Snacking – Blacked Out On A Train | Single Review

Not gonna lie, Florida kinda scares me. It’s not just the golf-playing retirees or the alligators or the need to be beach-bod-ready at all times… It’s that some odd combination of these elements results in an environment that’s virtually inhospitable to my Pacific Northwestern spirit. 

Despite my harsh feelings on Florida, this region has (from my outsider’s perspective) one of the best DIY scenes in the country outside of the Midwest. Florida alone has Pool Kids, Dikembe, Worst Party Ever, Virginity, Skatune Network/JER, Woolbright, Dannythestreet, Gouge Away, Camp Trash, and more. On the other side of the border, you bands like Guitar Fight spouting up in Georgia. Just across the other border, you have groups like Insignificant Other in Alabama. My point is that, despite the sweltering conditions, there’s something in the air down in the southeast that just seems to breed great bands. While I’m not one to bet on artists' popularity, I’m calling it now; Snacking will soon become another one of this region’s success stories. 

“Blacked Out On A Train,” the group’s newest track and lead single off their upcoming EP Painted Gold, is a poppy emo-flavored triumph that sets the table for the band’s artistic metamorphosis. While the Snacking’s 2018 EP Not Here acted as the group’s formal unveiling to the world, it was a collection of songs heavily indebted to the sounds of midwest emo and Florida forebearers like You Blew It! Meanwhile, “Blacked Out On A Train” elevates the group’s sound in nearly every conceivable way. From instrumentation and production to lyricism and inspiration, this song is the sound of a band evolving before our eyes.

Opening with what sounds like a shimmering arcade game ‘Continue’ sound effect, “Blacked Out On A Train” blends together uplifting power chords, snappy drumming, and even-keeled basslines for a cleanly-produced indie rock sound with just an underlying hint of midwest-flavor. On top of this compelling instrumental bed, lead singer Ryan Dormois delivers melodic yet melancholic lyricism that evokes equal parts Pedro The Lion and Into It. Over It. 

These elements all swirl together for a song that depicts the conflicting aspects of life on the road. The strange mix of freedom and excitement that is counterbalanced by hesitation and unfamiliarity. As towns and faces pass by, time continues to progress. Each passing minute brings exciting new views and experiences but also adds distance between you and the people you hold most dear. As you willingly drive away from all familiar creature comforts, alcohol becomes a companion, and the phrase “live a little” morphs from an affirmation into a challenge. These lyrical sentiments pave the way for a searing guitar solo that closes out the track and ushers in the remainder of the EP—merely an appetizer (or snack, I suppose) for the entree that’s yet to come. 

“Blacked Out On A Train” is available now on all streaming services, and Painted Gold is out on February 12th via Chilwavve Records.

Breathing New Life Into Shoegaze, An Interview with Clearbody

Even though it came out in December, Clearbody’s One More Day was easily one of 2020’s strongest debuts. Formerly known as Dollhands, the Charlotte, North Carolina trio fuse the speed and ferocity of punk with the lush textures of shoegaze to create an immensely satisfying album. Clearbody find themselves in the increasingly fertile sect of shoegaze that is heavily indebted to bands such as Hum and Deftones. Where bands like Narrow Head decide to infuse their blend of heavy shoegaze with the grungy sound of nineties alt-rock, Clearbody’s punk and emo leanings help to set them apart from the pack as they have more in common with Blink-182 than Alice In Chains.

One More Day is a shock to the system; its eight songs are delivered with both speed and efficiency in just twenty-five minutes. “Scratch The Color” opens the album at a sprint’s pace as guitar, bass, and drums charge forward in unison while Eric Smeal sings of the absence of friendship. The band displays its pop sensibilities on “Blossom”  and “Too Far Gone,” which feature infectious guitar leads backed by upbeat rhythms. 

If this is starting to sound like Clearbody is a run of the mill pop-punk band, rest assured, this band contains multitudes thanks to their bonafide shoegaze aesthetic. The title track opens with heavily reverbed guitar chords, steady distorted bass, and crashing cymbals as gloomy vocals ponder the pain of not being with their beloved. “Suspension” closes the album with a climax that displays how well the band members play off of each other as rhythm section Martin Hacker-Mullen and Seth Wesner provide grit and heft for Eric Smeal’s screeching guitar solo.

