Celebration Guns – The Visiting Years | EP Premiere

As you may have heard, pop-punk is having a post-pandemic revival, and 5th wave emo is in full swing. Arizona indie rockers Celebration Guns are doing more than just riding the wave. They’ve been pumping out catchy, hook-heavy, Midwest Emo-adjacent bangers since the mid-2010s, and their latest project with Chillwavve Records is no exception. The Visiting Years sees them seamlessly interweaving poppy melodies, charmingly fuzzy production, and math-y guitar riffs that’ll draw in fans of American Football and Foxing. This is all paired with gang vocals that practically beg to be screamed along to at post-vax shows. Lyrically, these songs are anthemic and emotionally resonant, without taking themselves too seriously. 

Celebration Guns are occasionally anthemic to a fault. On “The Tools That Take From Us,” they run into a problem similar to the one that kneecapped the most recent IDLES album, where it becomes a bit too obvious that they’re trying to write a capital-P Protest Song about these troubling and uncertain times we’re living in. A cringe-inducing line like “I can’t wait to hear how I’ve been dumb/A snowflake and liberal to some” cheapens an otherwise thoughtful track about a generation’s frustration with the policymakers who’ve failed them. The COVID-19 pandemic had artists brimming with “now more than ever” energy-- often well-meaning but misplaced --and Celebration Guns are not immune to these moments of heavy-handedness. This isn’t to say that the concerns they’re expressing become devoid of their power, but their unsubtle wink and nod swiftly derails the song, making its youthful urgency seem cloying and juvenile. 

However, it’s not as though this borderline immaturity never works in their favor-- quite the contrary. With its driving drum beat and fun pop-punk hooks, “Obnoxious. Loud. Undoubtedly Fulfilled” stands out as a sweet and rowdy ode to finding your niche both creatively and socially. It begins with a lament about being “picked last by people that you don’t like for a game you never cared to play” and leads us to a misfit utopia where the things that make us feel ostracized are the same things that allow us to find community and artistic fulfillment. It’s a song that speaks to the deeply relatable experience of the reluctant outcast who feigns disinterest in fitting in because there’s nothing less cool than trying to be cool and failing. Like Michelle Zauner of Japanese Breakfast expressed in a recent installment of her music video breakdown series, “there’s this kind of fear that you want to fit in, you just don’t...it’s just [about] finding something of your own that makes not fitting in worthwhile.” In a similar vein, the song’s narrator recognizes that he isn’t above caring what the cool kids think of him and admits that at times he’s been “desperate to say that he’s better than them.” It’s vulnerable, multi-faceted storytelling like this that makes Celebration Guns’ music so human and so welcoming, as if they’re inviting you to join them “up on the hill” with all the other freaks and weirdos. We get to follow our gang of misfits on their journey to the place where they can revel in their uncoolness and recognize their outcast status as an integral part of their triumph. On a more meta level, lines like “I never thought I’d see acceptance for who I could be/I never got to say thank you for who I am today” come off as a group of bandmates expressing their gratitude to and for each other. The result is heartwarming without becoming overly precious. 

Celebration Guns’ optimism is not without its obstacles. The EP’s title track has lead vocalist Justin Weir opening up about his experiences with chronic illness and suicidal ideation. The recurring themes of survival and perseverance coexist with-- and are necessitated by --circumstances that make living feel like an impossible thing to do. “I’m tired of telling lies so you won’t worry about me,” he sings, clinging to his ability to stay alive in a body that’s trying to destroy itself and a world that’s falling apart. The song’s emotional climax comes when he addresses the listener directly-- “if you’re hearing this, I’m still alive.” It’s a duality that’s present throughout the project-- the bitterness of adversity and the sweetness of survival are intertwined, a reminder that sometimes survival is a victory in and of itself. The Visiting Years is a life-affirming project that boldly follows its bittersweet heart. The result is obnoxious, loud, and undoubtedly fulfilling. 

The Visiting Years is out July 30th on Chillwavve Records.

