Madi Diaz – Weird Faith | Album Review

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ANTI-

One of my favorite things to do when I was young was snoop through my older siblings' rooms when they weren't home. I got to see what was important to them by sifting through their junk drawer, seeing a different side of the people I had spent my whole life around. To this day, I have a vivid memory of reading my sister’s diary, quickly skipping through pages and reading short sections at random. I'm embarrassed to admit that even writing about this memory is making my heart beat through my chest as if I am about to get caught by my parents. That sense of sneaking around, reading things you shouldn’t, and glimpsing into the inner workings of someone’s brain is also how I feel when I listen to Weird Faith, the fifth album from Madi Diaz. 

I only recently found Madi Diaz’s music during the rollout of Weird Faith, and it only took a few seconds of listening to the album’s lead single, “Same Risk,” to know that she was making music that I would enjoy sitting down and engaging with on a deeper level. In addition to serving as the album’s lead single, “Same Risk” is also the opening song of Weird Faith, and it fills that role wonderfully as the introduction to Diaz’s style. The very first verse of the song had my eyes wide and feeling like a bit of a prude for being so taken aback.

I'll let you try on all my dirty thoughts
If you lay in my bed, I know we're gonna have sex
It'll happen so fast, make a suicide pact
And you can't take that back

On its own, the first thirty seconds of the song felt like an attempt at “shock value.” Phrases like “suicide pact” feel almost gratuitous, but after the pre-chorus opens up and we leave that first verse behind, it becomes clear that Diaz’s songs have more than enough substance and meaning to warrant my discomfort. 

Madi Diaz writes clever and concise songs about love and life in ways that are brand new to me. I found myself grinning every time I would connect the dots in my head to understand the concept of each song. Typically, I'm not much of a lyrics guy, so I'm not one to think about all the possible interpretations of a song in the first place, but Diaz’s songwriting stands so tall in the forefront of these tracks that it's impossible to ignore.

“Get To Know Me” is a prime example of Diaz breathing new life into a common trope. It’s a song of pointed self-depreciation that reminds me of various Willy Nelson cuts like “Touch Me,” “Am I Blue?,” and “Half A Man.” This is a style of song I love because it allows the artist to balance out this crushing self-analysis with impressive self-awareness. 

Have you met when I'm belligerent?
I might make you cry
Have I introduced insecurity yet?
Wish I could tell you why

That back and forth brought yet another smile to my face, giving and taking all at once. 

I set out to write this review during a flight from Knoxville to Denver and back. My first listen of the album began the minute I sat down in my little blue aisle seat. I got out my phone and proceeded to tap away for three hours there and another three on the way back. As dumb as I looked hunched over in seat 19B, smiling to myself, there were a handful of spots in this album that took me out of my state long enough to straighten my back and face. Some of these moments were musical, like the muted guitar strumming in “Everything Almost,” which was tough to listen to. There’s also “God Person” and “For Months Now,” where echoing vocals rang against sparse production, feeling a little too over the top on such intimate songs.

While the first ten songs of Weird Faith remind me of flipping through my sister's diary, the last two tracks come together for a freeing resolution that sends the listener off with a bit of hopefullness. This whole album addresses what it’s like to exist in a relationship as imperfect people, to come together with someone else who’s just as messed up in their own ways, and to acknowledge that. If the first ten songs are the challenges, then the title track works as a mantra that counters and consoles each challenge found in the preceding songs. “Weird Faith” is ultimately a reminder against becoming calloused in heartbreak and holding onto an optimism, or faith, of the good to be found. 

‘Cause every love brings a lesson
And I'm gonna be tested
So I'm gonna have a heart of gold
And I'm gonna have weird faith

After arriving at the album’s thesis statement in the penultimate track, Diaz adds a needed dose of substance and reality with the placement of “Obsessive Thoughts” as the closer. After a record of intimate thoughts and honest over-shares, Diaz builds waves of big energy at the beginning of this song, unlike anything that preceded it. I found the highest peak of the album here in the last song, which surges to a wailing height and then drops off into silence, ending even quicker than it started. We get to hear Diaz’s voice waver a little in the softer flourishes between cymbal crashes. I’m imagining that we are hearing the toll from multiple takes of this grand finale, and I really love the inclusion of that waiver. 

Madi Diaz gives us insight into her heart through masterfully crafted songs. She tells us stories about herself in ways I have not heard done before. I love it when I am able to notice even a sliver of the amount of work that went into making a piece of art, which made listening to Weird Faith a lot of fun. 

