Kerosene Heights – Blame It On The Weather | Album Review

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SideOneDummy Records

I miss everything about last summer. In transition from a long-time retail job to a responsible grown-up job, I found myself feeling ecstatic and optimistic about the future. There’s a sort of head-rushing excitement that comes when you make a leap-of-faith type decision in an otherwise mundane existence. Things in my life, at that time, felt hopeful – like I had managed to figure this thing out just a bit for once. For that summer, I was taking the win and relishing in it. Despite a promising outcome of that career change, life doesn’t always play out the way that we hope. In the end, we’ll leave it at, “I guess some things are just worth forgetting.”

That declaration stands true for Asheville punks Kerosene Heights on their sophomore LP, Blame It On The Weather. The aptly titled album draws inspiration from the devastating cyclone Hurricane Helene, which inflicted considerable damage throughout the southeastern United States, particularly in the band’s home state of North Carolina. Vocalist and guitarist Chance Smith wastes little time injecting the aforementioned mantra into the group’s newest release, as track one, “Sunsetting,” sets a somber, contemplative tone from the start. Anyone familiar with Kerosene Heights’ catalog knows there is seldom a dull track throughout; the emo-punk group is known for punchy, in-your-face songwriting, so for “Sunsetting” to start the record on such a pensive note is significant, clearly telegraphing the state in which the band members find themselves this time around. 

Approaching the first anniversary of Helene’s damage to NC, we can certainly sympathize with the band’s desire to move on from the destruction and loss left in its wake. A similar message rings throughout the following track, “Forget It,” the crux of which revolves around the line, “Oh just forget it / I wouldn’t be able to say it right now / Just know that I still think about you / All the time / Everytime.” Whether the track is aimed at a love interest, existence-altering natural disasters, or just life in general, one truism remains: the things we try to forget the most often end up sticking to us like glue. 

Even with consistently propulsive pop-punk energy, the band’s songwriting is steeped in the pessimistic and self-loathing style of emo that the genre was built on. Kerosene Heights don’t stray far from this approach on their second album, but know well enough to temper that downtrodden lyricism with absurdly catchy melodies and immensely satisfying riffage. The album’s first single, “Waste of Time,” is the poster child for this method, as Smith beckons, “It takes one to know one / but I feel like I’m a no one” sung amidst erratic guitar riffs and double-time drum rhythms. On the topic of catchy and replayable, the second single, “New Tattoo,” was a fan favorite on release, and for good reason; the track is a hopeless romantic’s anthem at its core. Smith’s commentary in this track is that of a new relationship feeling much like that of a new tattoo– thrilling, painful, spontaneous, uncomfortable at times, but ultimately, a commitment to who you are now and who you aim to be. This idea, paired with an Earth-shattering breakdown to close out, makes for a true-blue banger emo track.  

The latter half of the album magnifies its themes, particularly the struggle with adapting to change. A fair observation, considering we are living in a world that is evolving much too fast for us to genuinely adapt to healthily. Whether you’re talking about rapidly accelerating technology, an overwhelming torrent of horrible news, or disasters that threaten to displace you and everything you know, change is happening one way or another. This is a theme that I waxed poetic about in my review for Charmer’s Downpour just a few months ago. My stance on that record’s message is that we often look elsewhere to ease our frustrations and failures in life: the weather, our hometown, the government, before looking at ourselves as the culprit. Kerosene Heights takes a more direct route on this idea and is straight up with the fact that it’s their fault. While they can easily blame it on the weather, in the end, we’re responsible for how we react to it. 

Standout track, “Ghosts,” toys with this idea of how evolving as a person feels like shedding the old you and becoming something completely new. Smith yearns throughout the track, “I’m not who I used to be before, and I think it shows.” A fucked up idea to cope with– struggling with a world that’s consistently changing, forcing changes onto you, and feeling like no matter what, you’re not adapting to anything. Even as these changes lead to new forms, there’s still a constant struggle to feel comfortable in your new skin.

Blame It On The Weather has no frills and is messy at times, but is cathartic and impossible to forget– just like the summer that sparked its inspiration. A concoction of influences are apparent in Kerosene Heights’ songwriting, particularly bands like You Blew It! and Joyce Manor, but the Asheville punks put their own stamp on this sound, resulting in a distinct style of southeast emo. 

