I like a band called Fugazi from Washington D.C.

Patience 

I was straight edge until a few months before my 21st birthday. I acted as if it were a political stance, similar to what Ian MacKaye laid out in the term-defining Minor Threat track. I told people that I didn’t need to get fucked up to have fun, but I knew in my heart that I was afraid of loss of control. What would I reveal if I got drunk? Would I tell the boys that when I was a kid and dreamed about being a parent that I saw myself as the pregnant one, even though I was assigned male at birth? Would I explain that I expected someday to become a woman? I knew before elementary school that boys shouldn’t think that way and worked hard to fit in. I wouldn’t let a moment of drunken stupidity betray my years of effort to maintain.

Most of all, I was worried about what a moment of not repressing would show me about myself. 

All my life was about repression, and that did not stop when I started taking up vices. I did not come to terms with my gender the first time I tasted gin. This is not a pro-alcohol piece; my abstinence is emblematic of how my mind acted in self-defense from socially enforced interpretations of what it means to be a man. I was afraid of not existing rigidly. I wanted so badly not to want. To conform. It infuriated me I that didn’t feel right around the boys, and that the girls didn’t want to be my friend. I sat in a room for years waiting to be called for my turn, mistakenly believing it would come soon and wasting my time. 

I wish I could say hearing “Waiting Room” for the first time changed my life instantaneously, but for a long time, it was the only Fugazi song I knew, and it was only just a fun song. I was big on Minor Threat, and anytime I got past “Waiting Room” on 13 Songs and into the Guy Picciotto-fronted “Bulldog Front,” I would bristle slightly because it wasn’t the hardcore I wanted. 

But “Waiting Room” isn’t just a fun song; it’s a manifesto. The first song on their first EP, 7 Songs, “Waiting Room” lays out Fugazi’s statement of purpose from the jump: they will not wait for someone to provide them a function, they will form one themselves. While every other band played more expensive shows, signed to massive labels, and took on brand deals, Fugazi defined their objective as anti-exploitation. Shows were $5 until they adjusted for inflation. Dischord Records keeps their records priced at $18. Almost all of their hometown shows were benefits for organizations like the Washington Free Clinic, the Washington Inner City Self-Help & After School Kids, or The Community for Creative Non-Violence. If not a benefit, they played protests against injustices like the Gulf War, budget cuts for essential services in D.C., or Reagan’s war on drugs.

“For marketing the use of the word generation / a false alliance of money persuading”
– “Target” from Red Medicine, Guy Picciotto

MacKaye has a metaphor for how he crafted songs for Minor Threat versus Fugazi that I hope you’ll allow me to butcher. Minor Threat songs presented an idea fully formed, like a shirt, whereas Fugazi songs were the fabric from which to make a shirt. “Waiting Room” is a scrap that poses the question of what you will do with your limited time. Are you a patient boy, or are you going to make a functional key to the waiting room? “Waiting Room” is a call to all of us to take our chances, one that took me years to heed. 

Through the Haze 

My way into Fugazi was In On the Kill Taker. I don’t remember why I decided to listen to it. I could have been prompted by a video essay I watched that referenced this as the most straight-up “punk” of the records. I could have been drawn in by the hazy yellow cover with the Washington Monument looming like a monster. I could have questioned the cryptic title: what is the kill taker, and who is in on it? Regardless of what it was that got me through the door, the moment the phone line guitar noise started, I was in. Then the drums and bass built up. Then it all dropped to just chicken scratch guitar driving ahead, and then there was Ian MacKaye, massive in my mind, screaming that “pride no longer has definition.”

I didn’t know what MacKaye was barking throughout “Facet Squared,” his voice far less clear than any Minor Threat song. I didn’t know what he was saying should never touch the ground. I didn’t know what he was saying was always dated. I didn’t know why we were drawing lines to stand behind. But I knew this was it. I knew this album would be what helped me get Fugazi, especially when the Picciotto-fronted “Public Witness Program” pulled me in closer, unlike “Bulldog Front.”

In On the Kill Taker became everything to me. The hazy cover photo belies the clearly focused vision of the band and its philosophy. Detractors of Fugazi have long accused the band of merely preaching, dictating to the audience, as if their songs were gospel to follow. But when you listen to the songs on Kill Taker, it is hard to maintain that belief. “Returning the Screw” questions a set of peers who poked fun at Mackaye on their album cover. “Rend It” is one of the most devastating love songs as Picciotto pleads to give himself wholly to his lover. “Great Cop” isn’t about policing; it’s about trust in interpersonal relationships. The title “23 Beats Off” is not an inversion of Magic Johnson’s number, as myth goes, but it is a wrenching piece about the dominant society in the U.S. refusing to care for the queer people ravaged by the AIDS pandemic. “Last Chance for a Slow Dance” is a vision of debilitating loneliness distilled into the simple imagery of the verse: “Flare / flare fakes a flower / a burnt-out shower / no one can see.” 

The ode to Hollywood iconoclast John Cassavetes, on the aptly titled “Cassavetes,” is one of my favorite ideas Fugazi ever explored. The work of Cassavetes, as described by Picciotto, jars you with a presentation of the hyperreal. Cassavetes’ A Woman Under the Influence is one of the only films I’ve treated as background noise on my first watch. I simply couldn’t bear to give full witness to the crumbling psyche Gena Rowlands depicts in the film, as it reminded me too much of my life growing up. 

That is the caliber of art Fugazi are aspiring to. Their aim isn’t to make propaganda but to present you with something that will force your mind to take aim at something new. 

MacKaye often speaks in his talks about the way skateboarding forced him to make new connections, and Fugazi’s music does that for me. On Red Medicine’s opener, the thrilling rush preceded by a blown-out practice tape that sounds more like heavy machinery than punk music, but when the song bursts out, Picciotto sings about the then-new merger between arms conglomerates Martin Marietta and Lockheed, their offices burning down, prison construction, jets crashing, and stained glass, all in the context of asking a crush that simple question in the title. I’d certainly never thought about intimacy between two people as comparable to corporate intrigue. 

But sure, there are moments of directness within Fugazi’s catalog, especially within their earlier material. Repeater, the band's first full album, features the call and response “You wanted everything / you needed everything” on the rager “Greed.” I can understand being put off by how “simple” the lyrics are, especially in comparison to the Picciotto-penned preceding track, “Sieve-Fisted Find,” which decries hollow solutions for desperate problems, but when MacKaye screams “everything is… / greed” to close out the track, you realize there doesn’t need to be more. Why disguise your anger? 

