Stay Cool,” and that told me everything I needed to know about the album in its first four minutes. 

That breezy, sunshiny psych-rock is present throughout the whole album, with the tracklist branching off into different renditions. Single “Like cleopatra” has an ‘80s funk-meets-disco lean, complete with all the ‘do do do’s you’d expect. Reverb-heavy guitar riffs, echoing synth passes, and some literal beeps and boops make it feel like you’re flying away in the spaceship the group is singing about. “Apollonia” takes an instrumental turn, with acoustic guitar dripping in reverb and some sci-fi synth swells that create an eerie dissonance. The guitar patterns sound like the exact middle ground between Spanish guitar and Indian sitar. The track is hypnotic and sneakily moving and has slowly become one of my favorites. It’s a moment where Babe Rainbow turn their quintessential sound on its head, reminding listeners of all the other influences they’ve picked up over the years. Putting the acoustic guitar and flute through similar effects as the synths creates an entrancing mixture of analog and digital, something else the group seems to love to explore. 

Aussie rock shaman and longtime friend of the band Stu Mackenzie offers up some of his classic blown-out guitar textures on “When the milk flows,” a mid-album track that feels like it could soundtrack a round of Mario Kart (and I say that extremely complimentary). Some signal tones and French spoken-word lead us in, giving the illusion of a flight preparing for takeoff. The background synth sequences play with that in-transit sense of urgency, building tension with the sheer tempo, letting the vocals (texturized with a vocoder) double down on that build, then exploding through the fuzzy, Gizz-esque electric guitar passes. The track eventually goes into a half-time break, creating an undeniable groove that eases all of the tension before fading out. 

The following track, “Mt dub,” creates a circling psych jam that sounds like a mixture of the funk of FKJ and the hypnotics of Good Morning. The vocoder returns on the opening lines, “The islands recommended for its dazzling rocks / Superbloom / Underwater rainforest / Rock and roll pours from the record stores / Welcome to the golden age sleep traveler,” this time sounding oddly similar to those on Kacey Musgraves’s “Oh, What A World.” On this trippy, laid-back groove, Babe Rainbow chose to remind listeners of their inherent powers in the hook “You’re underestimated, you’re more loved than you know,” with vocals that weave themselves through the same spiraling jam as the orchestral synths and persistent bass. 

If nothing else, the boys of Babe Rainbow use Slipper imp and shakaerator to once again profess their love for all things hippie and good. Single “LONG LIVE THE WILDERNESS” is basically asking listeners to sit down and smell the roses (“You’re living your life too fast”) and trust that nature will guide them where they’re meant to be, even if that ends up being a golf course (“I’m so green on the back nine”). When we take our guard down and let the Earth, Sun, Moon, and stars take us away, all we have to do is enjoy what’s around us and be ready for more good to come. Dreamy closer “re-ju-ven-ate” is a beachy, almost-instrumental akin to Khruangbin, another band in Babe Rainbow’s sphere of psychedelic surf rock. Its few lyrics concisely sum up Babe Rainbow’s entire ethos for the past decade: abundance for everyone. 

Slipper imp and shakaerator sees Babe Rainbow at their best: weird, surprising, and unabashedly themselves with little to no filter. Their years of travel and cultural exchange proved fruitful, giving Australia’s most eccentric trio new ways to harness their psychedelic powers into one wholesome, homegrown, kaleidoscopic trip. 

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Cassidy is a culture writer and researcher currently based in Brooklyn. She loves many things, including but not limited to rabbit holes, Caroline Polachek, blueberry pancakes, her cat Seamus, and adding to her record collection. She is on Twitter @cassidynicolee_, and you can check out more of her writing on Substack. 

Great Grandpa – Patience, Moonbeam | Album Review

Run for Cover Records

Back in January, I told my partner that 2025 needed to be a year of deliberate change in our lives. We’d been living together for more than a year, and while we were comfortable, there was a complacency creeping in that neither of us were ready to accept. A string of events during the last quarter of 2024, ranging from personal reckonings with identity and loss to constant political anxiety, made me realize that something had to change, and our routines were all we had power over at that moment. I began applying to different day jobs again, they started making art in their free time, I rekindled my love for creative writing, and began the arduous process of teaching myself how to play the acoustic guitar that has been burning a hole in our wall. Now, even as many of our surroundings are the same, we are different. 

If there’s one thing that Great Grandpa would know about, it’s metamorphosis. The Seattle five-piece began in the mid-2010s by playing the brand of grungy indie rock synonymous with their hometown, but their first two studio albums saw them gradually sanding the noise off their sound. What was uncovered was a dynamic band whose tastes spanned all of indie rock, with 2019’s excellent Four of Arrows running the gamut from fuzzed-out emo to misty-eyed folk, all tied together by Al Menne’s ever-expressive voice. Then the pandemic hit, and all of that was put in jeopardy. It was unclear if Great Grandpa would still exist as lockdown sent its members on diverging paths. After years spent apart and some beautiful solo records, the quintet came back together to record starting in 2023, with Menne plainly stating upon the release of lead single “Kid” last year: “Time passed, and I missed my friends.” Patience, Moonbeam sounds exactly like what it is – five people who love each other dearly, reconnecting and bonding for the first time in years. It’s a fun, unpredictable, and bold exchange of ideas that reflects the experience of each contributor. 