There’s a line from the penultimate track, “Love Spelled Backwards Is Love,” that rounds out the album appropriately. In it, Smith sings, “Told myself I would grow up but I didn’t / and I don’t care,” articulating a philosophical stance we could all lean into, especially after the events of last summer. The “I don’t wanna grow up” thematics in emo evoke a tantrum-like quality that is hard to shake without leaving a bad taste in your mouth. That is, until you begin to experience those tribulations of growing up, or growing in general, much like I did last summer. While Kerosene Heights probably want to forget about that summer (I do, too), it’s best not to forget what we learned from it. 

Brandon Cortez is a sometimes-writer/musician and a frequent emo-enjoyer nestled in the West Texas city of El Paso with his fiancée and two cats. In a futile effort to escape EP’s blistering heat, you can find him perpetually adjusting his fantasy football lineups and smothering his shortcomings in homemade Americanos. Find him on Twitter @numetalrev.

Pile – Sunshine and Balance Beams | Album Review

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Sooper Records

Content Warning: This article discusses religious trauma, sexual abuse, and cults.

I dug my fists into my thighs as my eyes stung with tears. I was once again the center of attention in our tiny church, congregants looking askance at me as one of them muttered, “Women should be seen and not heard.” I knew he wanted me to hear, wanted me to cry. I had spoken up during the sermon, feeling brave enough to answer a question posed to the audience. It was not the first time I had done so, nor was it the first time I had received frowns. 

But it felt different this time. 

From then on, I was silent. I rarely spoke to anyone in church after that, preferring to stand quietly in groups, shoulder blades pressed against the cool safety of the sepulchral white walls. I began to dress in longer, baggier clothes, willing myself to disappear as I navigated each week in what I would later understand to be a religious cult. I was suffocating, controlled by viciously patriarchal leadership. This was unfortunately nothing new to me, having been the victim of sexual abuse by church leadership when I was seven and subjected to abusive power dynamics, bullying, and exclusion in the name of religion throughout the rest of my youth.

My family left the cult when I was freshly eighteen. As horrible as my existence within it was, it was also all I knew - so my world crumbled to dust as I frantically grasped with trembling hands to take what I could from the past several years. Though there was little to save, I was able to heal and rebuild. Doing so has taken well over a decade, and truthfully, my healing is still ongoing. 

A massive aspect of my healing has been diving intensely into music exploration. Though I studied music through the graduate level, it wasn’t until after I completed my M.A. that I began to really dig into the underground scene. I discovered bands and artists that spoke of the things I had endured and made music that I not only found beautiful, but that I also related to. Pile has always been such a group to me, holding the title of my favorite band for years now. I’ve cried to “Fidget,” repeated “Thanks.” until every millisecond of the song was burned into my brain, and eagerly gushed about “Mr. Fish” during a radio hour. I had the privilege of seeing the band in concert during their 2023 tour, and it remains one of my favorite shows to this day. 

Each album of Pile’s is unique and equally beautiful, addressing various aspects of the human experience. The band’s sound defies categorization, never quite fitting into any one genre, scene, or descriptor. Albums can shift from brittle, belligerent noise rock to warm and melodic folk guitar, often within the space of one track. Other releases lean ambient, such as the mesmerizing and haunting Songs Known Together, Alone (2021), or in a more noisy direction, like Green and Gray (2019). I treasure the variety of their releases, captivated by frontman Rick Maguire’s knack for experimental arrangements and style. No matter what Pile attempts, it is executed with grace and the bizarre charm for which they are renowned.

Photo by Britta Joseph

When Sooper Records graciously sent Sunshine and Balance Beams over in April of this year, you can imagine the overwhelming joy I felt the moment I hit play. I sat on the floor of my office with the lights off, hands squeezing my headphones into my ears, eyes closed as Rick’s familiar voice rang through my skull like some kind of gritty prophet. I was captivated. Pulling my knees to my chest, I felt the familiar sensation of my shoulder blades digging into the wall behind me as the lyrics began racing through my head. Rick spoke of futile sacrifices, seemingly endless endeavors, and blind faith, painting on the walls of my mind palace like the Sistine Chapel. 

