Aren’t We Amphibians – Parade! Parade! | Album Review

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PNWK Records

It took five years of living in New York for me to finally make it to the ever-elusive Trans-Pecos, but one show there was all I needed to understand the venue’s popularity. The 250-cap room is situated on the border of Brooklyn and Queens – technically part of Ridgewood – and sits right next to a Vietnamese restaurant, only a stone’s throw from the Halsey St. stop on the L train. Last year, I ventured from my apartment on a cold November night to catch a now-otherworldly bill of emotional rock bands, including the local rockstars in better living., Japanese act ANORAK!, legendary New Jersey headliner Ogbert the Nerd, and an introduction to the California-based rock outfit Aren’t We Amphibians. As if that lineup wasn’t enough, that gig was the cap to a weekend packed with fantastic shows: I caught Cloud Nothings and Equipment tearing up Baby’s All Right on Friday, then watched saturdays at your place headline Market Hotel the night after. The pure excitement led me to create a playlist called “Last Weekend Changed Me” and, as emo music often does, I was changed.

Aren’t We Amphibians have found a lot of love in the DIY circuit throughout their short tenure as a band, thanks to their infectious energy and reliable output of consistently great music. Formed by vocalist/guitarist Joshua Talbot and brothers Brandon and Tyler Cunningham on drums and bass respectively, the San-Diego trio has put out two EPs and a couple of splits, including one earlier this year with awakebutstillinbed, california cousins, and your arms are my cocoon. Give it a handful of years, and I guarantee this split will be considered a classic entry in a genre with a long lineage of historic four-way splits.

All of this is to say my hopes were quite high when rumors of a 2025 release for Aren’t We Amphibians’ debut full-length started bubbling up, and it finally arrived in the form of Parade! Parade!. The ten-track record sees the group move forward with effective midsong tempo switches and Talbot’s high register belting the most depressing lyrics you can imagine, this time with even more anthemic sing-alongs. Take the opening track, “Rock, Etc.,” which initially paints a portrait of a morbid future as the first lyric lays out, “This time next year, I won’t be still around.” However, the track blossoms into a triumphant declaration of “I’m here right now,” alongside hard-hitting guitars and trumpets, transforming a moment of helplessness into a symbol of hope within four simple words.

Throughout this record, there are multiple instances where Talbot writes lyrics that practically beg to be screamed along to in rooms full of people who are also, for lack of a better term, going through it. Talbot cries out, “I’ve said a thousand times that I never want to be anything but small” in the track “532.” There’s also the incredibly sorrowful cut “The Hallway,” which kicks off with a slower guitar passage before progressing into an explosive guitar pattern alongside the repeated lyric “I think I’d be better off if I never existed at all.” Now that’s what I call emo.

It’s not only the lyricism that feels incredibly raw and heartbreaking: many of the instrumental choices have a sense of constructed impulsivity to them. While they might seem abrupt on first pass, there’s a free-flowing ease between the hallmark time signature switches in the lead single “Dunce Hat,” almost like Aren’t We Amphibians are identifying new paths of communicating what needs to be said in real time. This high level of musicianship makes it easy for the group to pull it off multiple times without ever feeling so far out of left field that the listener gets disoriented. There’s also a personal favorite, “Forgiving Jeff,” which boasts some amazing guitars shifting from throttling to methodical at the drop of a hat, all accompanying the ultra-earnest mantra “Take this to heart,” which I have found myself screaming every time I throw this song on.

Throughout the album, Talbot articulates the pain of feeling stuck while everyone around you seems to be growing up. His ability to shift from singing to passionate cries to flat-out screams, multiple times in the same song, works in tandem with the ever-evolving instrumental passages. A brilliant example of this can be found in “Family on 6,” which erupts into a straight-up screamo passage, accompanied by an explosion of guitars and drums, as Talbot screams “I never learn from my mistakes” at the top of his lungs. It’s easily one of the craziest moments in an already fast-paced record.

What keeps this album glued together, both in terms of sonic and thematic value, is the idea of the parade. The first bits that we hear come from the horns in the opening track, and they make bolder appearances on tracks such as the laid-back “Bookworm,” where the band pairs the brass alongside some acoustic guitar passages. On the flipside, the album’s second single, “This Is Teamwork!,” sees the trumpets placed right before a hardcore-inspired breakdown. It’s always fantastic to see an emo band put together more of these non-traditional instruments into a record, especially when its use becomes a cornerstone of what the project represents.