There is a new sense of sharing the load that makes the record refreshingly light on its feet. While songwriting has always been a collaborative process for Great Grandpa, guitarist Pat Goodwin contributed the lion’s share of the lyrics on previous records, particularly Four of Arrows. Patience, Moonbeam, by comparison, features a few songs written entirely by Menne and drummer Cam LaFlam in addition to Goodwin’s own contributions, and it gives the songs a freewheeling feeling even as darkness looms in the background. Synthesizers, strings, banjo, and walls of electric guitar all play their role under the paradoxically cozy and adventurous alt-country umbrella that many of these songs fall under. 

“Ladybug,” the first side’s playful high point, puts every bit of that spirit on display. Menne’s hook is warped by vocal effects and a thick synth lead before settling into a jangly jaunt full of winking pop culture references. It’s easy to imagine Menne beaming as he sings “Father of the ladybug, dressed like Donald Glover on the GQ cover” in the playful pre-chorus. Even in moments where it’s clear the band are having a blast, they’re never afraid to let their guard down. The levity of “Ladybug” sells the yearning in the bridge harder than straight-laced melancholy ever could, turning it into something of a thesis for Patience, Moonbeam. As everyone sings, “Semitones are the distance between lines / All I think about is you sometimes, all the time,” I can hear just how much these five friends missed making music together. 

Immediately after, “Kiss the Dice” uses its brief runtime to send up the shifting perspectives that come with lived years. “I used to kiss the dice and roll / Now I’ve got a steady word,” hums Menne, relapsing into uncertainty as the outro fills out, “Do you think that that is worth something?” Even as he’s learned to take charge and lean into the changes life brings, that sting of anxiety never fully goes away. For as morose as their previous album could get, there’s a weariness to moments on Patience, Moonbeam that can only be the result of how much the five-piece has grown up over half a decade. The quiet strings in the intro of the opener, “Never Rest,” echo the nighttime air on the cover art, with the moon parting clouds as the song begins to evolve. First, the drums ground the dreamlike piece in a lush acoustic ballad before slowly erupting in an electric finish. 

European treks and phone calls in the track’s lyrics make meaning feel elusive until Pat Goodwin’s own voice chimes in with Menne’s for the last line: “Coming son, the winter has its dark hum, how can I retain some sight?” The doubt hanging over the track stems from his and bassist Carrie’s new role as parents – after all, how good will your guidance be when you’re actively figuring this life thing out yourself? “Junior” picks up that thread, painting a scene of a family feud and troublemaking between farm boys. Pigs are maimed, dogs are shot, and “light crimes” are committed, all from a concerned but compassionate father’s perspective. Menne dips into his lower register many times throughout the album, but nowhere is it as striking as the way he embodies the titular Junior’s reckless antics in a distinct twang.

He went swinging with a young man’s wiles
I saw him twirling and punching wild

For all the wonder and wisdom Patience, Moonbeam offers in the first half, the most powerful revelations lie in side B. “Doom” acts as a sort of centerpiece, drip-feeding tech-induced anxiety with images both dystopian and apocalyptic. “Violent screens,” “cardboard meals,” and “stocks on a good deal” are contrasted with the thrills of connection as the band alternates time signatures in the verse and chorus. The record’s most cathartic release comes in the reprise of a hook from an earlier song, “Emma,” complete with a titanic riff that gives any other song in their catalog a run for its money. All the elaborate scenery is abandoned for the blunt, spit-out observation, “It’s funny how I need you, damn / It’s perfect when I leave you, damn.” 

These twists and turns mimic life’s own trajectory. I said at the start that I was taking more action in my own life, and while it has been productive, it’s also quite difficult! For every little victory, there’s a backslide or regression - a moment of frustration with practicing guitar where you wonder if it’s even worth it, an exciting opportunity that disappears almost as quickly as it emerged – but this, too, is part of the process. Great Grandpa understand this all too well as Patience, Moonbeam ends with the single that ushered the band’s return, “Kid.” It’s a power ballad complete with heart-wrenching piano, a soaring guitar solo, and plenty of strings, but it’s the lyrics that drive everything home. Written in the aftermath of the loss of the Goodwins’ first pregnancy, mourning hangs over every inch of scenery, making the mirrored conclusions in each chorus come off as not just sincere, but genuinely life-affirming.

