Church Girls – Still Blooms | Album Review

The “get out of this town” narrative is well-trodden territory in pop-punk, pretty much a staple of the genre. On their third album, Still Blooms, Philly punk rockers Church Girls conjure up imagery of this kind of suffocating environment, letting it fuel their desire to break away from the things that keep them feeling trapped. And they aren’t just leaving their metaphorical dead-end town; they’re barreling away from it at top speed in a getaway car and refusing to look back. 

As a lifelong New Yorker, I used to romanticize the idea of growing up in some small town that I could rebel against. It was a fantasy within a fantasy-- I liked the idea of having somewhere to escape from. Much of that fantasy involved a rite-of-passage that, though standard for most US teens, was foreign to me: driving around my crappy hometown with the stereo at full volume, finally getting my first taste of freedom. Now, in my twenties, I remain un-licensed, able to count on one hand the number of times I’ve been behind the wheel, and wishing I could get up the invincible “fuck-it” energy I had when I was younger to counteract the fear that’s been holding me back from learning to drive. All that being said: move over Olivia Rodrigo, someone else’s songs made me want to get my driver’s license. Church Girls are making heart-pounding, windows-down pop-punk anthems that burn with the promise of liberation, even in their most desperate moments. 

Desperation and determination go hand in hand on this album. These songs are driven by a grim optimism, with lead vocalist Mariel Beaumont plunging into the depths of despair and surfacing with an even stronger resolve. Just look at lead single “Separated,” where Beaumont intones, “one day we won’t think about it much / the sky will lift up and we’ll be unstuck from these sickly cycles in an old patterned loop.” It’s these brash statements of hope, even when such notions seem illogical, that imbue the songs on Still Blooms with a revelatory spirit and earn them a place in a greater, genre-spanning musical lineage. Think The Mountain Goats’ 2005 autobiographical bildungsroman The Sunset Tree, with John Darnielle declaring that he will “make it through this year if it kills me” and forcing himself to believe in a day where he can “rise up free and easy.” Think Fiona Apple taking control of her narrative and demanding her freedom over the beautifully tangled cacophonies of last year’s instant classic, Fetch The Bolt Cutters. Church Girls’ liberatory vision is messy and challenged by self-doubt, but the shadows surrounding it make it all the more compelling. 

These songs are hurtling into an unknown, but the reckless energy of their sound is in no way a reflection of a lack of thoughtful attention that Church Girls pay to their craft. They demonstrate a calculated chaos that Church Girls first began to cultivate on their 2017 debut Hidalgo, but have perfected as their sound has evolved. The four band members are now acutely attuned to one another, down to the smallest detail. On “Dune,” an electrifying guitar solo heralds in Beaumont's ethereal vocals at the bridge. From there, angelic harmonies build over a rolling snare. These vocals have an almost choir-like quality, which bring their vivid, emotionally resonant lyrics to shimmering heights. 

“Vacation,” the album’s final single, is another great example of the group’s undeniable chemistry. Instrumentally, it calls back to the energetic guitar riffs and pummeling drums of Bomb The Music Industry’s album of, coincidentally, the same title. The same can be said for the song thematically, as its unflinching confrontation with anxiety and regret will undoubtedly appeal to fans of Jeff Rosenstock’s vulnerable lyricism. “Vacation” shows Church Girls unafraid to engage with ugly feelings. It’s a strikingly honest commentary on the self-sabotaging impulse to isolate in sorrow rather than letting yourself need others. The album’s most profound moments are also some of its darkest. Beaumont has said that the aforementioned “Separated” is about a family member’s alcoholism. She attempts to make sense of her shifting ideas of home and family through lyrics like, “the known place has flamed out / and we’re learning not to yearn for it at all.” It’s an honest statement on love and addiction, and how the two complicate one another in ways that we might never quite make sense of. 

“Undone” opens with Beaumont dejectedly remarking, “so this is how it ends, huh?” Her voice softens at the bridge, the words “leave you at the water’s edge” floating delicately over contrasting parentheticals-- “Sink! Or! Swim!” is chanted almost militaristically by her bandmates. The drowning motif returns a few songs later on “Dissolve,” as does the contrast of shouted staccato backing vocals with Beaumont taking the melodic lead. We see drowning symbolism yet again on “Basement,” whose lyrics give us some fire as well as water. The flames that engulfed the broken home in “Separated” are now blazing through city streets. It’s another deeply personal track, one that sees Beaumont confessing, “I’m barely keeping it alive,” as she watches the moon from a dark, dusty basement. These tracks-- as well as supercharged album opener “Surface” --remind me of some of my favorite cuts from PUP’s discography, with their infectious pop-punk riffs, raucous gang vocals, and cutting delivery that’s somehow both miserable and triumphant. 

