Addy – fire, fire | Single Review

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Self-released

Around this time a couple years ago, I made a terrifying leap. After moving across the country from Portland, Oregon, to Wilmington, North Carolina, I reached a point where my short-term lease was up and I was forced to make a decision. It was almost December, and I wanted to travel back home to visit my family for the holidays, so I struck up a deal with my landlord: they’d let me skip out on a month of rent and come back in the new year so long as I moved all my stuff out of the apartment for that intervening month. 

Since the place was fully furnished, this wasn’t too big of an ask. I tossed all my clothes into my car, then drove to my partner’s house across town to stash my stuff there. Because of the timeline and how all this worked out, this meant there was about a ten-day window where the two of us were living together for the first time ever. Sure, it was just temporary and mostly consisted of my shit sitting in boxes off in the corner of her living room, but still, it felt like a milestone. 

I remember this vividly because that day, December 1st, 2023, Addy released temperance, and I was floored. I had come to Addy by way of Heather Jones, who earlier that year had released the phenomenal LP a horrid whisper echoes in a palace of endless joy. I enjoyed that record so much that I kept up with all of Jones’ output, including her mastering work at So Big Auditory. Her involvement in any project came to signify an instant sign of quality, so I ventured into temperance relatively blind after a day of lugging my belongings across town, up a flight of stairs, and into this weird, liminal living situation. What I found was affirming beyond belief.

The songs on temperance ache with beauty, coalescing into 22-minutes of pillowy indie rock that works through layers of adoration and connection in the most effortless way. Opening track “hudson” slowly unfolds to envelop the listener, welcoming them into this revelatory, folksy world before “tandem” picks up the pace. Penultimate track “poison ivy” might be my favorite: a five-minute narrative of uncomfortable physical pain that crescendos into a sea of distorted guitar as everything reaches its emotional peak. The EP centers around friendships, identity, presentation of self, and trying to maintain genuine, adult relationships when all the realities of life seem hellbent on peeling us away from each other. 

One year later, in 2024, Addy released “rosemary,” a standalone love song that bounces forward with emphatic acoustic guitar, likening the feeling of love to the smell of a lover’s deodorant and splittin’ a six-pack on a porch. It’s a highly sensory track, relishing the detail of salt on fingertips and cold packs pressed against wrists – all distilled into a collective, intangible magic that pulls two people together.

Continuing this trend of smaller, lowkey releases, Addy has now released fire, fire, a pair of tracks that continue to construct a home around this lush sound the project has been cultivating since its start. 

“cradle” plucks forward carefully as Ada Paige depicts a day at the beach with unhurried prose. After detailing the snacks and drinks in the cooler that her and her partner lugged to the water’s edge, she sings “This is how I know how to heal / let’s fuck around and see if we can” before shifting into this whisper that pulls you in and forces all your attention on her voice. After the stark confines of the first track, “fire, fire” settles into a more upbeat groove that expounds on the mysteries of the universe, finding beauty and intimacy in the randomness of it all. 

Together, these tracks, and really the last few years of music from Addy, come together to paint a beautiful portrait of self-discovery, of finding your people and finding yourself. After years of transitory living and uncertain movements (no matter how beautifully rendered), Addy has now found bliss in the simple facts of her surroundings and the people she finds herself in the presence of. I think that’s just lovely. 

Ben Quad – Wisher | Album Review

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Pure Noise Records

Ben Quad are back. Not only are they back, but they’re fucking huge. Or at least that's what it feels like for those of us in the emo world, anyway.

I first discovered Ben Quad because I was endeared by the idea of a new band using so many interesting tricks and flips from the same dust I grew up in. They’re one of several Oklahoma acts from the past several years to break out of their local scene to more renowned heights, alongside acts like CLIFFDIVER, Chat Pile, and Red Sun. What makes Oklahoma such an outpost for this style of music? I am not quite sure, but earlier this year, I was in Ben Quad’s home state for a couple of concerts. Both nights, I stood outside my hotel room, looking at the way the sky never ends there. If I grew up under that sky, I would try to absorb the world with my guitars, too. 