Repeater is one of those first albums a band puts out that feels disingenuous to refer to as a “debut.” The step from their first two EPs, compiled on 13 Songs and the 3 Songs EP, that is now tacked onto the end of Repeater on streaming, is nowhere near as large a gap as that between any of their further albums. Part of this comes from the fact that the tracks on Repeater existed for a long time. “Merchandise” appears on their first demo and the setlist for their first show, and “Reprovisional” is a rerecording of the Margin Walker cut, “Provisional,” but now with Picciotto playing second guitar. The persistence of those tracks indicates the other factor for why the leap from EPs to album doesn’t feel as momentous as other debuts. It’s the same reason even people like my punk-averse girlfriend like “Waiting Room” – Fugazi feel eternal, as if they were dropped into the universe fully formed the moment that bassline starts. 

I say ‘feel’ for a reason, because the myth is always sexier than the truth. If we just had the records, there would be a compelling case for the myth to be the dominant story. But instead, we have the Fugazi Live Series to complicate that story. 

You Don’t Need a Reservation 

The Fugazi Live Series is the outgrowth of the fact that over 800 of the 1000 shows the band played were recorded by their sound people. Initially, they pressed a run of CDs for 30 of their shows, but with internet speeds exponentially increasing, Fugazi were able to create an archive that includes recordings of the vast majority of the shows they played for fans to purchase for the same price as a ticket (you have the option to pay a different amount but if you select it, the price defaults to $6. And everyone said this band doesn’t have a sense of humor).

For someone like me, a Deadhead but for Fugazi, the Live Series is a blessing. Alongside the archive of tracks are thousands of photos, and I’ve scrolled through every one of them. As I sat one night and listened to their set from the 9:30 Club on January 31st, 1996 (a performance with excellent sound quality, some of the tightest playing I’ve heard from them, and a smattering of Red Medicine cuts, highly recommend this one), I flicked through photos from amateurs and pros, of the band playing and hanging out, serious and ever so goofy.

I have a list of all the shows I want to buy from the archive with the various reasons attached: because there are unique lost tracks represented, because it has my favorite tracks present, or because the notes explain that something uniquely Fugazi happened that night, like the famous “ice cream eating motherfuckers” situation at Fort Reno in 1993. 

What show could be more uniquely Fugazi than their first? You don’t even have to pay the 5 dollars to hear them play at the Wilson Center in Washington D.C., on September 3rd, 1987 anymore because the Fugazi Live Series has mutated its approach to sharing material once again, with shows being added to streaming services. 

Their first set is, obviously, the band's first set. In comparison to the bassline of “Waiting Room” ripping out of the record, confidently introducing the band to the world, this show is the band taking shaky, hesitant steps. Starting with “Joe #1,” you hear Fugazi at that weird intersection of perfectionism and recklessness every band faces before they have learned who they are. 

I read MacKaye as slightly uncomfortable presenting new songs. He dedicated the show to the eternal backbone of the band, drummer Brandon Canty, who hadn’t even become their official drummer yet. Picciotto isn’t in the band yet, but he is in the audience, and Mackaye makes a joke about having him start a fight so they can end early in case the set is going poorly. It doesn’t go poorly, but there are moments that feel half-formed due to the nature of the set. That’s because MacKaye was tired of not playing; Fugazi had to make this step. 

“You can’t be what you were / so you better start living the life / that you’re talking about”
– “Bad Mouth” from 7 Songs, Ian MacKaye

That night, Fugazi played eight songs, three of which never made it past the demo stage, two were on 1990’s 3 Songs, one from Repeater, “Waiting Room,” and one that did not see a proper release until 2001. The one Repeater track here, “Merchandise,” has MacKaye ad-libbing a line during the bridge that they will add sounds of cash registers ringing over this part when they record it (they didn’t). On “Furniture,” he calls out part changes to bassist Joe Lally and Canty. Many of the parts MacKaye called for that night do not appear on the version released in 2001, but the lyrics are the same. Listening to this show at the Wilson Center feels more like eavesdropping on the band in their practice space. 

In that spirit, listening to this show has more in common with Instrument, the playful album of demos that soundtracks Jem Cohen’s brilliant documentary on the band. That record is full of scraps the band is goofing around on, like their algorithm-fueled hit “I’m So Tired.” It is on Instrument and this show at the Wilson Center that you’ll hear the band at their most direct and least refined, like on “Turn Off Your Guns,” where if you miss MacKaye introducing it as a song about not killing yourself, you’ll get it when he sings “Nothing in life / could be that bad.” 

“Turn Off Your Guns” is not a bad song by any means, but it is apparent from the start that it is one of the first the band ever wrote. They develop the sentiment into a more nuanced plea on 7 Songs’ beautiful “Bad Mouth,” while the melody and bassline are scavenged for Steady Diet of Nothing’s closer “KYEO.” 

Have You Ever Been Free? 

It is, of course, on “Waiting Room” that you hear the most potential in this show. Even with the band playing the song at nearly half the speed of the recording, even lacking Picciotto’s hype man vocals, even without the room shouting the lyrics back to the band like they would at every subsequent show. Even with all of those missing pieces, “Waiting Room” is still “Waiting Room.” 

I recognize I’m slipping into hagiography about a band that fiercely would deny being mythologized, but what can you expect from a girl over 2,000 words into an essay about how much she loves Fugazi? Plus, it is a song that changed my life. 

MacKaye introduces “Waiting Room” by saying, “This is a song about what the heck we could do if we did,” and telling the audience they can bend their knees to this one and move. Could you imagine “Waiting Room” requiring an introduction when, for so many, it is the introduction to the whole world of Fugazi, the opening salvo of their campaign against the music industry, against complacency, against corporate exploitation, against sexism and racism?

But that time it was just the first time “Waiting Room” was shown to the unsuspecting public—and of any introduction to “Waiting Room,” that one is the best. 

“But I don’t sit idly by / I’m planning a big surprise”
– “Waiting Room” from 7 Songs, Ian MacKaye

Compare that introduction to how at the start of their final show at The Forum in London, on November 4th, 2001, the other show included in the initial streaming upload (each month the band promises to add more shows), Fugazi seamlessly transitioned from “Margin Walker” into “Waiting Room,” at the moment the drums drop out from the prior song MacKaye starts building a bridge through furious strumming. His guitar masks Lally’s signature bassline, the suggestion of the track everyone wants to hear held at bay until that drum fill kicks us off. 

