Piebald – Tales for the Rages | Album Review

Iodine Recordings

Like most music fans, I’m equal parts fascinated and excited when a band I love reunites. The mind races imagining all the interactions and decisions that brought these individuals back to one another; you can’t help but wonder what the impetus was for this kind of reformation. Of course, the cynical answer is “money,” but the romantic side of me likes to imagine there’s something more profound at work; a sort of cosmic tether that keeps these people coming back to each other and creating art together. When it comes to Piebald, a punk band from Massachusetts who only ever, at most, enjoyed a modest hit on MTV and college radio in the early days of the aughts, you have to take money out of the equation. I say this with a heart full of love, but Piebald are not putting out their first album in nineteen years because it’s a goldmine. 

Luckily, Piebald have always been a band who tell it like it is; their decision to make “Still On The Couch” both the album’s lead single and opening track tells you everything you need to know right outta the gate. As the title suggests, things start from a place of complacency – fused to the refuge of the sofa either out of fear or an over-abundance of comfort. Given that this album was recorded, as the press material puts it, “slowly, honestly, and stubbornly over six years” from 2019 to 2025, it’s entirely possible that this is also meant to capture some of the home-stuck energy of the early pandemic years when we had nothing to do but be on the couch. Regardless of the exact intention, we’ve all felt that pull to remain unchallenged and unimpeded in the comfort of our safe space, and I think any healthy person knows how important it is to break out of that. 

“Still On The Couch” is a sub-two-minute rocker that expertly sets the stakes of the record, justifies its existence, and acts as an official re-introduction to Piebald’s brand of hyper-articulate punk rock. The group takes this lethargy we’re all prone to and convert it into an optimistic burst of energy that makes you want to fling your front door open and get out into the world. They accomplish this primarily through the track’s boppy road-ready riff, but it ends up feeling like an expert-level jujutsu move the way these four flip defeatist self-sabotage into something actionable and fun. When you put those two possible paths next to each other, the choice couldn’t be more clear. 

After forming in the mid ‘90s, Piebald released five awesome albums, a fuckton of splits and EPs, then put the band to rest via a Myspace bulletin if that helps you place us in time at all. Outside of some recent anniversary reissues and a jokey Christmas 7”, the band hadn’t put out anything official since 2007’s Accidental Gentlemen. Long intermission short, the band reunited in 2016 for a bunch of tours, and it sounds like they’ve been stockpiling scraps of ideas since then, slowly building these tracks up and nurturing them until they took the form of Tales for the Rages. 

The record’s second song and second single, “This Thing Is Old,” speaks to this gap most explicitly, addressing the elephant in the room: we’re all getting up there. As a band comprised mostly of 40-something-year-old dudes, Piebald’s primary audience isn’t too much younger. I personally got into Piebald at the tail-end of high school when Rise Records bound together all of the group’s early work and demos into a three-volume collection, and even I have grey in my beard at this point! I guess what I’m saying is that anyone still listening to (or making) this type of music at this age is here for one reason: because they fucking love it. 

While it might be tempting to write a song like “This Thing Is Old” and take a “woe is me, my body is falling apart” approach, lead singer Travis Shettel chooses to mark the passage of time in a more positive way through the books, records, shirts, and other meaningful art he’s exchanged with friends over the years. Rather than explicitly name these things in a cheap play for nostalgia, the lyrics keep things general, opting instead to point to the decades of friendship and connection that they represent. This is, obviously, immensely relatable to any punk past 30 whose shelves are lined with friends' CDs and closets are packed with band shirts that fit a little too tight. It’s a smart way to address the nearly two decades that have passed since we’ve last heard from Piebald, and it helps sketch out the life that has unfolded between records. 

The song’s second verse also bears the album’s title and, over the course of a few lines, transforms what could just be a blanket invitation to let loose and reminisce into a genuine mission statement that offers a justification for why Piebald and why now. In a syrupy-sweet voice, Shettel sings, “Telling stories as if they were alive / Worn grooves and pages / Epic tales for the rages.” Using this way in, Piebald continue to set the stakes and invite the listener to rise to the occasion with them. “The hardest person responds to the softest voice / We have obligations to future generations / We weren't made for these times / These times weren't made for us.” There’s your reunion rationale right there. 