All good things in time define their meaning
And fold sweet ends into their mouths

All dark things in time define their meaning
And fold sharp ends into their mouths

Grief, growth, and change: these are not one-time events, but a constant process that we are always undergoing. We can choose to struggle against the ebb and flow and be lost, or look for patterns and ride the current to safer waters. In Great Grandpa’s case, they were lucky enough to be led back to one another. “Task,” a seemingly autobiographical tale of reunion and cooperation, sums that gift up perfectly. It opens on the line, “Saw you at the party we called you by your new name / You had changed, but the heart of you was still the same,” sweetly and succinctly supporting Menne’s gender transition before getting to the heart of the band’s bond. He sings about several “perfect kind(s) of song” before his bandmates join in for the outro of, “Won’t you tell me what my task is?” Sometimes, a little help from your friends is all you really need.

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Wes Cochran is a Portland-based writer, worker, and music listener. You can find them @ohcompassion on Twitter, via their email electricalmess@gmail.com, or navelgazing their way up and down South Portland.

Free Range – Lost & Found | Album Review

Mick Music

In baseball, one of the most critical roles on any team is the utility player. If you find someone like that, you hold on to them like grim death. The best quality of the utility player is their versatility – they are plug-and-play athletes who can move to almost any given position at a moment’s notice. A name that instantly comes to mind is Ben Zobrist, whose contributions led to back-to-back World Series titles for the Kansas City Royals and Chicago Cubs. He is a player who is willing to give whatever is possible for the betterment of the team.

Sofia Jensen is one of those unique utility players in the Chicago indie community, but instead of a bat or glove, Jensen carries a wide array of musical instruments and crafts heartfelt indie rock under the name Free Range. It’s no exaggeration to say that Jensen has Swiss Army Knife-like versatility. Need someone to play guitar? How about someone who can sing backup vocals while also playing the harmonica? What about video recording your show at a historic concert hall? Jensen can do all of that and then some. So when the time comes for them to enter the spotlight on their sophomore record, Lost & Found, it should come as no surprise to hear that Jensen has their jack-of-all-trades skills on full display.

When I think of the Americana genre, I envision bright sunny days, driving solo on the freeway without a care in the world, and the flat plains of the Midwest. So when I listen to this specific type of record, I want the music to transport me, like when Happy Gilmore goes to his Happy Place. Lost & Found hits all the beats I look for in an Americana album: the weepy pedal steel, twangy strummed guitars, and melancholy songwriting are the recipe for a great listening experience. “Storm” is the poster child for this definition, even going so far as to sing about trains, coastlines, and car trips. I listen to the song and immediately feel like I’m road-tripping through the middle of Wisconsin or Iowa (this is a compliment, I swear). 

As a humongous Elliot Smith fan, Jensen strives for a similar level of intimacy in the lyrics, treating the songs as acoustic guitar confessionals, almost like a sonic diary. Listening to this collection of tracks, the subject matter gives me the impression that Jensen has a wise, shy, and reserved personality out in the real world. Displaying their signature hushed tone on the exquisite title track “Lost & Found,” Jensen sings, “Show me all your doubts / I tell you all of what I was singing about.” One track later, the emotionally complex “Chase” strikes down on a self-destructive person who’s alienating the ones closest to them. The songwriting feels honest and sincere, coming from someone who wants to find a place to belong.

Self-discovery is a prominent theme across Lost & Found as we hear someone in their early twenties trying to find their place in the world. On the tender guitar-plucked “Faith,” Jensen softly sings, “It’s not like I choose my fears / but there’s nothing worse than running from a mirror.” Who a person is at ten years old is different when they are twenty than at thirty and so on. That’s the beauty in life: finding the maturation of the years aged by growing into the person we are meant to be. Living up to your potential can be a struggle, and not everyone has the opportunity to accomplish this goal, but it feels to me like Jensen is meeting it head-on, and we are hearing a person grow up right in front of us.

At the record’s midpoint, the songs “Hardly” and “Concept” instantly stood out to me. Each song is fleshed out with the added power of the electric guitar and a full arrangement of the band with Jack Henry (Drums), Bailey Mizenberger (Bass), Andy Pk (Pedal Steel), and Tommy Read (Guitar). Jensen’s delivery still flows as smoothly as ever, even when the music is turned up a couple extra decibels. I think of artists like Squirrel Flower, Waxahatchee, or Rosali as trailblazers of this ethos, working toward the same true north that “Hardly” and “Concept” are pointed toward. Both are examples of the exciting spaces that Free Range could explore on future albums and are sure to explode to life in concert.

My favorite storytelling is the heartfelt tale of a love interest, “Conditions,” where the protagonist is unable to express their feelings: “You tell me to be honest / and that’s what I find the hardest.” The feelings of longing, infatuation, and self-doubt hit like a ton of bricks, especially for people coming of age. Jensen’s lyrics have an honesty to them that would lead me to believe this originated from a seasoned veteran artist well into their career. There’s a certain beauty within the pain of maturity; the biggest obstacle is knowing life will hurt but continuing to put yourself out there. Lost & Found is a deeply personal journey of self-discovery someone who is willing to take on countless risks, no matter the costs.