To answer my earlier question, the last Fugazi show is the most uniquely Fugazi. On the eve of their hiatus, Fugazi string together one of their most impeccably performed, masterfully sequenced, ideologically fierce sets ever. But first, it starts the way any good Fugazi set should: with MacKaye stepping to the mic and saying “good evening ladies and gentlemen, we are Fugazi from Washington, D.C.,” before bantering with the audience about Italian food. 

When they do eventually start the show, they play with no breaks. The prior example of how they strung together “Margin Walker” and “Waiting Room” is just one excellent moment in a night full of them. Transitions span the length of their career; jumping from Repeater deep cut “Greed” to barely year-old Argument track “Full Disclosure,” late-career End Hits instrumental art rock “Arpeggiator” into mid-career In On the Kill Taker screed against genocidal imperialism “Smallpox Champion,” and Red Medicine dub freakout “Version” to 7 Songs capstone “Glue Man.” They do this all without a plan, the band having never written out a setlist. 

To me, the lack of setlists is the best display of Fugazi’s artistry. The shows become a feedback loop of the band pumping a signal out to the audience and taking the crowd’s response to decide where to move next, how long to stretch a track’s noise section, and how a song gets played. 

The other beautiful thing about Fugazi’s setlist-less approach is that they played everything. I’ll queue up a show and see a track like “Stacks,” that if you put a gun to my head and asked me on a good day what it sounded like you’d have to shoot me, but when it comes up in listening to a set in my head I’m screaming along that “America is just a word but I use it.”

My favorite thing about having access to these shows is that they present songs in brand-new ways. Take the performance of mid-tempo stomper “Blueprint” in the last show, played at almost double time, but in the third verse they insert a dramatic rest before Picciotto shouts “say yes” for a stretch four times longer than on the record, and elongates the “yes” in question till the tension snaps and the band comes charging back in. On Repeater, “Blueprint” seethes, full of barely repressed anger at the conventions we live under and those unwilling to challenge them. In its last minute, that anger boils over into a direct callout. But in the live setting, “Blueprint” starts at the height it reaches on the record. In their last set, “Blueprint” comes directly after Picciotto and MacKaye have had to chastise another set of crowd surfers for their “100-year-old moronic bullshit.” “Blueprint” is a direct provocation to those audience members: Are you going to continue engaging with the world in a way that privileges your experience over other people's safety? It’s all just a matter of saying no or yes. 

Sewing Your Own Shirt 

On their final album, The Argument, Fugazi made clear what they will always say ‘no’ to. The radio chatter and cello that frame the album set the mood for a somber, haunting affair. The Argument is Fugazi at their slowest and least musically aggressive. These qualities do not make the album lack: “Cashout” is creaky like the homes waiting to be demolished that are haunted by the people evicted for the good of “development,” “The Kill” languid like the obedient soldier waiting for orders who has done this all before, “Strangelight” whirls in the inhumanity of industry. The atmosphere of their music has never reflected the inhumane spectre of exploitation more.

But it is the final moment of The Argument, the title track, that is most important to me here, specifically the second verse: 

“It’s all about strikes now / so here’s what’s striking me / that some punk could argue / some moral ABC’s / when people are catching / what bombers release / I’m on a mission / to never agree.” 

As I write this, we are days out from Trump bombing Iran in an effort to aid and abet the genocide Israel is committing against the Palestinians. The consent for the strikes is being manufactured through over-inflated fears of nuclear warheads that have been claimed for decades. All the while, the Democrats hem and haw at the fact that his act was unconstitutional. They couldn’t possibly be mad at the act, though, “I’m sure you have reasons, a rational defence.” 

Like MacKaye sang: I will never agree. For as long as I have been politically conscious, I have been anti-war, and I cannot abide anyone willing to blind themselves to the crimes of war so they can continue living comfortably. 

“Argument” is the only logical bookend to the ideological arc sparked by “Waiting Room.” Fugazi started as an attempt to divine a true path through life. “Argument” sees them living up to that standard, fiercely refusing to accept the dominant mode just for the sake of it. 

To the end, Fugazi held their ground. At the end of their last show in 2002, the band stretches out “Glue Man,” leaving the audience with a song asking them to be not just a face in the crowd, but members of a community. To not silo themselves into their homes and minds, but to exist in context. This was a band who were always in the room with their audience. Regardless of how tall the stage was, Fugazi were on the level with the people who paid to see them perform. 

I was once talking with my coworker about our favorite old punk bands, and I mentioned that the only bands I wished I could have seen live in their existence were The Clash and Fugazi. He turned and said, ‘There is still a chance with Fugazi.’

But the truth is, I don’t want Fugazi to reunite. 

In a recent piece for the Quietus about the new film on the band We Are Fugazi From Washington D.C., JR Moores writes, “everything has grown worse in Fugazi’s absence. It could be coincidence. And it isn’t entirely their fault. The pattern was set in motion by Reaganite neoliberalism… A few more post-hardcore records and a string of all-ages concerts wouldn’t have prevented the inevitable calamities. Would they?” Moore continues, “Still, I can’t help remembering Fugazi as a guiding hand which, in its own modest way, temporarily curbed the extremities.”

Since their indefinite hiatus, Fugazi have come to be talked about in these mythic proportions because it is so rare for anyone to get by on their own terms in this world. Fugazi have become moral guides for people, me included, because they showed us it is possible to treat each other fairly and succeed. 

“How many times have you felt like a bookcase / sitting in a living room gathering dust / full of thoughts already written?”
– “Furniture” from Furniture, Ian MacKaye

Look anywhere and you’ll see Fugazi’s influence. From Jeff Rosenstock evolving their DIY anti-capitalist ethics for the digital age with Quote Unquote Records, to recent hometown benefit shows from bands like Turnstile raising money for Healthcare for the Homeless and Ekko Astral raising money for organizations advocating for transgender rights. If you are reading this right now, I guarantee you that the work of Ian MacKaye, Guy Picciotto, Joe Lally, and Brendon Canty has influenced the music you listen to. In New York, I’m grateful to have a scene of punks who refuse to do things the prescribed way, like Pop Music Fever Dream, ok, cuddle, Crush Fund, One Hour Photo, Ultra Deluxe, Eevie Echoes, Avatareden, Adult Human Females, P.H.0, and so many more. 