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Grace Robins-Somerville is a writer from Brooklyn, New York. You can find her on Instagram @grace_roso and on Twitter @grace_roso.

Kevin Devine – No One's Waiting Up For Me Tonight | EP Review

For nearly two decades, Brooklyn’s Kevin Devine has carved out cross-genre niches in his musical pursuits, whether it’s with emo cult favorite Miracle of 86, folk rock supergroup Bad Books, or collaborations with the likes of Craig Finn and Meredith Graves on his Divinyls Splits Series. Devine’s latest solo project sees him going back to singer-songwriterly basics. No One’s Waiting Up For Me Tonight is wistful and introspective, allowing for Devine’s delicate melodies and thoughtful lyricism to take center stage. Though at times the moody-broody Elliott Smith worship goes a bit too far-- lines like “God transmissions through my higher mind” warrant an eye roll --Devine manages to build off of his indie folk influences in a striking way.

Take the standout track “I’ve Never Been Happier Than I Was In That Picture,” a rose-tinted waltz through memories of a past romance. As he paints vivid scenes of still life drawings in deserts and barefoot fountain dances during a Brooklyn heatwave, Devine gives thanks to a former lover for the moments of joy that have been preserved by memory. His bittersweet gratitude is backed by a shimmering, Sufjan-esque string arrangement-- the most elaborate on an otherwise instrumentally sparse EP. 

These songs float between appreciation and regret, with memory serving as the throughline that tethers them to one another. There are times where it would seem easy for Devine to overindulge in nostalgia, an impulse which he artfully resists. The EP’s most striking moments come when Devine undercuts his own tendency toward romanticism with the occasional blunt one-liner: “you weren’t peaceful, you weren’t in love,” he sings on closing track “All There Is Now.” His ability to embrace both the beauty and the ugliness in his reflections on the past strengthens each emotional blow. The regretful “Taking Shape” juxtaposes Devine “coughing bloody yolk, threading a minefield blind” with Simon And Garfunkel-style vocal harmonies. Meanwhile, “Lakes On The Moon” is a stripped-down acoustic statement of humility, forgiveness, and loss. 

Composed in quarantine, No One’s Waiting Up For Me Tonight is imbued with anxieties about an uncertain future as well as the promise of personal growth. It’s a testament to self-reflection, but more than that, it shows Devine questioning how he can use this period of solitude to head into the unknown. Even in its loneliest moments, there remains a quiet hope. 

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Grace Robins-Somerville is a writer from Brooklyn, New York. You can find her on Instagram @grace_roso and on Twitter @grace_roso.

The Treacherous Experience on the Outskirts of Ordinary Life

What is the everyday mundane? How does mundanity differ from person to person, and how do we cope with something that seems so simple? We’ve survived well beyond a year of the same monotonous process every single god-forsaken day. The difference is that this mundane has been coupled with a deadly everlasting pandemic for the past year and a half. Stuck in what feels like an eternity, the weight of being a cog in the capitalistic machine has never felt so close. We’re all chronically burnt out, questioning what we know, and breaking new ground despite everything weighed against our existence. For trans folks especially, this year has been one blow to healthcare and human rights after another. It is exhausting, but we have to push through all the heartbreak, the loneliness, the gender dysphoria, and the identity growth if we want to find a happy resting state. Through the chaos of our reality, self-reflection and acceptance nevertheless persevere. We must learn the hard way that running from ourselves only makes things worse. 

Trans people push through the mundane while consistently juggling the social encounters and internal processes that come with the experience of transitioning. It is conflicting thoughts and feelings that haze over the mind on a consistent basis. What do we do on days where this is especially prevalent, and all we can feel is how much we don’t fit the everyday process? How do we escape, and what are we escaping from? Coming out as a transgender woman, Reade Wolcott captures every emotion in her experience transitioning with an album jammed-packed with trans ska banger after banger. Showcasing the crushing weight of a cookie-cutter existence, We Are The Union finds happiness in coloring outside the gender binary lines and creating a reality that is far from ordinary. If you need that iced coffee and estrogen straight to the veins, then We Are The Union is here to provide all that, and a whole lot of serotonin with Ordinary Life. 