The real centerpiece of Parade! Parade! comes at the end with the de facto title track “Parade,” cued up by a (shocker) parade-style intro. The song launches into a powerhouse guitar riff, with lyrics that focus on turning everything you have been through into a celebration of the person you are now. The group pulls through with a slower passage as Talbot sings “When the street is empty / after the parade / just take it all in / and feel everything,” extending an invitation to be a human again throughout the suffering. 

These parades that Aren’t We Amphibians speak of might not be that far away from you. While one might not catch a line of countless people cheering and screaming to the sound of music in the streets, you can certainly find them in music venues large and small. There’s something about the safety of being surrounded by people who all have the same love of music that brings you back to life after navigating through the hostile environment outside of the venue. At the end of the opening track, a radio broadcast says the words, "Let's talk about rock and roll, let’s talk about concerts, let’s talk about banging your head,” almost like a personal invitation to the celebration. We’re all going through it, so you may as well recognize everything you’ve overcome. If you are ever in doubt, take yourself out to the gig! There’s a chance you could be changed like I was back in November of last year.

The optimism throughout the pain is what keeps Parade! Parade! from being a downtrodden, melancholic emo project and instead cements it with a nuanced mood. There’s hope throughout all of the craziness, no matter what you are going through. There’s a joy that comes with being in the same room as a bunch of strangers who all have the same love of music, and we certainly feel it all once we step outside of those rooms. It’s hard to progress without hope, so why not celebrate all you have accomplished whenever you can? 

Samuel Leon (they/he) is a Brooklyn-based performance photographer, playwright, and retired performer. Sam writes plays about music but not musicals. Sam doesn’t like using the internet, but they will if they have to. If you are even remotely close to Brooklyn and want Sam to make you look cool on camera, hit them up on @sleonpics.

Equipment – First time using slang | EP Review

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Brain Synthesizer

In recent years, I’ve found myself growing tired of the increased reliance on nostalgia that seems to hold up a lot of the art being released into the world. I definitely understand the desire to move back to a more familiar time and place, particularly when we’re facing so much uncertainty and myriad anxieties, but too often it feels lazier than it does compelling. This all said, I don’t think the allure of nostalgia should be ignored entirely in the creative process, because it’s still a viable tool and, when done right, can really fucking hit. 

First time using slang, the latest EP from Ohio-based punk band Equipment covers so much ground in its quick, yet impressive thirteen minutes. “GLOVES” gets things moving with a fuzzy, heavy riff and repeating lines, “she only wears gloves inside.” Straight out of the gate, this EP feels so incredibly tight, relying mainly on instrumentation and textures to fill out this deceptively uncomplicated opener. The way the colors in the melody shift with each reprisal of the main line results in a stellar, catchy punk track that has a repeat listenability I’ve very much come to associate with Equipment after falling hard for their two most recent singles, “espresso lemonade” and “tequila redbull.”

“LAB COAT” is the track that sticks out for me the most in this collection, drawing you in with one simple guitar line that starts as a modest acoustic riff, playfully swings around to electric, then comes back in full force like a punch to the face… But like, if for some odd reason you really wanted a punch in the face. With lyrics that specifically call out “listening to bands from ‘03,” this track is a perfect example of Equipment’s ability to harness the mystical powers of nostalgia while still keeping things fresh as fuck. The vocals like warm butter in the first few seconds, the bouncy, playful rhythms, the brutally honest and relatable line “Guess I grew out of utility / I’m entitled to my mediocrity" – it all hits. Also, Rainier Beer mentioned. 

It's rare to see a band employ the use of a musical suite in an EP, let alone one of this particular genre. Seeing a 7-plus-minute song wrap up an EP in the emo and punk genres is more than welcome to my Coheed-loving-ass, and each piece of “FACIAL PROTECTION” flows like water. It’s contemplative, pensive, and over in a second if you just let it wash over you. “Ensnaring” is the word I keep wanting to come back to, because that’s precisely what these melodies, rhythms, and guitar lines are excelling at. The three movements of this final track deploy three unique approaches, but each arrive at the same spot – wrenching, melancholic mysticism. 