Beyond contextualizing the record’s title, this song also features an emphatic guitar solo, a punchy chorus, and a puppet-centric music video. Everything consistently rocks, and as the band invites the listener to “feel the wind inside the heart,” it feels downright cynical to deny them that request. This thing may be old, but that doesn’t mean it’s decrepit, at least not yet. 

After two songs about the traps of lethargy, consumerism, and nostalgia, “Used to Good Advantage” offers the most blunt assessment of where we find ourselves in 2026. Here we join the band as they try to get to the bottom of what turns our neighbors from normal, empathetic humans into short-haired businessmen who only have slimy verbal gymnastics to offer. The thrust of the song finds Piebald articulating what it feels like to find out you’re the bad guy, or at least trapped as part of an evil machine that you never even signed up for. They turn this into a clear call to action with a set of the album’s most overt and uplifting lyrics:

If rules can be destroyed by truth
Then they should be
All power to the student, the worker, and those who aren’t free

This becomes a recurring theme throughout Tales for the Rages as the group talk openly and honestly about the plight of the working class. This isn’t necessarily new for Piebald (after all, their biggest song is a hooky plea for worker solidarity) but it feels more pointed than ever on Tales for the Rages. They may be musicians, but the members of Piebald are in this with the rest of us. They see the exceptionalism that leads to nationalism. They know what it’s like to be treading water financially, to live in a country where our taxes are used to murder, to be wary of cops and landlords and billionaires. The press material puts it beautifully: “They’re not giving a lecture, just trying to make sense of everything like everyone else, but with guitars.”

I’ve been talking a lot about the lyrics because, just like every other Piebald record, they’re presented front and center, but Instrumentally, this record sounds incredibly tight. Obviously, there are the aforementioned high-flying guitar theatrics from Shettel and Aaron Stuart, but there’s also Andrew Bonner and Lucian Garro, who sound incredible holding down the rhythm section. Together, their bass and drums give each song a natural center of gravity that the group can easily return to, but they also have lots of fun little breakdowns and flourishes they get to throw in the mix. It’s refreshing to hear such a shaggy combination of indie and emo rock. Each song feels distinct, with lots of little moments that will grab you, whether it’s a specific lyric or a fist-pump-worthy riff – which is exactly what every other Piebald record has felt like. It all comes across a bit Weezer-esque and at times, maybe a smidge of Saves The Day, but also feels like the clear older brother of groups like Michael Cera Palin. This is all catnip to a dude like me, and meant to be a compliment as much as a comparison. 

Even as Piebald hack their way through the world of abject poverty that capitalism breeds, they still manage to navigate these ideas in funny ways, whether it’s lines like “My retirement plan is dying in the class war” or actively undercutting the very thing they’re participating in. While music can sometimes feel like a mere frivolity in the face of our potentially dismal situation, it’s also a source of delight, catharsis, uplift, and community. Plus, it’s only a dismal situation if you resign it to that. The cover is accurate: these are bright and multicolored reflections culled from a world that tries its absolute damndest to sap the light and joy out of everything. It’s nice to see an album that believes in change, improvement, and betterment. After all, what’s the defeatism and cynicism going to get us besides defeated and cynical? 

Before you even reach the midpoint of the album, it becomes clear that Piebald got back together because they actually have something to say. While some of the lyrics can come across a little heavy-handed, it’s worth being explicit about where you stand, lest you be misconstrued as an impartial fence-sitter. It’s also so much more interesting than being non-descript. This all struck me in a similar way to the Algernon Cadwallader album from last year, in that both records come from super-celebrated decade-old scene staples who broke up but eventually came back, matured, hardened, and refined. In both cases, the bands managed to remain true to their original sound while also becoming more explicit and vocal about where they stand. Piebald have always been political and outspoken; it makes sense that they’d be even more so in 2026. 

In true Piebald-ain fashion, they also make these points in the funniest ways, with just enough pop culture references sprinkled throughout. In one track, they evoke LMFAO by singing with utter remorse, “Party rock just makes no sense right now…” One song later, they’re directly quoting Tupac, and a few tracks after that they’re name-dropping Voltaire. It takes all kinds.