In the second track of the album (and first on streaming), “An Opening,” Maguire urgently delivers the lyrics “Held between a ceiling of teeth / Above and a floor of the same beneath / A hydraulic rescue tool answering prayers / Once we’re out of the woods we can get some air.” This is one of my favorite moments on Sunshine, with Rick’s voice rising to a fevered shriek on specific words, adding further impact to the already gutting lyricism. I was reminded of the deep fear I experienced in the cult - always striving to achieve some idealized version of myself, yet perpetually falling short, my adolescent body breaking as it was held to an ever-higher standard. I have lived between teeth and have the scars to prove it. 

I felt a thickness in my throat as the album continued to spin through my ears. Each song hung like a vivid and ominous tapestry as the lyrics wove a beautifully sinister picture of hope and despair. The viciously tight instrumentals snapped and raged, driven by Kris Kuss’ brilliant drumming and fully realized by guitarist Matt Connery and bassist Alex Molini. I’ve always been drawn to the group’s affinity for pentatonic melodies and the use of a particular secondary dominant chord (V/vi), so I was delighted to hear both stylistic hallmarks throughout Sunshine. String arrangements are also woven into multiple tracks, with the band citing influences like Chopin, Herrmann, and Vaughn Williams. Pile brought on cellist Eden Rayz to bring their artistic vision to life. As a classical music aficionado, I savored the melancholically ethereal atmosphere that the strings created, reminded of works like Barber’s “Adagio for Strings” or Respighi’s “Ancient Airs and Dances.” 

A heavy aspect of this album is the overt references to nature, both in the lyricism and in details such as the field recordings in the closing track “Carrion Song.” The juxtaposition of natural beauty against cruelly wielded power was not lost on me - the theme of Man versus Nature is one of several conflict types observed in literature. Even the title of the album is an allusion to this concept - “Sunshine” being a clear reference to nature, and “Balance Beams” representing the delicate and often-challenging work of existing on the path that society has deemed correct for humanity. In the song “Deep Clay,” Rick sings, “Labor is bound by growth / The vines slowly crawl up the walls / A monument to be swallowed whole.” No matter the effort, no matter the scale, nature will lay claim to human endeavors. This thought is continued in “Meanwhile Outside” where the lyrics lay out, “Death comes / in all shapes / You get dissolved / In space / And finally you can relate.” This leaves the listener with this question: Is it worth it? What will truly become of my labor? Has this all been for naught? Pile forces us to look capitalism and the cult of corporate greed in its snarling, violent maw and answer that question honestly. 

The promise kept of a home built with my hands
Nobody lives there, but that’s where I store plans
And all my will
And all my hope
But what was it you had in mind?
So what was it you had of mine?

Now four tracks into the record, I hadn’t opened my eyes at all since I started listening. But as track five began to hum through my headphones, I felt tears burning in the infinite void of my eyelids, my skin prickling with an emotion I couldn’t identify. As achingly dissonant strings and Rick’s earnest vocals layered over urgent drumming and driving guitars, I felt as though I was standing beneath Niagara Falls, mouth open for a drop, but instead choking on the entire waterfall. Hot tears streamed into my lap as my head bent under the weight of the words: 

Is it giving up
Or my right to refuse?
Perfectly obstructed from view
Thought no one lived there, but maybe I do

I built that house with only bones
Shelters those dreams for which I’ve atoned
A balcony to bask in the glow
And furnished with things I control

I used to stay up late into the night as a teenager, sitting cross-legged on my bed, my sole companions a cheap CD player and assorted recordings that were considered “approved listening.” I would listen over and over to Daniel Barenboim’s interpretation of Chopin’s nocturnes (still my favorite recording of them, by the way), dreaming of when I was old enough to strike out on my own and create a life for myself. I imagined my future home, filled with music and golden light, a safe haven for my battered and broken heart. Édith Piaf soundtracked these daydreams too, along with Yo-Yo Ma and a compilation of various Pixar songs. I was terribly lonely, but I found solace in these artists. I felt that same sense of comfort in this track, transporting me back to those solitary evenings in my room. When I finally opened my bleary, tear-filled eyes, I learned that the song was called “Bouncing in Blue.” It healed a small part of me and cemented my opinion that it is one of the greatest songs Pile has ever written. 

