Hater's Delight – March 2023

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We’ve reached the end of March. Or, as I (a guy with a music blog) like to call it, “the end of Q1.” *pushes glasses up nose* That means this month, we’ve been treated to clumsy attempts at “important” albums from big-name indie acts, tasteless tour announcements from talentless hacks, and desperate swings from pop stars for an early bid at the “song of the summer.” In short, there has been no shortage of things to hate, but hey, at least the year is a quarter over, right?

If you’re joining us for the first time, Hater’s Delight is a micro-review column brought to you by our team of Swim Into The Sound writers and a guest or two. This is a space where we can vent about the things online and in music that have gotten under our skin this past month. Each writer gets a paragraph or two to bitch about their chosen topic, then once we expel the Haterade from our systems, we all go back to loving music and enjoying art. Speaking of which, if you’re more in the mood for some positivity, here’s a playlist of all this month’s new releases that I enjoyed (or at least found notable) to help you keep up on everything that’s happened in March. 

Now, let’s drive a stake into the heart of March with another edition of Hater’s Delight.

“Mother” by Meghan Trainor 

I was reluctant to write about Meghan Trainor’s new song since it’s the easiest possible target, and everyone on my timeline has already torn it to shreds, but I can’t get it off my mind. With every second I listened, I kept thinking, “This can’t possibly get any worse,” and then, somehow, it would. Meghan’s really hit all her bases with this one: a clumsy and utterly sexless attempt at 2010s-era horny girlboss pop, TJ Maxx spring sale commercial production, the word “mansplaining” sung in a white lady riff, vague gesturing towards a possible Oedipal complex, a Mr. Sandman interpolation straight out of the Leah Kate school of songwriting, “You Need To Calm Down”-levels of shameless LGBTQ pandering (though I guess Meghan didn’t have the budget to hire RuPaul or Ellen Degeneres or anyone else from the Middle America-approved list of people who come up when you Google “gay celebrities,” so she had to settle for having two random twinks pop up in the background at the end of every line like Oompa Loompas). 

“Mother” is a once-in-a-lifetime dud, a perfect storm of horribleness that’s frankly impressive. It’s not easy to make a good pop song, but it’s also not easy to make a pop song that sucks this bad. It’s almost inspiring to see someone flop so spectacularly, I kinda gotta hand it to her. 

Grace Robins-Somerville – @grace_roso


Donn’t Namee Youur Bannd Liike Thiss

As a longtime metalhead, I’m used to the best bands of the genre forgoing conventional spelling. Kreator, Megadeth, Mötley Crüe, the list goes on. Even going back to two of the biggest bands of all time, The Beatles and Led Zeppelin, improper spelling in rock’n’roll is canon at this point. But there’s a new trend I’m seeing more and more lately that I just don’t understand: adding extras of the same letter where one is not needed. Caamp, Miirrors, Siiickbrain, Slayyyter. I thought we were past this with Miike Snow and Wavves. Run For Cover Records has TWO current signees in this vein, Lannds and Runnner (seriously, how many N’s does this label need?). Both are relatively inoffensive bands musically but frustrating to Google or to recommend. All these bands have to live with their word-of-mouth promotion having a qualifier, “but with (x amount of letters) instead of the usual amount.” Seems counterproductive. While we’re at it, no more family band names (I’m looking at you, Great Grandpa and Grandson).

Logan Archer Mounts – @VERTICALCOFFIN


LEAVE PINKPANTHERESS ALONE

I’d like to preface this by saying that I’m old. I’m turning 30 this year, and PinkPantheress as an entity has only entered my life recently with the inescapable Ice Spice-assisted “Boys a liar Pt. 2” From what I understand, she’s a buzzy bedroom pop artist who blew up on TikTok thanks to her image, occasionally catchy tunes, and reverence for late-90s and early 2000s aesthetics. A few weeks ago, a tweet showcasing a particularly unenthusiastic PinkPantheress performance went viral. First off, she was (allegedly) paid just $250 for the concert. That’s issue number one, fuck SXSW, how little they pay artists, how they let the literal feds into attendance, and their lack of oversight allows creeps to run wild. But I’d like to talk specifically about people criticizing PinkPantheress for a litany of petty grievances. “She had her purse on her during the performance!” Gimmie a break. “She used a backing track!” So does every other pop star. Most egregious was the criticism that “she’s giving us nothing,” to which I say go back and watch that video… the CROWD was giving her nothing. She’s performing a song with nearly 300 million streams on Spotify, and I don’t see a single person moving. How’s an artist expected to give a decent performance when every single attendee in the audience is motionless, staring at their phone, trying to capture the moment for their own social media account? This is neither a defense of PinkPantheress nor a condemnation of SXSW; this is saying if me saying if you are a shitty crowd, you can’t give the artist too much shit for doing the bare minimum. Dance, bob your head, and move around. Be better. 