The album’s final few songs skew a bit more reflective, shifting the focus from the destination to what is left behind. Penultimate track, “Gone,” details a dismal homecoming scene, which questions whether or not this place can even be called home anymore:

All I got’s this ceiling fan
And the mattress on the floor
Now I’m stuck on dry land
Wondering what I came here for

It’s a familiar feeling of returning to a place associated with potent memories hoping for closure but ultimately coming up empty-handed. Closing track “Visions” looks to the future, begging the question of what happens once you’ve arrived in “a distant town like you wanted.” Church Girls provide a soundtrack to a ride off into the sunset, all while keeping that inescapable past in their periphery. Much of the album feels like a series of escape attempts, and ultimately all roads lead back to the very thing we were running away from.

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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.

Couplet – LP1 | Album Review

“Our letters wax and wane, but our stories will always end the same.”

When I learned that Couplet is a Tanner Jones project, my excitement hit peak levels. Having come of age musically in the heyday of You Blew It!, I was disappointed when their most ambitious effort, Abendrot, also turned out to be the band’s swan song. A songwriter and their vocals rarely match as well as Jones’s do. When yelps were needed, he went off; when ballads called for crooning, he soothed. His voice, both literally and lyrically, has been sorely missed and is now welcomed back with wide-open arms after a years-long break.

Adam Beck (Sincere Engineer) and Evan Weiss (Into It. Over It. and Pet Symmetry) are billed as re-imagining, arranging, and producing the songs written by Jones. In Couplet, the individual members’ contributions are each an embroidery unto the band’s musical tapestry. Through various filters, chorus, flangers, and reverb, Jones’s voice is more of an instrument that communicates the melodies through lyrics. Weiss’s recognizable style is not present and has changed drastically to fit this different style of music in contrast to his other projects. LP1 is both Jones’s show and a terrific, different new band.

Throughout the album’s 33 minutes, my head flowed and bobbed, swimming along to the songs as though I were floating in waves. Despite that summery vibe, LP1’s arrival is perfectly timed with autumn’s return. Evocations of American Football in the album’s title and overall somber atmosphere are present. Yes, with the emphasis on electronic elements, the comparison to The Postal Service is unavoidable, especially on opener “The Dregs,” first single “Old Elba,” and deeper cut “Forage.” The lyrics on “Page” even echo Ben Gibbard’s now-renowned style: 

We’ll take our time
record it in between the lines
If your lead should break
We’ll pretend it’s something we’d erase
If the page runs out of space
We’ll fold it into an origami shape.

Where Couplet gets weird, though, is when they channel electronic Radiohead on “Mistresses All.” The main melody is more angular than the rest of the album; the boxy drums crash down in what will undoubtedly be an incredible live show. A synthesized bass line grounds the moody, spacey Moog. As accessible as LP1 is with its hooks abound, I hope Couplet’s upcoming music explores the soundscapes similar to those introduced in “Mistresses All.”

Couplet is not You Blew It! 2.0, and that is a good thing. The project is a totally different beast from the same musicians you already know and love in settings you do not typically find them. Nevertheless, if you fall into the camp that misses Tanner Jones, Couplet feels like a hot cup of coffee on a brisk October morning.

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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, writing and recording music in his shoebox apartment, or loving his dogs, Franklin and Maudie. You can find him on Twitter at @a_cuppajoe.

Greet Death – I Hate Everything | Single Review

New misanthropy anthem just dropped!

Michigan shoegazers Greet Death have returned with “I Hate Everything,” their first single since 2019’s New Hell. The track is more of a changeup than a curveball; gone are the soul-crushing of the guitars and bass of their previous songs, in their place are gently strummed acoustic chords and faint drum patterns. There’s still a sick guitar solo, but even it feels restrained in comparison to the soaring solos of songs like “You’re Gonna Hate What You’ve Done.”

When I listen to “I Hate Everything,” I can’t help but think of “Crush,” the penultimate song on New Hell. Both tracks have an almost pop-like quality while still featuring some of the band’s most dour lyrics. “Crush” is a tranquil little diddy propped up by a gorgeous slide guitar motif as Logan Gaval sings of a heartbreak that has him fantasizing “different ways [his] body could die.” Sonically, the song is soft and gentle, yet lyrically, the content is nothing short of arresting. It serves as a sort of palette cleanser for New Hell, priming the lister for the punishing ten-minute title track that comes in its wake. 