Tales for the Rages is an album lovingly packed with meaning, motivation, and memories that Piebald not only proudly packages up and puts on display, but directly involves the listener in. There are so many quotable lyrics, bits of genuinely good advice, and catchy-fun choruses scattered throughout this record. The final kick in the pants comes at the end in the form of a poignant 40-second song that feels so beautifully Piebald and is too good to spoil by quoting here. 

As many music fans have learned time and time again, just because your favorite band is reuniting doesn’t mean it’s going to be good. In the case of Piebald, some combination of time away, years of creative percolation, and good old-fashioned friendship seems to have resulted in the perfect conditions for another great record. While some artists participate in the rat race of dropping an album every year or two so they can tour, Piebald appear to recognize the sanctity of the creative process and are opting to be as thoughtful as possible. 

I look at this band and see an inspiring model for how to move forward. I’m only in my early thirties (turning 33 next week, thank you very much!) and so many weird, fucked up things have already started happening to my body. I’m scared to think of how they could compound with time, and I’m doing everything I can to combat that decay. Some of that is physical, but over the last few years I have also come to realize how much of it is mental, too. It’s so important to have friends and riffs and actual perspectives about things going on in the world. It’s important to voice those things so people know you’re standing with them. After all, isn’t that why so many of us started going to shows or getting involved in our local scenes? To be a part of something bigger and find other people that feel like “our kind of people”? Tales for the Rages proves that journey is a lifelong process, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Widemouth – No Gasoline | Album Review

Urban Scandal Records

I have been meaning to buy a chair for my patio for months. I moved here last summer, and almost a year has gone by with nothing to sit on while I stare at the stars besides the steps to my neighbor’s apartment or the hood of my car. I like the idea of having a patio chair, though. Somewhere I can exist while listening to slow, syrupy music on my speaker at a reasonable volume. Somewhere I can bask in the hotter days while mosquitoes buzz around my ears. Somewhere I can watch the trees rustle at night. Maybe I’ll even get a table too. But after all this thinking about my own patio, I never thought about getting a second chair. That is, until I listened to No Gasoline by Widemouth.

For several years, Mak Carnahan and Jamie Eder have been toiling away in Chicago, writing song after song about growing up, growing into yourself, and how friendships bend and curve with all this growth. While they released Well, a twangy EP about a similar subject in 2024, No Gasoline is their debut album, with these same concepts paradoxically tightened up and everflowing. 

This album will undoubtedly receive comparisons to the works of the current steel indie stars. These comparisons to people like Phoebe Bridgers, Katie Crutchfield, or Karly Hartzman won’t necessarily be wrong, but Widemouth makes the sound their own. The band points themselves away from Wednesday’s fuzz or Waxahatchee’s clarity, instead opting to build a minimal sound within the expansive space that alt-country provides. With the help of producers Jack Henry and Sam Genualdi, all attention is on Carnahan’s and Eder’s harmonies as they ruminate on the quietest moments of friendship.

PHOTO BY Bella Peterson

No Gasoline begins with familiarity and a lot of names: Meme’s paintings, Frances smoking, Christian gone, Rachel, your family, you, me, and her. As the listener, it is up to you to conjure images of these people while you take in the opener, “I Wish You Passed On a Little Anger.” The brushstrokes Meme painted, the steps that Frances is smoking on, whatever Rachel said to irritate us, and the emptiness that Christian left behind. By being so personal so immediately, Widemouth trusts you with their private reflections. As Lily Mitchell’s drums build, the observations turn more personal, something you could only bear to whisper: “I know you hate her / I know you dream about being choked out on the mattress / I wish you passed on a little anger / I just feel sorry / you’re getting older.” Both searingly specific and purposefully vague, the music swells as the song ends, leaving you with your hands outstretched as you desperately try to learn more about these people too.

As the pensive “Pinecone” shifts to “Hotel Pool,” the restraint Widemouth shows through the album briefly unwinds, unearthing the careful fragility that this project balances on. Part of weaving together moments of friendship is that it requires equal reflection on yourself. Amongst whispered voices and steadfast strumming, Carnahan’s voice wavers as she sings “no open tongue,” and again when she sees “no future, no intent.” The music matches these brief moments, the instruments breaking away from the haunted sound of the melodies to collide with each other while Carnahan and Eder sing, “blame your hands blame yourself / what’s the matter I can’t tell.” The song trips over itself, as one does when trying to outpace yourself, outpace your past, in an attempt to find a truer version of you.