Taylor Grimes – @GeorgeTaylorG


Missed Opportunities - U2’s Songs of Surrender

U2 are a pillar of my musical identity. They were the first concert I went to. All That You Can’t Leave Behind was one of the first CDs I remember buying. Hell, I even took a class about them during my freshman year of college. I haven’t liked much of their output since No Line on the Horizon (it’s a good album, fight me), but I was intrigued when I heard they were releasing Songs of Surrender, a compilation of reinterpretations from their catalog. I thought it had the potential to have a ceiling of being really cool and a floor of being interesting. I was wrong. Songs of Surrender is neither of these things. Songs of Surrender is deeply boring. All forty songs are relatively stripped down, presented as Tiny-Desk-core singalongs. For some of the tracks, this would be a natural reimagination; think “Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses” and “Stay (Faraway, So Close!),” but when each song is in this style, it loses effect rapidly. Bono also does that thing he does in concert, where he adds new lyrics that (to him) might seem profound but mostly come off as wincingly embarrassing. I’m not sure if I’m disappointed in Bono and the boys or if I’m disappointed in myself for getting my hopes up. If you need me, I’ll be listening to my Zooropa CD in my car.

Connor Fitzpatrick – @cultofcondor


It’s A “Good Time” To End This Whole Indie Sleaze Revival Thing

I wasn’t always so against this attempted revival of the manufactured indie sleaze movement. Crystal Castles were one of the first “indie” acts I ever got into, and I love plenty of music from LCD Soundsystem, The Rapture, and Interpol, bands/artists from the early 2000s NY scene that have largely inspired where we’re currently at. But upon hearing The Dare’s “Girls” too many times at cramped bars and venue PA systems, I had enough of this fucking guy. His smug aura mocked me. But now it looks like the major labels are placing their bets on this indie sleaze revival, with The Dare being their top prospect with his signing to UMG and the release of his follow-up single “Good Time,” which is actually, in fact, a bad time! While the lyrical content of “Girls” was groan-worthy, at least there was a solid tune behind it. But “Good Time” is uninspired, as it so clearly tries to bite from Peaches’ “Fuck The Pain Away” but squeezes every bit of charm that song has. It could be worse though, as we’ll see if the industry tries to make Blaketheman1000 happen for real. Now that’s a truly untalented hack!

Matty Monroe – @MonrovianPrince


Using the Merch Table When the Band Isn’t There

More and more music workers are taking the opportunity to advocate for ourselves at gigs; we’re meeting the moment with reasonable requests, some relational, some systematic, all hand-in-hand with an appreciation of connecting in our shared meatspace again after years of the virtual. Here’s my lil’ addition, a pet peeve, to the choir, typed out between stops on my first post-lockdown run of shows: Please wait until I get back to the merch table before you buy my merch.

I really, really, love that you want to directly support me and bring home a token of a night we shared. It’s a small miracle! However, finding a few dollars underneath the sign that says, “Please wait until Andy’s back for merch!” or getting an unexpected Venmo notification while loading out, only to come back and find a shirt missing, rubs me the wrong way. At its most forgiving, it’s an “Oh, sorry, I wanted to grab a button, and you weren’t there” kinda deal. At its most cynical, it can become a slight, cold reminder of our transactional relationship.

Even barring the fact that I’m more conscious than ever of how touring finances move, it’s preventing an invaluable conversation that has become rarer in these pandemic times: a minute or two where you and I, across a [always… sticky??] table filled with stickers and Sharpie-written, “pay what you can” dollar amounts, get to push air – sure, from behind an N95 or two – and shape it into the form of “Thank you for stopping by!!!”

In other words, in-person networking. Just kidding. Haha ha.