Much like “Crush,” “I Hate Everything” doesn’t need to be loud to make itself heard. Sam Boyhtari acts as the song’s storyteller, laying out the mundane existence of a functioning depressive. Boyhtari’s lyrics and delivery sound like Andy Shauf making a Songs: Ohia record; clear and conversational, but incredibly dark. He’s getting wasted on Thursdays, sitting in meetings, and taking pictures of dead birds on the street. It’s a sad and lonely life, but in many ways, it’s not too different from what a lot of people are going through. Being depressed doesn’t make someone unique, but everyone’s depression is unique to them. You can traverse through a seemingly normal life and still be in immense pain; it’s not an either-or situation.

I know my analysis of the song might feel like a lot, so I want to make it clear that I love “I Hate Everything.” I love Greet Death’s colossal sound, but what makes their music truly special is that it is so validating. Life really fucking sucks sometimes, and Greet Death get that. As of now, it’s unclear if this track is the precursor of a new album or if it’s just a one-off single, but either way, I’m excited to see the band tweaking their sound while also remaining true to the sound of their previous releases. Not only are they tinkering with their music, but with their lineup as well. “I Hate Everything” sees Jackie Kalmink entering the fold as the band’s bassist and recording/engineer of this song, officially turning Greet Death into a four-piece. I don’t think the band has completely abandoned their loud shoegaze sound, but it’s clear that even without crushing guitars, Greet Death will always be heavy.

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Connor lives in San Francisco with his partner and their cat and dog, Toni and Hachi. Connor is a student at San Francisco State University and is working toward becoming a community college professor. When he isn’t listening to music or writing about killer riffs, Connor is obsessing over coffee and sandwiches.

Follow him on Twitter or Instagram.

Big Vic – Girl, Buried | Album Review

My favorite albums and songs aren’t great just because of the random assemblage of lyrics and instrumentals they possess; they’re great because the artist is pursuing a specific vision. Sometimes the writing is so vivid that it places you right alongside the narrator. Other times the band’s instrumentation is so distinct that it fleshes out their own corner of the musical universe. Those are the pieces of music that stick with me and keep me coming back because they offer something more than just a simple collection of sounds.

Specifically, in regards to the album format, a well-crafted world can be an infinitely renewable resource. I relish escaping into the countryside of Saint Cloud. I love donning my imaginary leather jacket for Born To Run. I will never get tired of the power and confidence that I feel while listening to Yeezus. Each of these albums flesh out their own one-of-a-kind universe thanks to the unflinching commitment of their respective creators. In capturing their reality, these artists offer up something of themselves. They welcome the listener in and let us find comfort, or coolness, or confidence in the space that they’ve created. That is what keeps me coming back to an album over time because it’s bigger than a good hook or a killer solo; it’s a world all its own. 

As a whole, shoegaze is a genre that understands this commitment to world-building. Bands like Greet Death, Gleemer, and Clearbody are all chipping away at different visions of the same thing. While Greet Death describes their style as “Blackened Post-Alt-Country,” Gleemer takes a more relatable, poppy singalong approach, meanwhile Clearbody offers a punchy style of Grungegaze. These bands can exist alongside heavy-hitters like Deafheaven and Hum, as well as exciting up-and-comers like Dazy and Alien Boy. You get the point. There is enough room in this genre for a wealth of diverse sounds, even when most bands are playing within the same sandbox of fuzzy guitars, sludgy bass, and crashing cymbals. 

This genre is all-encompassing. There are sub-shades of shoegaze where the core mechanics are cross-hatched into other sounds, but by and large, the genre follows the same approach; pummel the listener with distortion and trepidatious lyrics. Turn it up as loud as possible for maximum effect. 

In a genre that seems to be constantly shifting and ever-expanding, the Ann Arbor-based shoegaze act Big Vic is finally ready to unveil themselves with Girl, Buried. While they’ve been an entity since early 2019, it’s clear the band has spent the last two years practicing, honing their skill, and fleshing out their vision. Girl, Buried is a transportive piece of music that warps the familiar sound of shoegaze into something ferocious, groovy, and totally unique.

Once the listener presses play on the opening track, “Dinky,” they have no choice but to sink into the album like a water bed. The record opens with a squeal of feedback, quickly followed by a snappy slice of rock riffage. Lead singer Victoria Rinaldi sounds borderline Kim Deal-esque, affecting a sort of disgruntled 90s intonation that allows the band to bring things down a touch before swinging back into the next shoegaze riff. As the band shifts from one section of the song to the next, it feels as if you’re watching Spider-Man swing from one skyscraper to another; it’s acrobatic, exhilarating, and it all flows in an effortless, naturalistic way. 