Our anxieties don't disappear once we figure out what helps to tamp them down. “Obsessive Thoughts” on its own is a tough place to be, but thankfully, we have our weird faith to help us along our way. 

Kirby Kluth grew up in the suburbs of Houston but now lives in Knoxville, TN. He spends his time thinking about motorcycles, tennis, and music. You can follow him on Instagram @kirbykluth.

Friko – Where we've been, Where we go from here | Album Review

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ATO Records

“Heaven is out there / Middle of nowhere /
Hiding away until it’s time.”

I love art that forces me to think critically about it.

In high school and later college, I prided myself on reading difficult classics in order to understand why art was considered “art.” While I don’t regret reading James Joyce’s Ulysses for an independent study, I tend to see greater use for it as a paperweight nowadays.

Sometime after graduating, I really got into watching films. For the past few years, I’ve aimed to watch at least 75 movies by year’s end. I’ll watch and find something to enjoy in everything from Eraserhead (1977) to Women Talking (2022). Hell, I even unironically loved Beau is Afraid (2023).

When I owned a turntable, I would read along with the lyrics of whatever records I played. It’s not that the albums were poorly mixed or that the lyrics were indecipherable, even though a fair amount of them were mumbly shoegaze. In fact, in those genres where the words were more obscured, I liked that the meanings and themes were buried behind intriguing, elusive imagery.

This preamble is not to say I’m pretentious (e.g., I contend the Venom movies are a darn good time). I just love to wrestle with authorial intent and artistic interpretations. I simply love the messiness inherent in art.

Friko’s Where we’ve been, Where we go from here falls squarely in this category of “challenging” art.

As I listened to Friko’s debut LP for the umpteenth time, the lyrics didactically teased me on the computer screen. The natural reverb of the room filled my ears. With the orchestral strings warming my wintry heart, an epiphany dawned: I’ll never solve the puzzle of their album, or at least not all of it. But Friko already knew that, as per “Chemical,” where the band sings, “Starting to believe / The puzzle never solves / Because it’s all / Chemical.”

To songwriters Niko Kapetan and Bailey Minzenberger’s credit, solving the puzzle of it all is not the point of their record. The processing, not the product, is the message. Vocalist/guitarist Kapetan is in search of “better for yourself and the people around you” while struggling in our turbulent world. Sometimes, that comes in the form of lamenting lost love like “For Ella,” and other times, that chase is shown through deliberate ignorance like on “Get Numb to It!”

The lens through which Kapetan struggles for better is as vast as the genres that Friko explores. Art rock, chamber pop, and literary indie rock enthusiasts will all find something to love here. Sudden dynamic shifts, the strings, or the live performances that remind you of the best-sounding DIY venues. The music video for album opener “Where We’ve Been” depicts Friko’s expansive, masterful musicality in an intimate room. Emotion quivers through Kapetan’s voice until it explodes into catharsis. Natural amp feedback is pushed into wall-of-sound territory while Minzenberger’s drums maintain the guiding heartbeat to keep listeners on the road to better. 

Friko is a group of excellent musicians building off the backbone of talented songwriters whose brand of artistry is decidedly left of mainstream. Despite the learning curve inherent in interpreting an album like Where we’ve been, Where we go from here, Friko manages to convey clear, passionate yearning as artists in search of something better, be that love or the omnipresent fight to grow and change. Like my favorite pieces of art, contending with Where we’ve been is a challenge worth undertaking, not for its end, but for the depths explored along the way.

Brooklyn native Joe Wasserman moonlights as an English teacher when he’s not playing bass in the LVP. Find more of his writing on Substack.

Prize Horse – Under Sound | Album Review

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New Morality Zine

It’s my understanding the kids love shoegaze now, which is the oldest-sounding sentence I’ve uttered all year. Like all cultural trends, the genre has cyclically come in and out of phase many times, much like the guitar tones that define its most essential albums. For some bands that pull direct influence from shoegaze, it’s a dirty word the way any overt genre callout can be. So many emo bands don’t want to be called “emo” or metalcore bands “metalcore,” but their songs are full of repurposed Jimmy Eat World or Killswitch Engage riffs, respectively. 

My comprehension of modern shoegaze is about halfway between my complete lack of understanding of contemporary emo and my unwavering fandom of current strains metalcore. I have no idea what’s popping off on TikTok, but whether you got into shoegaze yesterday or three decades ago, Prize Horse delivers everything you need on their debut LP Under Sound.