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David is a content mercenary based in Chicago. He's also a freelance writer specializing in music, movies, and culture. His hidden talents are his mid-range jump shot and the ability to always be able to tell when someone is uncomfortable at a party. You can find him scrolling away on Instagram @davidmwill89, Twitter @Cobretti24, or Medium @davidmwms.

Bill Orcutt – How to Rescue Things | Album Review

Palilalia

Over a decade after the dissolution of his legendary noise trio Harry Pussy, Bill Orcutt re-emerged as a dark horse contender for preeminent interpreter of traditional American music. Armed with little more than recording equipment and his trusty four-stringed guitars, Orcutt breathed new life into old songs, filtering rumbling blues through the atonal improvisations of Derek Bailey. These albums often expanded into meta-commentary on the idea of the “American” song; their tracklists would mix spirituals, Disney songs, Tin Pan Alley, and more, all unified by how Orcutt would obliterate the basic structure of his selections. 

Orcutt’s self-titled 2017 release opens with a rendition of Ornette Coleman’s “Lonely Woman.” In the 50s and 60s, Coleman reframed the American music of his own time, leading a groundbreaking jazz quartet with no piano, untethering the music from a tonal center. He’s a clear forebear for a musician like Orcutt, whose interpretations are even further ungrounded from their source material. But Coleman notably rejected playing standards from the outset of his career, opting to compose all the tunes on his records at a time when even his most talented peers were putting their spins on Rodgers and Hammerstein. Coleman’s brilliance yielded exactly one elevation into “standard” territory of his own: the aforementioned “Lonely Woman.”

How to Rescue Things, released late last year, is Orcutt’s third solo album of originals in as many years. It’s also the most melodic music of his career, wedding his searing leads to dulcet strings pilfered from an RCA easy-listening collection. These sweeping arrangements have historical precedent in jazz, too: think Charlie Parker with Strings or maybe Lady in Satin. But those albums used strings as accompaniments, extra tonality, and shorthand for feelings already being evoked by the soloist. Orcutt is operating from inside these arrangements even as he often soars above them. His improvisatory approach has the effect of foregrounding the chord changes under him; it’s as if he is accompanying them.

On “Old Hamlet,” for instance, Orcutt slowly builds up to a wail over plucked harp, as if his guitar were deep in existential thought. Suddenly he recedes, quietly but insistently strumming each note several times, blending his instrument’s timbre with the background, almost pleading. Several tracks later, the weeping orchestra of “Requiem in Dust” is too loud to be drowned out, so Orcutt wages war from within, building to a long stretch of repetition wherein he completely abandons the harmonic structure in a moment akin to running up a down escalator. 

These string backing tracks on their own conjure up the romanticism of a bygone era: New York City in the fall, a stiff drink in a smoky bar. Orcutt’s additions disrupt the nostalgia but don’t necessarily refute it. Rather, it begs the question, “What exactly are we remembering?” Were these the true experiences of our friends, of our parents, of their parents? Or was it simply a dream sold to them by television programs and glossy magazine ads? Is the American Dream crumbling before our very eyes? Even the idea that one could once live out the Horatio Alger myth grows increasingly shambolic. The building is collapsing, the chandelier in the lobby is about to give way. Perhaps taking a sledgehammer to the foundation is the wisest course.

But listening to the closer “The Wild Psalms” as it descends into a noisy squall over a string sequence fit for Hollywood credits, one gets the sense that Orcutt finds the swaying chandelier in the decrepit old structure oddly beautiful. Perhaps How to Rescue Things is a double entendre: a way to improve upon the schmaltzy cast-off recordings from days of yore, sure, but also a model for finding beauty in a world as it disintegrates. Orcutt has written a fine set of swan songs for the country amidst its death march, and in doing so, he may finally have made his own entry into the American canon.

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Jason Sloan is a guy from Brooklyn by way of Long Island. You can find him on Twitter, Bluesky, and Tributary.

Don't Really Mind These Miles: An Interview with Marble Teeth

For most of my life, I’ve been chasing the high of listening to The Replacements for the first time. It happened back in seventh grade. I was a performative hater of anything modern, and I had a problem: I couldn’t deny that I was starting to enjoy Green Day. Fearing that I might be on the verge of betraying my “born in the wrong generation” aesthetic, I Googled “Old bands that sound like Green Day,” hoping to find a group from before I existed that could scratch the same itch. Through this search, I found “Bastards of Young,” which led me to Tim, which led me to Let it Be, which led me to everything else, and before I knew it, I had developed a burning love for the band that outlived (and helped guide me out of) the pretentious phase which had led me to them in the first place. It totally changed the way I consumed and thought about music. I just had never been into a band like that. I didn’t know there could be a band like that. 