I’ve very much come to love the cadence that Equipment is delivering their music – releasing singles and EPs when they have the material that they know will land, and obviously having a preference for quality over quantity. From the minute I listened to this EP, particularly the standout track “LAB COAT,” I knew this release was going to be one to shine as we reflect on the releases of this year. There’s just enough familiarity to rope you in while the Quippiness™ of it all keeps you smashing that replay button. In an era where nostalgia is often used as a crutch, Equipment is using it as any other weapon in their arsenal. 

Ciara Rhiannon (she/her) is a pathological music lover writing out of a nebulous location somewhere in the Pacific Northwest within close proximity of her two cats. She consistently appears on most socials as @rhiannon_comma, and you can read more of her musical musings over at rhiannoncomma.substack.com. 

Wednesday – Bleeds | Album Review

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Dead Oceans

As a ride or die Wednesday Warrior for nigh on half a decade, the appeal of Bleeds feels entirely self-evident to me. As I’ve been spinning the countrygaze band’s sixth album throughout the summer, it was both comforting and easy to see connective tissue from all across their discography. Lead single “Elderberry Wine” is a fully-fledged country-fried love song whose sound was telegraphed by the band’s twangy Tiny Desk and Gary Stewart covers. Follow-up single “Wound Up Here (By Holding On)” assured audiences that this record wouldn’t be all sweetness and champagne bubbles, evoking the crushing desperation of 2021’s Twin Plagues between lyrics about a dead body washing up in a creek. If that song wasn’t angry enough for you, “Pick Up That Knife” is a searing (and funny) track where minor inconveniences and offhand interactions escalate to violence, bile, and self-inflicted lashings that collectively evoke 2023’s breakthrough Rat Saw God. Throughout it all, Wednesday crystallize the one-of-a-kind sound they’ve been honing since their inception, resulting in a brilliant collection of songs without parallel or compromise. 

Even if you pick up Bleeds as a complete outsider, the transportive property of the opening song and de facto title track “Reality TV Argument Bleeds” should be enough to convince you of the band’s power. Much like “Hot Rotten Grass Smell” combined sensory language, clever references, and a shit-kicking dustbowl riff to drop the listener somewhere in the wilds of North Carolina, “Reality TV” begins with a slowly mounting beat that utterly transfixes. Drums, bass, and feedback from multiple guitars all coalesce, falling in sync and growing louder until a scream erupts from bandleader Karly Hartzman, piercing through everything as the band rips into a soaring guitar riff. 

The first words we hear on the record are a gross-out glimpse of devotion as Hartzman sings, “Pickin’ the ticks off of you.” This visual, which feels like a sister lyric to a Samia song from earlier this year, is immediately undercut with a dismissive brush-off of “If you need me I’ll call you.” In the next verse, she paints a picture of being separate, observing something from one room over as she sings, “Reality TV argument bleeds / Through the floor when I go to sleep.” This speaks to the kind of observationalist approach that Hartzman takes throughout these songs, always watching, listening, and reassembling pieces of life into the music we hear on record.

As the song melts outward, we get brief snapshots into isolationist recoiling, blown engines, and some unnamed other’s “broke dick sincerity.” Ever the way with words, this first song disarms, enthralls, and reassures all at once, offering a three-minute foray into the world you’ll be inhabiting for the next 30-some-odd minutes. But not to worry, keep your hands inside the ride, and Wednesday will be more than happy to be your tour guide through the heartbreak, distortion, and sweltering southern heat. Welcome to Bleeds. 

Reckless, self-destructive behavior fueled by youthfulness, boredom, or some combination of the two has long been a cornerstone of Hartzman’s writing. Previous tracks like “Birthday Song” and “Chosen To Deserve” are clear-eyed dirtbag anthems that hinge on the universal experience of making stupid decisions throughout your youth. As the songs recount high school acid trips, pure-hearted trespassing, and innocent-enough public urination, Hartzman looks back with surprising honesty and compelling empathy. While others might think back to their teenage exploits and cringe, Wednesday codify them into song and allow others to learn from their mistakes. Hell, even if you’re not learning anything, the small-town antics enrapture like getting caught in a good conversation at the local dive bar. 