To be fair to the Minneapolis trio, I don’t intend to force them into a stylistic corner here. There’s much more on this record than just big guitars and washed-out vocals. Contrary to the latter, one of the defining features of the band’s sound is Jake Beitel’s voice, which is mixed up front, sitting evenly within the often thick instrumental production. The album’s premiere single, “Your Time,” which was released back in October, is a prime guitar rock cross-section of alternative, emo, and our old friend shoegaze. The band isn’t fully leaning into any one of those sounds, but carefully composing them all into a distinct mix, like a beefed-up version of Turnover.

Or take the opening cut, “Dark Options,” which begins with a sparse intro of clean guitars, a lowkey electronic rhythm, and yearning vocals. “Don’t wanna sit on the floor with it. Come over now, it’s gone. It left a hole in my stomach, I’ll find who did that and make them pay.” Beitel has a precise way of phrasing, letting his delivery ride along the wave of the music, sometimes over-enunciating a word to a biting effect. The one-two punch of “Dark Options” and “Your Time” in Under Sound’s starting lineup should quickly reel in fans of Fleshwater, Modern Color, or Nothing.

The title track, “Under Sound,” bears one of the heaviest emotional weights on the album, a bold choice to put as the fourth song. “Been working my whole life for now, stepping along. Too much weight on the past life.” There’s a palpable pain seeping through the entire band’s giant performance. Beitel closes, “I want it out of my head, buried under sound.” It serves confidently as the record’s centerpiece, displaying Prize Horse’s sound in its most encapsulating form.

“Reload” and “Stone” are two of the more direct bangers on the record, going for that “definitely alt but still make peoples’ heads bang” vibe that I get from bands like Anxious or Citizen. Prize Horse is consistently good at putting forth riff-led rock that wouldn’t feel out of place on any subgenre highlights playlist. There’s enough to latch onto for the underground uninitiated, but they’re not alienating their scene either.

The reserved production on the outro track “Awake For It” is a pleasant finale to an album that doesn’t feel bloated or reaching for something it can’t obtain. Between the acoustic and slide guitars working together, it evokes some of the more left-of-center moments on the last Touché Amoré album, Lament. The two bands also share the commonality of casting a wide net around music subcultures, Touché Amoré being a fan favorite from everyone from hardcore kids to Pitchfork baristas. I think the only thing working against the track is that it ends just a bit quickly, where, instead, it would have been nice to send the album out on a grander coda.

A well-thought-out sequence of performance volumes, Under Sound expertly balances the in-your-face heavy alternative moments with the slow and methodical emo passages. Prize Horse is a band that wouldn’t feel out of place on any small-club “punk” bill. They could sit in the middle of Code Orange and Gel just as much as they could Turnover and Beach Fossils. Whether you think shoegaze-inspired bands are in or out this week, Prize Horse is beyond all quick labels, letting them stand out amongst their contemporaries.

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.

mealworm – mealworm | EP Review

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Self-Released

Sometimes nothing feels as good as a fresh start, and nobody knows that better than Colleen Dow. You might recognize that name as the mind behind the emo-adjacent indie rock group Thank You, I’m Sorry or from the synthy solo project under their own name. After releasing one of the best albums of 2023 with Growing in Strange Places, Dow is back with mealworm, a new band with a new name where everything is on their own terms. 

Continuing the trend of change, fresh starts, and rebirths, mealworm also comes hot on the heels of Dow relocating from Seattle to Portland, Oregon, a move that probably feels lateral to some but a trade that does my Pacific Northwest heart good. With this move, Dow took the opportunity to create a new project that allowed them to go “all in” on music, self-releasing and self-promoting everything for maximum creative control.

Inspired by the output of Sam Ray and the roster of Orchid Tapes, mealworm initially started as Dow wanting to create a “dinky lo-fi project” that felt like it would fit the vibe of this playlist. The 4.5-hour inspiration mix titled “salvia plath but i’m 24” feels apt for a batch of songs that ranges from ‘90s heavy-hitters like Yo La Tengo and Elliot Smith to recent slowcore and shoegaze acts. The playlist has lots of mid-budget indie like Slow Pulp, Alex G, Hovvdy, and Wednesday, but it also scales down to lowkey bands in the same vein like Sadurn and Babehoven. 

Given this impressive list of influences, it might sound like a lot to fit under one roof, but luckily, Dow manages to balance everything beautifully and is able to showcase a stunning range in just three songs. It also helps that Dow’s singing voice remains as unmistakable as ever, offering a charming fixture across every one of their projects. If you’re even remotely familiar with any of Lleen’s other bands, their voice helps give mealworm an immediately recognizable feel, like catching up with an old friend after they just got a colorful new dye job. It also leads to interactions like this.

