Andy Shauf – Norm | Album Review

ANTI‐

The power of discovering music in a record store is still as relevant today as it was before the turn of the millennium. Walking into your favorite local shop, hearing the staff picks on the speakers, and then buying the album on the spot. It’s something that just can’t be recreated by sharing a streaming link. That’s where my fandom of Andy Shauf began in 2020.

Masked up and existentially confused, the soothing tones of his release that year, The Neon Skyline, immediately stuck out to me. Sitting somewhere between the Scottish twee of Belle And Sebastian and the cabaret croons of the Burt Bacharach catalog, Shauf really showcased a singer-songwriter style I felt like I’d missed for many years. It was a heavy spin for me in the back half of the year, as was his 2021 follow-up Wilds that continued the story. Consider it the Mallrats to its predecessor’s Clerks; the same characters followed from different perspectives while introducing new ones.

Norm is Shauf’s eighth proper LP and is a wonderful way to kick off the year in music. From the beginning of the opener,  “Wasted On You,” longtime fans will be pleased that Andy is not deviating from his signature style; he continues to be one of the most recognizable voices Canadian indie rock has to offer lately. If you heard Father John Misty’s last album, Chloe And The Next 20th Century, and thought, “what would it be like if these songs were good?” Norm delivers that reality. It creates a soft-spoken world using elements of the orchestral pop and easy-listening landscapes of our grandparents’ generation. To appease all ages, those same elements shine under the ultra-clean production of the modern indie era.

The falsetto opening of “Telephone” comes in so strong I was certain he was bringing in a guest vocalist for a duet. Which, given the style of this record, would probably fit quite well. In turn, this is just Andy using his range as a strength, like Adrienne Lenker would on some of her most intimate material. Andy’s vocals are once again a standout throughout the LP, but it’s the way he uses them on top of the sparse, relaxed instrumentation that makes all his records captivating. Swooning through passionate lines such as “I would live on the telephone if I was listening to you talk about your day.”

“Norm,” the title track, is the perfect centerpiece. Calling the lead character by name for only the second time so far (the first being a subtle mention in the very last line of “You Didn’t See”), we learn he “lays on his side with heavy eyelids” and hears the voice of the narrator “lead[ing him] to the promised land.” If one thing is clear throughout the album, our hero Norm is straight up not having a good time.

On “Halloween Store,” Shauf delivers maybe his strongest stanza of the record. In describing Norm’s feelings on meeting one of the many persons of interest encountered, he “wondered if I locked the house, walked back and found that I hadn’t. But now my keys were in the car.” / “Pulled the handle, and it snapped back. At least I’d locked one door.” It’s clear the small victories for Norm are enough in some cases. Shauf’s almost talk-sing delivery makes it hard to fully take it in if you’re not listening with a close ear. It’s an intoxicating moment of insecurity.

If Norm invokes one thing, it’s tenderness. Like many of Shauf’s releases, his ability to effortlessly bring you into his orbit and immediately feel comfortable is continually impressive. For example, take the opening salvo of “Sunset” and “Daylight Dreaming,” a pair of songs whose sonic qualities live up to their titles. Shauf wields his words perfectly: “Just watching the sunset, and I’m letting you know just how long I’ve loved you for,” he pleads. On the latter, he sings, “All my daylight dreaming can’t get you on the phone, so send me strength to God Almighty.” The presence of a higher power is considered throughout the album, but maybe never accepted.

So the story ends as it begins, the 102-second closer “All Of My Love” taking its name from the chorus of track one. It gives the impression that the legend of Norm is endless, or maybe that the titular Norm’s romantic journey is. Shauf’s smart decision here to not only tie the last song to the first, in addition to making it brief, invites the listener to start it again. Flip the record back over. Hit the album repeat button on streaming. Imagine King Gizzard’s Nonagon Infinity, an album on a seemingly constant loop, albeit more French café than outer space in this instance.