What makes One More Day so exciting and interesting is that no song is just one thing despite the short running times. The band is able to include a diverse range of their influences in each track without creating a muddy mess. Pop minded songs such as “Scratch The Color” and “Blossom” each close out with passages of heavy distortion that play into the dreamy side of shoegaze, whereas “One More Day” alternates between moments of slow haze and blistering aggression as a means of servicing the pain and confusion depicted in the lyrics.

With One More Day, Clearbody has delivered a debut that could easily be from a band that has found its sound three or four albums into its career. Who knows where they will go from here, but wherever it is, I will follow. 

Recently, I had the pleasure to sit down with Eric Smeal, Clearbody’s guitarist and lead vocalist to discuss the band’s past, present, future, and you guessed it, Tom Petty.

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The three of you were originally in a band known as Dollhands. Is Clearbody just a name change, or do you view it as a new band removed from your old work?
Kind of both, honestly. Technically the original band was called Muffled, I started that project by myself in 2014 when I was a junior in high school, it was just garage rock kinda stuff inspired by bands like the Pixies and Ty Segall. We switched it to Dollhands once we started playing local shows because the word muffled is kind of an onomatopoeia; every time I’d say the name to someone, they’d be like, “wait what? I didn’t catch that.” We came up with Dollhands off of word association, and I never really felt like it was a good fit for us, it sounded like a horrorcore band name or something. When Seth and Marty joined in 2018, it felt like a totally new band, we just played some of the same songs.

Your work as Dollhands skews more toward emo and pop-punk. I’m curious what led to the inclusion of aspects of shoegaze. Was this a conscious shift in sound or something that happened naturally?
It happened naturally, at least that’s how I think it happened. Dollhands had a scrapped EP (which I put out earlier in 2020 under the name Collection) that was more so a garage rock record than anything else, I’ve always said that we’re one thing when we’ve been called something else the whole time. I honestly think the shoegaze shit started with the song “Showbiz” off of that EP, I had no idea what the fuck I was doing at the time, but I listened to that song recently and was like, “damn, this is kind of a shoegaze song.” I like to think that we’re a “shoegaze” band, but people can call us whatever they want. When we were writing & recording One More Day, I didn’t realize how much it sounds like a classic emo record, but now I totally see why people say we’re an emo band. I really didn’t get the Sunny Day Real Estate comparisons at first, I just thought they were sick comparisons, but I like that people think of us as a melting pot band.

A version of “Quarterback” appears on a Dollhands/Stress Fractures split EP. Are the other songs on the album B.C. (Before Clearbody), or were they written specifically for One More Day?
So technically, 5 out of the 8 songs are “Dollhands” songs; “Blossom,” “One More Day,” and “In Latency” were all written while we were recording. Seth came to practice one day in April with the Blossom riff, and it just kinda wrote itself. We tracked that song first, and initially it was just going to be a single, but then we were like fuck it, let’s record the rest of these songs, which were “Scratch,” “Ultraclarity,” “Too Far Gone,” and “Suspension.” At the end of 2019, we tracked an EP, which was all of those songs minus “Suspension.” We had another song on it called “Dream Eater,” which was an incredibly cursed song for us to play live; we played it like 8 times since 2018, and every time something would go wrong, or we’d fuck it up, one time we straight up just stopped playing it and moved on hahahaha. We all felt down on our performances during the EP recording session and decided to do it ourselves. Alex Martin convinced us to add “Quarterback” to the record, and we were already working on One More Day, so we added that one too. “In Latency” just kinda came to me one night after tracking, and it felt like a good transition from “Too Far Gone” to “Suspension.” I’ve always loved artists like Grouper and Alex G, so it’s me just trying to channel that energy.  