Please… don’t fall into the trappings of an anonymous consumer. Let me know you’re here with me, and I’ll do the same for you. Or, at the very least, give me a heads-up before you grab a size large, black tee.

Andy Waldron – @ndyjwaldron

Hater's Delight – February 2023

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February kinda sucks. January may be the Monday of the year, but at least it represents the promise of a fresh start. I’ve found that February is usually the coldest, greyest, most miserable month of the year; the calendar equivalent of a big, slushy pile of days-old snow pushed to the back of a parking lot. Try as I might to be funny and cutting about the second month of the year, there’s no better coda to February than this video, so I’d recommend you just go watch that to get in the mood for this month’s edition of Hater’s Delight. 

If you’re just catching up with us, ​​Hater’s Delight is a micro-review column brought to you by Swim Into The Sound writers who want to vent about the things online and in music that have gotten under their skin over the past month. Each writer gets a paragraph or two to bitch about their chosen topic, then once we expel the Haterade from our systems, we all go back to loving music and enjoying art. Speaking of which, if you’re more in the mood for some positivity, here’s a playlist of all this month’s new releases that I enjoyed (or at least found notable) to help you keep up on everything that’s happened in February. 

Without further ado, here’s some hater shit. 

Pop Goes Punk

Right as the month began, Doja Cat revealed in an interview that she wants to make a transition into punk music. But not that soft “pop-punk” that Machine Gun Kelly and Olivia Rodrigo have been playing around with, the REAL “hardcore” stuff. Look, pop artists have been trying to go “punk” for years now with mixed results. Artists like Demi Lovato and Willow Smith have adopted the “dangerous” aesthetics of metal and punk music into their latest albums. There’s a crop of good songs amongst them all (yes, even the worldwide-hated, double-number-one-album-selling MGK has a couple of catchy ones), and I hope the best for Doja Cat if she means it. But at the end of the day, major label executives and A&R teams will skew the vision to ensure it turns a profit. Unless you’re recent Blink-182 support act Turnstile, that’s probably not going to happen. Still waiting patiently for the Charli XCX punk album, though.

Logan Archer Mounts – @VERTICALCOFFIN


The Internet and Hardcore Music

Probably prudent disclaimer– I am sorry. My tweet was bad.

Earlier this month, I tweeted a kind of mean thing about a hardcore band. This was shitty of me for various reasons, but I’m here to double down, not publish an apology. The truth is that the internet demands very little (at least in its current iteration) from artists– so long as a band caters to the aesthetic of a nebulous “scene” bound neither by genre or geography, the unwashed masses with their bad tattoos and patchy goatees can rest easy knowing that they are enjoying “the next big thing in hardcore/emo/punk/etc.” My recent brush with the hardcore scene proves their shallow digs at me (poser, unwelcome, rookie, tourist) more accurately describe themselves. Their music is neutered, their stage presence is listless, and their dance moves are ripped from Bruce Lee movies. Their politics are aimlessly liberal and center far more around retweets than rehabilitation when it comes to such nuanced issues as “community policing and accountability.” No matter how many cops in dress-punk streetwear you cram onstage with Marshall stacks, you’ll never be half as hardcore as that time back in New York when I broke a dude’s nose over a particularly distasteful tattoo. My address is included in my byline here. Mail me a pipe bomb if this makes you angry– I’m off Twitter these days. Peace and love, y’all.

Michaela Rowan Pearl Montoni, ** ******** Street, Apt. *, Pittsburgh, PA 15213 – @dumpsterbassist


Concertgoers Living In The Past/“I Liked Your Old Band Better” Syndrome

Go ahead, keep drunkenly screaming the name of some obscure Arrogant Sons Of Bitches song at the Jeff Rosenstock show, he’s not gonna play it. Since you’ve already decided to be an asshole, why not become the two hundredth person on this tour to ask him when there’s gonna be a Bomb The Music Industry reunion? You paid your own hard-earned money for that ticket to the Glitterer gig, why are you acting shocked when it isn’t Title Fight 2.0? It’s fine to like Modern Baseball more than Slaughter Beach, Dog (respectfully, I agree to disagree), but don’t go to an SBD show and get pissy when Jake Ewald doesn’t play any MoBo songs (though there’s a decent chance he’ll play “Intersection”). It’s insulting to treat an artist’s current project like a consolation prize that you’re settling for because their old band is no longer active. Don’t let your love of something that existed in the past get in the way of your ability to engage with the present. And don’t ask Augusta Koch to sign your years-old Cayetana merch after a Gladie show, that’s kind of a dick move.