Though I’ve never had that exact feeling again (and likely never will), there are a few bands that have gotten me pretty close. Cloud Nothings come to mind as one example, a band that grabbed me at first listen and totally changed my understanding of the ways melody and fuzz can coexist. Prefab Sprout, who pushed pop songwriting in directions I had never considered, is another. Most recently, I’ve become obsessed with Marble Teeth, the solo project of Decatur, Illinois-based singer-songwriter Caleb Jefson.

I came across Marble Teeth last August when they opened for Retirement Party at Beat Kitchen. Prior to the show I’d never heard of them, but they very quickly had me hooked. Most of what they played that night came from their most recent release, top 10 times i’ve cried, a record that at different points finds itself living in the worlds of alt-country, indie folk, and straight-up Americana. It wasn’t necessarily a sound that I expected to hear at an emo show, but I couldn’t deny that it worked.

Beyond the music, I was fascinated by Caleb as an artist. His merch spread was like nothing I’d ever seen; sitting next to a table with CDs and zines was a portable clothing rack with about 20 Marble Teeth shirts, no two of which were exactly alike. Each one that I flipped through had a new design or was pressed into a different brand/color of shirt, meaning that they had each been individually crafted rather than ordered in bulk from a distributor, truly DIY. 

When I got home and looked more into Marble Teeth, I discovered that this is just how Caleb does things. He handles everything on his records: the playing, the recording, the mixing, the album covers. Beyond the unique shirts, he seems to be constantly learning new crafts and applying these skills to his merch; at different times over the past few months, he’s offered both custom embroidered hats and Marble Teeth branded gloves, all homemade. When he worked with Klepto Phase to put out a vinyl pressing of top 10 times i’ve cried last fall, each record was accompanied by an exquisitely designed lyric zine. He’s an artist in the truest sense of the word. 

As I dug into Marble Teeth’s back catalog, two records I found myself coming back to a lot were Cars and Park, released in 2018 and 2020, respectively. Where top 10 times is clearly influenced by older folk and country music, Cars and Park take their approach more from contemporary bedroom pop/singer-songwriter-tinged emo artists like Slaughter Beach, Dog and Trace Mountains. They’re raw and emotional records with a sound that’s incredibly in my wheelhouse. It was the most I’d been obsessed with an artist since finding Tim; there were whole weeks where those two records were all that I listened to.

A few months after first hearing Marble Teeth at Beat Kitchen, I was lucky enough to meet Caleb at a house show in Chicago where he mentioned that a vinyl pressing of Cars and Park was in the works: one record that would have Cars on one side and Park on the other. This was right around when I was playing both non-stop, so I was ecstatic. That vinyl is now pressed, ready to ship, and up for sale directly through Marble Teeth’s own website. I sat down with Caleb to discuss his creative process, finally getting these records out on vinyl, and how he feels about them five to seven years after their release. Here is that conversation.   

This interview has been edited for length and clarity. 

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SWIM: To get started, I was curious how you guys came to this decision to put Cars and Park out on vinyl at this point, with their release having been quite a few years in the past.

CALEB: I got the opportunity through a program at the local college here where they were doing a small pressing of something, like only a hundred of them. Honestly, these have been a long time in the making. So, top 10 times i’ve cried was being recorded but not even planned to be put out yet. Neither of those albums [Cars or Park] really had much of a physical release. I did some tapes that were split albums where I had Cars on one side and Park on the other, but it’s been a couple of years. I just thought, given only a hundred, those are old enough that I'm not gonna be pushing them so hard. The people who want them will definitely want them because Cars and Park have their fan base. And then the new stuff has picked up people, but yeah, the day-one fans love those, I think, I hope.

SWIM: So I know you just said you put out some tapes of those two, but in general, with your stuff for physical releases, are you doing just like CDs when you go on a run? Is that more your normal thing? 

CALEB: I've done that in the past where, yeah, I'll just hand-burn CDs. Physical copies are definitely something I've not put a ton of money into. When it comes to band operations and stuff, it really is just me. I have a live band that I play with, but I play all the instruments on the records and do all the recording and writing. So when it comes to financial backing for things, it's literally just me paying for it out of pocket. In the past, I've done the cheapest way possible, generally homemade stuff. I splurged for a couple of runs of tapes before a big tour or something just to have something else that looks nice.

SWIM: Nice. When it comes to vinyl, are you personally a collector or fan?

CALEB: Yeah, yeah, I like vinyl.

SWIM: Do you have any particular records in your collection that are your favorites or mean something to you?