This album sends you full swing into a ska-filled summer with opening track, “Pasadena.” Right off the bat, the listener is hit with catchy lyrics of a failed relationship portrayed in a manner that everybody can relate to. With a mental state cracking and causing division and conflict at every turn, Wolcott sums up the feelings of being mentally ill in a long-term relationship. 

and it’s a shame
your secret smokes in the alleyway
to numb the pain
to escape the everyday mundane

What’s so fun about Ordinary Life is how successfully Wolcott writes about the transgender experience in ways that everyone can relate with. Through catchy ska-punk tunes, this album conveys how similar the existential dread feels from person to person. Despite the upbeat instrumental, this opening track foreshadows the depth Wolcott reaches in showcasing what makes that experience unique for her as a trans woman.

Wolcott’s ability to sing about the transgender experience through relatable anecdotes makes for a conceptual album that is handcrafted and delivered for queer fans while easily digestible for the cis fans. It is a widely accessible album that never falls short in poignant prose but doesn’t hide the transgender experience behind any curtains or veiled analogies. Each song is far from anything in the realm of the ordinary. Instead, they champion transparency and complete honesty to create an album that fully grasps the transgender experience for everyone to hear. Ordinary Life demands your attention and holds it for 35 minutes straight.

With the lead single, “Morbid Obsessions,” we are met with the album’s thesis. As showcased in the music video, this album is all about burying your old self, laying the relationships that don’t serve you to rest, and becoming brand new. The concept of transgender feelings as morbid obsessions is cunning, especially with the analogy of zombies used in the video. It brilliantly illustrates how an overwhelming majority of the public views transitioning as some fucked up fixation. The quite literal zombie-like feelings come from the alienation felt by trans people in a capitalistic society that wants to shut you out completely. The metaphor of the plague doctor as a bouncer symbolizes sexual control and police brutality towards LGBTQ people enacted by the state. It also shows the religious right-wing’s desire to eradicate the trans community entirely. This video depicts the intolerance that queer people face whether they’re coming out, actively transitioning, or expressing their gender.

When you’re trying to stuff gender-related feelings deep down inside, interacting with others is met with fear of accidentally confessing and outing yourself. The cleverness of this band is exhibited in the “No Zombies Allowed” sign at the bar where the video takes place. Feeling like a sore thumb, Wolcott turns to leave but is stopped by Jeremy “Jer” Hunter, best known for their slapping covers over on Skatune Network and carrying the We Are The Union brass section. Through storytelling, “Morbid Obsessions” gives us a glimpse into discovering and redefining your gender around the people you love. 

Jer’s role in this video is riddled with underlying experiences of living as a nonbinary person. As Wolcott made an entrance with every zombie trait on display, Jer’s features are more subtle and easily covered by a hood. The experience of living in the in-between is best captured with this role and conveys the similarities in gender non-conforming and trans identities. Although not privileged with the same abilities to pass, Wolcott forges camaraderie with Jer and fellow zombie Gracie Pryor. Together, they break the bar rules and defeat the plague doctor once and for all.

now in come the drugs
in come the drugs and the booze
razors, wrists, and self-abuse
trapped like a rat, got nothing left to lose
she wanted a dress
like all the other girls
a head full of curls
they said “son, you can’t always get what you want in this world”

Whereas bands like Home is Where weave feelings through intricate metaphors embroidered in extrospective observations, We Are The Union capture the trans experience from the inside out. It feels like the band is processing each new emotion as they unfold. 

This means every track possesses an introspectiveness sprinkled with a healthy amount of one-liners and humor. While Self Care sought to normalize mental health, Wolcott now takes on the task of normalizing the trans experience as a whole with Ordinary Life. The result is a record full of pop-punk melodies coupled with excellent 2-tone rhythms. It is honest, upfront, and genuine, with summer vibes bursting at every seam.