The album continues its haunting and beautiful journey with the unsettling track “Born at Night.” I hold the view that it is the sequel to “Making Eyes,” a song from Pile’s 2017 release A Hairshirt of Purpose. “Making Eyes” describes an albatross that is circling the speaker’s home, though no one else can see it: “They seem to see the sky just fine / But the bird and I are making eyes.” An albatross is historically symbolic of bad fortune, as notably illustrated in “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. In “Born at Night,” Pile has once again drawn a literary throughline, exploring the theme of Man versus Nature as Rick describes a bird with eyes “bouncing off the moon / Says if there’s no room for cowards now / Then who the fuck are you?” I like to think that this is the same albatross from “Making Eyes,” an ever-watchful omen that acts as both a warning and a companion.

An eerie black and white music video released alongside the track drives the cult metaphor home, starring a sinister gathering of cloaked individuals hell-bent on accomplishing evil at any cost. The gentle riff opening the song quickly accelerates, driving it into a heightened frenzy until the chaos suddenly stops and the riff returns, only to build again through the end. 

As the lead single of Sunshine and Balance Beams, “Born at Night” brilliantly portrays the driving theme of the album, leaving the listener wondering about the open-ended lyrics and the similarly open-ended final scene of the music video. This, I believe, was intentional - the way we react to the systems of power we are under dictates our futures. We may be crushed by a velvet-gloved fist, but we can escape its weight.

I’ve forgiven my past and the people in it now. Though I wish that I had had a childhood that I wanted to mostly remember instead of mostly forget, I know that I am resilient, compassionate, and gentle because of it. I am incredibly grateful for bands like Pile who impact the lives of their listeners so profoundly, and I will forever champion music that heals, music that moves, and music that confronts those in power.

With eyes closed and arms open to the sun, I will let my soul rush forward into the blue as years crash around me. I am out of the woods, lifting my chin to the sky as I run towards a future that promises its only constant shall be change. But I welcome it: I am free. I am free. I am free. I am free. I am free.

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

Peach Rings – i’ll look out for you | Album Review

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Self-released

When I first started transing my gender way back in 2020, whenever I felt myself spiraling out about where my life was at, my therapist would always remind me that trans people are starting over. No matter what age you are, the act of transitioning always puts you back at square one, and, consequently, resets many aspects of your life, whether you’re expecting it to or not. At the age of 25, while I was constantly seeing my peers post about their engagements, their babies, their new homes, their successful careers, I was picking up the pieces of my almost decade-long relationship imploding on me and trying to figure out what this development meant for my life going forward. 

Romantic relationships are complicated enough as is, but when you throw in the chaotic tightrope walk of transitioning, it's almost impossible not to see every relationship in your life in relation to your gender. Not to mention how the world generally views trans people. The realization that I was a woman ending the most important relationship of my life five years ago still haunts me to this day. It permeates every new relationship, romantic or otherwise. Not every aspect of our lives has to circle back to our gender identities, and even as I write this, I question why I feel the need to relate the opening of this review so heavily to it, but it’s always there. 

The debut album from North Carolina power-pop-punk band Peach Rings is a gorgeous, painful, and stirring collection of relationship vignettes penned over the course of several years and relayed via a heavy dose of pop culture references. Whether it’s an audio sample from Kingdom Hearts, multiple Twin Peaks references, or musical allusions to the alternative punk bands that I’ve grown to love over the past two decades, i’ll look out for you scratches a particular itch for me across each one of its twelve eclectic tracks. At this point, I don’t know why I’m always so surprised when music made by trans people my age feels so damn meant for me. As someone who is a walking reflection of all the media she consumes, particularly the media of her formative years in the early-to-mid aughts, I adore these kinds of albums that are unashamed to pay homage to the movies, television, video games, and music of their youth. Peach Rings puts their love for their faves on full display with this album, and I revel in it. 

i’ll look out for you has a tightness and thoughtfulness to it that can only be explained by the personnel of the album. Ramona Barton is the brainchild behind the project, but seeing Kayleigh Malloy (AKA Kmoy, the mastermind behind The Precure Album) and Beth Rivera of Tape Girl on the album credits just made so much sense after my first listen of the album. If you want to create a stellar electronic punk record chock-full of clever references and impressively technical musicianship, this is the trio you want behind your project. What’s more, Jake Scarlett (of Those Dogs) and their emo sensibilities only serves to perfect that secret sauce. Despite the way this album was stitched together across multiple points in Ramona Barton’s life, there is a sonic fluidity to this album that is so damn satisfying with subsequent listens. Three tracks in, the “heart-shaped craters” theme (a choice that endearingly feels like a Scott Pilgrim reference) really sets up what a kickass album this is, and the decision to bring that same theme back in the final moments of the album is absolute poetry.