One of the things that impresses me most about the album is how you blend punk’s speed and aggression with the spacey and dreamy aspects of shoegaze without sounding awkward or muddied. Can you speak to how you find this balance? 
We just kinda do our thing, it’s always been like that. We try to not put so much pressure into stuff like that when we’re writing, we just know where the parts should be. I’ve always been the “play as fast as possible” type of musician, which can be a little challenging when shoegaze music is usually slow and droney. When we were tracking, I was hella into bands like Boris or Yuragi, Japanese shoegaze music is fuckin sick, and they constantly blend different styles together. I showed Marty this band called “………” the other day (yes, their name is just 9 periods), and they’re straight up a pop-punk shoegaze band, its so fucking sick hahahahaha.

The field of “heavy shoegaze” acts has become increasingly fertile over the past few years, with bands like Cloakroom, Greet Death, Narrow Head, and Nothing all approaching the sound from different angles. Do you see yourself as a part of this movement? If so, do you draw inspiration from any of these bands (mentioned or otherwise)?
I think we’re apart of that movement, yeah. We’ve been lucky enough to play with both Narrow Head and Nothing, along with some other cool bands like Fake Eyes & Soul Blind too. Everyone has their own style to the genre, which is really sick. I think that I draw a ton of influence from both Greet Death and Cloakroom, respectively. I just want Clearbody to be heavy as shit, but also have huge and beautiful moments too. Spirit of the Beehive is the best example of something like that, I think, they can be so aggressive, but they also have these expansive, beautiful moments too. Dynamics in shoegaze are everything to me, they can really make or break a band. 

Will you describe your writing process? Do you all write together? Are ideas fleshed out through jamming or some other method?
Most of the time, one of us will just bring a riff to practice, and we’ll try to flesh it out as much as we can. I wrote most of the songs on One More Day by myself first, then I brought them to practice. I write all of the lyrics too.

Your lyrics speak on themes of failed friendship, the passing of time, and people either being lost in life or moved on from completely. Where do you draw your inspiration for lyrics?
Personal experiences, I guess, sometimes it can be hard to tell. My whole life, I’ve always just let the words come out; I’ve never tried to write about only one thing, so all of the songs on One More Day are about a bunch of different things. The title track is mostly about my partner Cass and how they live 12 hours away from me, but it’s also about seeing how much you’ve grown personally. That’s another thing that kind of “happened by accident,” all the songs are about growth. Yeah, sure, you can cover a lot of ground with just vague shit like that, but I think that I processed stuff on this record, shit I needed to move on from. We live in dark times, so I’m glad that the album has connected with people in that way.

Your work as Dollhands features covers from myriad different artists, but the one that sticks out to me as the most interesting/peculiar is your cover of Tom Petty’s “Mary Jane’s Last Dance.” I find it to be a very successful cover and I am curious what your relationship to his music is. I have noticed that, like Petty, your songs are able to get to the chorus/refrain in four lines or less.
That cover was actually apart of a cover comp I worked on! My dad plays harmonica on it hahahaha, but yeah, I’ve always loved Tom Petty, and when he passed away, we started working on that comp, it was way before all the Acrobat Unstable stuff. I’ve never really thought about it like that; I was raised on Tom Petty and other bands like Aerosmith and REO Speedwagon, then when I was in middle school, I found out about Nirvana and blink-182. Blink was obviously the big one; I bought a bass when I was in high school and learned all their records.

You recently played a fantastic live stream for Audiotree. How did it feel to play your music in a live setting with shows being prohibited for the foreseeable future? 
It was honestly crazy, we added something new to every song in that set, and I’m stoked with how it came out. Hopefully, we’ll be able to play live in the near future whenever it’s safe, I really miss it.

You mentioned on Twitter that you already have three songs for your second LP. Can you discuss the direction you are going with it and when you think it might be out?
It’ll probably be out in 2022. The songs really aren’t much just yet; Marty and Seth both wrote a song together, which is sick. I wrote a cowboy ass riff for it that I hated at first, but now I love it. I already have a concept for lyrics and imagery that I wanna run with, we just haven’t really had a chance to sit down and talk about that stuff yet. We’re just trying to pump these songs out cause One More Day took me 4~ years to write; the oldest song on it is “Suspension,” which I wrote back in the Muffled days (full circle interview moment) but this one we’ll hopefully be done writing sometime in 2021.