Hell, Fugazi was a major part of why I started writing a blog about music. I didn’t want to sit around doing nothing, waiting for the opportunity to contribute. Fugazi helped me see that I had to make something for myself, and it has been the most fulfilling thing I’ve done in my life. 

So, no, I don’t want Fugazi to come back because we do not need Fugazi back. What we need is to remember that these are just stupid fucking words—what you do with them, and how you get out of the waiting room, are all up to you. 

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Lillian Weber is a fake librarian in NYC. She writes about gender, music, and other inane thoughts on her substack,all my selves aligned. You can follow her on insta@Lilllianmweber.

Half A Decade of Speaking It Into Existence: An Interview with pulses.

On It Wasn’t Supposed To Be Like This, the Virginia-based post-hardcore act pulses. tackle the idea that we must make the most of difficult circumstances, that those hardships make us who we are and ultimately can lead to great things. I’ve never shied away from speaking about how pivotal pulses. were to my introduction to DIY, leading me to a music community that I’ve been able to foster through them. Over the past five years, I’ve been lucky enough to grow close to this band and celebrate their impact along with other fans, but around this time back in 2020, as an unforeseen pandemic was altering our lives forever, all I knew was a single called “Louisiana Purchase” and the album it was released on. 

To celebrate five years of Speak It Into Existence, I sat down with pulses. frontmen Matt Burridge and Caleb Taylor, drummer Kevin Taylor, and bassist David Crane to discuss the album's creation and what makes it so special to not only the band but also those who found them through it. 

This interview has been edited for length and clarity. 

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SWIM: How are you guys doing?

MATT: Solid. We practiced. David tracked some stuff. It's been cool.

CALEB: It's been a day.

KEVIN: [Laughs]

SWIM: Yeah, I worked earlier today, so I’m pretty fried.

Thank you for being here! I had this kind of epiphany earlier this week where I wanted to start doing these interviews, and I was like, “Well, pulses. is kind of where I started getting into my DIY interests and Speak It Into Existence (specifically), so it makes sense to go back and revisit the album.” 

Before we dove into the album discussion, I was curious what everyone had been listening to first.

KEVIN: It's funny. I feel like I'm not listening to anything. It's the weirdest time where I'll listen to stuff in really quick bursts, and then I won't listen to stuff for like three days. It's odd. 

SWIM: Yeah, I always have a weird complex like, “I’m not listening to enough music right now and definitely not enough new music,” so it’s nice to hear that other people are the exact same way. Nobody’s listening to new music constantly; it’s just whenever it happens.  

KEVIN: Yeah, Sleigh Bells had a record that came out that was good. Scowl’s record is pretty good. The new PinkPantheress song is really good. 

SWIM: [Heaven knows] was so fucking good, I’m excited for more from her!

KEVIN: Listening to the [Callous] Daoboys singles, they're all pretty good. The new Skrillex album was pretty good. 

MATT: That new Deafheaven is really good. I feel like every year and a half, when I'm having writer's block, I watch all the “making of  John Bellion" videos that he does, ‘cause he used to film the entire process of making a song and then edit it down to like ten minutes or whatever, and those get me feeling creative. His music is either terrible to me or really good. 

I discovered Model/Actriz today. I'm really late on that, but they're really good. It's like dance-punk, post-punk. The new singles sound like live band versions of deadmau5 songs. It's crazy. 

CALEB: Yeah, I've been lacking on newer stuff. I get overwhelmed pretty quickly with things, and lately, my time listening to music has been while I'm working or doing something else. So sometimes I'd rather give my focus on new music, like give actual focus on it and check it out. Especially if I'm working, I don't want to listen to new music to analyze it. I want to listen to something that makes me feel good, because I feel terrible while working. [Laughs]

Recently, I've been revisiting and re-listening to things I may have missed or previously listened to to gain new context. I listen to the first Foals record a lot. 

One I revisited that I haven't listened to in a while was Bad Rabbit's second album.

SWIM: They’re very good! They’re super underrated. 

CALEB: Absolutely. I love their first album a lot, and that stays in rotation. American Love and their EP, too. 

MATT: Relient K is one that I just saw pop up! One of my hottest pop-punk/emo takes is that Mmhmm is one of the best pop-punk records of all-time. 

SWIM: “Be My Escape” has one of the best pre-choruses in punk rock music. 

CALEB: Yeah. The other day, while I was working, I listened to four of their albums. I went in reverse order. I started with Forget and Not Slow Down. That one's a sleeper. I actually like that album a lot. 

MATT: I was going to say, you’re a Relient K oldhead. [Laughs]

David: I'm going back through The Acacia Strain discography. Slow Decay is honestly one of their best albums, and it's a pretty recent release. Some of their back catalog is really good, too. 

MATT: It's like beatdown, fucking super heavy.

David: Humanity's Last Breath is also really good. They just put out a new song. 

MATT: You’re the metal representation in our listening. [Laughs]

SWIM: Yeah, gotta keep things balanced. 

SWIM: So, somehow, Speak It Into Existence is turning five this week. 

David: That five years was fast as hell.

[All laugh]

SWIM: Time is a really fucked up vaccuum, especially since Covid. I think everybody who listened to that album when it came out is having a lot of feelings about it, but how are you guys feeling about that album turning five?

MATT: It’s weird. I feel like I don't listen to it, but I need to. I'll probably listen to it on the day or around the day, because I usually do that with each of our releases as they gain a year. I like parts of it more than others. I remember when we put out Speak Less, I was like, “I don't have a favorite of the two,” and then now I'm like, “Oh, I like Speak Less way more.” But I still like them both. Then there are a lot of people like you, that we've met on Twitter, who found us through [Speak It Into Existence] and have become really close with us off of that. So I hold it in a special place ‘cause it did things for us, but I don't listen to it much anymore, and we don't play a lot of it ‘cause it was super technical for all of us.

SWIM: Yeah, a lot of it is very shreddy. [Laughs]

MATT: Yeah, and trying to multitask doing that is hard, so we play the hits and that’s it. 

CALEB: It's funny, I don't remember a lot of it. I feel like I have pushed out so much of that time, because we were working on it, primarily, my senior year of college, and that was not a good year. [Laughs]

I still remember when we put it out; I had a lab assignment due the same day, and I was working on it up until like midnight. I was just like, “All right, fuck this. I'm just gonna take whatever grade, I don't feel like working on this anymore. Let me celebrate the album release.” I still passed that class, and that was the last thing I needed to graduate, so yay for me, but definitely a weird time. Obviously, I'm always gonna be incredibly proud of it. I like a lot of the songs for it. Like Matt was saying, I like where it got us. I feel like that was the thing that established us in a lot of ways. I feel like bouquet. established us in our local scene, and then it got out somewhat, but Speak It Into Existence is where things started to expand past the local scene, and we were really starting to do some things. Still proud of it.