The self-titled EP kicks off with “meal plans,” which begins with a solitary acoustic pluck rendered direct to tape in a scratchy, lo-fi quality. It’s gorgeous, but after a few repetitions, Lleen misses a note, pauses, and laughs it off with a discouraged “fuck.” You hear someone else laugh along off-mic, and it immediately turns this botched take into a cute little moment between two people. It feels like the perfect way to welcome the listener into the release, practically sitting you there right alongside Dow as they strum along on their acoustic guitar. It draws you in, disarms you, and gives an immediate sense of intimacy, all within the first twelve seconds.

Good, because that moment of levity proceeds eight minutes of pretty intense music that delves into some heavy depictions of grief, depression, and loss. In these songs, it feels like Lleen is more confessional, open, and raw than ever before. There are no fun choruses propping up “meal plans” like there would be on a TYIS song, just a beautiful guitar melody as we wade headfirst into capitalistic monotony. 

Made a meal plan for this week
Counted every single dollar for groceries
Living paycheck to paycheck
Barely breaking even, guess I earned it

Then, the song switches from the external realities of our narrator’s day-to-day to their inner world, which we soon learn is just as dire.

Watch my dead friends dance for me
Counting every single step, pretending they could breathe
And I cried for you and for me
Pretending you could hear me again just for me

The last line cuts you deep like a knife to the gut. The words gnash like something off Sprained Ankle, yet somehow, we continue, pulled forward only by the strum of the guitar and a distorted electronic warble. From there, the song moves onto other forms of monotony, like brushing your teeth, making your bed, and turning off the porch light. This mirrors the feeling of the first few lines before repeating the morbid second verse and fading out. Loss begets sadness; sadness begets more loss.

After an emotional barrage like that, a musician as skilled as Dow knows to give the listener a slight reprieve. Enter “stick n poke,” a song that’s not exactly upbeat but still has a nice little bop to it, sounding like the skies clearing after a classic Pacific Northwest downpour. In this track, we hear Lleen attempting to clear their head, going on drives and picking up minor distractions in an attempt to shake the thought of someone who’s left a mark on them. 

As the song unfolds, we hear of a person whose “crooked teeth [are] Illuminated in bright pink beams,” and it becomes clear that this is a song of love and loss in equal measure. 

I called you up,
Your number’s been disconnected
It’s been a year since you died
I think about you all the time, wishing you were here

Again, the words slice through the melody and land on your heart in a heavy way. A few lines later, we learn that Dow “moved away and never spoke / never got to say goodbye,” robbing them of any possible closure. This is not just a relatable sentiment but also feels like a major theme for mealworm as a project. Sometimes a fresh start means unfinished things never get to see their conclusion. The track feels like an old shirt in the back of your closet, with Dow shining a light on the loose threads, illuminating those things you expect to resolve themselves but end up disappearing entirely. 

The EP ends on “take out receipts,” a jaw-dropping song that blew my mind on first listen and has now solidified itself as one of my favorite things Dow has ever recorded. The track begins with a bloopy chiptune loop reminiscent of Ryan Galloway’s work on BUMPER, a vibe that immediately sounds different than anything else on the EP. As the uplifting electronic ping warms the listener up from the depressive haze of the first two songs, it also opens them up to receive some of Dow’s most powerful lyricism yet. 

Again, we get glimpses into the mundanities of our narrator’s life, which paint a picture of passivity and the desire to change but not enough willpower to commit or follow through. The plants are overwatered, the books are gathering dust, and the takeout receipts are the only way to mark the passage of time. After a minute, the guitar kicks in right as all the problems seem to converge on our narrator at once. Then we get to the heart of it.

I feel me withering away
While I lie in the same spaces
Felt my bones begin to break
What’s the use in growing if I always stay the same?

The final minute of the song is spent repeating that last until the question becomes a hypnotic mantra. The words take hold of the listener and cast a spell like a Mazzy Star song. As Dow drills these words into the listener’s brain, they force us to internalize the prompt and ask ourselves the same thing in the process. What’s the use in growing if I always stay the same? This is all underscored by a gorgeous instrumental crescendo that feels nothing short of revelatory, making for a sweeping final track that also feels like a career-best. 