CALEB: My buddy Jacob gave me a copy of Nashville Skyline by Bob Dylan a couple of years ago, and that kind of started it. He was like, ‘This is for your Bob Dylan collection,’ and I only had two of his before that. Honestly, I was a big fan, but I only had a couple that I had found, and then I was like, huh, I didn't even realize I had a collection. After that, I kind of started buying a ton. So that one's special because it kind of sparked that, “All right, I'm just going to buy all these up,” I guess. I'm a huge Dylan head, and he just has so many albums. It's fun to try out the ones I've never listened to before. Just put it on the record rather than trying to get through it on streaming. Sometimes it's way easier to skip around and stuff.

SWIM: Right, yeah. I know I saw you posted your Bob Dylan spread. It was the size of a quilt.

CALEB: Yeah, I was inspired by some other dude who had me beat by a couple, I think, but just like had them all laid out on the floor of the rug.

SWIM: That's sick. So, back to Cars and Park and putting them out again in your live show. Do you still play many of the songs from these records? Or do you mostly play stuff from top 10?

CALEB: Up until very recently, there were still Cars and Park on the set list. Probably “Funk Track” off Cars was really the only one getting played, and then some Park songs, like “The Park” and “The Neighbor.” Actually, “Quick Stop” off Park, we still do play. If I'm playing a solo set, I have a lot more (from them) I can pull from than the band. With the band, it's kind of just the couple that we've practiced because I record all the parts, and then I’m teaching them to other people and letting them kind of put their flair on it. I've had a couple different lineups of the band. The second to most recent lineup we've had was still playing Cars and Park stuff, but now I think we're just doing “Quick Stop.”

SWIM: As part of this process, when you had to listen back to Cars and Park, was there anything that surprised you about either release? I don't know how often you were thinking about them beyond playing the songs before this, but going back and listening to the recording, is there anything that stood out to you where you were like, ‘I didn't think much of this at the time, but this is something?’

CALEB: Before getting them back, actually, not really, because I just kind of sent all the stuff off. But once I got the test pressings and listened to those, it made the mix really pop. It definitely sounds way better than just listening on a streamer because it was mastered by somebody as well. I didn't originally—Cars was mastered, but Park was exported straight from GarageBand onto the internet, essentially…it's quieter than most stuff on Spotify, so hearing it on the record just makes it sound nice and big. I still have a soft spot for those songs, for sure. It just maybe took me back in time a little bit.

SWIM: I know both records have very similar cover aesthetics, and you said in the past you put them out with the tape, like one on one side, one on the other. When you made Cars, did you have the idea, like, ‘I'm going to make Park, and it's going to be kind of a sister record?’ Or were these songs you had left over, or did it come together over time as being a shared existence?

CALEB: I definitely had the album cover for Cars even before there was much of an album written. There was just this sign by my house that I drove by every day, and I was like, ‘I want to make that an album cover.’ And then the Park sign is just right down the street, and I had already put out Cars before I noticed how good the other one was. I was like, oh my gosh, perfect follow-up–four letters on literally the same road in my town. Sadly, the Cars sign has since been torn down. But the Park one is still standing. I definitely didn't plan to make a follow-up, but thematically, I think it kind of is a follow-up or almost a part two. A before and after.

SWIM: Yeah, because even across the two, I know you have “Runners World” (on Cars) and then “Runners World 2” (on Park), which is a different take on a similar riff. Did you write two versions of that song, or did you get to one later?

CALEB: The original “Runners World” on Cars was just the song, that was the only song I had. Then one time, I was practicing up a live band when I really only had Cars and a couple of Park songs written. We were just trying to figure out what we could do because I had 13 songs back then, essentially. So (we were) figuring out which ones we could do, and I was playing the “Runners World” riff, and Paul, the drummer, started drumming. I had this poem that I had just written up, and I was like, whoa, this kind of sets over it. So that just kind of turned into the sequel. Definitely wasn't planned originally to do that, but that might have been the first example of it… But, well, even on some original Bandcamp stuff—I have two different versions of a song called “High School Football Championship,” that's also on Cars. But that's something I really like in other artists that I enjoy: finding a song that they've done different versions of or different live takes of it.

SWIM: Because I think I saw on one of the Extra Volumes (on Bandcamp), you have one of the songs that ended up making it on top 10 as well. I'm forgetting which one it is now.

CALEB: Oh, yeah, yeah, “the gun.”

SWIM: Yeah yeah yeah.

CALEB: It's an extended version of an Extras song. It's just verse one on Extras, and I think I honestly had had a few verses, it just wasn't— I probably had tweaked the lyrics since then and didn't have the full band vision of it in my head, so I didn't want to milk it. With the Extras I was trying to do short stuff, and it was just recording in a couple of days’ time.

SWIM: Do you try to do much interpolation of other people's stuff? I was listening to Marble Teeth, the self-titled one, and you have that song, “John Jackson.” Is that like a Jack Johnson riff, kind of off “Banana Pancakes?”

CALEB: Yeah, yeah, just playing those chords, they remind me of “Banana Pancakes” and “Upside Down,” but there's definitely the major seven or whatever chord that is…the way the chord sounded made me think about Jack Johnson, for sure. So then, yeah, I just switched it around.