The second track on Bleeds, titled “Townies,” is the latest in this long line of diaristic entries, acting as something of a spiritual successor to “Chosen To Deserve.” Opening with a light-hearted sway that immediately clears the air, the lyrics build a backdrop of local characters eager to supply drugs, leak nudes, and generally take advantage of the women naive enough to trust them. In Hartzman’s own words, the song is about “my friend in high school who got a rumor spread about her that she gave a handjob to a guy under a desk during AP English (which she later told me was true after I told her I wrote this song).” The track thrives in the murky waters of bumbling high school sexual experiences, specifically how callous both men and women can be in that environment, pressuring you while simultaneously shaming you for your choices. 

There’s a surprising amount of sympathy extended to everyone involved, which is revealed gradually as the band peels things back layer by layer. By the end of the song, Hartzman admits, “I get it now / You were 16 and bored and drunk / And they’re just townies…” which trails off until the band brings back the seismic riff one more time, amplified tenfold, and the only catharsis or closure to be had at this point. 

Similar scenes of teenage debauchery play out on “Phish Pepsi,” a re-recording of a song off Guttering that recaptures the original’s hazy, lo-fi sound and even retains the guest feature of Owen Ashworth from Advance Base. Finding herself back in a familiar place, a carpeted floor gives Hartzman a flashback to the last time she was here in middle school and rode her bike home drunk off a Four Loko. One of the album’s best punchlines comes in the song’s final verse, where our hero recounts, “We watched a Phish concert and Human Centipede / two things I now wish I had never seen.” Each word is lovingly mirrored by Ashworth, who adds his baritone sentimentality to every syllable. The dual narrator approach brings a level of sympathetic humanity to the whole thing, as well as the sense that our narrator isn’t in this alone. 

🎄🎅Christmas Sidebar 🎁🎄

Thanks mainly to this feature from Ashworth, “Phish Pepsi” feels like a fun parallel to a cover of “Christmas Steve,” which MJ Lenderman and Karly Hartzman contributed to a compilation for Dear Life Records titled You Were Alone: An Owen Ashworth Almanac. In the original Advance Base song, Ashworth tells the (fictional) story of his cousin Steven, who took too much LSD one fateful Christmas Eve back in 1993 and is now “always kind of Christmassy.” This is far from the first holiday song to come from that project, but it is a nifty little ditty which Lenderman and Hartzman spin out into a stompy freak folk jam with charismatic ad-libs. For the Santa Heads at home, there’s also a second Christmas name-drop later on in Bleeds, making it the highest percentage of holly jolly energy in the band’s discography. 

🚫🎁Christmas Sidebar OVER 🙅‍♂️🎅

After a middle gauntlet made up of singles like “Wound Up Here” and “Elderberry Wine,” the true heart of the record lies in track seven, “The Way Love Goes.” Much like “How Can You Live” before it, this song is a plainspoken reflection of romance that’s deceptively simple but designed to throttle the life out of you. Over a solemn guitar strum, Hartzman rattles off heart-crushing lines like “Feels like I’m almost good enough / To know you” and talks about how a relationship can glacially shift from an overt or implied promise into something that feels consistently underwhelming and disappointing for both parties. Halfway through, Xandy Chelmis’ ever-reliable pedal steel emerges to accompany the confessional. After all the anger, tension, ups, and downs, the song arrives at an honest assessment of affection, with Hartzman cooing, “I know it’s not been easy / And I know it can’t always be / And that’s the way love goes.” Whew. 

On the other side of this emotional downpour, “Pick Up That Knife” is there to help pull us out of the mire. With lyrics of throwing up in a Death Grips pit and iconic one-off lines like “One day, I'll kill the bitch inside my brain,” this feels like a song tailor-made for meme pages or novelty bumper stickers. The repetitions of “They'll meet you outside” eventually give way to “Wasp,” a raging hardcore song that the band has been playing live for over a year already. Kicking off with a righteous flurry of a drum fill from Alan Miller, “Wasp” sees the band going full-tilt hardcore with Karly screaming the whole time, resulting in a cathartic outpouring of fury and indignation that rivals the outro of “Bull Believer.” 