Wisher is technically Ben Quad’s sophomore album. But between 2022’s I'm Scared That’s All There Is and present day, the band has unleashed a steady flow of releases that tightened their sound and expanded their ambitions. First, they released “You’re Part of It,” a standalone screamo single that felt like an instant addition to the Emo Canon. Then there was Hand Signals, a tour split, and finally Ephemera, their 2024 post-hardcore EP where they cited groups like Underoath and Norma Jean as inspiration. Wisher elaborates on the Ben Quad that Ephemera left behind, offering something not quite as genre-hopping but upholding that harsher sonic twist with even more experimentation. 

Ben Quad have described their new album as “post-emo,” a kind of theoretical subgenre that I’ve heard described as “emo but better” or “not real” depending on who you ask. Whatever it is, it marks a departure from the rules of the original emo sound and a step further into the depths of rock.

Wisher is an album that spans the parking lots of Warped Tour metalcore, the terrain of midwest emo, and the highs of country lilts, all with dizzying guitar tapping, frenzied screaming, and a desperate demand for something better than this. The record is full of “what-ifs,” both sonically and lyrically. What if we dialed this amp to eleven? What if we added tooth-grinding bass here? What if I told them I’m sorry? What if they told me they’re sorry? Say you’re sorry, you’ve been so hard on me. You. You. You.

The album begins with a banjo’s twang on “What Fer,” floating over the atmosphere that Ben Quad are desperately trying to find the limits of. The instrument bends with the breeze before ripping into the sky with electric guitars playing so ferociously you worry they might summon a lightning strike. The energy they build here shocks everything directly into “Painless” where Sam Wegrzynski begs some faceless other to “please just tell me how you’re doing” while Edgar Viveros’ guitar arcs around the song.

It’s at this point that I realized this album is so big that I had to talk to them about it.

Swim Into The Sound: This album sounds massive. As a long-time Ben Quad listener, I have always appreciated how flexible y’all are in your sound, but this is the biggest the band has sounded yet. I know you spoke a bit about the expansive studio access inspiring some of the sound, but what about the scale? 

Edgar Viveros: A lot of that has to do with Jon Markson’s magic. We really wanted to go with someone who could have a major impact on the production of the record. We walked into that studio with the intention of writing bigger choruses, and he knew exactly how to make them sound massive. We had so many new direct influences on the record, too — country, electronic, pop-rock. We knew early on that we wanted to have songs that got as big as a Third Eye Blind, Goo Goo Dolls, or Killers track.

No matter whether the band was tapping out Midwest Emo, post-hardcore, or playing along to an Always Sunny clip, Viveros’ guitar playing has always been a beloved aspect of Ben Quad. His style is very distinct in this era of post-emo: irrevocably fast, intricate, and loud. During live shows, Viveros stands center stage, radiant, as the crowd screams at him to play forever. On Wisher, he does seem to play forever, each song demanding something new and exciting, like the ethereal reverberations of “Classic Case of Guy on the Ground” or the world-absorbing work on the closer, “I Hate Cursive and I Hate All of You.” 

SWIM: I personally hear a lot of the stuff I grew up with — third and fourth wave emo, 2010s metalcore. What music were you inspired by while recording this album? What was it like working with Jon Markson?

VIVEROS: This record was influenced by so many things that I know I’ll probably forget something. The 3rd and 4th wave influence is definitely there. We’re all big fans of stuff like Taking Back Sunday, The All-American Rejects, and Motion City Soundtrack, and I don’t think there’ll ever be a Ben Quad record where my guitar playing won’t be inspired by Algernon Cadwallader and CSTVT. Stuff like Brakence and Porter Robinson heavily inspired the glitched-up guitar samples that are all over the record. There’s a good amount of banjo and slide guitar that draws inspiration from country and folk music. Personally, the recent wave of alt-country, like MJ Lenderman, really inspired me to dive into that style of playing. Beyond that, there’s huge Third Eye Blind and late 90s/early 2000s pop-rock influence. 