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Connor lives in San Francisco with his partner and their cat, Toni. Connor has an MFA in creative writing and is working toward becoming a community college professor. When he isn’t listening to music or writing about killer riffs, Connor is obsessing over coffee and sandwiches.

Follow him on Twitter or Instagram.

Tiberius - Lull | Album Review

Love and heartbreak have to be two of the most well-trodden territories in songwriting. I suppose they’re ever-fruitful creative ground since everyone’s relationships are different and all fluctuate in unique ways. Whether it’s friendship, a romantic relationship, or something else, that combination of two people coming together and forming something special between them means that love and heartbreak are infinitely interpretable topics. No two relationships are alike, and exploring those novel combinations of people has led to some of the best songs in the world. It’s also led to some of the most trite and soulless garbage imaginable. Turn on the radio or walk into a grocery store anywhere in America and odds are, within a few minutes, you’ll hear a song about a relationship either beginning or ending. That duality of love and heartbreak is all well and good, after all, people are still connecting to it and finding new ways to write about it after hundreds of years, but that doesn’t stop it from being commonplace. 

These days, I’m much more interested in the grey areas of life… The spaces between the defined path and the boundless area ahead. Those “commonplace” concepts of falling in and out of love are fine, but they’re extremes. We spend more of our lives existing in the ground between those two states. 

As an artist, what do you have to say about an unremarkable Wednesday? How do you fill the space when your friends don’t call and your family is far away? What do you do when it’s interminably slow at work and you need time to fill the void? This is the sort of grey area we’ve been living in since March of 2020, so maybe that’s what appeals to me so much about artists who stray away from the binary of “love” and “heartbreak.” More often than not, life isn’t “good and bad,” it’s mute and indescribable. It’s listless and empty. It’s either a hectic scramble or adrift emotionality. What you have to say about that is what tests your mettle as an artist, not finding a new way to say ‘I am sad about girls.’

While your mileage may vary, I think the first time that many of us experience this grey area of life in full is immediately after college. If everything goes according to plan, after graduation you’ll find yourself in your early 20s, degree in-hand, and debt piled up. You followed the path that society has set out for you; you went to school, did your homework, found your “calling,” now what? Most students enter the world lost and confused with a resume and a handful of intern credits that they expected to help them land them a job that they may not even want. Then they spend months (or years) finding their way into that job, all for the express purpose of paying off that debt they attained just trying to get here—what a great system. 

Lull, the sophomore album from Tiberius, delves into this grey area in full over the course of a sprawling 48 minutes. Helmed by multi-instrumentalist Brendan Wright, he bills the release as an exploration of “self-hatred vs. self-love, the complexities of transitioning between youth and aging, and the power of the pen and expression.” 

Walking a fine line between midwest emo and lush indie rock, the collection of songs on Lull prattle on in the most charming and abstract way. Sometimes dipping into near-rapped spoken word excursions and exploratory solos, the music is slowly but surely making its way forward. This record is the musical equivalent of sleeping over at someone’s house and navigating your way to the bathroom in the dark; you move forward, one unsure step after another, all the while your hands gently scan the empty middle ground in search of any obstacles that might impede your journey. Despite the dread that comes with navigating this unfamiliar territory, the sense of satisfaction you feel when you accomplish that journey and make it back to the warm comfort of the bed makes it all worth it. The excursion was necessary, even if you didn’t want to embark on it.

Perhaps the best indicator of Lull’s message comes in its name… Lull. It’s a fitting word to describe that period of your life where the predetermined path ends and the world lies before you. What direction do you go now? How fast should you be moving? Are you even going the right way? Lull captures the lost essence one feels as the gust of energy, creativity, and forward momentum suddenly gives way to a distinct type of nothingness.