Grace Robins-Somerville – @grace_roso


Spotify’s AI DJ

Never before have four characters struck fear into my heart quite like “AI DJ.” Actually? It’s not even fear. More like anger, confusion, and resignation. Of course this is happening; it’s the logical conclusion to everything Spotify has been building toward lately, but with the added fun of everyone’s favorite dystopian technology. Over the past few months, I’ve written quite a bit about how Spotify has been shifting music consumption and how we approach art. Whether it’s single rollouts, algorithmically-generated playlists, or backend licensing nonsense, Spotify has long been at the forefront of annoying extra-musical trends, the latest of which is this AI DJ, as shown in this video spot. After introducing himself and throwing to music with a robotically emphatic “let’s go,” the DJ narrates our hero's journey from one song to the next, including the phrase “let’s get you out of your feels and switch up the vibe.” ugh. 

This feels like a combination of multiple things I hate. First, there’s Spotify’s ongoing approach of “corporate relatability,” deploying common vernacular and AAVE for their playlist and collection names. Second, there’s the flashy addition of AI, a technology I unilaterally hate and believe is more powerful and sinister than we give it credit for. Third, and most pertinent to music fans, this just feels like Spotify continuing to wrestle control and autonomy from its users. As I talk about in this article, Spotify has a vested interest in keeping you listening to what they want you to listen to. Even better if they can pad out those songs with Microsoft Sam speaking in between each track. An AI DJ is the perfect storm of shit that makes my skin crawl in 2023.

Taylor Grimes – @GeorgeTaylorG


Main Character Syndrome at the Rock Show

@much Y’all gotta let #SteveLacy perform in peace 😭 via @stave__ ♬ original sound - MuchMusic

This is probably symptomatic of being stuck inside at the beginning of the pandemic or the hyper-commodification of music in the streaming age (or some combination of both), but people have leaned in a little too hard on that whole “main character syndrome” meme in regards to being at concerts. You would think people would be super appreciative after not having the privilege of watching live music with a crowd of others for a while, but lo and behold, some of us have committed to showing our asses instead. When did it become so acceptable to treat someone performing on stage like shit because you paid for a ticket? Why do they have to say hi to someone they don’t know during a performance so you can send a shaky video to your friend? How come everyone’s talking during an opening act’s set-or worse, just straight up being hostile to them? I had some dude-who-peaked-during-highschool yelling at a band to hurry up and finish their set so they “could see who they actually came to see.” Yikes! Those are people with feelings up there, buddy! Toss in the exuberant costs of touring, and it feels almost surreal that any artist would be willing to step within 50 feet of a stage. Someone make a viral TikTok about concert etiquette- at this point, it’s probably our only hope.

Nick Sackett – @DJQuicknut


The Swiftification of The National

Taylor Swift has a feature on The National’s new album, and I’m annoyed about it. I like some of her music, so I’m not a unilateral hater, but her unavoidability drives me insane. Surely not everything is Swift-able?! It feels like so many artists I care about bring her into stuff to get popularity points. Like, literally—not even streams, which I’d maybe understand in the right circumstance, but social cred. Taylor Swift always gives me these uncanny high school time-warps (so, yes, this is a me problem; I’m aware) to the blonde, thin, cheerleader/volleyball types who would descend on the alt friend group because they’re bored of the football players and they know they’ll be fawned over among new blood. I’m not super happy about this. **Unless, of course, I end up loving this song, in which I reserve, as a therapist once assured me was my due, the right to change my mind. In any case, I clearly need some therapy over this.