I can also understand Shauf’s gift of quiet tone setting being a crutch for some listeners. If you’re not willing to be right there, ears to the words, you could miss the details. Norm is patience demanding but wildly fulfilling. If you enjoy the similar quirk of Jens Lekman, the character-driven library of The Mountain Goats, or the heartfelt delivery of late fellow Canadian legend Gord Downie, Andy Shauf’s Norm should be considered for your 2023 new release rotation.

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Logan Archer Mounts once almost got kicked out of Warped Tour for doing the Disturbed scream during a band’s acoustic set. He currently lives in Rolling Meadows, IL, but tells everyone he lives in Palatine.

Twitter: @VERTICALCOFFIN
Instagram: @sleeps.with.angels

Palette Knife – New Game+ | Album Review

Take This to Heart Records

Palette Knife are an emo trio from Columbus, Ohio. If you don’t know what you’re getting into from that descriptor alone, there’s no better place to start than "Jelly Boi," the lead single off the band’s latest record. In one of the song's more open-hearted moments, lead singer Alec Licata belts out, “I don’t have sex anymore, I don’t feel sad anymore" at a near-scream. The lyrics shamelessly beacon out to emo/pop-punk fans sulking around corners of the internet and indicate the exact kind of confessional earnestness to expect from Palette Knife’s sophomore LP. The group draws clear influence from scene faithfuls such as Origami Angel, Commander Salamander, The Wonder Years, and Modern Baseball. The bits and pieces of these bands that Palette Knife used to craft New Game+ make for an extremely fun 35 minutes with seldom a boring moment.

While it may seem like the “I’m not sad anymore” era of pop-punk came and went with The Wonder Years’ conquering run in the scene, Palette Knife unearths this trope to kick off the LP in the previously mentioned track. The song slowly builds into a twinkle-led breakdown while detailing the need for Pabst Blue Ribbon and margaritas amidst a quarantine-fueled daze. The lyricism on New Game+ is quite straightforward, at times tongue-in-cheek, but works well within the context of the songs. The undemanding lyrics parallel the intricacies of Licata’s guitar playing, which knows exactly when to stand out in the mix. 

One of the most impressive aspects of the songwriting on this LP is the consistent shifting of song structures. Track three, “Avatar the Last Cakebender,” hesitates to jump into the chorus until almost two minutes into the track, which is pretty remarkable restraint compared to the average emo band. Details like these keep the listener invested in each segment of the album, with the whole thing being broken up by three short interludes, “Death Screen,” “Pause Screen,” and “Fog Gate.” Some of those tracks lean into the video game theme of the release with 16-bit soundscapes, while others experiment with spoken word. 

The songs following “Pause Screen” are some of the strongest on the album, “Weekend at Tony’s” starts with an extremely catchy and nostalgic intro riff followed by lyrics about cutting your hair in the summer and hating yourself. “Letters from Mom Town” features endearing guest vocals from Ceci Clark of Left Out, which provide a more mellow track at the midpoint of the album. “Damn, Son, Dim Sum” is the highlight of the album, and if there’s anything to take away from New Game+, it might be this track. Opening with tasteful and intricate guitar leads, the song uses D&D-themed lyrics to depict a friendship gone sour and had me coming back for more every listen. The track breaks down into a skramz-tinged apex towards the end of the song, capping off the powerful mid-section of the album. 

“Fog Gate” leads the final stretch of songs in which Licata strays from the overt lyricism found on the rest of the album. In this spoken word track, he gives listeners the least amount of context yet encapsulates the theme of New Game+ when he says, “…I sat in my car while I was trying to cry for reasons unknown to me. God damn, I have everything I wanted and more…” These wistful sentiments crescendo into the final act of the LP, as frustration over trivial things such as D&D and fundamental particles put what’s really important into perspective. The final songs mostly blend together, with the exception of the last track, “...And That’s a Rock Fact,” which squeezes in tribute to the Cartoon Network cult classic, Over the Garden Wall. Additionally, it caps the album off with triumphant instrumentation paired with playful lyricism about Adderall and velociraptor sweaters.