Of all the songs in the album that teeter on the edge of an unstoppable misery, “You & Your Girlfriend,” spirals directly in. Not every memory of your friends is a good one, something Carnahan roils over as she sings “I think you said you loved me, but I really don’t know at all / you just sat up back to the wall, and you cried / hands on your temples / that’s what I recall.” It’s a plain memory, one so bleak that it’s shrouded in potential mismemory, but Carnahan knows she’s remembering this right. Eder takes over on the next verse, “you told us your girlfriend was not a good person / with fear in your eyes like a dog on the fourth / none of us knew what to say / drove into town in the morning for groceries.” These lyrics are stark, barren in their simplicity. Carnahan and Eder conjure an immediate closeness between these characters, but one so close that the fear of conflict hurts more than helps. It’s a song about whispered confessions left to linger heavily and uncomfortably in a dark but loving air. 

After Eder’s voice joins Carnahan’s to ask, “Remember when you lost it?” in “The Water,” the titular song on No Gasoline arrives, carrying the cry of Sam Genualdi’s steel guitar. “No Gasoline.” A track that immediately envelopes the listener in a dimly lit atmosphere. The tension of the album–the friction caused by years of memories, secrets, and promises—had to break somewhere, and it turns out that's right here, only a few songs away from the end of the LP. Carnahan’s voice builds and builds as she croons “no gasoline / fourteen degrees” before demanding a promise and an apology from someone she loves. Despite the agonizing demand, she and Eder end on a hopeful note: “my last lonely winter / from what I can tell.”

After “Cattle,” the album ends on an instrumental reprise of “Pinecone” accompanied by the clatter and chatter of O’Hare’s bustling hallways as people desperately try to make their connections. A fitting button for an album quilted together by names and places and reflections on the unsaid complexities of building relationships with one another. 

Summer is basically here with warm nights and loving friends. I need to buy two patio chairs.

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

Rhododendron – Ascent Effort | Album Review

The Flenser

Now, I could be wrong, but I think that something’s going down on the intergalactic genre interstate. If so, it might have something to do with these juiced, plinky jazz runs and chugging riffs that have been singing off my eyebrows.

Anyone who’s been on the alternative side of the music-inclined internet long enough knows the inundation, in the last few years, of every variety of “gaze” and “core”—enough to frazzle even the most dedicated RateYourMusic bro. Part and parcel of this collision of genres is an air of musical discovery; perhaps the mere idea of a “blackened twinkle digi-core” implies a new frontier being paved by hungry DIY-ers. Maybe it's the renewed sense that already trodden roads still have new, unexplored trails that can reignite and revitalize an audience’s attention. This could certainly be said for dominant musical institutions as well, such as the popularization of hyperpop or the commercial stabilization of alt-country “nuGrass,” but it’s not hard to see how this snowballs in the annals of subcultural musical movements.

Portland trio Rhododendron’s sophomore LP, Ascent Effort, arrives to push the conversation over the proverbial edge.

Ascent Effort organizes itself as a radiant mirage of genres and the great soup of musical influences one reminisces about while listening; simultaneously genre-full and genre-less. A lesser band would buckle under these contradictions, but these Portlanders are playing their fucking asses off—perfect additions to The Flenser’s ever-undulating cohort of badass savants and freaks.

The album’s kickstarter, “Firmament,” introduces us to a kind of ethereal death-ambient à la Blood Incantation or Opeth at their most massive. Noah Mortola’s drums invent and surprise, the bass keeps everything in line, and the guitar tone somehow straddles groove and grit. The song finishes with a percussive assault and leads into the inquisitive, angular “Like Spitting Out Copper.” Rhododendron definitely play their jazziest for the greater part of the track before picking the pace back up with the album’s first vocals. Guitarist-vocalist Ezra Chong’s screams are cutting and dripping with personality, especially on the following track, “Stow,” where the album’s influences thus far coalesce into a sometimes pounding, sometimes slinking saga that consistently highlights the rhythm section’s uncanny unity. 