Track two, “Broken Car,” is a bit of a sunkissed shift in sound. The song sounds agreeable enough; you can practically see the breeze wafting through the trees while you take in the jangly indie rock. As the opening verse unfolds, the band shifts into this kind of spiky cadence where the instrumental comes in fits and starts that coincide with Rinaldi’s delivery, emphasizing each word in the process. After a couple of verses, it all fades into a sort of Cure-like build which itself winds back up to the starting point, resolving in a neo-psychedelia Jay Som riff.

“Salt” opens with a radiant synth which is quickly paired with a searching Souvlaki-style space riff. The lyrics are just brief flashes that hit you like a jab from a dark alley; they hardly linger long enough to do anything, but still manage to knock the wind out of you. Right as you start to get a grasp on the sentiment, the guitar morphs into a sludgy wall of stankface tone, and we’re swept up into a tornado of overbearing emotion.

Album highlight “Gun Girl” changes things up with a fist-balling rager that alternates between a muscular, soaring punk riff and jagged, unsettling instrumentals. These whiplash-inducing passages are accompanied by vitriolic monologues aimed at creepy guys. The sentiments all pile up at the end of the song and culminate in a disorienting horn outburst that keeps things deliciously off-kilter. Not only does “Gun Girl” inject energy into the tracklist at just the right time, but it also wonderfully captures the out-of-control feeling you get from just trying to keep up with your thoughts while the world around you moves at lightning speed. 

The shoegaze-tinged half-steps into other genres don’t stop there. “Kerrytown” possesses lush slide guitar, lackadaisical banjo plucks, and a laid-back temper that’s slow as molasses and easy as the rolling hills. It’s a woozy little country-tinged pitstop that offers a perfect landing stip necessary for the comedown of “Gun Girl.” And while it starts mild-mannered, “Kerrytown” still crescendos into a beautiful, searching guitar solo that’s downright transcendental. This bleeds effortlessly into “Interlude,” where a whirl of static spins over some more banjo plucks for a wordless two-minute prattle before the final one-two punch of our closing songs.

“Worms” opens like a horror movie; proggy bass, guitar, and drums all jostle the listener around before igniting into an Adebisi Shank-style of robot rock. After a few whisper-quiet verses, the song degrades in real-time, slowing down with each bar before a crushing doom riff sweeps the entire thing into an endless abyss.

Closing track “Anymore” opens with a rolling, arid post-rock stretch that sets the scene for a reserved vocal performance. As the first verse nears its natural breaking point, the band falls into a lumbering Greet Death riff. Not content to repeat the same tricks twice, the next passage sees the group speeding the track up and slowing back down, distorting time like a warped Dalí clock or a piece of Laffy Taffy. The final 50-second stretch takes a page straight out of Mannequin Pussy’s playbook and breaks out into a riff so distorted and blown out it feels like you’re witnessing the end of the world. You can practically feel the walls of the studio shaking as the band breaks through the confines of the record, igniting into a solar flare and hanging themselves upon the night sky.

And that’s Girl, Buried. For a band named “@​​diet_emo” on Twitter, Big Vic is much less diminutive and far less emo than that handle would lead you to believe. This is a record that takes up space. This is a record that has things to say. This is a record that’s in control of its own destiny. 

Aside from the broad swath of genres represented here from shoegaze and beyond, Girl, Buried is also an excellently sequenced album that walks the listener seamlessly from one emotion to the next. Whether the band is getting technical and progressive or shaking with vitriol, Big Vic does an excellent job of making it all feel continuous. 

As the cataclysmic events of the world outside continue to bury us alive every day, sometimes having a world in which you can escape is vital. Girl, Buried isn’t a distraction. This album is not a world in which those hard feelings and oppressive events don’t exist; it’s a world in which they do, and you’re strong enough to confront them. This record is all your own rage, sadness, anger, and helplessness reflected back at you. It’s the band saying, “We feel it too.”

As we try to un-bury ourselves each day, Big Vic offers a forthright album-length reminder that, if you’re feeling the pressure, at least there’s comfort in knowing you’re not alone.

Colleen Green – Cool | Album Review

Yet another installment in our series of “first impression” reviews, the following write-up was written and published in just one day based solely upon a few sequential listens of Colleen Green’s newest album.

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Like many other denizens of 2015, I was enamored by Colleen Green’s third album, I Want To Grow Up. The combination of bratty pop-punk, borderline-stoner rock, and genuine human insight felt completely revelatory to me at the time. Place these Insomniac-era Green Day riffs underneath an iconic cover, Descendents reference, and sunglasses-clad getup, and it felt like Green had the potential to be one of punk music’s next great visionaries. Then a year passed. Then another. Eventually, six years down the line, we finally have a proper follow-up to that breakthrough record, and it feels just as impressive as the release that Green first staked her name on. 