New Game+ touches on everything one could possibly want or expect from an emo album in 2023—sound bites, weed edibles, nerdy gamer shit, PBR, anime, Adderall, and regrettable decisions, all with twinkle breakdowns in between. Palette Knife marvelously crafts an emo album for emo fans by emo fans. They know never to take themselves too seriously while playing to their strengths, offering up enough noodles to keep Midwest emo fans plugged-in and plenty of catchy choruses to keep pop-punk fans not sad anymore.

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Brandon Cortez is a writer/musician residing in El Paso, Texas, with his girlfriend and two cats. When not playing in shitty local emo bands, you can find him grinding Elden Ring on his second cup of cold brew. Hit him up on Twitter @numetalrev.

Stress Fractures – Stress Fractures | Album Review

Acrobat Unstable and Old Press Records

Stress Fractures is officially my first obsession of the year. You know, the first thing to come out in January that really hooks ya. The album that keeps pulling you back in. The one you just can’t get away from. Over the past couple of weeks, this has been an easy record for me to throw on whenever I can’t decide what I want to listen to, mainly because it has the exact kind of ingredients that I find endlessly satisfying. 

Right up top, I’d like to clarify something important because there are technically three “Stress Fractures” here:

1. There’s Stress Fractures, the band from South Carolina.

2. There’s Stress Fractures, the self-titled album by Stress Fractures the band.

3. Then there’s “Stress Fractures,” the lead single off Stress Fractures by the band Stress Fractures. 

Got all that? As a blanket statement, Stress Fractures is great, but I’d specifically recommend starting with “Stress Fractures,” the song. 

The band’s eponymous single starts off with a drumroll that revs the track to life like someone yanking the chord on a chainsaw. One guitar power slide later, and the listener is thrust into an unrelenting torrent of anxious pop-punk energy. After a few moments of pit-churning riffage, lead singer Martin Hacker-Mullen approaches the mic and unleashes their distinct scream.

I ALWAYS FIND MYSELF
IN SITUATIONS THAT I
WOULD RATHER NOT BE IN

The words are belted out with the confidence of all the greatest DIY vocalists, landing somewhere between Starts Hollow and Ben Quad. On paper, the lyrics read like the spiritual successor to that one Kim Katral quote, and I mean that in the most complimentary way possible. There’s just something so universal about finding yourself in a “Situation,” and I’m glad we’re finally addressing that as a society.

After a second bellowed verse, the song drops out to just the drums and some arrant guitar noodles as Marty lists off a series of positive changes they’ve made in a monolog-ey delivery that sounds remarkably like Sorority Noise. 

I’ve been doing better, I keep to myself.
I stopped being bitter, I started looking for help.
I stopped halting progress, I started accepting change.
I became comfortable with things not staying the same.

From here, Marty continues to shift gears, changing deliveries with each passage as they take the listener on a tour of all the different types of music that have been influential to this project. There’s some twinkly guitar tapping for all you midwest emo freaks, some impressive drum fills, and some hard-charging post-hardcore power chords. All the while, the verses deal in the extremes of life, not shying away from words like “love,” “hate,” and “losing control.”

With just a minute left, things crest to a halt just for a beat, only for a shreddy Guitar Hero solo to reinfuse the song with forward momentum, eventually making way for a phenomenal guest feature from Tyler Stodghill of Stars Hollow. It’s exhilarating, endearing, and ever-changing, and that’s the exact type of energy I want in my music right now. 

The rest of the album sets up shop within a similar spectrum of emo and pop-punk. There’s an easycore breakdown on “It Could Be Better,” acoustic brilliance on “But It’s Good Enough,” and some instrumental riffage on “Cactus Street.” There are songs that transition into one another seamlessly (with song titles that link up in the same way), making the record feel like it’s in conversation with itself.  From the opening whir of “Life Is Short...” to the emphatic closer “Rocket Ship To Heaven,” there’s hardly a dip in energy, and the whole thing feels remarkably self-contained. The lyrics wade into everything from tour life and poor health choices to more existential worries like disappointing your loved ones and pissing off your friends. 

Ultimately, the record arrives at a pretty mature understanding of how these factors can compound to make each other worse. Just like The Wonder Years sang 13 years ago, our narrator realizes that there’s no combatting depression with video games, drugs, or surface-level distractions. On the penultimate track, Marty delivers a line that gives me goosebumps every time, capturing a hyper-self-aware moment of clarity.