Best fitted for skanking your heart out in sweaty basements, Ordinary Life is a vibrant record that wears its heart on its checkered sleeve. The record’s sound is a far cry from the blacked-out, classic punk of Against Me!’s Transgender Dysphoria Blues, but is so rich with the trans experience and solidarity that it brought me right back to the first listen of that defining trans album. However, with each listen of Ordinary Life, it becomes clear that to compare We Are The Union to Against Me! would be an understatement. These are two bands for different moods and different parts of the process. Transgender Dysphoria Blues is the battle cry to transitioning with room to spare for letting out composed rage, while Ordinary Life is all about the messy in-betweens, fucking up, and dancing on the grave of your enemies and past self. 

We’ve arrived at a new era of trans-lead music that blends genres while showcasing brilliance in so many different types of writing and creative endeavors. 100 gecs took the past two years by storm, and Left at London released a fantastic new album on the same day as We Are The Union, to just name a few. The art that these bands craft follow varying lyrical, instrumental, and electronic techniques that are consistently inspired by the ever-changing world around them. Bands featuring trans musicians are captivating the world, with brilliant music that sticks in your head for months but also provides an umbrella for fans who identify as trans or nonbinary and have never had such an array of relatable music before. 

Being trans is never black and white, and every song off of Ordinary Life is a trans anthem that beautifully reflects that nonlinear journey. This path always circles back to the extraordinary. Still, the record is also mired in the mundane experience of transitioning within a society that wants to file you down and stuff you into made-up, categorical gender norms. As a nonbinary person, I cannot possibly understand the extent of transitioning. Still, I hope my ability to relate to the feelings of being controlled by the gender binary until you finally reject it speaks for itself. The overwhelming comfort I felt hearing these songs goes to show the universality in navigating the gender experience.

afraid to disappoint
so i fail everyone around me

Attempting to suppress conflicting gender thoughts is an all-consuming process. Short-circuiting occurs when these disconnected thoughts jump in the way every time you try to speak. As a result, you end up feeling jumbled, which leads us into the next track entitled “Broken Brain,” which reinforces the concept of absent-mindedness. Dulling the brain to get through the everyday is a consistent theme throughout this album. For example, the band drops lyrics about using vices to cope with mental health that contrast with survival tactics and medicine that help Wolcott achieve self-actualization. In what is perhaps the most iconic line of the record, “please inject me with iced coffee and estrogen / we’re panicking again,” self-medication and hormones are followed by the overwhelming sensation of failing to escape the ordinary.

lists inside of lists, a labyrinth
how do people do the things they plan to?
lost the day again laying in the grass
sweating every conversation i’ve ever had

What is ska if its brass section can’t transport you to another world? Jeremy Hunter delivers on this album with a killer trombone that carries as much emotion as the lyrics themselves. What perfectly pairs with a diagnosis of depression and dysphoria? A horn section that sinks deep into your soul. Flanked by Tenor Saxophone, Baritone Saxophone, and multiple other trumpets, the brass section led by Jer is accompanied by Kevin and David Miller, as well as contributions from Scott Klopfenstein. The dynamic and emotive instrumentation on this album is not to be missed for the way it keeps you on your feet and sticks like glue to your brain.

With Ordinary Life, we get eleven tracks of unbeatable trans anthems tied together with themes of breakups, heartache, depression, and ADHD. The best part? This album provides the full range of emotions in equal parts universal and unique to Wolcott. In a BrooklynVegan interview, Wolcott touches on the goal to bring normalization of every emotion in an easy-to-grasp way that extends far beyond transgender struggles. She notes, “what I really tried to do was to frame the trans experience and frame dysphoria alongside things that are maybe more relatable to the general public, like heartbreak, like ADHD, depression, all the more common themes that we've kind of touched on in the past." Through this, we have a record that is dynamic, widely relatable, and full of songs for every mood that specifically hone in on the trans experience.