Katie Wojciechowski – @ktewoj


Firebreathing Gargoyles of the Night

I don’t fully understand why, but I despise the New York “classic” rock band KISS (also spelled “KIϟϟ” for some godforsaken reason). I’m sure at least part of my hatred is borne of residual disdain from working at a record store where KISS diehards were some of our most consistently insufferable regulars. I never want to hear a man in his 40s explain to me why KISS’ live output surpasses their work in the studio.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with songs like “Rock and Roll All Nite.” I’m not so self-obsessed that I can’t see the appeal of such a simple, hooky pop song. But I see it in the same way that I see the theoretical draw of the Republican National Convention or moving to Wisconsin. It couldn’t be further from what I would ever enjoy, but I guess they’ve been successful for long enough that they must be onto something. That being said, this rotating quartet of trickle-down pyrotechnics and absurdist vanity has never risen above being a corporate joke. How delusional do you have to be to expect to be taken seriously when you’re pretending to be a cat-man? I grew up reading the Warrior cat books, and I still don’t get it.

The schlock-rock novelty is enough to convert some, but it’s nefarious hypnosis at best. Destroyer isn’t “secretly a good album.” KISS isn’t “underrated” or “actually incredibly talented.” They serve their function as well as any past-the-point-of-mockery band of the past. That hardly justifies their induction into the upper echelons of enjoyable music, nevertheless what could be defined as rock history. Let KISS drift away into the landfill of the past and seek better listening habits.

Sidenote: the only positive contribution that Gene Simmons has ever made to society is the Kiss Kasket — unintentional comedic genius.

Wes Muilenburg – @purity0lympics

Hater's Delight – January 2023

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For a traditionally slow time of year, January has already been a whirlwind month of new music, announcements, and discourse. The return of boygenius, the promise of Wednesday, the long-awaited album from Fireworks. All of this and lots to look forward to in the coming months… but those are all good things, and we can’t be all positive all the time.

Enter Hater’s Delight, a micro-review column brought to you by Swim Into The Sound writers who want to vent about the things online and in music that have gotten under their skin over the past month. While I am a firm believer in love and positivity, even I admit that sometimes you just gotta let the Hater Energy out, and that’s exactly what this is.

If you want to catch up with a comprehensive playlist of all the new releases I liked this month, click here. If not, read on for the dregs of January. 

The Album Art for The National’s First Two Pages of Frankenstein

From the moment I saw the album art for First Two Pages of Frankenstein, I knew exactly what it reminded me of right away. It looked like the album art for every car commercial indie/alternative band of the 2010s. While The National haven’t always had the best album art, this one feels different. When I look at this album art, this could easily be the art for any of the following bands: Walk the Moon, Cold War Kids, Grouplove, American Authors, Cage the Elephant, Twenty One Pilots, Fitz and the Tantrums, X Ambassadors, lovelytheband, Passion Pit, American Authors, Young the Giant, The Temper Trap, The Naked And Famous, Miike Snow, Foster the People and so much more. Now, why does this album art remind me of all these bands? I can’t tell you. I’m not a graphic designer, and my attempts at art in the past I would consider to be failures. But you just know it when you see it, and God, do I see it in all its blinding glory.

Matty Monroe – @MonrovianPrince


Jack Antonoff’s Enemies

Dig this– an Instagram story showing Jack Antonoff and Michelle Zauner of Japanese Breakfast sparked outrage on January 1st from “stans,” to which I can only respond: Let him cook. Antonoff has been working with your self-professed “favs” for years before he made one lackluster LP with Lorde. Melodrama is great. 1989 is great. Norman Fucking Rockwell, while not for me, is still Lana Del Rey’s best record beyond a shadow of a doubt. Hell, I’ll even go to bat for both Bleachers and fun. Both are great indie pop bands who produced multiple good records with generally slick production that retained indie (analog?) charm in ways Antonoff’s other, poppier work can’t or won’t. The man’s discography is longer and more star-studded than any seething 14-year-old’s Tweet history, so get off his back, capiche?

Mikey Montoni – @dumpsterbassist


Kim Petras ripping off SOPHIE

Earlier this month, Kim Petras posted a Tiktok of her showing Meghan Trainor a clip of her recent song, and many were quick to point out the resemblance between the audio Petras played and the sound textures of the late transgender music icon SOPHIE. It’s appalling when any artist is ripped off without credit, but this feels especially unjust and painful. I already was a Kim Petras hater for her defense of abuser Dr. Luke. And Meghan Trainor’s presence… bewildering, and frankly insulting. Hate hate hate to see it!