As someone who’s been a fan of Lleen’s work for years, mealworm is an exciting synthesis of everything that Dow has done before but pointed in a promising new direction that has already paid off in some of Dow’s best songs. It may only be three tracks, but everything is delivered in an all-white, lowercase package that feels full of boundless possibilities. There are still artistic throughlines that make this project feel like a familiar extension of Dow’s other music, but the sentiments here circle around something even more honest and profound. If mealworm’s first EP is any indication, sometimes a fresh start can be the only thing standing between you and the rest of your life. 

Liquid Mike – Paul Bunyan's Slingshot | Album Review

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SELF-RELEASED

OKAY LISTEN UP AND LET ME TALK ABOUT LIQUID MIKE FOR A MINUTE: This is the cure for the melancholy and culture void of the Bush administration; the angst of the aughts still felt twenty years later. This is music to steal traffic cones to. This is music that will make you feel like you’re free. For the stultifying winter, the dullness of the daily, the anguish of being alive, I prescribe ONE DOSE OF LIQUID MIKE.

Hailing from Marquette, Michigan, Liquid Mike is the quintessential Midwestern (and therefore American) alt-rock outfit. They are sweet and salty, indie rock on 1.5x speed, alternative with a touch of glam rock like the dregs of pop-punk covered in glitter. I first listened to them because my fellow Swim Into the Sound contributor Grace Robins-Somerville cited them as one of her favorite bands she discovered in 2023, and DAMN was she on to something. I listened to this record during the Chicago winter, and if there is one defining characteristic of Chicago, it is GRAYNESS, and the winters are COLD, not even in a cute way! And it is impossible to keep your spirits up during the third straight month of living with 4:30 pm twilights and failing public transit in an intentionally-created spell of mass homelessness thanks to “Governor” Greg Abbott trafficking people across the country to a location with reliably subzero temperatures!

Amidst all this misery, I felt immune to charm. Nothing was beautiful. Everything was filled with filthy slush. I thought it was simply impossible for this dreariness to feel anything but dreary. And then I listened to Paul Bunyan’s Slingshot, and this music fixed me! Aggressively upbeat alternative indie rock from Marquette, Michigan really was the only thing to distract me from my own sadness! With their remarkable aesthetic cohesion, endearing Midwesternisms, and jangly power pop energy, Paul Bunyan’s Slingshot feels like a journey through the minds and hearts of Middle America, in the best way possible.

The first notes of the album shoot like an adrenaline injection. “Drinking and Driving” carries that rare upbeat euphoria that only the most exquisite specimens of hardcore rock have elicited in me (see: “Gravity” by Turnstile and “Do It Faster” by Militarie Gun). Muddy treble and crunchy percussion combine to create this marvelous, powerful sound that is truly irresistible. It feels like the sonic equivalent of a vodka Red Bull. “Pacer” is another standout track that continues in this trajectory; the song deals with coming to terms with painful relationships and delivers a taste of the painful emotional cocktails that provide a sting with a little bit of sweetness mixed in, ending on a crisp, satisfying lick.

Let me tell you–this record has everything. Hooks that will save your life. The anthemic groove of “K2;” the music shimmers with a summery brilliance, and the lyrics recall adolescent antics and feelings of belonging. You don’t have to smoke synthetic weed, you can just listen to a song about it and get more or less the same effect! There is “/ / /,” a sweet and fresh song that is only 32 seconds. I love it when songs are 32 seconds and also mysteriously titled! Then, on “Mouse Trap,” the band offers commentary on the cornerstone myth of American class mobility. Vocalist and songwriter Mike Maple sings, “Given what you know, the American dream is a Michigan home / You can see it from your window.” So true, Liquid Michael! If the national mythos can be as tangible as to be seen from your window, how can it remain so elusive? How can the happiness and collective prosperity promised to ordinary Americans over and over by our political and financial overlords ever be realized? How can life be so good yet so bad? If all we need is a dog and a house, why are we all so miserable? The album reckons with all this and more before ending on the title track, “Paul Bunyan’s Slingshot,” a thumpy and energetic return to the power rock ethos of their breakthrough 2023 album.

The music feels heavy and warm, like the vests they put on you when you’re getting X-rayed at the dentist’s office. It is comforting yet cathartic, and all these adjectives fail to capture the true guts and glory at the center of this music. Wherever you are, Midwest or not, winter or summer, this record makes you feel closer to home.

Elizabeth is a neuroscience researcher in Chicago. She writes about many things—art, the internet, apocalyptic thought, genetically modified mice—and makes electronic music in her spare time. She is from Northern Nevada.