Are you feeling beat down, bummed out? Shaken all the good vibes out with the last few tracks and need to switch it up? “Make It Easy” is the love song of every queer’s dream. We got the perfect and undeniably adorable music video, catchy guitar and basslines, an alluring trombone, and Brent Friedman’s incredible percussions that act as the backbone of the tune, with Jer carrying the motif throughout. The drums featured in “Make It Easy” pull you in, push you out, and throw you back on your feet without missing a beat. The builds of the snare and floor tom in this song are sharply highlighted to make it feel like being lifted off the ground. These drums pair brilliantly with the crescendo of the trombone to close out the front half of this record with hopeless romanticism. 

When the needle hits the backside of the album, we are instantly met with a sensational syncopated nod to the roots of ska on “Boys Will Be Girls.” Complete with aesthetic references to Backstreet Boys, this tune breaks every single gender norm, gives a shout-out to nonbinary people, and smashes the deeply held fear of the trans community commonly upheld by the right-wing of the political spectrum. This single laughs in the face of fear. It laughs at the absurd notions held by small-minded people that being transgender is a plague or that the COVID-19 vaccine will turn kids gay or trans. Instead, “Boys Will Be Girls” is a triumphant and multi-colored celebration of the trans experience.

throw a tantrum, hold a sign
as the infantry arrives
we’ll take back the city tonight
the kids will be alright
your old ways will die
in the darkest depths we’ll stand here in the light.

The people who created and enforced the rigid gender binary are scared. As gender is the backbone of patriarchy, the threat of that crumbling invokes hatred towards trans and gender non-conforming folks. Old notions are left to retire as the common consciousness of gender shifts, with inclusivity and reason guiding the way. Forging new paths in identities that match the way we feel is the only way forward. 

From there, Ordinary Life winds from substance abuse on “Wasted” to finding solace in accepting the imperfect parts of your reality on “Everything Alone.” As the record winds its way to a close, the band ends with a rebuttal of the ordinary. Finally, after dredging through all of these feelings, mundanity, and coping mechanisms, Wolcott leaves the listener with a poetic articulation of the trans experience. 

change your clothes in the shadows
let nothing pass through lonely doorways
your sandcastle crumbles, but you’ve never been better
is it real if we don’t swim in the shame?

like a swing set in the sea
we are anything but ordinary

With these lines, We Are The Union charge forth in the undertow, looking for anything but the ascribed ordinary. Wolcott is triumphantly rejecting her ordinary, burying her past self, while using a garden as an analogy for sowing the seeds of a life that's anything but ordinary. As Wolcott so poetically sings, “the only difference between a garden and a graveyard / is what you bury in it.” With this, she finally lays her dying parts to rest, becoming brand new in the extraordinary. 

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Ashley Bedore is a disabled, queer music lover living in Denver, CO. They can usually be found with a record spinning, head buried in theory, and cats on either side. As a sociology major and community organizer, Ashley enjoys discussing accessibility and collective care in the scene to foster spaces where every single body belongs. Follow them on Twitter at @emomarxist.

Parting – Unmake Me | Album Review

Today will be different
Today will be the same
The same can be different
In some weird kind of way

The ironic thing about Parting is that Unmake Me feels like coming home. The self-proclaimed “original emo revivalists” display the return of Keith Latinen (Empire! Empire! (I Was a Lonely Estate)), Ben Hendricks (Annabel), Gooey Fame (Dowsing), and John Guynn (Hawk & Son) asreturning flag-bearers of the genre. This isn’t fifth wave emo, but rather an evolution of your older sibling’s favorite bands from high school.

“Jesse Eisenbird” shows off a more refined version of Latinen’s voice while detailing the death of a family member between intricate, complementary guitar work. While the genre is known for making listeners feel things, this introduction to Parting breaks hearts and leaves one begging for catharsis.

While it feels cliché to call artists mature, “Ratt Michards” candidly recounts how the grueling life of nine-to-fives leads to depression. Despite this not being too crazy of a take, Latinen and Hendricks’s harmonies carry the notion over a driving bass line that teases the necessary catharsis needed after “Jesse Eisenbird”: “Knowing you need to change / is easier than / making changes.” You can almost hear the college crowd drunkenly belting this one back from the pit.