elizabeth handgun – @OneFeIISwoop


“Sad Girl” as a Subculture/Identifier/Genre Descriptor

If you listen to an artist whose thematic and sonic palette is as emotionally expansive as that of Mitski or Fiona Apple or any member of boygenius, and all you have to say about their work is “more music for the sad girlies to cry to 😭” you’re not really saying anything. It’s a regressive way to talk about music made by female artists (though the term isn’t entirely gender-exclusive– songwriters like Elliott Smith, Sufjan Stevens, and Alex G are no strangers to the “sad girl starter pack” playlists that have swarmed your Spotify algorithm like a plague of locusts). In reality, “sad” tells us almost nothing about the music itself and only encompasses a tiny fraction of the vast emotional landscapes that these artists create. When you fail to engage with their art fully, you’re disrespecting the work of musicians you claim to care about AND cheating yourself out of a more enriching musical experience. Or, as Mitski herself put it in words far more succinct and less pretentious than mine, “sad girl is OVER!” So get over it. 

Grace Robins-Somerville – @grace_roso


Mosh or be Moshed: Hardcore vs. TikTok

Look, whether you’re on the outside or part of the scene, some elements of hardcore music are supremely stupid. Whether it’s standard pit karate, sitting on the stage mid-set, or literally hurling a TV at other patrons. The discourse of “don’t talk about hardcore if you’ve only been in it for a few years” is ridiculous. I met up with someone at FYA (Fuck Your Attitude, Tampa’s yearly kickoff of hardcore fests) who had only been into hardcore for a year and a half who told me this was his fifth(!) festival experience. So there’s no need to gatekeep. On the other side, if you’re a young internet person looking to comment on every subculture you refuse to research, you’re not helping either. As the new and not-quite-yet overdone Kevin Hart meme goes, take yo sensitive ass back to the B9 boards.

Logan Archer Mounts – @VERTICALCOFFIN


(Sped Up Version)

Hey pop artists? Stop it with the sped-up versions of your songs. I might risk sounding like an old fart, but I just don’t get it. This trend feels like the musical equivalent of those Family Guy Subway Surfer Stimulation TikToks. It feels like rapid consumerism combined with ADHD to bring our collective attention spans down to zero. I know they’re sometimes funny or fitting for a TikTok, but why someone would go out of their way to listen to a Chipmunk version of a pop song is beyond me. More ranting on this here. 

Taylor Grimes – @GeorgeTaylorG


Complaining About Your Favorite Artist Changing Their Sound

In Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert writes that “pigeonholing is something people need to do in order to feel that they have set the chaos of existence into some kind of reassuring order.” That’s all to say that I hate when people rip artists for experimenting with different sounds. I was a Fall Out Boy fan before their hiatus and have not connected with them since they reunited, but if someone enjoys whatever genre they’re trying on, kudos to them. Max Bemis of Say Anything was (understandably) all over the place throughout the band’s discography, but his art intrigues me regardless of whether I found it good or bad. Who knows how many times I’ll listen to the latest Fireworks album, but I’m glad that they are releasing music again, and I will listen to whatever they put out at least once just because their music has connected deeply with me already. If people enjoy listening to music so much, why are so many of us pigeonholing the artists that pleasantly surprise us with what they create? Expand your palettes, embrace change.

Joe Wasserman – @a_cuppajoe


Rick Rubin’s Production

When I was 15 years old, my favorite bands were System of a Down, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Weezer. I read Rolling Stone magazine and watched VH1’s I Love the 90s. I didn’t have any sort of high-speed internet, and would mostly use my dial-up connection to browse Wikipedia and read about the bands I loved. With this limited perspective, it was easy to think Rick Rubin was the greatest record producer who ever lived. And ya know, maybe he is the greatest record producer—if you are a 15-year-old boy. In a recent interview with Anderson Cooper on CBS’s 60 Minutes, Rick Rubin stated, “I know nothing about music,”—31-year-old me is inclined to agree.
Russ Finn – @RussFinn


Show Photographers

The most annoying thing that has happened post-COVID lockdown has been an influx of concert "photographers."  These people decided to take up the hobby and, in turn, take up the entirety of the front row and even most of the stage during shows. Now don't get me wrong, I'm glad people are documenting shows and taking pictures and such, however, I am BEGGING all of you to learn how to use your flash appropriately. What really created this level of hatred and anger for me were two shows in particular; Portrayal of Guilt with Graf Orlock at Que Sera in Long Beach, and INFEST at 7CMC in Denver. The INFEST show makes sense, right? Like legends are playing a DIY space, you gotta take some pictures, but when you climb the PAs and take up stage space just so you can get your shots and don't even participate in the show, I feel like there's something lost there. Now the Que Sera show— that one was maddening. They didn't even need to turn the lights on because of the constant flashes from cameras during the entire show. In short, respect the concertgoers’ experience as well, and don't be a fucking tool just because you bought a film camera over the pandemic. 