None of this is to suggest that Ascent Effort ever broaches the usual pitfalls of post-hardcore or progressive trios, namely becoming too “mathy,” endlessly “jammy,” or otherwise unfocused. Rhododendron maintain a sense of integrity that’s hard to pin down; through each exploration, they prove yet again that they know how to take their ideas from initial kernels to kaleidoscopic sagas. No better example exists than the penultimate “Family Photo,” which sees a delightful, if spare, return of vocals and a perfect showcase of Gage Walker’s driving bass that I can’t get out of my head. The record concludes with “Within Crippling Light,” an epic in the truest sense of the word—a ceaselessly technical and progressive mixture of form and content to mostly delightful ends. I found my mind drifting throughout the piece’s 13-minute runtime and, upon relistens, couldn’t find the same urgency from that first spin. Of course, the same has often been said of the equally tempestuous compositions of Godspeed You! Black Emperor or Sunn O))), so this is all to taste.

In the same vein, Ascent Effort’s blazes many paths toward its ultimate, emotional absolution, and there are moments where I wonder whether the band lingers on a musical motif for just a tad too long. But whether or not that’s the case couldn’t dream of overshadowing just how enjoyable the whole album is to listen to, nor the manifold pleasures of hearing constantly evolving ideas play out over the 40-minute runtime. Part of me also wonders how Ascent Effort would sound with Chong’s vocals across the entire mix, bringing screamo further into the fold, but that would compromise the extreme tact with which vocals are presented. Nothing about the vocal delivery is boilerplate, nor do they feel like a checked-off box; the band brilliantly uproots traditional expectations of what vox signal in the modern western tradition. They are a gateway bridging ideas—combining them to become more than the sum of their parts. This is why such criticisms hit a significant barrier when specifically applied to Rhododendron, and I believe the key lies in the album’s title itself.

I can’t remember a recent time I thought of a band, “wow, these folks are rocking my fucking world right now.” In this way, Ascent Effort reminds me of some of the genre make-or-break classics—to name a few: Loveless, Aja, Burnin’, Bitches Brew, or whatever wizards like John Zorn and Keiji Haino have been cooking up for decades. This record, in name and in function, really does feel like a concerted effort to ascend, as though in tireless search of fresh views formerly obscured by one’s first effort. Returning to their 2021 release, Protozoan Battle Hymns, it’s quite rewarding to see where and what the trio decided to expand upon. So many thematic elements of “Moloch Whose Eyes are a Thousand Blind Windows”—sometimes prog, sometimes post-rockian onslaught—make a cameo, but never in such a way that I thought, “oh, this is like that other thing.” It’s a difficult alchemy to master—blending what was and what was good with what wants to be—but I think Rhododendron really pull it off here. 

Listening to Ascent Effort is, at turns, a test, a revelation, an unanswerable problem, and too much fun. And that’s where I leave off: this album is a ton of fun. That’s a treat these days—to be able to sit, listen, smile, and say “hell yeah.” I really don’t know where the gang goes from here, but without question, this is only the (new) beginning.

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Poppy Bishop Sinclaire is a southern writer, educator, and literary theorist. You can follow their pug, Dimple, on Instagram @disco_christ.

Palette Knife – Keyframe Walkthrough

Palette Knife are a band who recognize that the real world isn't actually too far removed from the fantasy one. The Ohio-based trio have an inherent understanding of the way our chosen form of escapism reflects the conditions and struggles we face.

Across three full-length records, the band has honed an energetic blend of pop-punk, math rock, and emo, sprinkling their lyrics with ultra-nerdy pop culture references that point to something much more profound. Soaring guitar riffs, delicious bass slides, and cascading drumming firmly root their discography as a catchy, melodic, and infectious extremity of the genre.

On their latest album, Keyframe, Palette Knife further expand into all of these territories, this time showcasing their knack for magical realism and worldbuilding. Through different anime, gaming, and techno-fantasy landscapes, the band conveys moments of longing, excitement, danger, anger, suffering, delusion, insecurity, and feeling absolutely lost in an ever-expanding world that seems to be constantly shifting.

To navigate the frantic pace and technical wizardry of Keyframe, we've created this walkthrough to help you advance through each level with ease. We've even got some tips and tricks from one of Keyframe's creators, Alec Licata, who sings and plays guitar throughout the record. For more help, get tips from the pros by calling 1-900-288-0707. Rates of $1.50 per minute apply. Help line not guaranteed to improve your gameplay, solve your problems, or make you happier.