“Stapler’s Monster” slows the tempo for Parting just to show their strength as songwriters. After two solid, hook-laden songs, dueling vocal lines allow room for more vulnerability before our revivalists jump back into the hooks with “After the Fact” and “Maybe He’s Blinking When You’re Blinking.” The penultimate track, “He’s Obviously Beekeeping Age,” shows a more experimental, patient, electronic side of Parting. Think Jimmy Eat World’s “Pass the Baby” meets the trumpet fare of early Foxing.

Again, Unmake Me’s sequencing shines in this setup, laddering up to the catharsis of “Living Proof.” Like a feather floats to the ground, the gang vocals that kick off the denouement of the record are begging to be sung at the end of a late night. Yet it’s Latinen’s final words that bring us the closure so desperately needed after careening through the previous songs: “I’m living proof / of carrying through.” After what’s been a handful of rough years for myriad peoples, Latinen’s lines will hit home no matter what your background is.

Parting arrive just in time for the party, as though everyone was anxiously awaiting them. Then, immediately after the last note rings, they bow, leave, and make you wish they never left the stage. Unmake Me’s 18 minutes aren’t enough time with Parting, but you’ll want to flip this record right over and play it again after that final guitar chimes.

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Joe Wasserman is a high school English teacher in New York City. When he’s not listening to music, he’s writing short stories, playing bass for Save the Robots, or loving his pug, Franklin. You can find him on Twitter at @a_cuppajoe.

Downhaul – Proof | Album Review

Growth is hard to measure. It’s unquantifiable, it’s non-linear, and there’s no clearly defined endpoint. It’s also something that each person needs to recognize and undertake on their own. You can’t force a person to grow or change any more than you can stop the sun from setting or the rain from falling. Throughout PROOF, Downhaul ruminate on growth, filter it through the lens of memory, and ground it in physical spaces strewn across the wide-open sprawl of nature. 

Much like growth itself, the band does not begin the record with immediate progress but rather recognizing the need for growth in the first place. As these revelations unfurl throughout the epic seven-minute opener, “Bury,” the group does an excellent job of acclimating you into the gothic country world of the album. The song begins with a slow fade-up on an atmospheric howl of wind accompanied by a single jangly guitar and carefully brushed cymbals. As the cymbals grow louder and more intense about a minute in, lead singer Gordon Phillips emerges from the dense fog pondering in a Greet Death twang, “Did I waste the years when it all came so easily? / Was I standing still?  Did I slip at the edge of the quarry?” Soon after the first verse, the full band joins in, guitar, drums, and bass all falling into a towering and naturalistic riff worthy of a Balance and Composure song. 

The instrumental rises and falls as the guitar masterfully carves its path in the listener’s mind. The bass rumbles with a thunderous power, rattling underneath Phillips’ lyrics of backsliding and non-linear progress. As the story unfolds, Phillips begins to address some anonymous other, singing the album’s namesake and punctuating it with sentiments of despair and bitterness.

You wanted proof, you wanted
Lost sight of where we started
You denigrate your own, it’s so shameful
As you curse the ground that you came from
You wanted proof, you wanted...

The lyrics that end this song trail off, making them sound like an incomplete half-thought, but they actually do an important job of establishing the core concept for the album. As the listener hangs on this sentiment, the instrumental sputters out into a dusty, minimalistic stretch that allows for rumination. This use of negative space is something the band does excellently throughout the album and even within individual songs. These recurring instrumental stretches give the listener ample space to reflect on the lyrics and form their own meanings around the songs. 

After this long narrative pause, the next words we hear on “Dried” act like a flashback transporting us to a completely different time and place in the narrator’s life. Now on a sunny lakeside dock, the entire tone of the record shifts into a refreshing, youthful optimism in the vein of 2014-era Seahaven. Even though we’ve never been to these locations or experienced these events, Phillips’ lyrics do an excellent job of placing you there and making it feel as if you’ve experienced them in a past life. It’s a strange sense of familiarity and déjà vu. 