As a moody trans woman who has had love consistently kick her heart in the ass, i’ll look out for you hits particularly hard right now, but couldn’t be hitting at a better time. I think one of the most beautiful things about the creation and dissemination of music, particularly in the realm of DIY, is the community of it. With this debut Peach Rings album, there is plenty for me to connect to, and the final result is something I never feel alone listening to. It’s comforting in sort of an odd way to know that even when you’re in a dark place, when the lyrical material is melancholic and crushing and maybe too close to home, it's ultimately being penned by another human being who understands what you’re feeling. For instance, when I listen to the track “melcome to woes,” my ears are drawn to the comforting notes of an ocarina in the melody as well as the way the track concludes with an eerily familiar sound like I’m crossing a beam of light at the end of a Zelda boss room. The “Koji Kondo-ness” of it all, if you will, creates this kinship to the person behind these artistic decisions beyond just the emotional or the nostalgic.

There’s something to love at every point in this album, but the latter portion especially sings for me. The stretch from “back to whomps” through the final track carries a cohesion not only in its musicality, but also in its themes of longing, lost love, and second-guessing failed relationships. These are all points I feel intimately versed in, so those last few tracks on the record are a combination of rippers I could play endlessly while also feeling like a gut-punch. “back to whomps” in particular combines the band’s electronic sensibilities with its emo-punk angst that my Motion City Soundtrack-loving ass can’t get enough of. “nauseousgirl” brings things back to the heavy, punk structures akin to Rosenstock, but also smooths things out a la Weezer. The twinkly moodiness of “melcome to woes” rounds out the emotional weight of the album before launching headlong into the 10-minute-long finale, “heart-shaped leaf,” complete with a midway structure break in the form of a Twin Peaks audio line that exemplifies exactly why this is not the kind of album you hear every day. 

“I'm carving out craters for the ones I love and reclaiming all the words you made me lose, ‘cause none of them were true.”

Peach Rings undeniably hits the ground running with their first full-length record. They command a solid understanding of their power pop and punk rock influences, confidently interweaving their various passions and personal obsessions into every square inch of i’ll look out for you. It’s evident that this album took a minute to cook, and it definitely paid off. It’s refreshing to listen to a collection of songs this intentional in its structure while having a complete blast the whole way down. It never takes itself too seriously whenever it has the chance to, and that’s such a strong aspect of why it works. When it comes to heartbreak and heartache, it's important not to let it consume you. Find ways to still remember who you are while having that confidence in yourself to commit to your identity and the things that ground you in yourself – an especially important reminder when you’re trans. In a way, I can’t help but feel as though Ramona and Peach Rings are looking out for me too. 

Ciara Rhiannon (she/her) is a pathological music lover writing out of a nebulous location somewhere in the Pacific Northwest within close proximity of her two cats. She consistently appears on most socials as @rhiannon_comma, and you can read more of her musical musings over at rhiannoncomma.substack.com.

Teethe – Magic Of The Sale | Album Review

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Winspear

I have a question. Do you believe in destiny? Whether you think things are predetermined or totally random, something brought together four individuals from the flat plains of Denton, Texas, and made sure their four paths converged. Boone Patrello, Madeline Dowd, Grahm Robinson, and Jordan Garrett were all in separate bands and solo projects, but eventually connected through their shared creative scene, discovering a community in each other. As the songwriters collaborated and helped one another round out their respective songs through pressure-free jams, the idea of forming a band together only made sense. The result was Teethe’s self-titled debut, a southern slowcore record with glacier-paced songs, dreary guitar riffs, and soft, forlorn vocals reminiscent of bands like Low and Duster.

On their second album, Magic Of The Sale, Teethe’s Texas-sized version of slowcore is crafted on a grander scale with an all-star cast of collaborators. The band is diving deeper into the subgenre, carving out their own sonic lane with the help of an all-star team of collaborators like Xandy Chelmis of Wednesday, Charlie Martin of Hovvdy, and cellist Emily Elkin, who has played with Japanese Breakfast. The collaborators on the album are used in a tasteful way where they don’t overpower the songs, but just assist wherever they are needed. The song “Hate Goodbyes” is a beautiful blend of everyone’s talents combined into a singular moment, making for one of the record’s many highlights. The song entails classic weepy pedal steel, jangly electric guitars, and warm cello strings that put everything on a much grander scale.