I’m the only thing that’s ever been in my way
I’m the only one who can make things change
But it’s easier to fuck around and make a mess and whine and complain
Jesus Christ, I made a mistake

Man, if there is a verse that sums up the entire genre of emo music better, then I don’t know it. Despite the often-drastic all-or-nothing nature of the subject matter, the whole record has a relatively upbeat quasi-posi-punk quality. As shown in that quote above, what makes Stress Fractures different from other emo bands is that they’re not just whining; they already have their sights set on betterment. They see the big picture.  

Throughout this album, Marty also displays a deft understanding of (and ode to) the music that shaped their taste. You can feel the excitement of a hundred basement shows lifting these instrumentals up. You can hear the earnestness of peers and the encouragement of friends bleeding through the lyrics. You can even hear the stylistic overlap between Marty and fellow Acrobat Unstable founder Eric Smeal’s grungy shoegaze project Clearbody (of which both are members). What’s impressive is how Stress Fractures takes all of these influences and makes them their own with a unifying sound. 

The Bandcamp page for Stress Fractures describes the album as “A collection of songs regarding the loss of self” and memorializes the release as “The end of an era.” The description below that quote also gives some vital background information, explaining that the material on this LP was written between May 2015 and October 2020. That fact immediately casts the music in a new light. Stress Fractures is less like a debut record and more like a compilation. The songs were all recorded together with Marty on vocals, guitar, and bass and Caden Clinton (of Pool Kids) on drums, but they reflect back a half-decade of growth, knowledge, and personal development.

That five-year window of 2015 to 2020 immediately gives these songs a retrospective feel. The nearly-one-man nature of the crew performing these songs makes it feel like the band is packaging up some long-gone era of self and shipping it off into the world. The real heads might recognize some of these songs from old EPs and Bandcamp demos, but the new recordings have a singular front that makes everything feel seamless. This approach of cherry-picking past material means these songs have had plenty of time to marinate and tighten up. This benefits the release in a few ways: it means that Stress Fractures works as a greatest hits album, as a formal introduction to the project, and as a larger artistic statement for the band as a whole. What else could you possibly ask for in a self-titled record?

Given that five-year timeline, it’s also worth noting how little these songs feel dated or amateurish. Sure, there’s a youthful quality to the lyrics and their deliveries, but I listen to them now at the onset of 2023 and think, “hell fucking yeah.” The propulsion of these songs overrides any sense of longstanding narrative and keeps you from getting too lost in the timeline. When you throw this album on, the only thing that matters is whatever you’re listening to in that moment. For what could just be a simple 25-minute collection of songs, Stress Fractures possesses an overarching zeal that any listener with half a heart will undoubtedly absorb by the time the closing track rolls around.

I’m excited for everyone else to have this album. I’m excited for these songs to give some emotions and energy to other people’s January. I’ve been waiting for Stress Fractures to hit streaming just so I can share it with my friends and talk about it on Twitter. This record has already been a wonderful companion with me through those first few phantom days of 2023, and based on how much it’s been drawing me back throughout January, I bet I will keep returning to it all year long.

Brady – You Sleep While They Watch | Album Review

On some level, it would be a disservice to call Brady “Greet Death 2.0,” given that the only shared member between the two projects is vocalist/guitarist Sam Boyhtari. Even still, Boyhtari’s voice is so unique that, when placed over a heavy stoner rock rumble, it’s hard not to hear similarities between the two. If anything, that comparison is a high compliment, given that I love Greet Death more than any reasonable person should. The Michigan shoegazer’s latest release, New Low, saw them growing sonically, artistically, and literally as bassist Jackie Kalmink joined, rounding the group out to a solid four-piece. As expected with a band as good as Greet Death, the results paid off in a phenomenal collection of songs that sprawl into multiple exciting new directions. That said, for die-hard fans like myself, the EP’s mere 21 minutes was not enough. I wanted to be immersed. I want to live in Greet Death’s world. That’s why I was pleasantly surprised with You Sleep While They Watch, it came out of nowhere and offered a more full-length way to scratch that itch. 