From there, the record changes tone within nearly every song. Even though the locations and people change, the sense that you’re experiencing everything from one single perspective is never lost. The sunny hard-charging desert drives of “Scatterplot” give way to blurry late-night trips through the heartland on “Curtains.” Lyrics range from textural to sweeping and address the relationships Phillips has both with himself and those around him. He writes about infatuation giving way to disillusionment. He talks about stagnation and contrasts that with the rewarding feeling of building something with another person. Songs zoom in on tactile things like stretchers and split-ends, then zoom all the way out to massive formations like shipyards and suspension bridges.

As we take in this full range of human emotion, these experiences all begin to fold in on themselves. A prevailing sense of unhappiness slowly emerges over the course of the album’s middle stretch. Feelings aren’t revealed. Things are hidden. People stop being honest. These relationships decay seemingly in real-time as you listen. Luckily, things take a turn for the better on “The Ladder,” where Phillips sings with newfound devotion over an understated acoustic guitar.

I’ve been backwards since I met you
Climb the ladder to impress you
All my clothes feel tighter when you
Say my name so I just let you

From this point on, things don’t necessarily get “better,” but a sense of progression begins to reveal itself. The lyrics start to come from a place of love, colors brighten, and the world warms up. Complications, while they still exist, begin to untangle themselves over time with a little bit of attention and self-care. 

PROOF truly comes full circle on the closing track “About Leaving.” After opening with a meditative slide guitar, Phillips wades into his feelings and emerges with a list of promises.

I’m gonna stand up straighter
I’m gonna leave and I won’t come back until I feel better
I’m gonna hang things on my walls
I’m gonna chase the ways we felt before this stood 10 feet tall
I gotta learn to leave

Here, everything from posture to interior decorating act as mandates for personal growth. Phillips has looked inward, found fault, and recognized the things in his life that he needs to address. Not only that, he’s promising to work on them. In the second verse, he continues this list with an even more challenging group of things to work toward, which all culminate in a soulful guitar solo.

I’m gonna stop comparing
I’m gonna focus on the people who have always cared for me
I’m gonna keep my head down
I’m gonna know when to recognize that this was all my fault
I gotta learn to leave

The final verse of the album ends with an epiphany that summarizes all of these resolutions with a beautifully poetic metaphor that both circles back to the first track and drops the album's title.

I’m gonna scale the canyon
Between who I thought I’d be and where I ended up
I’m gonna be more patient
Well you wanted proof, and I’d say that you got it

Scaling a canyon feels like an apt metaphor for personal growth. It seems monumental and near-impossible, but it is attainable if the desire is there… and that desire is a crucial first step. Landing on the line of “Well you wanted proof, and I’d say that you got it” both explains the album’s namesake and acts as an inverse parallel to the opening track where Phillips recognizes the need for proof but offers no such thing. 

Here, the listener realizes that the entire album is the proof. This record is comprised of stories, emotions, relationships, and revelations that all lead to one inevitable conclusion about the need to better oneself. As we journey past bodies of water, seek shelter from summer storms, and interact with meaningful people over the course of this album’s 43 minutes, we also accompany the band on this journey of personal growth and self-discovery. This quest is a beautiful thing to witness, but most critically, PROOF prompts the listener to look inward and think about what they can do to improve within their own life. In an album littered with landmarks and grounded in physical spaces, the most important monument within PROOF is the one we are building to ourselves.

Growth may be hard to measure, but PROOF contains enough progress to last a lifetime. Improving yourself is work; it doesn’t happen overnight, and it definitely doesn’t happen in 43 minutes. It took Downhaul five years and six releases to get here, but the band’s second album is a document that speaks for itself. PROOF is an interactive, inspiring, and emotive retelling of one person’s march toward betterment. If just one listener takes the message of this album to heart, then Downhaul have done their job.