Chris M – @sngs_abt_grls

The Best of Q3 2022: Part 2

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Remember when I published an article about the best albums of Q3 2022 and tagged it with ‘Part 1’? Well, guess what? Over a month later, here is Part 2! I may have been a slow writer lately, but I still wanted to highlight some of the albums from this past summer that have been resonating with me. 

Alex G - God Save The Animals

Domino Recording Company

Indie music’s favorite weirdo is back. Between shaking his booty like a maniac and scoring off-kilter indie movies, Mr. G has thrown together yet another collection of soon-to-be-classic folk tunes with an oddball bent. While it’s about as catchy and abstract as any of his previous releases, God Save The Animals feels far more spiritual than any other Alex G album thus far. In an interview with The New York Times, the artist admitted that faith has been on his mind these past few years, explaining, “I don’t really have a set of beliefs, but it seems like a place everyone has to go at some point.” This is reflected in songs like “Blessings” and “S.D.O.S.,” but pays off beautifully in “Miracles,” where the personal and spiritual intersect in one of the best songs of Alex G’s entire career. 


Birthday Dad - The Hermit

Refresh Records

Sometimes an artist’s bio is so good that I just end up copying the whole thing into one of these write-ups. Birthday Dad is one of those artists. Their Spotify bio reads, “Imagine if Bright Eyes locked themselves in a room for a year and only listened to Jack's Mannequin.” Yep, that’s Birthday Dad to a T. Seeded by singles “TV Dinner” and “Death Too,” The Hermit is an album concerned with the unfeeling mundanities of life. Whether it’s the ennui of your nightly garbage run or the nostalgic comfort of playing Pokémon on your Game Boy Color, Alex Periera’s songwriting is consistently cutting, clever, and honest. The end result is a phenomenal and endlessly relatable debut that isn’t afraid to speak from the heart.


Death Cab For Cutie - Asphalt Meadows

Atlantic

I don’t think I need to sell anyone on Death Cab For Cutie in 2022. The band has been a known entity in the alternative rock sphere for basically my whole life. That said, as with any legacy act, their music has waxed and waned quite a bit over the last decade, from the mid-career high of Narrow Stairs to the relative low of Codes and Keys and the mixed bag of Thank You For Today. To me, the band began to right the ship with 2019’s Blue EP, specifically the slow-burn closer “Blue Bloods,” which embodies all the characteristics of my favorite Death Cab songs. 

Asphalt Meadows is not a return to form in the sense that the band is retreading old ground, but it feels like they’ve regained their quality control. Album opener “I Don’t Know How I Survive” rolls out slowly until about a minute in when a blown-out noise rock assault upends every expectation you entered the record with. From there, the band continues to explore new sounds that still feel distinctly Death Cab. On the upper end, there’s a jangly new wave bounce on “I Miss Strangers” and killer guitar work on “Here to Forever.” On the other end, the band experiments with some striking spoken word delivery on “Foxglove Through The Clearcut,” which vaults from a subdued monologue to a sweeping emo build that feels reminiscent of the band’s oldest material. Overall, the record does a masterful job of alternating back and forth between peppier songs and moody tunes, resulting in a satisfying LP that feels exciting, exploratory, and rejuvenated, yet familiar and comforting. 


Future Teens - Self Help

Triple Crown Records

People talk a lot about “sad” music in relation to artists like Phoebe Bridgers, and that’s fine, but for my money, nobody cranks out truly sad songs like Future Teens. While it’s not as slow and plodding as anything on Punisher, the music that the self-described “bummer pop” group makes broaches topics that feel far more honest than sad for sadness' sake. Sometimes it feels like sadness can become an artist’s “brand,” and as soon as that happens, it all begins to ring false. Future Teens have always been like this.  