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---- STAGE 1: PHOENIX DOWN ----
        

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Ok, so the first thing you want to do is crank your sound system as high as it will go, then do some light stretching so you can air-guitar effectively. It can feel a bit challenging at first, but once vocalist Alec Licata begins singing his incantations, you'll want to spam dodge rolls as the rapid-fire riffs start hitting you hard and fast.

SWIM INTO THE SOUND: The RPG imagery is rife throughout your entire discography, and there are more than a few references to different classic series found on the album, my favorite being this opening track. Who is your favorite Final Fantasy character, and how closely do you feel you resemble them?

PALETTE KNIFE: This is so hard. I have a soft spot for Lightning because FFXIII was the first one in the series I played. I also love Noctis because telekinetic crystal swords are all I really want, but I don't think I'm emo enough. Honestly, I feel a little similar to Cloud in Crisis Core: in that game, he has a lot more spark and optimism before the horrors of war turn him into the stoic husk we see in Final Fantasy VII.

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---- STAGE 2: FAULTSIPHON ----
        

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Figuring out a proper setup is crucial to navigating the world of Keyframe, especially around the time you start hearing debuff / stagger / weakness /shatter. Learning how to avoid each of these status effects is key to assuring your ultimate victory.

SWIM: I've always liked the idea of instruments being reflective of character classes in TTRPG worlds. Which character class feels suited to guitar, vocals, bass, and drums, respectively?

KNIFE: Oh gosh, I might be biased because I love wizards, but I'm going wizard for guitar. Drums definitely tank: like either a paladin or something heavily armored with good damage. Bass is probably a barbarian or berserker. And vocals might be healer or bard; the lyrics are inspiring or buffing the audience.

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---- STAGE 3: PROTOTYPE V.2 ----
        

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Nothing can prepare you for the iterative, emotional, psychic damage of this level. Crossing the Rubicon is no simple feat, but our next hint reveals the upgrades, armor, and stats you'll need to successfully configure your armored core to peak fighting form.

SWIM: If someone made a game out of Keyframe, what studio or director would you want to make it?

KNIFE: Ooooh, I would KILL for a FromSoftware game that's mech-themed like Armored Core but plays like a Dark Souls game. I realize that's sorta been done already with The Surge, but man, FromSoftware just does everything so right!

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---- SECRET LEVEL ----
        

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Blink and you may miss it, an easter egg left for the savvy player to find, a marriage of Gundam, Zoids, and Robotech, this secret monument to a forgotten war is a special nugget of lore that most players wind up missing.

SWIM: The cover feels halfway between Zoids and Gundam. How did you wind up with this imagery?

KNIFE: I basically told Aaron [Queener, Palette Knife's drummer] I had a vision of the mech that we all pilot together, The Keyframe, embedded in the side of a studio, a thinking mountain, all post-apocalyptic and overgrown. We both got very into Gundam kits over the past few years and knew we wanted the record to be mech-themed. After many hours and revisions, this is the digital painting I made in Photoshop, and we thought it was mature and powerful enough to display without typography.

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---- STAGE 5: LIMIT BREAK ----
        

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By now, jamming out to the multiverse of tasty licks, massive drums, and ricocheting bass lines should have your Limit gauge completely maxed out. For that you just gotta hit ↘ + → + X and you'll be tearing through to the final stage with ease.

SWIM: The album title is actually referenced only once on the entire record on “Limit Break,” where you sing: “It always takes so long for me to reframe / The mannequin I pose behind the keyframe.” Could you expand on this line and the meaning behind the album title?

KNIFE: Totally! I find myself caught in these paradigms and frameworks of thought where I base my whole world on a job, relationship, identity, or interest. So there's inevitable trouble in what happens when one of these paradigms is uprooted, and I'm forced to reframe my view of how I thought my life was going versus how it is. I'm basically saying it can take a while to heal from big changes—both good and bad ones—and, to an extent, I'm often frustrated by how long it can take me to adjust to change.

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---- FINAL LEVEL ----
        

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You've done it! Everything you've learned, the band, the songs, the moves, has prepared you for the wandering expanse of “ISS.” As the final cutscene plays and your fighter drifts off in their damaged Veritech, swallowed by the infinite dark glow of space, the gentle glow of the Keyframe title card is the last thing we see before the end credits roll.