I honestly thought enough time had passed that I’d be “over” Colleen Green’s sound by now, but one song into Cool and I was immediately proven wrong. Just when I thought I was out, she pulled me back in. Leaning further into a sort of One Beat-era Sleater Kinny style of Pacific Northwest indie rock, Cool is a different album from Grow Up in the best way possible. The opening track “Somewhere Else” sets the tone (and pace) for the record perfectly with a rolling instrumental evocative of other spacious album openers like Japanese Breakfast’s “Diving Woman.” After roughly a minute of jazzy, open-ended riffage, Green saunters into frame talk-singing the first verse in a poetic cadence that makes you lean in further and further with each bar. Then the song drops out into a guitar solo before throwing back to another obfuscated verse fleshing out a one-sided relationship. To carry out the track, a series of hummed “oooooh’s” lead directly to a glitchy repetition of “Do you?” That phrase loops out into a whispered refutation of “he has someone else” which repeats until the song fades into silence—a pretty incredible range of ideas for a three-minute opener. 

The other singles,  “I Wanna Be a Dog” and “It’s Nice To Be Nice,” bring the listener up to speed on Green’s artistic ethos in 2021; biting, acerbic lyricism basking underneath the glow of a sunny feel-good instrumental. It’s a delicious contradiction that results in some of the sharpest and most exciting songwriting I’ve heard all year. In the former track, Green takes the same sentiment as the famous Stooges song and reinterpolates it as a lens through which to view, analyze, and critique her outlook on life as well as her interpersonal relationships. Much like “Heavy Petting” by Future Teens, it’s a track that fully commits to its pet-based analogy, resulting in a song that can be enjoyed on a different level with each re-listen. In the latter single, Green takes a breezy sailboat instrumental and works up to a chorus that acts as a reminder to be kind to both yourself and others. 

Even though “It’s Nice To Be Nice” comes halfway through the tracklist, the song acts as the self-proclaimed sentimental peak of the album. On the record’s Bandcamp page, it reads of the track, “[it’s] Green’s reminder to herself that you get what you give, so it’s important to try and be the best person you can—a hard-won but essential lesson in the emotional maturity that defines Cool.”

From that point on, the Cool winds from patriarchal Mitski sentiments on “How Much Should You Love a Husband?,” Powerplant-era Girlpool sounds on “I Believe In Love,” and a meditative instrumental closer on “Pressure to Cum.” Throughout the first half of the album, you’ll find surfy indie rock on “Posi Vibes” and Diet Cig-flavored critiques of the always-on social media world with “You Don’t Exist.” There are harrowing tales of emotional disconnect on “Highway” countered by shimmering bass-guided adoration on “Natural Chorus.” Simply put, there’s a dazzling range of sounds and ideas on this record that somehow all manage to congeal into one cohesive piece of art. Every drum beat, bass thump, guitar lick, and synth note are all filtered through Green’s UV-protectant sunglasses, and that makes Cool feel like a fantastically singular creation.

Throughout each track on the album, I’m amazed by Green’s restraint in song structure. Whether penning multi-layered critiques on things as big as the society in which we live or zooming in to write about things as specific and singular as herself, Green always manages to find time to fit those observations between razor-sharp choruses and spectacular guitar solos. Even with a fairly traditional 36 minute run time, it feels like each of these ten tracks have enough time to do exactly what they need. Because each song has enough space to breathe, this means everything feels urgent, but nothing feels rushed. 

This measured approach to song structure is easily my favorite thing about Cool. Some songs like “Someone Else” open with this sort of curtain-up instrumental level-set, while others like “Natural Chorus” sputter out into these listless musical ruminations. It makes Green’s presence on vocals even more impactful and makes each word land harder due simply to the contrast with their surrounding environment. The tracks essentially strike a perfect balance between poetic observations, memorable choruses, and awe-inspiring compositions. Cool is a fantastic example of letting the instrumental tell the story, and that’s an art form that often feels lost within the indie rock sphere where some bands are eager to paint over any white space in an arms race toward the next area-ready chorus. Green’s approach to music leads to this economy of words where the listener pays even closer attention to each verse just for a brief glimpse at what’s going on behind those iconic sunglasses.

Overall, Cool is a stunning release that effortlessly shakes off the slump of a six-year album gap in favor of something inventive, new, and authentic to Green as an artistic entity. It may have taken a while to get here, but much like the songs themselves, Cool is proof that sometimes you just need to move at your own pace.