The lyricism found in the band’s music has always been confessional to the point of worry; like these are things that should be written in a journal and discussed with a therapist rather than put to music. The group uses simple terms to paint scenes of shitty mental health, substance abuse, and failing yourself. Throughout the album, the perspective bounces back and forth between the two guitarist-singers Amy Hoffman and Daniel Radin, which keeps things dynamic and interesting. These are songs where just getting out of the house and going to Target counts as a victory. For the litany of personal trials depicted throughout the album, nobody summarizes the band’s creative ethos better than themselves when they belt, “Feeling bad, at least it’s something.”


PHONY - AT SOME POINT YOU STOP

Self-released

I’ve written a lot about “death albums” recently. On paper, AT SOME POINT YOU STOP is yet another entry in this lineage. The third album from ex-Donnavan Wolfington/current Joyce Manor guitarist Neil Berthier primarily centers around the passing of his father, but it’s also about much more than that. Capturing grief with a wide-set lens, this record is as much about loss as it is about everything that comes in its wake. 

The album deftly juxtaposes internal emotions and external forces for a collection of conflicted tracks that range from the melancholy sway of songs like “THE MIDDLE” and “SUMMER’S COLD” to peppy punk on “GREAT WHITE.” There are glitchy amblings, trip-hop detours, and drunken diversions, but ultimately, the heart of the record can be found on “KALEIDOSCOPE,” whose melody makes a reprise in the closing song. 

As we follow Berthier’s loss and subsequent journey across the country, the LP congeals into a woozy late-summer emo masterwork that’s truly emotive in every sense of the word. A devastating record less about death itself and more about the void that it leaves. As signaled by the title, AT SOME POINT YOU STOP is a record about life continuing on even after weathering an event that levels your emotional landscape. 


A Place For Owls - A Place For Owls

Self-Released

Are you a little too earnest? Have you been known to profess your emotions through overwrought sentiments? Do you feel things cataclysmically? Well, A Place For Owls might be for you. The self-titled debut from the Denver-based indie rockers is packed wall to wall with heartfelt lyrics and sweeping sentiments. Drawing inspiration from indie rock greats like The National, Frightened Rabit, and Manchester Orchestra, as well as more modern extensions of the same artistic mindset like Julien Baker and Caracara, APFO is a broad and expansive piece starring a band that feels everything deeply and isn’t afraid to report their findings directly to their audience. If “Emo Kid to Sad Dad” is a pipeline, nobody has canonized that journey better than A Place For Owls.


The Wonder Years - The Hum Goes On Forever

Hopeless Records

I’ve spent the better part of my adulthood in the shadow of The Wonder Years. When I was graduating high school, they were graduating college. As I made my way through college, they navigated their place in the world and rationalized their life choices. I lost friends, and so did they. At every step of the way, lead singer Dan Campbell has written honestly about the struggles that have come with each phase of his life. Depression, loss, heartbreak, and addiction are all ongoing candid discussions within The Wonder Years’ catalog. At the onset of their career, the band navigated these realities with pop-punk power chords, but, over the last few albums, have shifted to a hefty alternative rock punch. Their music is the definition of cathartic, and you don’t have to look any further than a single concert snippet to see hordes of people screaming these lyrics back at the band to understand. I am far from the first person to have found peace in this music. 

When Dan Campbell sang, “Jesus Christ, I’m twenty-six / All the people I graduated with / All have kids / All have wives / All have people who care if they come home at night,” I was a fresh 20 years old. I recognized the sentiment but didn’t truly identify with it until I found myself on the other side of college committing myself to creative pursuits as piers settled down in relationships and started families. Similarly, on The Hum Goes On Forever, Campbell paints a picture of his life as a father and all the struggles and spiritual victories that come with it.

The band’s seventh album is the first substantial update we’ve had on the members’ lives since 2018’s Sister Cities, and (obviously) a lot has happened since then. While I can’t fully relate to the sentiment of fatherhood, the band does an excellent job of translating the ups and downs of parenthood to their army of lifelong fans. Hum contains the usual mix of upbeat singalong bangers, classic callbacks, and some exciting experimentation that imagines possible future directions the band could take. Like catching up with an old friend, The Hum Goes On Forever is a touching document that affirms my decade-plus-long fandom and makes me grateful to have grown up alongside this band. And who knows, in five or six years, I’ll probably relate to this album on an even deeper level. I cannot wait.