Heart to Gold – “Can’t Feel Me” | Single Review

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Memory Music

Some of the best music is seasonal. I’m not talking about holiday music, and I’m not even talking about something overt, like Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. I mean, there are some songs, bands, and sounds that just feel like they suit a certain kind of weather. There are songs for winter that feel nostalgic and heavy and sad, music made for that moment when the sun barely crests the horizon and the temperature seems like it never rises. Then there are songs for summer, which are often eager and full of anticipation, like the feeling of waking up early to take a trip with nothing more than the open road ahead. “Can’t Feel Me” by Heart to Gold falls somewhere between spring and summer, heady with the first warmth of May, yet still tinged with the chill of old snow that lingers in the shadows of the woods.

Heart to Gold has long been a band in my personal rotation of favorites, with their 2022 album Tom being one I still put on regularly. Since the release of their first EP in 2016, their bold sound and distinct vocals have set them apart from other bands in the emo/punk scene, with tracks like “Tokyo” and “Tigers Jaw” only solidifying their position. “Can’t Feel Me” comes on the heels of their 2023 tour supporting scene giant Movements, along with Mannequin Pussy and Softcult. This is also the first we’ve heard from the band since the release of their standalone 2023 single “Chloë,” which was one of my favorite tracks of last year. Heart to Gold consistently outdo themselves with each subsequent release, and “Can’t Feel Me” is no different.

Tender guitars and soaring vocals took me by the hand and pulled me, laughing, through breezy patches of sunlight and past damp, mossy shadows. I felt like I was missing something I never had as Grant poured his heart out over rich chords.

Sometimes the highest highs, at times the lowest lows.
It must feel like I’m distant, constantly can’t feel me.
Seems like the right direction, but right now I can’t see.

His lyrics echo the sentiment so many of us twenty- and thirty-somethings feel. I think this is the right thing to do, but what if I’m making a mistake? Am I doing it right? We are watching the spring of our lives transition into summer, welcoming the change of seasons with open arms and a hesitant smile, but in the back of our heads, we still wonder if it’s where we’re really supposed to be. “Shout it out,” cries Grant, “shout it out! I don’t feel the same!” Neither do I, and as the new warmth of summer touches my skin and freckles my arms, I think I’m okay with that.

Britta Joseph is a musician and artist who, when she isn’t listening to records or deep-diving emo archives on the internet, enjoys writing poetry, reading existential literature, and a good iced matcha. You can find her on Instagram @brittajoes.

Dogs on Shady Lane – The Knife | EP Review

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Lauren Records

One of the most comforting things about music, to me, is that there are songs for every possible situation life could throw at you. There are songs for dancing, songs for crying, songs for driving 100 mph down an empty road at 2 am just to feel some intensity. You get what I mean. There’s a bit of Venn Diagram-level overlap in some categories (i.e., you might work out to some of the same songs you party to), but certain genres, sounds, and overall vibes exist at two opposite ends of the emotional spectrum. You’re not gonna put on Joni Mitchell’s Blue while getting ready for your wedding, the same way you wouldn’t put on Megan Thee Stallion when you need to wallow. Brooklyn-via-Providence four-piece Dogs on Shady Lane seeks to challenge this thinking with their latest EP, The Knife. Throughout these four songs, the band refuses to be put into any of these reductive categories, pulling from all sections of the Feelings Wheel to create songs that can soundtrack everything from your next rage room to a contemplative winter night by the fireplace. 

What began with Tori Hall in her college dorm room, Dogs on Shady Lane has existed in a multitude of lineups since 2018, finally settling into its current four-piece: Hall alongside Evan Weinstein, Calder Mansfield, and Grace Goss. The group’s breakout single, 2022’s “Cole St.,” explores an all-consuming love set to a breezy, borderline-twee backing, complete with muted horns, faraway claps, and tight vocal harmonies. On that song, Hall promises, “I’ll give you everything I own,” willing to surrender all of her earthly belongings in the name of devotion. On The Knife, Dogs refine their left-of-center indie sound by countering this softness with an intensity and pure grit we’ve not yet seen from the group. As far as I’m concerned, the grungier, the better — shit that makes you want to punch a wall but also think about the meaning of It All. Throughout this EP’s 13 minutes, I can hear influences from classic Washington grunge acts like Nirvana, Soundgarden, and 7 Year Bitch, but also recent shoegaze groups like Pity Sex and Weatherday.

The Knife exists in extremes. The EP looks at love through different lenses: a neglectful partner, the settled-dust post-breakup feeling of emptiness, washed-up guys with goatees, and the near-obsessive feelings of a new romance. It opens with “Knife (Lady),” a back-and-forth rocker that kicks off with fuzzy, jolting guitars, eventually beginning its cycle of intense throws of distortion, giving way to pared-down, gentler, all-around chiller grooves. The song exists somewhere between My Bloody Valentine’s classic shoegaze crunch and Faye Webster’s jazzy interludes. The give-and-take makes it so that you could be giving your best version of a Millennial Head Banger, then ten seconds later want to lay on a plush velvet couch with a nightcap. 

Throughout The Knife, Dogs on Shady Lane take listeners on an exploration of the emotional contradictions we as humans ceaselessly exist in. Many feelings can be true at once, and this is the reality of the human psyche! There is hate in love, sadness in joy, and confusion in certainty. It’s scary, but it’s also kind of wonderful. The band displays this perfectly as a throughline of the EP: the gently sweet verse melody of “Pile of Photos” clashing with swells of aggressive drums and guitar or the waltzy, dreamy, almost ambient breakdown of “Basement” giving way to a brutally fuzzed out jam perfect for exorcising all of your most negative feelings. There’s an erratic back-and-forth to the entire EP that perfectly parallels the highs and lows of emotionally tumultuous relationships. 

Closing track, “18,” is the EP’s purest moment. Initially released in 2020, Hall recorded all the vocals and instruments herself, including supporting harmonies, electric and acoustic guitars. The eerie electric guitar passes that come and go, combined with the miles-away drums, give the track a distant feeling. Coming off the back of the grungy explosion that is the end of “Basement,” “18” provides yet another contradiction for listeners to ponder. Hall’s vocal delivery is akin to the whispery voices of Phoebe Bridgers or Billie Eilish, making the song feel like a secret. The hook, “I’m too old to be crying so much,” caught me off guard and hit my cancer sun and moon right in the jugular upon first listen. Hearing words I’ve said to myself amidst my latest quarter-life crisis breakdown emphatically sung back to me from all angles of my headphones was one of those disorientingly unique feelings of an artist just getting me. Hall’s haunting vocals stuck with me for days after the song ended. I can still hear her in my head as I’m typing this. The Knife revels in contradictions, but Dogs on Shady Lane take listeners on a sonic, lyrical, and emotional journey that reflects the erratic feelings we all have about love. Looking for the perfect blend of grunge, punk, jazz, and folk? Lyrics that feel like they were written specifically for you? The search ends here.

Cassidy is a music writer and cultural researcher currently based in Brooklyn. She loves many things, including but not limited to rabbit holes, Caroline Polachek, blueberry pancakes, her cat Seamus, and adding to her record collection. She is on Twitter @cassidynicolee_, and you can check out more of her writing on Medium. 

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.