The elevator pitch for the band is taking Boyhtari’s distinctive croon and miserablist sensibilities, but placing them over something new, independent from his other project. Fans of Greet Death will still feel at home here, as most of the LP hovers around a baseline heavy rock sound. What’s surprising is just how much Boyhtari has to say and how he presents it. In Greet Death, there’s a focus on molten guitar licks, and an assumed nihilistic viewpoint that comes standard issue for most shoegaze bands. Here, Boyhtari reveals more about his inner workings than ever before. The songs feel more like dispatches from distant but familiar corners of our world, with Boyhtari directly reporting things he sees and then telling us how they affect him. Throughout the process, we’re let further behind the curtain than Greet Death has ever allowed. 

Much like the writing on his other project, songs like “Radon Blues” still center around a catchy but ultimately abstract phrase that listeners can either project their own interpretations onto or simply treat as an earworm. But to really understand this record, one should experience it front-to-back in full. On one end of the album, you’ll find “Twist The Knife,” a sludgy opener that drives a fish hook into the listener, keeping them entranced for the remaining 40 minutes. At the tail end of the LP, you’ll find a cathartic payoff in the record’s crown jewel, “Catherine.” But let’s start at the very beginning. 

“Twist The Knife” begins by depicting a scarred but ultimately true relationship. In just a few lines, this song deftly captures what it feels like to exist in love within the crumbling utopia of 2022. 

Let’s go for a drive
Scratch our names into the weeping night
Under lidless skies
Kiss me beneath the neon lights
Everything is fine
In the shadow of the great high-rise
Love will never die
I believe that’s what they’ll advertise

In this opening verse, the jagged edge of commercialism literally overshadows love. There’s both a desperation and an immediacy to the way our narrator describes this situation. The feeling of holding on to love for dear life is palpable, the crass indifference of the world threatening to undermine the very foundation of its connective power at any moment. 

The second verse of the song moves on to equally hefty topics, alluding to police brutality and the larger sense of cultural unease that we have all felt in recent years. 

Lyrically, both “Family Photos” and “Future Now” play out like protest songs. The former finds itself mired in the serialistic violence embedded in the fabric of our culture. It lays out a litany of offenses and violent imagery, eventually breaking off into a searing guitar solo. “Future Now” also reads like a revolutionary text, especially as it ends with Boyhtari repeatedly shouting “NOW!” over a triumphant and proggy rock riff.

Just as signaled by the title of Dixieland, you can still tell that Boyhtari has spent most of his life growing up near the car capital of the world. Roughly half a dozen references to specific car brands are sprinkled through these songs, giving the lyrics a sort of inescapable commercialistic bent. References like these, and even individual terms like “footage” and brand names like “Red Bull” poke out of the lyrics, granting Boyhtari an impressive economy of words. The best example of this is found on ”Power Suck,” where a bar like “Ford-tough, fucking clown” does so much with so little. In just four words, you can picture the exact kind of person Boyhtari is disgustedly writing about. 

My personal favorite example of this descriptive power comes in “Catherine,” as our narrator recounts an acquaintance making a racist comment, getting called out, and going back to Bloomfield Hills. If you’ve never lived in Michigan, Bloomfield Hills is essentially the wealthiest, most upscale neighborhood in Metro Detroit, perched about 30 minutes outside of the city proper. It’s very white, very rich, and (surprise) very racist. While you can probably pick that up via context clues, anyone in the know will probably get a quick laugh and a quick read of what kind of person this is. This allows Boyhtari to paint a surprisingly immersive scene and populate it with very specific characters, all with a single phrase. 

There are also telltale signs of fascism found throughout this album. There are references to incarceration, SWAT teams, high school drug-sniffing dogs, and police shootings. It’s an unflinching look at our world, crystallized, and reflected back at us through a warped, smoky funhouse mirror. 