When it comes down to it, a lot of this record was us channeling the sounds we loved growing up to make something new. Jon Markson helped out so much with making that vision come together. His perspective was such a valuable resource when we were finalizing songs, and I don’t think I’ve ever worked with anyone who has pushed me to be a better musician as much as he did. It was such a cool experience to wake up and record music all day with him for three weeks. That guy rules. I look forward to being isolated on a farm with him many, many more times.

Photo by Kamdyn Coker

There’s a chance that this album might launch a dozen tweets about Ben Quad not being emo anymore from whatever the remnants of DIY Twitter are posting these days, but know that there’s nothing people can say that Ben Quad doesn’t already know. They make this abundantly clear on “Did You Decide to Skip Arts and Crafts?” with Sam Canty from Treaty Oak Revival.

SWIM: I’ve always heard that Oklahoma sound in your music, but never as much as I hear it in “Did You Decide to Skip Arts and Crafts.” What inspired y’all to bring a country twang to such a loud emo song? Do you see a connection between country and emo?

VIVEROS: I demoed out the instrumentals for that song in the summer of 2024 and really didn’t know where to take it. I kind of just wrote the song structure to be a mixture of big, anthemic Wonder Years choruses and some of the twangier moments in the Beths’ catalogue. It really came together when we invited our friend Sam Canty to hop on the track. That’s when I think we decided to really lean on the arena country-rock sound. I specifically love how Rocklahoma-coded the bridge sounds. Sam Canty’s feature fits so perfectly. I think the link between the two is a lot closer than people think. Sonically, both genres incorporate sparkly single coil guitars, and they both get pretty sad. Country is just farm emo.

I agree with all of the above: the connection between country and emo is storied, they’re both wrought, misunderstood genres that come from the middle of our nation. The aforementioned track starts with a phone call from Canty, playing a detractor of Ben Quad’s ever-evolving sound, telling them that they “ain’t the same anymore.” The song kicks in, and eventually Ben Quad gets him to change his mind and his sound too. Isaac Young clears a space in his drumming for Canty to return to the song to yell too, his Texas accent curving around an exasperated, “I guess it never made a fuckin’ difference to you.”

It’s impossible to discuss this album without acknowledging just how many people are on it; in addition to the Treaty Oak Revival frontman’s appearance, Zayna Youssef from Sweet Pill joins Wegrzynski and Henry Shields to kick your teeth in on “You Wanted Us, You Got Us.” Later on, “West of West” features Nate Hardy of Microwave, who contributes what might be the heaviest moment on the entire LP. It all starts to feel like a totally deserved victory lap, a testament to how big emo (or post-emo) has grown over the past few years, and a reminder of how much Ben Quad has grown since they met each other on a Craigslist post over their love of Microwave and Modern Baseball. 

SWIM: Y’all have called this album a kind of evolution for Ben Quad. How would you describe Ben Quad’s evolution since I’m Scared That’s All There Is, sonically? Since that album, y’all have also toured pretty nonstop (I think I’ve seen you guys three or four times on different tours over the past few years) – How would you describe Ben Quad’s evolution since your debut beyond the sound? Any ideas on what’s next after Wisher?

VIVEROS: I’m Scared That’s All There Is was cool because it was basically us doing emo revival worship with a little bit of a modern twist. Since then, we’ve just been throwing more and more influences into the kettle. I love that you can trace through our discography and see us gradually adding influences of screamo and post-hardcore. This new stuff has country, electronic, pop, and so much more thrown into the mix, and I’m just excited to keep growing that sound moving forward. 

Beyond sound though, I think we’ve grown in a lot of ways since the ISTATI days. We’re way more road-worn. When we released ISTATI, we hadn’t actually done a proper tour. Now, we’re releasing this new record on like our sixth full US tour. That alone has given us so much perspective on the world and many chances to meet a lot of talented and insightful people. I’d say our biggest area of progression has been in the confidence of our songwriting abilities. We’ve put out a handful of releases at this point, so sitting down and writing songs just feels so natural now. We’ve learned to just go with our gut when it comes to making music. I think any writing roadblock we encountered during the recording process was sheerly because we were afraid of sounding too honest or vulnerable. 

At the end of the day, if we think it sounds good, then that’s all that matters. As far as what’s next after Wisher, I have no idea. Maybe we’ll make a real butt-rock record. Some real Breaking Benjamin type shit.