SWIM: Sick. And then there’s one thing I've been thinking about, too, because I listened to Cars and Park a lot before this, and before that, I'd been listening to a lot of top 10 times, and it's very different. The approach on top 10 times feels a lot more rootsy, and I know there are many years in between the records, but I was curious about the change in sound between Cars and Park to top 10 times. Is it that you always wanted to make something that sounds like top 10 times, but you didn't have the equipment, or you were getting around to that songwriting? Is it just your taste has changed over time and this is reflective of what you're listening to now?

CALEB: Yeah, probably a little bit of all of those. I had been in pop-punk-type bands before, so I made louder rock songs. Definitely with Cars or Self-titled at least, because those were the first things I recorded at home. I was definitely going for more of a bedroom pop, softer sound, and since then, I've gotten way more into country and roots and folk. Maybe not folk, but country was something I would actively say that I disliked in high school and younger, but I've definitely come around on it in my 20s just listening to Dylan and Neil Young. Honestly, the American Anthology of Folk Music, this compilation by this dude, Harry Smith, that the Smithsonian put out, just lots of good old-timey tunes on there. That's what I was, post-COVID, listening to a lot more, stuff like that, so I don't know if I would have tried to make something that sounded like that back then, but I definitely was going for quieter at the beginning.

SWIM: For sure, it reminds me a little, the Cars and Parks stuff, of Slaughter Beach Dog.

CALEB: That's definitely 100% what I was listening to. I mean, Motorcycle.jpg and Birdie coming out pretty quickly, one after another, changed my music taste completely. I speak for a lot of people in the scene, probably when I say that, but I think those were a shift for people my age getting into a lot more Americana-type sounds and slide guitar.

SWIM: I was always curious about it because I found out about you over the last year. I first saw you when you opened for Retirement Party with OK Cool, and it seems like whenever I'm on Instagram and I click on an emo or pop-punky band, I see that you often follow them, but then when I see you post music you're listening to, I feel like it's more recently folk stuff or like, Poco-style rock. 

CALEB: Yeah, I'm definitely not listening to much emo these days, to be honest. I mean, there's definitely stuff from my youth that has a nostalgia factor, but I'm not, like, seeking out new stuff in that vein—although the new Hotline TNT album kind of threw me back into the rock and roll world a bit. Yeah, like I was saying, I've been going back in time, just further back, trying to… just the story songs and the banjo and mandolin, those instruments have been really fascinating to me recently. They just sound good. Less abrasive to my ears, too, honestly. I was just getting headaches from listening to a lot of music in the car all the time.

SWIM: So, did you record Cars, Park, and top 10 all at home kind of on the same type of setup, or did you also have an equipment change or upgrade to a different system? 

CALEB: Probably the closest (in recording method) would have been Park and top 10. Cars I actually recorded on an iPad on GarageBand.

SWIM: That's wild.

CALEB: Yeah, oh man. Yeah. I'm just thinking back on it as a mess of cables and converters and stuff. I have recorded a couple of projects that way through the iPad, Self-titled, and then some other projects for other friends. I felt like I was kind of getting good at that, and I liked GarageBand a lot, so then I bought a Macbook, and Park was the first thing I recorded on it, so I was figuring things out. That's why I feel like those two sound kind of different, the vocal and the guitar sounds, at least, just because I was plugging directly in through an interface instead of through an iPad.

SWIM: I know Cars has way more keys and synth than Park, definitely (more) than top 10. Is that just because when you're recording into an iPad directly using some of those direct MIDI software instruments?

CALEB: Honestly, all of those are a... I don't think I have any... there's a drum and a...sorry, I'm so spacey. No, all of those are real keyboards, a little Casio I've got. I've only used a GarageBand drum machine one time on “Lonerisnt” the single. But it was also the last thing I... that was truly the last thing I recorded on the iPad right after Cars. I recorded a single, got the MacBook, and started doing stuff on there. So there's Park, and then Extra was kind of a little more experimenting with the laptop. 8 More was, like, I'm kind of locking it, have to make it sound a little more hi-fi on the laptop, and then top 10 was like, alright, let's EQ this shit.

SWIM: Yeah, because on top 10 you have way more filtering and stuff on the vocals, and it feels like more an artistic choice in the mix than just making it legible.

CALEB: I definitely just spent a lot more time on this one, that's for sure. I mean, when you're doing it yourself especially, it's like every project you do is pretty much a huge learning experience. It's like you work on it, and then you put it out, and then you listen to it, and you're like, ‘I like this, I don't like this, let's try again, use all these new tricks that I just figured out.’ Every song you finish, you're like, wow, I wish I could have done that thing I figured out on every other song I've ever made, but let's keep it going.