MATT: Even with the pandemic and everything, I think that might have helped it, honestly, ‘cause it was like within a month and a half of it starting. 

CALEB: Yeah, nobody had shit to do.

MATT: Yeah, and nobody was dropping other than like a couple bands, but a lot of people were postponing their stuff, and we were like, “We've waited too long,” because that record took so long to make.

CALEB: “It's not like we have any marketing backing behind it or anything, so we can release whenever we want to.” [Laughs]

SWIM: Yeah, I remember around that time, before listening to “Louisiana Purchase” and this album, so much of my listening was just commercial music/non-DIY. It took my oldest brother and my friend Jack being like, “Yo, check out this single,” and that really was the start of it. I remember thinking, “Oh, these guys did this all by themselves. How do you do that? What is this process?” I recall that being the thing that stuck out for me. Hearing a song like “Louisiana Purchase” and just how professional it sounded to me – how polished – and my mind breaking a little. The fact that people can do that without being on a major label.

MATT: That's cool, because I feel like you and Will [Full Blown Meltdown] are like the two people that I know that are the most on top of DIY music now. So it's cool that we were kind of the start of it. 

SWIM: Was he one of those early adopters as well?

MATT: I knew [Will] before he was doing FBM, because Will was Sam's brother's friend from high school. So, I think we posted that we were in Frederick or something, and then he messaged them and said, “Yo, I'm literally in this hair salon with my wife and she's getting her hair cut, come by.” I met him and we literally just sat there and talked. We were writing Speak Less at the time, and I was just like, “Oh yeah, we're putting out some stuff soon that sounds like Orchid and Satia. Then we kind of bonded over that. Now, I always joke with Sam every time I interact with him, I'm just like, “It's so funny to me that I talk to him more than you do now, and you’ve known him since you were a child.” [Laughs]

SWIM: Will is definitely the DIY hype man. He’s the kind of guy you want talking about your stuff. [Laughs]

MATT: Yeah, he's all over it. But that's cool, ‘cause we recorded it right here. Literally, I was sitting in this exact spot with my laptop. 

CALEB: This was a guest bedroom at the time, too. So, there was a bed here.

MATT: We would finish at like three or four in the morning, [Caleb] would go upstairs ‘cause he still lived here at the time, and I would sleep on that bed that was in here. [Laughs]

SWIM: What’s it like having that connective tissue still to all of your recordings? Being in such a different place as a band, five years removed from that album, and doing it in the same space?

MATT: I don't think about it much, because it looks different in here now, you know what I mean? It's Kevin and Caleb’s house. I don't know if they think about it more that way, but it's a different room to me now. 

KEVIN: It's very odd. I don't really think about it much. Not that I live here right now, but we've been here for like, what, 20 years, Caleb?

CALEB: I think we moved here in 2002, yeah. 

SWIM: It’s been your folks’ home for that long.

KEVIN: Exactly. I guess it's just another piece of me growing up here. It doesn't register to me as a difference for the band. It's just like, “I used to have a twin-size bed and now I have a queen-size bed,” you know? You don't think about those changes, so I feel like it kind of stays the same.

SWIM: This is The pulses. Studio and it keeps evolving. 

KEVIN: We shot “Untitled” in here, from the bouquet. era. We shot parts of “Bold New Taste” in here. We'd done those live stream recordings, but for me, they're all like somehow in a different room each time, but also in the same space. Different pieces of the same puzzle. It's weird. 

CALEB: I think it grows with us. Funny enough, I was tracking drums for new Followship music, so that was the first time I was recording them here, and it was so funny, ‘cause they were somewhat geeking out. Like, “Oh shit, this is where y'all recorded the ‘I Drink Juice’ video! This is right here! Oh, this is where y'all did this!” And I'm like, “Yeah.” [Laughs] 

Again, I don't really think about it in that way, ‘cause this is just the basement I grew up in. I was telling [Followship] even, “This is my whole life, my whole childhood, everything was here in this basement,” you know? They walked in and were just like, “Oh, you got the Rock Band drums graveyard.” We had all the New Year's parties with kids on the block here. It's just grown with us, and now it's the studio.

MATT: It's every room down here, too. You even go into the bathroom and you're like, “Oh my God! This is the bathroom from ‘The Message Is Clear’ video!” [Laughs]

SWIM: It’s becoming a pulses. museum. 

CALEB: Honestly.

SWIM: I always mix up the timeline, because when I think of pulses., it’s obviously the current lineup with Matt in it, but what was the timeline with Matt joining and Speak It Into Existence coming out?  

MATT: I joined in 2018, so [pulses.] put out “The Appetizer” and “Jecht Shot” like three months after I joined. They had me go ahead and record a second guitar on “Jecht Shot.” Not for “The Appetizer,” but I'm on “Jecht Shot.” That's my first thing, but it's just guitar. Then we started working on the album and didn't put anything out, just played a lot of shows. I didn't do vocals on that record. The lineup had changed before the album came out. So I think that's why a lot of people get confused with it, ‘cause we put it out and it was like, “Okay, but this isn't me, but I'm gonna be doing it from now on.” Since then, it's just been the four of us doing everything.

CALEB: I remember we had a number of songs already written for the album when Matt joined. 

MATT: It was “Sometimes Y,” “Exist Warp Breaks,” “Mount Midoriyama.” “Olivia Wild” you had started. “Don't Say Anything, Just RT,” I think you had started.

“Graduation Day” [too]. 

KEVIN: That one's old. 

MATT: Yeah. I just added parts to all of those. Then we wrote “Plastiglomerate” and “Louisiana Purchase” first. Which is wild, ‘cause they ended up being the singles. The title track was gonna be for Speak Less, and then we were like, “This will be a good opener. We'll make it longer and fill it out.” Then we wrote “Good Vibes Only (Zuckerberg Watchin’)” because we needed a pop song. It was almost the whole thing they had the instrumentals at least started for, then we wrote a couple core ones together.

SWIM: You touched on it a little bit, but how do you think lockdown and Covid affected the album, how it was released, and people’s relationship to it?