Anything is possible when it comes to Ben Quad. At its heart, that’s what Wisher is about: testing how far post-emo can stretch, showing off the possibilities of the sounds they can craft, and clearing a path for what’s next. On Wisher, Ben Quad ain’t the fucking same anymore, but who would want them to be?

Around this time, three years ago, Ben Quad released “You’re Part of It,” where they chanted endlessly and heart-wrenchingly about how they were just waiting for all of this to fall apart. Unfortunately, with Wisher, they’re just going to have to keep waiting, because this album is universe-engulfing and none of this is falling apart.

Caro Alt (she/her) is from New Orleans, Louisiana, and if she could be anyone in The Simpsons, she would be Milhouse.

Tiberius – Troubadour | Album Review

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Audio Antihero

During my sophomore year of college I recorded a breakup album. It was not very good. When I was writing it, I thought it was a raw—dare I say important—portrait of a self-loathing lover scorned. When I go back and listen to it now though, I find that it’s actually just mean and annoying, a dishonest collection of songs that feature little to no introspection. The main problem is that I ultimately just wanted the person I was writing about to hear the album and feel bad for me, a last-ditch effort to get them back. I was pretending to look at my heart while actually targeting theirs; it was a doomed pursuit from the start. 

When you try and fail at something, it gives you a greater appreciation for those who approach the same task and succeed. People who are able to paint their pain without bitterness coming through as the dominant force make me take note, because I know how hard that can be. This is the main thing that struck me when I first listened to Tiberius’ third album, Troubadour. Throughout the record, we hear about people in Brendan Wright’s life and how they made Wright feel, but the lens through which we see this is consistently pointed inwards. That’s not to say there’s no anger towards others or spiteful words on Troubadour—there’s definitely some of that—but when we do get those ugly feelings, they’re almost always tempered with self-reflection. 

Take, for example, the album’s fourth track “Tag,” where Wright sings: “Went to her apartment when she’s on a date / I’d rather hang with her than not at all / Lying on the lap of some dumb fuck that she doesn’t even like.” No argument from me, definitely anger there, both in the words and in Wright’s vocal affectation, but, this anger is almost immediately cut with the realization that “I just can’t let you know that I despise to be apart / I need to take this time to learn to be alone / And to really be alone I have to be alone.” The song gains a lot from this quick shift in viewpoint, which seeks the internal root of the emotion; it transforms what could be a simple “fuck you” into something more substantial. 

This all works especially well because the record’s path of reflection is not linear; we’ll get a track like “It Has to Be True,” where it feels like things are getting figured out, followed by “Moab,” where we once again find ourselves in despair. Too often, the road to self-actualization is portrayed as a one-way journey, but on this album, it’s presented much more accurately as a rollercoaster; ascendant acceptance that can be followed by a sudden, vindictive drop, only for us to rise again moments later. This is something that’s well encapsulated on “Sitting,” where Wright sings, “Am I starting to have fun? Am I starting to have hope? / Am I starting to be let down? Am I down again?”

There are so many different sounds and genres traversed throughout the record that it feels impossible to touch on them all in a short review. This range makes each song feel huge, with even the shorter tracks having distinct movements that stick with you. After I first played through the album, I thought that I had a few songs stuck in my head, but when I listened back, I found that what I’d been mentally replaying was actually just different parts of “Sag.” I love how this is done because you never get bored as you jump from moments that sound like Uncle Tupelo to moments that sound like DIIV to moments that sound like Modest Mouse, sometimes all within one song. There’s gazey post-hardcore, gut-wrenching emo outpourings, and wide-open indie country soundscapes. To seamlessly switch from one sound to another like this without ever feeling frenetic or scattered is truly impressive, and it all results in a great experience for the listener. 

Existential country rocker “Moab” is probably my favorite song on the record. I thought I might be tapped out on country-influenced alternative music, but I was wrong. Perhaps it’s the vocal inflection in the opening verse when Wright sings “plans her day while laying down for bed,” but something about the song conjures images of the country music I used to listen to as a kid in a way that modern alt-country rarely does. I also love the track’s more anthemic back half, which slows down and brings some indie influences to the table, sounding almost Band of Horses-esque. 