Through healing, through struggle, through glory and through hope, Keyframe builds its loose narrative web into a multiverse of very real themes. It can be a difficult world to make your way through these days, and the band has a firm understanding of this. From the barreling opening of “Phoenix Down” to the calm and serene acoustic closer “ISS,” Palette Knife has built entire realms to explore and exist in, ones that we hope this walkthrough made more navigable for you, weary traveler.

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Elias can often be found at the local gig or online advocating for some forgotten band from who knows how long ago. They currently live in the greatest city in the world Los Angeles, California and can be found online on Instagram and Twitter @listentohyakkei.

Elephant Jake – ‘98 / Swiss Army Wife – Emergency Contact | Double Single Review

Three years ago, Swim Into The Sound shook the music blog industrial complex to its core when we introduced the world's first-ever Double Single Review. That’s right; two bands, two songs, one post. While some cautioned that this invention would be too innovative, disruptive, or even dangerous, we proceeded anyway. Now that the dust has cleared from that initial fanfare, enough time has passed that it seems safe to revisit the format, and today is the perfect excuse, cause we’ve got another pair of bangers to talk about from emo bands Elephant Jake and Swiss Army Wife.

One weird side effect of COVID is that some bands feel fake. I don’t mean fake in an AI way, quite the opposite. I mean a band that feels so up my alley that it’s hard to believe that they actually walk among us. Their instrumentals are too tight, their smoke too tough, their press photos too swaggy. Until I see these types of bands with my own two eyes, they might as well be a figment of my caffeine-addled imagination.

Elephant Jake is one such group. I’ve been aware of the Philly emo band peripherally for years, even interacted with them online on multiple occasions, but was never able to catch them live due to a combination of small potatoes touring logistics and bad timing. Here was a group I’d listened to and enjoyed, but never laid eyes upon until they materialized on a random Friday night at Ortlieb's opening for the y'allternative emo band Innerlove. I showed up a couple of songs into their set, but by the time I walked in, the band was already tearing shit up, jumping, shouting, and sweating as they cranked out a 30-some-minute set of raucous emo music. 

Today, the group released “'98,” the latest in a line of singles they’ve been dropping throughout the year. The song kicks off with a funky-as-fuck bassline and reserved guitar jangle. Lead vocalist Sal Fratto sashays in with a gentle croon that gradually builds to an anthemic passage as he sings, “While I was fucking it up, you were holding it down / I’m never feeling alive, I’m only losing you now.” Soon, the instrumental bursts into a forward stride as the lyrics continue to wax poetic about the passage of time, eventually leading to a jazzy outro that’s more jam band than Midwest emo. This track, combined with singles “Give Flight” and “Sustain,” seems to indicate that a banger of a full-length is on the way soon. 

Another example of this fake-until-proven-otherwise phenomenon is Swiss Army Wife. I discovered Portland’s tallest emo band sometime in the early days of 2023 with the release of their knockout debut, Medium Gnarly. I’ll admit I was simply excited to have some honest-to-god DIY emo emerging from my hometown, but the group’s live show affirmed that this was, in fact, a real band. I’ve caught the group almost every time I ventured back home to visit my family, including three times in the space of a month this past fall. 

Each time I saw the band, they ran through the hits off their album, their split with Kerosene Heights, and The Ultimate Emo Album, but what excited me most were the songs that hadn’t been released yet. One of them, it turns out, was “Emergency Contact,” also releasing today and arriving courtesy of We’re Trying Records. The track bears the group’s usual jagged and lanky emo instrumentals, prompting fist-balling frustration and offering an outlet to let it out. Things peak about 40 seconds in when the group drops into the chorus with a four-count beat as they shout, “Let’s get married!!!” then proceed to spill their guts in an embarrassing, relatable, and public display of affection. 

Every time the band drops into this chorus, I’m elated. I’ve found it’s the perfect tempo to jump up and down to, already having seen a handful of hometown shows where the crowd shouts each word back, erupting into a jubilant dance floor of carefree emo groves. I’m so glad I can hear this song whenever I want now, and it appears there’s more Swissy to come, which is always a good thing. Portland emo is real, and it’s Swiss Army Wife.