Right before the album’s midpoint hits, two songs kick up the energy to full throttle. The first being “Holy Water,” which is the most aggressive song in the band’s catalog. It’s a fuzzy ’90s indie rock track done right with the electric guitars turned up to max power. Dowd observes the spiritual lengths people go to as they get older, singing “Take a sip and you’ll believe / In something better / In something bigger than me.” One track later, “Iron Wine” deploys a blown-out-speaker-inducing guitar passage that might be my favorite moment on the entire record. These are the kind of riffs that will rattle your house or sound like you have a gang of rowdy gorillas banging around in the trunk of your car. It’s an entertaining contrast, venturing from soft to heavy and back again. Both songs are outlier moments for the band in the best way possible, showing that if Teethe wants to swing for the fence with a louder, more intense sound, they can hit a home run out of the park on the first pitch. These songs also show the range that the band has developed through the years of being together and the confidence they have in each other to drive through any sonic highway of their choosing.

There’s a real elegance to how atmospheric these songs sound. The album is best played alone late at night, where the mind tends to wander and contemplate. The spacey aerial vibes of “Lead Letters” or even the bare bones instrumental of “Funny” are nocturnal in a way that instantly transports my mind back to summer nights lying on a bed of grass wondering where life will take me next. It’s a beautiful occurrence when music can transport you to a particular moment in your life, no matter how important or insignificant it may appear to the person listening. This is why I listen to music – to have moments like this that can evoke these kinds of feelings out of nowhere. 

“Anywhere” is about the feeling of being stuck in one place, with restlessness taking over. Patrello sings, “Just gotta get out of here / Just make it all disappear / Anywhere, anywhere.” The title track “Magic Of The Sale” is a spacious, melancholic ballad about the steps people go through to fight off pain, whether mental or physical: “Set myself to sleep for good / Reach out for you / My hands so nude and beat to blue.” Elkin’s cello works overtime, elevating both songs for a bigger stage, resulting in some of the most blissful, poignant songs I’ve heard all year. 

The fourteen songs consistently paint a picture figuratively and literally; both of the band’s album covers were brilliantly painted by Dowd. The jester-like creature walking the open fields freely in the dead of night is not someone who is afraid of the dark, but one who is comfortable with living in it. If you look closely at the figure’s face, it’s not a Pennywise evil grin, but a sly smile of contentment. I interpret this as the confidence they not only have within themselves, but also amongst one another to keep pushing into the unknown of their musical careers as a collective unit. 

Teethe is a band that is unconcerned with the parameters of slowcore. Their belief in one another gives them the conviction to paint outside the lines of what a band in this genre should sound like. Magic Of The Sale is an impressive feat. I can feel the chemistry that this band has developed over the years – a long journey from the basement jam sessions of Denton to now being able to tour all over the globe and live out their dreams. With Magic Of The Sale, Teethe turn slowcore music on its head and make it into their own.

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.

Inside Porcupine’s Altar of Vapor: An interview with Chicago’s masters of Dark Hardcore

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Photo by K.B. Imaging

“We didn’t sacrifice anything that makes us Porcupine. We’re still heavy. This is our most collaborative project to date as a band. We don’t take ourselves too seriously, but we take the band and the music itself very seriously. People should be keeping their eyes peeled for anything that we do.” 

Porcupine vocalist and lyricist Dawson Kiser sounds extremely proud and confident when he says this to me, his excitement about his band’s newest material completely shining through the Google Meet call we arranged. I have been closely watching the evolution of the Chicagoland and Pittsburgh hardcore outfit since their first proper releases in 2018, though they had been germinating deep in the Midwest suburbs for a couple of years already at that point. Since then, I’ve heard the band put out record after record of intense, chaotic, blistering hardcore music, and seen them perform with the likes of Harvest, Ignite, and Portrayal Of Guilt. 2024 was a crucial year for the band, with their debut full-length album All Is Vapor being unleashed in June — sharing a release date with Charli xcx’s unavoidable brat, a fact they jokingly feel set them back. “Our album is a challenging listen; it’s long and ruthless for a modern hardcore album,” guitarist Joey Hernandez reflects. “And it came out the same day as brat, so we got beef with Charli now.”