As the album enters its final leg, “Bitter Everyday” offers one last respite before a final gut punch. Gnarly lyrics of razor blades on water slides accompany a carefree guitar riff and tequila-swilling music video depicting a day spent out on the lake – the ideal kind of summer activity when you live in a place as hot as North Carolina. As sweetly as it’s all delivered, the lyrical throughline is nothing short of harrowing, as Hartzman lays out abject depression with lines like: “Abundant things in life keep getting fewer every day.”

What’s left on the other side of that pontoon boat adventure is a four-minute slow-burning ballad depicting a “Carolina Murder Suicide” with haunting fragility. As the house burns and collapses under its own weight, our narrator reflects on the transient nature of everything. It feels like a sun setting as the embers glow into nothingness. 

But then there’s one more song. 

Closing track “Gary’s II” isn’t just a sequel to the penultimate Twin Plagues song; it’s a true story and an exuberant ode to Gary King, the beloved owner of Haw Creek, the artist commune outside of Asheville where this band (and many others) spent their nascent years collaborating and honing their sound. King was similarly memorialized all throughout Colin Miller’s Losin’, but here he is painted in a charming light with a free-wheeling country song meant to serve as a palate cleanser from the otherwise devastating lyrics strewn throughout the rest of the record. The track tells one of the most direct stories in any Wednesday song, framed by plucky pedal steel and a rickety jug band momentum. The whole thing ends with a cutesy wink and a joke so good that it feels like a spoiler to include it here, so I’ll just leave that for you to hear yourself. 

In my summer spent listening to Bleeds, I’ve been massively impressed with the shape of this record and the way everything flows. The band seems to have consciously returned to the headbobbing seesaw riffage found throughout Twin Plagues, and I’m over the moon about that. Sometimes things bend into more of a Rat Saw God storytelling direction, and elsewhere they point to a yet-untaken territory in the rocky wilds of the country music genre. 

In many ways, Bleeds feels like the purest distillation of Wednesday’s sound. They know when to build things up and when to come crashing down; when to shoot you full of adrenaline or drawl the music out for maximum impact. Throughout it all, Hartzman’s lyrics are as astute and funny and relatable as ever, offering up a fresh platter of charming idioms and painful memories that are guaranteed to be lodged in the brains of indie music fans for years to come. As the band opens a portal into their own “sicko world,” the listener feels a welcome sense of recognition, and, for 37 minutes, is lucky enough to be a small part of it, even if just as a slack-jawed onlooker. 

As someone who has spent the last two years living in North Carolina, I can attest to the region’s mystical power and otherworldly pull. My time spent there was a menagerie of soul-centering beauty, valiant people, nourishing relationships, and guiding moments. It’s a part of the country capable of precious stillness and abrupt violence. I’ll put it this way: after the years spent living in North Carolina, I can see why David Lynch decided to film Blue Velvet there. 

As Wednesday weave together a patchwork of the mundane and profane, death and love exist in a perpetual dance, coexisting in the space between the rest stops, gas stations, and kudzu. Somewhere among the Cookout signs and quarries, this group found each other and came together to capture one minuscule splitter of a life still being lived. When listeners catch a glimpse of themselves in Hartzman’s songwriting, it can feel either like a warped funhouse mirror or a comforting salve. Maybe both. Above all else, the writing throughout this band’s discography feels like an affirmation to slow down and observe. To pause and remember. To document, archive, and share – because you just might find your people in the process. I’m already the type of person who believes there’s as much beauty in the sunrise over the ocean as there is in the alley with garbage juice trickling toward the drain. The only difference is, are you willing to look for it? After you’ve built up this reservoir of emotions and memories and stories, you might find yourself feeling similarly to the beginning of this record: simmering upward until it erupts from you in a great cacophony of noise. Whatever comes next is anyone’s guess.

The Merrier – Green Mages | EP Review

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Lonely Ghost Records

Perhaps it’s because I was born on Thanksgiving Day, but something in my soul begins to really awaken during the fall. My favorite albums suit the dreary weather and shortened days, lending themselves to the innate hibernation of these months. Crunchy, fuzzy guitars, screamo vocals, and dense instrumentals are my ideal backdrop for rainy commutes and chilly weekends at home. Naturally, when Jake Stephens of The Merrier sent me the project’s new EP, Green Mages, back at the peak of summer, I knew it was perfect for autumn even then. When we were chatting about the release, I mentioned this to Jake, who was in agreement and excited that I had picked up on this. 