MATT: I think people attached to it because they were just not doing anything, so that helped. I think that helped it spread a little bit, because, realistically, if it wasn't Covid, we would've played a bunch of local shows and it would've probably not had as strong of an initial connection with people.

KEVIN: Didn't [Dance Gavin Dance] have an album that came out later? 

CALEB: Yeah. That was the whole thing. [Laughs]

MATT: Later that month, I think. 

KEVIN: Yeah, ‘cause we were trying to beat it. We had to drop it before…

CALEB: Afterburner.

SWIM: Oh, god. 

KEVIN: Yeah, because if we dropped it after, no one was gonna care. So we rushed it to get the album out before them, and I honestly think that helped a lot.

SWIM: Do you regret not having a song in Spanish on Speak It Into Existence?

[All Laugh]

KEVIN: Honestly, I'm glad we don't for a number of reasons.

CALEB: If we did, we would actually have a native speaker on it.

MATT: If we did it now, we would get a feature that speaks Spanish. Andres or somebody who speaks Spanish. [Laughs]

SWIM: Yeah, you have no shortage of connections who could do that. 

MATT: Not trying to Google translate my way through a verse.

KEVIN: As we've always said, there's just such a tumultuous relationship with that fucking band and I do think the fact that we dropped it before [Afterburner] was helpful. I feel like people listened to [Speak It Into Existence] and had their moments with it. Then [Afterburner] came out and the fact that it was weaker for a lot of people, they were like, “Oh, well if you don't like that shit, listen to Speak It Into Existence!” Then people suggested us more, and it got around that way. 

MATT: People still liked that genre, so there was a fan base for it. Whether we were part of it or not. 

KEVIN: Yeah, there wasn't any animosity. 

MATT: Yeah, it wasn't as big of a deal then, but I still remember when we started getting reviews, one of the big ones was like, “Oh, ‘Exist Warp Brakes’ is like ‘Don't Tell Dave’ ‘cause it's like a funk thing!” And we were just like… stupid! [Laughs]

KEVIN: Yeah. “Dumb, but we’re just gonna let it rock,” because at the time, it wasn’t as annoying yet.

CALEB: I still remember back then, we were already trying to move off from it and were feeling that internally as the record was coming out. Especially because of how much time passed between us finishing it and when it came out, it was like, “I'm a different person now.” I think that album had the most time between us recording it and it actually coming out. That was the first album that we tracked ourselves. We started tracking it at [Matt’s] place. 

MATT: Yeah, at my old apartment in West Virginia. 

CALEB: I think we started with tracking guitars for “Louisiana Purchase” and “Exist Warp Brakes.” It was during that snowstorm, so it was like January 2019. And then we didn't finish tracking it all the way through until August?

MATT: We were almost done, but we were like, “We have to put out something,” so we dropped “Louisiana Purchase” in December. We were done, but I know we were waiting on two features that took a while. [Laughs] 

We finished around October, then, because it was before the tour.

CALEB: Well, the tour was in September.

MATT: Oh, I guess it was August. It’s been over five years now, I can't fucking remember. 

KEVIN: I wasn’t going to comment on any time thing, because I don't fucking remember. [Laughs]

MATT: I thought I remembered touching up things, but maybe I'm just thinking ‘cause we were writing Speak Less at the same time, and we were still doing that.

CALEB: I was still editing things, and I'm pretty sure we did one of those things where we got the master back for the record and then we put it out like two weeks later, which is something you shouldn't do, but we did it like twice. Three times, probably. I'm pretty sure we did that for bouquet. Especially ‘cause at that point it didn't matter. We were just a local band. I think we did it for Speak Less, too. Anyway, to go back to the original point. [Laughs] 

We were in a different headspace. We were already writing Speak Less, so by the time Speak It Into Existence came out, people were like, “Oh, y'all wanted to do this sound. It's like Swancore,” and I already started to move away from wanting to do that, by like 2018, 2019. But I'm not gonna get rid of songs, we still like those songs. I’m still happy with it. I don’t know, it's interesting. [Laughs]

SWIM: I think some people might be under the impression that when bands write albums it’s like, ‘Okay, we’re going to sit in a room, we’re going to bang out these eight to twelve songs, and it’s all written at the same time,’ and I think especially in DIY spaces and music creation in general, you guys are pulling from different places, seeing what works. So, you’re very different people for different songs, rather than like an entire album.    

MATT: Yeah. I mean a band with a label and a budget, it's like, ‘Okay, we're gonna take two months and go write and record this record.’ We can't do that. We get together once a week and write songs. Luckily for future things, it's been going very fast recently, which has been really cool. But yeah, Speak It Into Existence and Speak Less took such a long time ‘cause we were just chipping away at it. Then recording takes even longer, ‘cause you can't just take two weeks or a month and sit in the studio. 

CALEB: Even as an example: today, we were tracking a song for bass, and it's like, “Oh, we got X amount of songs we want to do,” and then this one song took like three or four hours to track. It's like, “Well, that's it for the day, we'll figure out another day we can get together next where people can take time off.” You're gonna spend eight hours a day, like a normal job, in the studio each day. It'll be like, “We'll come back to this tomorrow!” And it's like, “No, I'll see you in a week and a half. Maybe.” This is the first time we've seen David in like two months, ‘cause you know, life happens. 

SWIM: You gotta prioritize music over those fires, David. Priorities.

[All laugh]

MATT: No, but it's been cool now. I think we're in a groove right now, which is nice. It takes a long time and a lot of work to make an album, and I think you’re bound to be – by the time it's coming out – a little bit over it. Especially in a DIY band, because it takes so long.

CALEB: But then also when it comes out, and then people actually respond to it well, then it gets re-contextualized. It’s a weird thing. I saw this very recently again, where somebody was mad at a band for being like, “I don't like this anymore!” You can still like it, but they're a person too, even if they created it! 

I know going into the release, I was like, “I like this, but I'm changing as a person. This represents who I was a year ago, and I feel disconnected from it.” But then, when it came out, people started liking it, we started playing the songs live, and I was like, ‘Okay, now I have re-contextualized it all. I love this.’ Especially particular songs. I will always love playing “Louisiana Purchase.” I'll always love playing “Exist Warp Brakes.” So, all that hurt I had prior is gone now for that aspect of things.

SWIM: That makes a lot of sense. Any lasting thoughts on the album turning five? Anything you want to throw out there?