Porcupine’s music has nothing in common with the 365 party girl herself, as you might imagine. Their ferocious and unrelenting approach to hardcore and metal is one of the most impressive that the underground has to offer, evident by songs like “Funeral Grief” from 2021’s The Sybil EP, or “Army Of Martyrs” from All Is Vapor. Now, just over a year later, the band is back with the six-track EP Under The Altar, released via Chicago label New Morality Zine, the band’s longtime home. The 25-minute collection serves as a direct companion to last year’s album, with its only physical release being a CD that compiles the two – a further extension of the themes and imagery that began with The Sybil. Dawson Kiser breaks it all down: “There is a strong connection between those three records. I was still exploring different ideas, starting with The Sybil, but there’s been this consistent philosophical idea of dualism – the idea of having a body and a spirit, being drawn to material life and immaterial life – and what that means in a world full of suffering and depravity. That’s been across the board through our releases, but I think it’s gotten more precise on Under The Altar.”

Hernandez adds, “Some of the ideas for these new songs have been around for a while. Dawson wanted to do a sequel to ‘Holy Cowards’ from All Is Vapor, which sort of inspired us to do this follow-up EP. I pulled a lot of things that have been sitting on the shelf and recreated them to sound like something that Porcupine would make in 2025. I was really influenced by mewithoutYou, who put out a lot of sequels to other things across their discography. The next one we worked on redoing was ‘Close The Doors,’ since the album version is just acoustic. We wanted to work out a full band version for our live set, and Dawson added new lyrics to it. I think the sequel totally works as a tone setter for the EP before ‘Dull Blade’ comes in.”

Under The Altar’s title track is the band’s longest to date, clocking in at just under nine minutes. The group is no stranger to epic, sprawling songs on their releases, like “The Kingdom Of Heaven” from The Sibyl and “I Am Bound” from All Is Vapor. But this track’s inception also predates the other songs on the EP by quite some time, as the band explains. “It was originally called ‘I Wish You Peace,’ and it came out on the benefit compilation Artists For Black Lives Matter Vol. 1 back in 2020,” Kiser recalls about his original acoustic performance of the track. Hernandez follows, “I always had the idea to make that a Porcupine song because I thought the melody and riff were so sick. When I translated it to the band, I wanted it to be super calm in the beginning, because what Dawson is saying lyrically on the song is just so haunting and desperate, but I knew the second half would be a lot more intense.”

Kiser admits, “It’s a very exhausting song for me. My vocal approach was totally different; I’ve never sung that way on a Porcupine song before. I start really subdued, and then it goes into this painful scream where I’m trying to hold the note of the song. I was listening to a lot of Battle Of Mice and their vocalist, Julie Christmas, while writing the song. Her vocals really inspire me because they’re so terrifying and emotional all at once.”

Photo by @w0rms5

Hernandez and Kiser are the band’s co-founders and only consistent members, although Under The Altar was mixed by returning bassist Jordan Hermes, an element of the record they’re both excited about. “We love him being back, he’s been instrumental in making these songs sound like more than just demos. It feels so natural, and we’re so locked in whenever we practice. He’s been a huge part of us becoming a better band,” Hernandez says.

Between the thematic consistency of their 2020s catalog and the return of early band members, the conversation with the band led me to suggest the idea of the “Porcupine Cinematic Universe,” and it turns out I wasn’t far off. “Jordan said the same thing,” Hernandez says. “We all like to do different stuff that may not be directly related to Porcupine, but it’s all kind of connected. Dawson’s solo record that came out recently is like that.”

Released in May under his middle name, Micaiah Kaiser, Treachery Utterly Murders Our Respect, or TUMOR, is a deeply personal record about betrayal, heartbreak, and suffering. “It was still a collaboration with Joey,” Kiser notes. “We’ve been working on it for a long time, like five years…”

“That’s because I was procrastinating,” Hernandez admits.

“… that’s also true, but I wasn’t going to throw you under the bus,” Kiser laughs. He continues, “There are some sonic similarities to the band because it’s these same two guys working on it, but nothing sounds like a Porcupine song. It’s not remotely hardcore. I don’t really know what to call it. Joey is better at identifying genres than I am.”

Hernandez qualifies, “It’s like Giles Corey-core. Definitely something for fans of that or other artists on The Flenser record label. Bedroom recordings with some spacey and ambient beats.”

“Nick Cave is probably my most listened-to artist of all time,” Kiser says when asked about other musical artists that inform his writing. “I’m always listening to his stuff and am really influenced by the way he approaches dark themes with a sort of folklore style.”