Bridging the genres of dreamo, chiptune, bedroom pop, and electronica, The Merrier is known for his immersively warm music and stellar collaborations. And when I say ‘collaborations,’ I mean it: practically every Merrier song features vocals from another artist, usually from within the online DIY sphere. His release If We Fall Asleep Too Early was one of my favorites of 2023, featuring underground heroes like exciting!!excellent!! and Equipment. One year later, Jake released an album titled i hope i'm with my cats when the flood comes, which was the project’s first full-length release. Genre boundaries are pushed throughout the album, verging into neo-soul on “iso,” flirting with hyperpop on “the mid outdoors,” and even offering a couple of the project’s first fully solo songs without accompanying features. This constant experimentation and expansion continues onto Green Mages – Jake is compelling, fresh, and innovative as ever, acting as architect and mastermind as he constructs seven brilliant songs.

The EP opens with a blast of chiptune notes on “jester,” a charming and upbeat track featuring fellow Cleveland rock band Mud Whale. It’s dotted with cozy electronic sound effects that make you feel like the main character in a video game. I love a rowdy album opener, and “jester” pulls you in with raucous vocals like “Get on your feet and dance with me!” and “TWERK UPSIDE DOWN ON THE WALL!” Even though I can’t do any of that on my daily commute, it’s deeply cathartic to scream those lyrics while I wither away at yet another red light. As chaotically as “jester” begins, it immediately ends and transitions into the groovy track “timing,” featuring neo kiio. “timing” is a little more mellow, and I feel my shoulders relax as the beat dances through my ears. This is a delicious amalgam of genres: screamo melds effortlessly with hyperpop and hip-hop influences, decorated with Jake’s guitar lines that spin like sugar around the track’s core.

When I was little, my family would regularly take our Land Cruiser up to the high country of the Sierra Nevadas. As we wound up incline after incline, I used to close my eyes and watch the muted colors of the autumn sunlight dance across my eyelids. It was just us five up there, golden aspens whispering to each other as we explored the deep forests and quiet lakes hidden above the tree line. Listening to the second half of Green Mages reminds me of these days: “we saw it!” featuring Gabbo is soft and tender. Cascading melodies and sumptuous reverb surround the listener like a fleece pullover, cozy and warm. If only music were a time machine – I’d give anything to transport myself back to one of those adventures, just for an hour. Even so, I suppose “we saw it!” brings me as close as it gets to time travel without atomic reassembly. The energy of Green Mages amps back up with the closing track “eclipse!,” featuring Midwest emo stalwarts Short Fictions. This is a song for blasting out your car windows as dusk wraps the horizon. Brash and raucous, “eclipse!” makes me feel brave: proof that sometimes medicine comes in the form of a good emo song. 

The wizardry of The Merrier is proven on every magical track of Green Mages. Creativity and innovation are woven through the entire EP: Jake’s emotive writing is complemented brilliantly by each guest he brings on board, no matter their niche. And as the days get darker and colder at last, Green Mages is autumn’s welcome herald.

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.

Shallowater – God's Gonna Give You A Million Dollars | Album Review

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Thinking about West Texas roots up a string of memories in my mind. One of my earliest was a big family camping trip where my friend’s dad showed us just about every constellation in the sky. He grew up in Dumas and spent countless nights looking at the stars when he was a kid because there wasn't much else to do. For a while, I was going to college in Colorado and making the cross-Texas drive more often than I probably should have. I got to know West Texas by the pit stops along the route and by how much the speed limit decreased from town to town. I eventually transferred to a school in Texas and made friends who had grown up on the left side of the state. One time, we went on a camping trip and stopped in Andrews to pick up some gear from one of their childhood homes. We couldn't use the front door because it was blocked by too many tumbleweeds.

The tumbleweeds blocking my friend’s front door in Andrews, TX.

Shallowater is a three-piece dirtgaze band from West Texas, currently living in Houston. Blake Skipper, Ryan Faulkenberry, and Tristan Kelly made one of the best albums of 2024 with their debut There Is A Well, and I was an immediate fan on first listen. I am an absolute sucker for a band from Texas and feel deeply connected to anyone who grew up there. This thinking may have some validity anywhere other than Texas, where the immense landmass allows for vast differences in culture and experience across the state. There Is A Well is absolutely gorgeous, a beautiful first articulation of the group’s dust-coated take on shoegaze that they’ve built upon elegantly and precisely with their follow-up. As you venture into Shallowater’s sophomore album, God’s Gonna Give You A Million Dollars, it feels as if the band figured out how to inject the entirety of the Texas Panhandle directly into their songs. 