CALEB: I'm glad that we still exist five years later, you know? That's always something to be grateful for. Speak It Into Existence was named after that, in a way. We said we were gonna do a second record, so we're gonna hold ourselves to it and we're gonna make it happen.

It Wasn't Supposed To Be Like This is also, in a way, a statement of, “We're still existing, we're still creating music, and we're grateful to do that.” You can take the title in a positive or a negative way. We weren't supposed to start this band in 2015 and still be going 10 years later off of nothing, really. I'm grateful to still be at it and still be feeling even more inspired than ever before.

MATT: You got any plugs, Kevin? You're usually the plug man.

KEVIN: I don't really have a whole lot of plugs. In terms of Speak It Into Existence, it's still out on vinyl, still got CDs. I want to do another tape run, but money, you know. So, outside of that, we're working on new music. We're working on old new music and then we're working on new new music. So old, new music should come out sometime this year. New, new music should come out next year, most likely. 

CALEB: And then new versions of old music, in a live way, will come even sooner–

KEVIN: In the form of a live album that we did celebrating 10 years of a band with friends and shit. In the form of possibly a DVD, if I can figure that out.

MATT: Oh, I didn't even know you were gonna do that!

KEVIN: So, there's your scoop. [Laughs]

SWIM: Nice! Well, I got the exclusive one, thank you!

KEVIN: Always. Every interview has to have an exclusive drop.

That's about it. Got a couple of shows. They're fests, they're far apart.

MATT: We're spending all this time on new music. So, festivals, that’s what we got.

SWIM: Well, as a fan and someone who found you guys through Speak It Into Existence, thank you for that album. Love that you guys are still here and doing it. I appreciate y’all coming on for this first interview!

KEVIN: Absolutely, thanks for having us.

CALEB: It's fun to talk shit over a mic.

[All laugh]

SWIM: Love you guys, thank you!

---

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.

Adventures – Supersonic Home | Album Retrospective

Run For Cover Records

Supersonic Home, the first and only album by Pittsburgh rock band Adventures, turns ten years old today. I’ll admit part of me feels silly even sitting down to write about this record because its appeal feels entirely self-evident. It’s hard to imagine someone putting this album on in 2025 and not immediately getting swept up in its brightly colored pop-punk grandeur. Because of that, if I can get even one or two people to hit play on this record, then I’ll have done my job. 

In many ways, this is perfect rock music and an unbeatable arc for a band to have: a couple EPs, a couple splits, one full-length, and then calling it a day to let that body of work speak for itself. Granted, the members of Adventures have since found more success in other projects, which makes their discography a bit of a time capsule, but I suppose that self-contained nature is at least some of the appeal.

Just to set the table, Adventures were a five-piece rock band from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The project began with three members of metalcore act Code Orange who obviously wanted to make slightly softer, more straight-ahead rock music. Due to the sizable overlap in members, Adventures is sometimes viewed as an offshoot of Code Orange, but other than the occasional shout here and there, it’s near impossible to hear any connection between the two. 

Despite the disparity in genres, it makes total sense to look back and see how Adventures spawned. Initially known as “Code Orange Kids” before shortening to just “Code Orange” in 2014, the members of Code Orange had been (perhaps unwittingly) thrust into the northeast scene. Even though they were making spine-crushing metallic hardcore, they also put out music on Topshelf Records and (somewhat famously) shared a four-way split with Tigers Jaw, The World Is a Beautiful Place, and Self Defense Family. This adjacency to “scene” music placed them within reach of labels like No Sleep and Run For Cover, two titans of the 2010 indie-emo sphere who wound up helping Adventures release their music. 

The band’s early EPs, 2012’s Adventures and 2013’s Clear My Head With You, were centered around moody melodies and Reba Meyers’ despondent wail. The lyrics were surprisingly emo, expressing feelings of inadequacy and adolescent frustration. Occasionally, things would peak in a scream or a slow-bobbing breakdown, but for the most part, these were very emotional and overwrought songs, slathered in a solid layer or two of grungy distortion. 

By 2014, Adventures were moving a bit more strategically, shifting labels, partnering with peers, and staking out a sound right at the peak of the “soft grunge” explosion. At the beginning of the year, a split with Run Forever marked the group’s final output on No Sleep. By October, a split between Adventures and Pity Sex instantly solidified the group as part of Run For Cover’s Shoegaze Canon, something I could really only place in retrospect. 

In February of 2015, Adventures released Supersonic Home onto the world, offering a ten-track exploration of the interpersonal that still sounds as fresh today as it did ten years ago. When I was still a dumbass 21-year-old emo (as opposed to a dumbass 31-year-old emo), the band that Adventures reminded me of most was Tigers Jaw, specifically any key-board-heavy song where Brianna would take lead vocals. Today, I hear a lot more second-wave emo in these sounds, with clear nods to early Jimmy Eat World and (perhaps imagined) evocations of bands like Saves The Day, The Get Up Kids, and The Promise Ring. 

In contrast to their early EPs and splits, Supersonic Home moved into a much less angsty territory. The music was still as open-hearted and confessional as those early songs, but the choruses were sharper, and the instrumentals were more driving and muscular. While Reba Meyers was still the primary singer, vocals were now much more of a shared effort, with Kimi Hanauer clearly coming into her own in the few years since their first output. Together, their vocals entwined over upbeat instrumentals that sit somewhere between 90s alt-rock and modern pop-punk. This was baggy shirt, flannel-clad rock shit for sure, but it also feels like music made to be held on a compact disc. 

If you want an ideal setting for a listen of Supersonic Home, I recommend waiting for the first sunny day of the year and going for a walk with this playing on your headphones. Maybe it’s just due to its February release, but I’ll always associate this album with the beginning of the year, often reserving it for one of those first days you can wear shorts (or at least shed your jacket). There’s nothing quite like stretching your legs, feeling the sun on your skin, and letting the sounds of Supersonic Home flow through you. I genuinely feel fortunate that this has been something I’ve been able to return to year after year for the last decade without tiring. 

From second one, it’s impossible not to get wrapped up in that opening drum roll on “Dream Blue Haze.” After four minutes of building and building, how can you not want to belt along “Your Sweetness” by the time that final refrain rolls around? 

Looking at the lyrics for a song like “Heavenly,” it’s amazing how far the band can go off so little. The verse is literally ten words, yet the outpouring at the end of the song when Meyers belts “He’s a swarm / he’s a swarm / I am unforgiven” is as hard-hitting as any breakdown Code Orange ever concocted. 