Smack dab in the middle of the tracklist, “Power Suck” is a dustbowl crusher that gives off the same feeling as a Protomartyr track. The song’s lyrics eventually arrive at the name of the album, which Boyhtari prods the listener with a few times, provoking them into a meditative trance as the instrumental slowly unwinds. 

While it’s not all veiled condemnation and provocations, by the time “Big Future” rolls around at the record’s midpoint, It’s easy to find yourself disarmed. On my first listen of this song, as the lyrics were laying out lines like “I believe in the ease of destruction,” I realized that, up until this point, I had no idea what this guy actually believed in. You can tell a lot about a band through their lyrics, stage presence, and online interactions. Greet Death have always placed an emphasis on embodying a sort of nihilistic outlook above all else. They literally have an album called New Hell; you don’t go there expecting upbeat pop songs. Greet Death is also a very funny band whose stage presence deliberately undercuts the crushing weight of their music. My point is I’ve spent years following this band, hundreds of hours spinning their music, and I couldn’t tell you one concrete belief that Sam Boyhtari holds. That’s okay, I can make a fair number of assumptions based on the evidence, but it’s fascinating to hear him lay things out clear as day on this song. 

These statements of personal belief are punctuated by a chorus that just oozes a sort of jangly new wave sensibility. By the end of the seven-minute cut, Boyhtari breaks into an artsy staccato delivery before throwing to a rolling instrumental that allows Kacey Keith’s hard-knocking bass to take center stage.

By this point in the record, you’re pretty deep in the band’s dark desert trance. It’s here where they expertly embed “Radon Blues,” a master class in melody that could have easily fit in on the hypnotic back-half of New Hell. Much like “Entertainment,” this song begins with a lackadaisical strum before majestically picking up into a full-band trot. This picturesque instrumental keeps pace underneath flashes of evocative single-line poetry. Once the song’s title is introduced, the band drops back to just the guitar, now plucking a gorgeous, arid riff for a short instrumental break. After a bleak middle section, “Radon Blues” launches into a beautiful passage with a transfixing climax that rivals the best Greet Death song. 

From here, it feels like the album could go anywhere. What the band opts for is a rumbling and meditative two-minute instrumental called “Black Horse.” Presumably the figure depicted on the cover, this track is haunted and dusty, rumbling with a dark unease like a Hex-era Earth track. This instrumental paves the way for the epic 9-minute closer “Catherine.”

As mentioned above, “Catherine” is yet another song concerned with overtly heavy topics. While Greet Death tend to be mired in over-the-top hellish metaphors, this song directly depicts the new hell happening on earth every second of every day. A family death and reverberations of addiction. A local police shooting and unmistakable traces of racism in your community. One by one, these scenes play out, pass by, and wash over the listener, burying them in a weighted blanket of anxiety and dread. The lyrics essentially jump back and forth between the details of this police shooting and the aftermath of a family death, interweaving the two stories and urging the listener to connect parallels in the process. In one of Boyhtari’s most overt lyrics ever, he roots the song in proper nouns, memorializing Hakim Littleton with sorrow as he plainly states, 

I called my sister back, July 10th
She just got home from a protest
Another cop just shot a young man dead
He was twenty, his name was Hakim Littleton

Halfway through, the song drops out to just the guitar, allowing Boyhtari to deliver the story's pivotal moment at his aunt’s funeral. 

And at the funeral I was weak
Not because the body stared at me
But from the father’s homily
When he said that she had achieved something
That she found beauty, she found peace
She was giving, she had everything
I watched them lower her deep
And couldn’t help but think she left us nothing

Immediately after these sentiments, a squeal of guitar feedback kicks up, along with a slow drum build. As the instrumental mounts and the static swirls, you can practically feel the edges of your vision go dark. Just as the abyss begins to circle, a guitar solo erupts, ensnaring the listener and dragging them down into the depths. For the next two minutes, the band takes turns building around this instrumental, stretching the bounds of the song into different directions before disintegrating into feedback and tapering off for the album’s final 60 seconds.

It’s a gorgeous, all-encompassing song and a powerful thing to take in. “Catherine” is an odyssey that exhausts you and also acts as a firm period mark on one of the best debut LPs I’ve heard in a long time. 