A sonic thread throughout Troubadour that I found to be particularly effective is the subtle use of non-core-to-the-band instruments to make certain moments really stand out. For example, at around 2:45 of “Tag,” bouncing piano chords come in out of nowhere to give things a groovy little boost; similarly, I loved this really reedy and dissonant sax that’s deployed about a third of the way through “Redwood,” giving the song some extra edge as it ramps up. These aren’t the biggest moments that will necessarily knock you over, but cumulatively, they add up and keep you engaged through multiple listens.   

I’d be remiss to talk about Troubadour without mentioning trees, which loom large over the journey the record takes us on. Where this most struck me was on “Sitting,” particularly the lines: “I need to leave again / Meander ‘round the trees / As if I’m looking for the sign / As my brother sings to me / What I'm feeling is alright.” As I listened to this, I thought back to Wim Wenders’ 2023 film, Perfect Days. When I saw the movie in theaters, they had a pre-show clip that featured Wenders and the film’s star, Koji Yakusho, discussing the concept of “komorebi,” a Japanese word that refers to the sunlight as it’s filtered through leaves and trees. This is core to the film, as Yakusho’s character is always able to escape and find joy by photographing the trees in the park where works. The main thing I took away from Perfect Days is that appreciation for the beauty of komorebi—or nature more broadly—is something that’s incredibly centering.

This sort of naturalism is woven throughout the record. In Wright’s own words, Troubadour was written during a period of time where the relationships in their life were changing significantly, likening that experience to ego death. For months, they “found solace in nature and the constant of the trees,” explaining that, for a period, “I felt utterly connected to the universe in a way that was completely outside my sense of self. I was everything all at once, and it was one of the most profound experiences I’ve ever had.”

As we see Wright’s journey through Troubadour and the way that nature and trees factor into it, I’m left feeling the same sense of power. That centering is key to everything. That’s why, by the time we get to the end of the roller coaster with “Barn,” we’re ultimately somewhere placid and peaceful, even if there is still some sadness along with it. It’s why we get reflection rather than just anger and why the album has such depth. It’s what separates those who can make a work like this—something truly reflective—from those stuck lashing out in attack mode. With that as the foundation, everything else clicks into place and we’re left with a really special record. These types of experiences are never linear, nor are their conclusions definite. In the case of Troubadour, the ending is satisfying, not because we’re at the end of a journey but because we feel like we’re finally on the right path. We’re left with reasons to keep pushing, and sometimes that’s all you need. 

Josh Ejnes is a writer and musician living in Chicago. He has a blog about cassette tapes called Tape Study that you can find here, and he also makes music under the name Cutaway Car.

Anamanaguchi – Anyway | Album Review

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Polyvinyl Record Co.

The ground is firmly under your feet. Your gaze rises to greet an open street lined with trees and grass and apartment complexes that are knotted like corridors of a maze. The wind is warm and breezing past you as you trek one leg in front of the other. The sound of footfalls to the left and right let you know that your best friends in the whole world are right by your side. These are relationships forged across God-knows-how-many dreary hours of school, eyes aching in anticipation of the clock chiming the hour of freedom, releasing you into countless untold adventures through backyards, pools, and playgrounds throughout the summer months. A sense of wonder and excitement begins to bloom in your chest, and you can’t help but think, “I wonder what’s next?”

Whatever Anamanaguchi may have intended when they arrived at the American Football House to write their fourth full-length studio album, what they ultimately landed on was this: a collection of songs that feel as filled with emotion and childlike abandon as they do with air-guitar-inducing riffs, windows-down full-belt choruses, and an irresistible desire to drink in the setting sun. The music video for “Darcie” reads as a prime example of this. Shot in the world-famous Champagne, Urbana emo landmark, the playful fun of the track is paired with heartfelt lyrical recollections of a local legend. The video’s conceit sees the band reckoning with constant upgrades as their mics are replaced with popstar headsets and their instruments abruptly change size or are swapped for double-neck guitars. Throughout it all, a genuinely good hang is on full display.