I could name practically any track off this album and burrow into its brilliance: the awestruck “Longhair,” the charged-up “Absolution, Warmth Required,” the bouncy closing title track. Throughout every one of these songs, the band casts an energetic blue-tinted spell on the listener, whisking them away into a hand-crafted, watercolored world like the one seen on the cover or in their music videos. Throughout it all, Reba and Kimi maintain a beautiful interplay, trading vocals, harmonizing, and adding a soft compassion to every song that bounces off the punky guitars beautifully. 

While part of me is sad that we never got anything more from this project, the collective hour of music we got from it is worth it. Probably for the best that the band didn’t keep returning to the well and diluting it with redundant music and touring, after all, their day job in Code Orange was calling the entire time. I guess what I’m saying is sometimes it’s better to know when to throw in the towel and put a period at the end of everything. To that end, I’ll leave you with the Wikipedia description of their vague-at-best ending, which never fails to make me laugh.

The Enduring Life of the Burnout 3 Soundtrack

Twenty years ago, on September 8th, 2004, Burnout 3: Takedown was released on the sixth generation of consoles. Burnout 3 is an arcadey racing game designed around boosting, driving as fast as possible, and knocking opponents off the road as you race towards the finish line. In its purest moments, you’d find yourself flying down busy streets at triple-digit speeds, trading paint with other racers, sparks flying as you attempt to smash them into walls, pillars, and oncoming cars. Not only is Burnout 3 one of my favorite games of all time, but it also has one of the most formative soundtracks of my entire life, filled with infectious pop-punk and early-aughts shredding. 

Depending on what kind of household you grew up in, a new video game was a big deal. In my family, a new video game was a special occasion typically reserved for birthdays, holidays, or months of scraping together hard-earned allowance money. Maybe that’s why, when my mom purchased Burnout 3 for me on a whim in 2005, it has stuck with me to this day.

When you’re in middle school (as I was in 2005), a new game is worth its weight in gold, and a good new game is worth the world. In the summer of 2005, I was only 12 years old with two younger brothers who were still in elementary school, so I wasn’t allowed to own Halo, Grand Theft Auto, or any other “Mature” games. Luckily, Burnout 3 was only rated “Teen” due to “mild violence and mild language,” two asterisks my mom could apparently get behind. The game was also a year old at that point, so it was also probably discounted to hell, which didn’t hurt. 

I still remember this purchase because it was so unexpected. I asked my mom if I could buy a used copy of the game, fully expecting a ‘no’ as the answer, but even then I knew shooters had to shoot their shot. Much to my surprise, she responded with, “Sure, why not?” and bought the game on the spot while we were out running errands. I carried the case home, placed the disc gently in my Xbox, and my life was never the same. 

Not only is Burnout 3 a great game, but it’s a great game with a great soundtrack. My music taste at that time centered almost exclusively around my dad’s music or stuff I had picked up from friends. That meant lots of AC/DC, Aerosmith, Zeppelin, and Foo Fighters. That was all well and good, but on the cusp of my rebellious teenage years, I was looking for something to make my taste my own, and I found that in Burnout 3.

When you boot up Burnout 3, you’re greeted by a series of logos followed by a montage of car-smashing gameplay set to The F-Ups’ snotty pop-punk anthem “Lazy Generation.” As my pre-teen brain absorbed the flashy visuals of speeding cars and the immensely catchy chorus, something inside me clicked. This shit ruled.

After the intro, I proceeded to the main menu and finally took control of a car as I played through the game’s tutorial. Soon, the sounds of No Motiv’s “Independence Day” blared from the speakers of my TV as I sped down the streets of some wooded Californian town. My blood pumped, my pupils dilated, and my brain was on fire with dopamine, all while high-energy pop-punk scored the scene. 

Years later, I look back on Burnout 3 as an oddly formative discovery in my musical history. That soundtrack – while very frosted-tips, chain wallet, mid-aughts – led me to a genre of music that I didn’t even know the name of at the time. By the time I was in high school, I’d come to consciously conceive of what “pop-punk” was, but by that point, the genre had all but fallen out of favor in popular culture. Before I knew about subgenres, my pre-teen brain could barely grasp the connection between these songs, other than the fact that they were fast-paced and made me want to drive a digital supercar like an absolute hellion. 

Even now, two decades later, I still revere many of these bands on a very genuine level. I mean, who can say no to Jimmy Eat World and New Found Glory? I still go absolutely bonkers for “C’mon C’mon,” “Hot Night Crash,” and “Saccharine Smile,” all songs I wouldn’t know if it wasn’t for this game. This soundtrack also gave me my first brush with scene-shaping bands like My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy, Yellow Card, and From First To Last. 

Listing these groups out in 2024, it’s almost impossible to conceive of any piece of media where they’d all fit together. You’ve got Franz Ferdinand, Motion City Soundtrack, and Rise Against, all of which are spun by Stryker, the game’s in-universe DJ who comments on races from the comfort of his studio at Crash FM. While this feature of “in-universe DJ” would be adopted in countless future games (usually to more annoying degrees), it gave the world of Burnout some sense of believability and treated these songs with more reverence than just another thing that would play during a race. Framing the songs through this omnipresent disc jockey made it feel like they were being played intentionally by a real person, or at least that’s how it felt to my dumb little 12-year-old brain.

It's worth noting that Burnout 3 wasn’t just pop-punk; you had some harder metalcore stuff like Atreyu, straight-up punk like The Bouncing Souls, legacy bands like the Ramones, and at least a few bands from the UK scene like The Futureheads. There is also a surprising amount of Vagrant Records representation from groups like No Motiv and Reggie And The Full Effect, but my adoration for those bands and that label is another post entirely. 

Two decades down the line, I’ll still boot up Burnout 3 once in a while whenever I have access to the old Xbox 360 at my parent's house back in Portland. Ironically, because of music licensing, the game isn’t backward compatible with current consoles, meaning the only way to play it is on the original hardware or (at best) a decade-old Xbox 360. As a result, Burnout 3 is left to be eclipsed by its more accessible sequels, Burnout Revenge and Burnout Paradise. While those games probably served a similar purpose to people a few years younger than me, Burnout 3 will always be “my” Burnout of choice, and even though it’s a bit harder to play, luckily, I can always throw the soundtrack on and relive the glory days of Takedowns and spectacular crashes.

Self Defense Family – Try Me | Album Retrospective

Deathwish Inc.

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

“It should thrill you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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.