Produced by Alex Farrar, God’s Gonna Give You A Million Dollars is a smattering of multifaceted epics written from “me” to “you,” showcasing all sides of Shallowater’s sound. This album further solidifies the trio as one of the defining sounds of the modern Texas Panhandle. The album trudges through dust storms, tiptoes across the squeaky floorboards of a shotgun house, and blasts down a pitch-black highway with the windows down. 

The first two songs, “God’s Gonna Give You A Million Dollars” and “Sadie,” seem to tell the same narrative of an experience with grief after the loss of a grandmother. I imagine the grandma being one to poke fun at her own eventual passing, perhaps with the peace of knowing that what was on the other side would be unimaginably better than that of Earth. She would say that when she dies and goes to heaven, God would give her a million dollars and that all her old friends would be there too. The album opens with Grandma having their million dollars and a handful of roses. The rest of the song captures fond memories and personal quirks, ending at a cemetery on New Year's Eve. In “Sadie,” we see some of the ways one processes their grief. 

I’ve been writing down
Every word
You said to me
Cause I like the way they look
Bad year for me
And the roses
So I hung
Them up
Like a trophy kill

Nestled midway through the album, we’re out of the house and on the road, taking in the southern part of the country the way that so many experience it: through the window of a car. “Highway” is the best country western song I have heard in quite some time. Reading through the lyrics, I can practically hear George Jones crooning the words over a steady strumming guitar. At the beginning of the song, the line “Back where I was just / lights on a highway to you” devastates as the lyrics articulate that feeling of finding out you weren’t anything to them but another passing car in the night. As the song nears its end, the lyrics are whittled down to only the last six words – this solitary phrase repeating and feeling like a promise or a hope for future trips to that same lost love. While Blake Skipper sings with more of a casual air than Mr. Jones does, he finds the perfect cadence and tone to bring the country western feel out from the yearning lyrics into the song. 

We’ve all seen the decrepit house off the highway while cruising along the desolate part of our multi-hour drive. It looks like an island breaching up out of the water, usually surrounded by trees that have grown up taller than what is left of the ruins. It takes a split second to drive by, but years of life have been lived out in that frame. This is the song “All My Love,” except here we have gotten out of the car and are looking through the remains with our adventurous little nephew. It doesn't take long for the detour to turn personal and existential. Nothing is just one thing in this album. We hear a creak come from the framing of the old house, and suddenly we are freshly regretting the unrequited love of years past. Their evocative lyrics remove any chance of gleaning personal information while allowing the beauty of human experience to remain. Every word stretches until it meets the start of the next. It's a long drawl that sounds special on top of the ever-shifting sonic landscape.

Throughout the record, Shallowater exercise a level of skill and restraint that feels increasingly rare to find in “-gaze” bands. These three aren’t just defaulting to a simplistic loud-quiet-loud structure, nor are they pummeling wannabe Deftones riffs through hundreds of dollars of effects pedals. Instead, Shallowater uses these longer song structures to their advantage, exploring the softer side of their sound and executing these changes in sound with careful intention. Sometimes things are rolling along in peaceful post-rock lilt, then suddenly a squall of guitar feedback will rear up and rip you away from the calm. Though it’s more bite-sized in comparison, it’s most reminiscent of another southern rock behemoth: The Texas-Jerusalem Crossroads. All of this lends to a sense of vision and atmosphere with seven- to nine-minute songs that hold my attention all the way through, either through beauty or force. Equally skilled at filling the track with huge, crushing sound as they are at finding perfect moments for silence. It’s worldbuilding at its finest, and Shallowater’s world is vast, deep, and dusty. 

West Texas is a place where being a cowboy is still a real profession. A place where, when the wind blows just right, and it often does, the air fills with the scent of cow manure from the several million head of cattle that are being raised nearby. Shallowater is a band born from that harsh beauty, and with God’s Gonna Give You A Million Dollars, they consistently and uniquely serve up the Panhandle on a silver platter for any and all to partake.

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.