Known as one of the preeminent bands in the chiptune genre, Anamanaguchi has been creating ultra-melodic 8-bit rock as far back as 2006. With a focus on instrumentals and a penchant for NES-style bleeps and bloops, it only made sense that the group would create the soundtrack for the Scott Pilgrim video game, contribute to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles arcade-style beat ‘em up, and score their own high-concept experimental game. They’ve soundtracked podcasts, covered Nirvana, and collaborated with everyone from Hatsune Miku to Porter Robinson. It was only natural for the band to reach this point nearly two decades into their career and wonder “what’s next?” 

Turns out what’s next is Anway, a twelve-song collection billed as Anamanaguchi’s first “lyrically driven rock record.” Though it’s landing at the tail end of summer, the album bursts with the energy, wonder, and unadulterated sprawling joys of carefree summers’ past. Recorded by Dave Fridmann (The Flaming Lips, MGMT, Sleater-Kinney), the album’s embrace of vintage gear and straight-to-tape approach captures the scratchy incandescence of fireworks and sweating through your lightest clothes after playing for hours under an unset sun. 

This sensation is telegraphed clearly with the opening track “Sparkler,” a fuzzed-out rager which makes it clear that tapping shoegaze wunderkinds Ovlov open for them on tour was not some random decision. As pixels sparkle and guitars explode, it’s easy to imagine how well the song will translate to a packed, sweaty rock crowd. 

Later on, “Magnet” is a proper grungy alt-rock love song about a “dark romance that feels like it's gliding out of control in a blissful way,” with the band explaining, “We realized that this balance is a key part of the formula for Batman music.” Following that logic to its extreme, Anamanaguchi decided to turn this into a pitch to be in the next Batman movie, teaming up with Jared Raab of Nirvanna the Band the Show for a hilarious yet endearingly sweet homage to the lost art of the movie tie-in music video. Everything from Tim Burton’s 1989 classic to Nolan’s Batman and 2022’s Battinson are on the table as Anamanaguchi’s band members are spliced into pivotal scenes from the franchise’s various films, making for a marvelously edited music video. If this all sounds a bit confusing, the band has created this helpful chart to explain the various waves of Batrock.

While on first pass this graph reads as a funny instance of overcommitting to the bit, it’s actually a perfect example of the type of geeky dedication with which Anamanaguchi approaches their art. A studied band adept at richly texturing their music, the group display an omnivorous admiration for a multitude of rock genres throughout Anyway, accurately capturing the freeing, free-wheeling nature of jamming with your buds. 

“Rage (Kitchen Sink)” feels like it’s trying to capture the spiraling misery of everything while also offering a glimpse of hope towards the end. The gentle, plodding melody climbing up against the band’s classic chiptune scales is an absolute blast to witness. “Valley of Silence” has the type of gorgeous, melancholy groove you’d find on a deep cut by The Cure, complete with a long, winding instrumental introduction to set the mood. One track before that, the cascading pianos of “Sapphire” evoke flashes of Culture Club and soaring '90s arena rock as the lyrics recount a loose history of the band, showcasing appreciation for their roots and the tools that brought them to this point in their storied career.

There are rug pulls and genre pivots abound. The immediate urgency of “Fall Away” performed a bait and switch on me as the track’s middle section steps the pace back before ramping back into a huge surge of instruments, bits and bytes all swirling into a technicolor cascade before sliding into a fuzzy, prickly layer of feedback. One of my favorite tracks on the album, “Buckwild,” lies smack dab in the middle and is a Wild Hogs-referencing track that opts for the nerdy pleasure of scoring a sought-after DVD at a yard sale over a night out on the town. Even with each half-turn to different shades of rock music, everything fits together beautifully and still sounds unmistakably Anamanaguchi. The variety is both staggering and engaging, and not just because of where the band has come from. 

You finally reach your destination. Friends and neighbors surround you in a semi-circle of chairs. You're handed a bowl of popcorn as your friends cradle candy and hot dogs, things that act as the perfect complement to the end of the day. Sodas, waters, and sparkling seltzers are handed out liberally. Somewhere off to the side, someone's father is grilling over a quick setup hibachi, and a hush falls over everyone as they tell you it’s about to start. Your eyes meet the first to fire into the sky. A lone trail of flame and stardust connects with a particular black spot where it was meant to go and explodes into a menagerie of color and sound. 