SWIM: For sure. So you put out the vinyl of top 10, and now you’ve got the Cars and Park one, does it make you think your next album, you might want to do vinyl at release? Or is it the sort of thing where if the opportunity comes again like this, you would, but otherwise it's not really top of mind?

CALEB: Yeah, I'm so bad at planning ahead.

SWIM: Sure.

CALEB: If I could find somewhere that was really interested in doing that…because I haven't even really started on anything post-top 10. I have songs, but recording-wise, there’s nothing finished. So maybe I should start planning ahead and getting everything together. My problem is once it's done, I'm not waiting on anybody to mix it or anything, so I'm just ‘I want to get this out ASAP,’ and I'd rather promote something that's already out than try and sell people a record (that will) come out in three months.

SWIM: Definitely. On the top 10 release, you did those drawings for the tracklist on the back. Do you like that part of this kind of (physical) production where you get new places where you can do some sort of artistic output related to the old project?

CALEB: Oh, yeah, I mean, it being kind of a one-man operation in that way, I really just get to throw every hobby and craft I encounter at this and try and incorporate it in some way. There's been a couple of pieces I've commissioned out, but pretty much from the beginning, everything I've put out I've made to some extent, and I really like figuring stuff out and getting my own style. It's pretty amateurish, you could say, from recording to drawing or the production side of things, but I think there's a charm that's kind of realistic when you're not trying to curate something to the point where you’re getting the best of the best. This is just my life's work, essentially. I don't have it packaged up underneath.

SWIM: Yeah, no, I get that. So that was the main stuff I had to ask you. I have two really specific questions about lyrics from Park that I've just been curious about, if that's cool.

CALEB: Sure.

SWIM: So I always thought about this line on “The Monkeys” where you say, “We're dancing in the dark, just like that singer you like,” which I think is a sick line. I was always curious if there was someone in your life who liked Bruce Springsteen and you didn't. I mean, it's just a cool way to say that because I feel like a lot of people have dropped Springsteen's name in a song on purpose, and you kind of, whether intentionally or not, avoided it in that way. I always thought it was kind of sick.

CALEB: That's funny. I've gotten that a couple of times, but it is not about Bruce Springsteen.

SWIM: Oh, really?

CALEB: It's about dancing in the literal darkness, like a different singer. I'll just keep it unnamed, but I do like that. I know that's just one of those things about writing lyrics where they totally take on a life of their own, and also, maybe I'm just dumb for not realizing that that's exactly like Bruce Springsteen. So many things where it's like, yeah, I almost don't want to say it because I don't want to change everyone's perception of it. It's whoever you think it is, but it's cool because, yeah, you are not the first person to say that.

SWIM: That's fascinating. And then the other one I was always curious about was in part of the song “The Park,” you talk about not being “allowed to watch this program as a kid” and not getting someone's references. I was curious if there's any specific instance behind that or if it's just something you've run up against when it comes to media.

CALEB: That one I can specify. It was definitely Spongebob. That was my inspiration behind that one. Spongebob or Friends, maybe those are the two that I really imagine in my head when I'm thinking of that. But that one I definitely leave up to interpretation as well. I'd be interested to hear what shows other people were not allowed to watch.

SWIM: Sure. It reminds me of when I was in kindergarten. For some reason, some kids in my kindergarten class were allowed to watch Boy Meets World, but I wasn't. And they would have long debates about Boy Meets World stuff, and I just had to sit there.

CALEB: Yeah, everyone's talking about it, and you're like, hmm. Or just…you're telling them a story, and they're like, oh, that’s like the episode of this thing, and you're like, yeah, I understand. Can I finish my story, please?

SWIM: Yeah, for sure. Sick, that was all I had to ask. Is there anything you would want to add about the vinyl release or the process around it?

CALEB: I don't know. I'm excited to do it. This was supposed to be the first vinyl that I got, but it's kind of just been a long process for various reasons. I'm bad at sending emails and stuff. And I got lucky with Klepto Phase reaching out about top 10. Like I said, these were slated to get produced when top 10 wasn't really finalized or anything yet. I had most of those songs written and somewhat recorded. I'm just excited to get them. It's sweet that people—I mean, it's sweet that you listened to them a ton and were thinking about this, and you were interested enough to want to write about it. Because they definitely sound—I mean, listening back to them, they sound young, but that's just because it's me. It's, like, I love that guy, but he's also me four years ago. So I kind of hate him a little bit, but... 

Yeah, it's sweet that people like those albums, and (those were) the basis of this project. It’s what I was touring on for the majority of when I was getting out there. So it's kind of cool that people still like them, and I appreciate them sticking with me on the new stuff. I mean, I look at the streams, and every album kind of has more than the last, so it feels good as an artist to feel like you're picking up steam and not like, “Oh, you guys only like this old one, now I have to try and recreate that magic or just, like, move on and lose you all.”

The combined vinyl pressing of Cars and Park is available now directly through Marble Teeth’s website.

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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.