While Greet Death offers a borderline-Doomer examination of feelings (or lack thereof), Brady is more like a series of observations. Gradually, the inner workings of our narrator are revealed, ultimately arriving at this dual-pathed narrative in the final song that offers little resolution but lots of catharsis. And I don’t mean to keep comparing the two projects; it’s just such a knee-jerk reaction as someone who’s already a fan. 

There is a host of talented musicians behind Boyhtari, and I cannot give enough credit to how well the group collectively fleshed out such a defined corner of the heavy music world. If Greet Death is a project about depicting hell on earth through veiled analogies, Brady is an unflinching look at that same reality with a slightly more realist lens. These lyrics lean into abstraction in a unique way that allows Boyhtari to shine as a songwriter. These songs extend off nicely into the Greet Death extended universe, but still feel like a distinct ecosystem that works towards the same goal from a different angle. Even though, at times, the outlook of both projects is equally dismal, sometimes it’s just nice to hear another side of someone you’ve spent so much time listening to. You Sleep While They Watch offers a more profound insight into one person's semi-hopeless view of a bluntly-hopeless world. 

Whether it’s Greet Death or Brady, the seminal question at the center of Boyhtari’s work has always been, “how do you continue despite it all?” Throughout this album, Boyhtari finds solidarity in admitting he doesn’t have a grasp on the answer any more than we do. At least we’re in it together. 

Carpool – Anime Flashbacks | Single Review

“Say somethin’ / say nothing at all / this is not what I wanted.” Those are the words that are about to be stuck in your head for the next 24 hours. Coincidentally, those are also the words that make up the hook to Carpool’s dancy new single “Anime Flashbacks.” Belted out in a bouncy cadence by frontperson Stophy Colasanto, the delivery is equal parts pleading, regretful, and catchy–the perfect cocktail for a late-summer emo banger. 

Just a prelude to a 5-song EP dropping on 9/23 via Acrobat Unstable Records, “Anime Flashbacks” is a knockout lead single that both announces and reassures listeners that Carpool is back. Outside of a one-off Sheryl Crow cover at the end of 2020, this is the first we’ve heard from the Rochester-based DIY rockers since their debut Erotic Nightmare Summer, which this blog named Album of the Year back in 2020. 

It’s safe to say we’re fans of Carpool here, and we’re happy to report that the band has not spent the last two years slouching around. If anything, “Anime Flashbacks” sees the group tighter than ever before, leveling up far past the skill displayed on their debut album. 

The song begins with a pace-setting stretch of feedback, giving the listener just enough time to get up to speed. Within a few seconds, the band launches into the above hook, skipping straight to the bubblegum saccharine that made their first LP so good. Like pushing your friend into the pool on a hot summer day (making sure to grab their phone first, of course), Carpool wastes no time throwing the audience headfirst into this singable bit of punk rock. 

After a short dance break, little electronic bits begin to shimmer through, accenting the instrumental and casting the song in a slightly different hue. These keys come courtesy of Carpool’s newest band member Alex Ryan, whose contributions immediately feel complimentary to the band’s existing sound, fleshing out a corner of the Carpool Auditory Universe you didn’t even know you needed. 

“Anime Flashbacks” still bears everything you’ve come to love about the group so far: tappy guitar parts, a snappy rhythm section, and of course, Stophy’s unmistakable voice. Alternating between a remorseful croon and a violent sneer, they air out petty grievances over the pop-punk instrumental, effortlessly captivating the listener in the process. 

The emotional climax comes about two minutes in when Stophy belts, “I never shoulda… NOOOO,” letting their scream ring out for as long as their lungs allow. After this outpouring of emotion, we have one more instrumental stretch that winds down and feels designed to give the people in the pit a chance to catch their breath or go extra hard, depending on the energy of the room. As the song crests to a halt, it resolves on a bed of gentle synth notes that carries the listener out, leaving us salivating for more. Luckily, we won’t have to wait too long, given that a new helping of Carpool tracks will arrive in our streaming platforms a month from now. Until then, it’s time to keep the flashbacks on repeat.