All the apprehension and twists and turns of the summer heat are beating upon your body till it feels like it’s cooking your bones. All the long walks and bike rides and time spent rollerblading have led to these moments where you get to stare into the night sky, surrounded by the people you care about. You're facing everything together, and you’re watching all the lights in the sky come up one after another. The immense and massive sound feels like it’s rattling your teeth. You feel every moment of the last few months – all the sticky days, the pool parties, the birthdays, the overeating, the trips to the mall, the walks off the beaten path into a hidden creek that you're sure no one else knows about. 

Anyway finds each of these moments and spreads them across its dozen tracks, giving you a long journey to walk, but not an unfamiliar one. When the four members of Anamanaguchi assembled in that infamous emo house, they rediscovered the one simple truth that, if you’re having fun, making music with your friends is the most natural thing in the world. Even as the band takes a conscious step away from the “pure” chiptune sound of their previous work, what remains is something just as true and just as representative of what it feels like to be a fan of music, movies, video games, and art. 

The one final truth that Anamanaguchi can offer to us with this album is that sometimes life is actually just really fun. Even in despair. Even in horror. Even as atrocities steal our breath and we experience a full-body chill for every autoplaying document of cruelty, we still have each other, we still have music, and we still have the hope of something better. 

Southern California-born and raised, Elias can often be found at the local gig, be it screamo, emo, hardcore, or online @listentohyakkei, begging people to listen to theMANS Summer 2007 demo. Their time in the scene is patchwork, but their dedication to it and the music that makes it has made up the last few years of their life. They love this shit with the whole of their heart and will talk your ear off about it if you let them.
Screamo for fucking ever.
Love Your Friends, Die Laughing.

Vagabonds – Going Somewhere? | Single Review

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Self-released

I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop my whole life.

We sprouted in the shadow of Golgotha, all of us tender shoots withering, competing to see who could muster up the most self-loathing. We thought guilt was virtuous. If we filled our proverbial shoes with rocks and kept on walking, maybe we could be worthy.

Every time I think I’ve broken the cycle, it catches me — this nagging sense that my luck is going to run out and some kind of karmic retribution is going to come crashing down. It’s hell, but it’s familiar, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy that kindles dread and chokes out dreams, rinse and repeat. I’ve looked for relief in a lot of different places over the years, but how do you outrun your own mistakes?

The new song from Vagabonds, the longtime moniker of Michigan’s Luke S Dean, is one minute and 18 seconds of smoldering release, a panic room on fire, and a feeling I know too well. Even the title scans as taunting: “Going Somewhere?” it sneers, insinuating the impossibility of escape. It’s one of the most propulsive and urgent Vagabonds songs to date, driven by greyscale washes of dimed-amp feedback and a chorus of despondent vocals, somewhere between Control-era Pedro the Lion and the emogaze dirges of Greet Death.

The track is Vagabonds’ first since The Pasture & The Willow, a meditative chamber-rock epic and one of my favorite records of 2023, and the contrast between the two releases is stark. “Going Somewhere?” comes and goes as quickly as your heart dropping when you miss a stair that isn’t there in the middle of the night. It’s a form of rock song that’s tricky to execute well, the kind that catches you off guard with its brevity and makes you want to run it back immediately.

In a meta sense, by simply recording and releasing this snapshot of a shame spiral, Luke has interrupted a cycle. In their own words, “I’m releasing it now, not as a part of any specific album or as a part of any ‘cycle’ or ‘era’ but to break my own bad habit of sitting on songs years before putting them out.” As increasingly broken and bleak as the music industry feels right now, the ability for artists to release music whenever and however they want remains one of the coolest parts of DIY to me, and I’d like to see more bands doing this sort of thing for songs that don’t have a home on records. And while there isn’t even a sliver of light in this song’s subject matter, there is liberation in expressing it. An ancient text said it well: “If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.”

Nick Webber lives in Denver, CO, where he makes music with his friends in A Place For Owls and under his own name.