The full band’s approach to what they call “dark hardcore” feels informed more at times by leftfield and experimental artists like Cave or King Woman than traditional hardcore bands, but Hernandez and Kiser haven’t lost any love for their anchoring genre, despite the sense that they’re navigating their way through it. “The thing about hardcore,” Hernandez confesses, “it’s kind of a sore subject for us. We’re totally doing our own thing, and it’s not the cool thing to do. I think that’s made us stand out, but it’s also made us go, ‘Oh, people don’t really understand what this is.’ We’re always thinking about that type of thing. I love bands like Candy and Vein because they’re so off-kilter and doing something interesting, but you can tell they’re all really talented dudes. Or a band like Code Orange, where you can tell they have hardcore roots, but they went in more of a rock and roll direction that was still really heavy.”

Kiser adds, “I still view us as a hardcore band, I don’t ever see us as not having an obvious hardcore influence. There are songs on Under The Altar that are just hardcore songs to me, and how I personally understand the genre. I still love listening to hardcore bands and going to shows and watching people going crazy, even if some of the more popular bands don’t generally line up with what Porcupine is doing. Even some of my favorite bands like All Else Failed, Converge, and Starkweather, that maybe lean more metal or something else entirely, they’re still hardcore bands to me.”

Photo by Max Glazer

Porcupine’s live performances are not to be missed — the quintet consistently delivers blistering and visceral shows at any venue they play, channeling the energy of some of extreme music’s tightest acts like Full Of Hell and Harm’s Way. They’ve just wrapped up a short touring run with close friends The Jackal – a new Ohio band featuring members of Griphook and Coop. On the tour, Hernandez says, “I’m excited to connect back up with them, just to hang out and get inspired. Every tour we do, we get inspired by the bands we play with. Like the band Prouns, who are just a three-piece, but they really know how to rock out. And the band Clot, they’re super professional and older than us, I almost felt like they were showing us up every night. And with The Jackal, this is the most impressed I’ve been with one of Zach Butcher’s bands.”

Porcupine continues their Summer tour dates next week with fellow Chicago-based band We Weren’t Invited, capped off by a hometown record release show on August 16th. Hernandez feels equally pumped for this run, giving his next tourmates accolades for being “so crazy, and they do whatever the fuck they want, it’s wild. I’m also excited to talk to people about the new record. We’ve been keeping it under wraps for a while, but I can’t wait to hear what people think of it. I love that our close friends love our music, and I don’t think their opinion doesn’t matter, but I really love listening to new people who are discovering Porcupine, even if they only like one song. It just makes me happy to know I did something cool like that.”

2026 will mark ten years since Porcupine formed, and Hernandez and Kiser have no plans to stop anytime soon. Reflecting on the milestone, Hernandez says, “I think we’re at a point now where we’re at our best, and we can make the best music we can with the best people.” Kiser agrees, “We’ve all grown up together, and the music is indicative of that. This current lineup is the best one that we’ve had. We all get along great.” I asked them exactly what “growing up” means to them as a band, not just the experience of doing so, but what they’re taking away from that experience.

Hernandez answers, “Even though I love a lot of what we did in the past, obviously I would do it a lot differently now. The first real thing I’m proud of is the Zomia record. I still listen back to that and go, ‘that’s crazy that I made that when I was 20.’ That was the first time I realized I could make something really interesting, and we got a nod from the Axe To Grind podcast, which I never thought could happen even back then. And then they premiered ‘Euphrosyne’ ahead of All Is Vapor coming out, which was so cool of them to do.

We just want to keep challenging ourselves with things that I don’t even know if they’re hardcore or not anymore, but then I’ll go write a 90-second straightforward hardcore song after that. I love how Smashing Pumpkins can mix together soft and heavy songs on the same album, like Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness, which was the first record that made me think, ‘I want to sonically emulate this.’ We’ve ventured through a lot of sonic experimentation, a lot of different types of hardcore. We’ve grown our networking skills since our first tour in 2018. We’re a lot more mature now. I’m really happy with this EP. I wouldn’t change a thing about it, and I didn’t compromise anything that makes us Porcupine, but every new record we do, I feel like we have to reintroduce ourselves. So I hope this is going to foreshadow whatever comes next, because it’s going to be even better.”

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