Opening track “The First of Many Lasts” sets the tone for the release with a swirl of strings, acoustic guitar, and xylophone that all congeal together to establish a melody that will present itself throughout the record. After this calming 50-second introduction, “MPHL” brings this swirling melody to a complete halt, acting as an instrumental stop sign that commands attention and draws focus on Wright’s vocals. After an opening salvo of downtrodden lyrics, the cymbal taps grow louder, eventually culminating into a fully-fledged drum build. As the song begins to swell and pick up intensity, the remainder of the instruments join in, forming a swaying instrumental that acts as an optimistic counterpoint to the cynical lyricism. These first two tracks serve as a detailed and multi-layered introduction to the complicated and emotional world of Lull. 

From there, lead single “Pale Ale” is a catchy, cathartic anthem that doubles as one of the record’s most pointed and self-contained tracks. This song walks the line between midwest emo and classic indie rock in the vein of Broken Social Scene. There are drums, bass, multiple guitars, and even a soaring sax solo that manages to fit into the song seamlessly. Even though some tracks feature additional band members, I can’t help but marvel at the fact that something this dense and layered came from one mind. While Lull was created and recorded primarily by Wright alone, “Pale Ale” acts as a hyper-collaborative high point that he is able to revisit thematically later in the album. 

From here, the band explores the aforementioned topics of relationships, aging, creativity, and self-expression through a series of constantly-shifting tracks. The album’s title track pairs gorgeous female vocals over a buoyant guitar line that drives the song forward. “Urn” is a dark and groovy cut with an instrumental reminiscent of early Interpol or even The Cure. “Furrow” pairs an electronic instrumental bed with a wispy guitar and gentle piano for a funky and laid-back excursion. 

Despite the fact that all of these songs feel unique and stylistically different, they all fit into the larger theme of the album thanks to Wright’s vocals and overarching artistic vision. No matter what stylistic indulgences or genre-based fluctuations the album goes through, Lull always centers back to the same concepts of progress and feeling like you’re not quite where you’re meant to be.

Are you actually growing or merely sustaining? Did you follow the instructions, or were you even meant to in the first place? As damaging as a lull can be in your life, the beauty is that it can also act as a period of reflection. Stalling out may feel bad because you’ve lost momentum, but it can also be a much-needed pause that allows us to think, find that missing sense of direction, and pull ourselves out. It’s all about perspective; a lull is only as negative as you allow it to be. On the other side of every lull, there is explosive progress, affirming relationships, and personal development. A lull might feel bad while you’re in it, but sometimes the only way out is through. 

Some Final Thoughts on 2020

I write this at the end of an indescribable year. In about a decade or so, I’ll probably have the perspective and the vocabulary to properly articulate the effects that this year had on me and our collective psyche, but for now, I can’t see the forest for the trees. Aside from that, I think those types of conclusions will take a long time to unravel, and the effects haven’t even been fully-experienced yet. 

I write this at the end of a year of panic, death, and worldwide misery. Things happened this year that were universal and affected us all. Things happened this year that touched all of our lives. Things happened this year that have changed the course of history. Whether you were rich or poor, you were impacted by 2020. Whether you lived down the hall from me or across the world, you were impacted by the events of this year. Whether you are adolescent or elderly, your life was touched by the events of the last 365 days. No matter who you were, where you live, or what you do, you will look back on this year and never. be able. to forget. 

If it weren’t for the love of my partner, the support of my family, or the help of my friends, I would not have made it through this year. A secondary yet even more consistent form of support throughout this year was music. After all, I run this blog on top of a seasonal Sufjan Christmas music blog. I have music playing from virtually the moment I wake up to the minute I fall asleep. I am insane. But my point is that music has helped me make it through the year. Music has helped me escape reality, amplify love, and affirm my existence. 

Aside from music, which is obviously a vastly important part of my day to day life, my other escape is podcasts. I’m not a big “podcast guy,” I used to be (back when I had the time in high school and college), but now I just listen to one podcast: Comedy Bang Bang. This show’s abject absurdity proves to be the farthest escape from reality I can possibly achieve through the medium, and that is what I go to podcasts for; to distract my mind entirely from the world around me. No podcast does that better than Comedy Bang Bang, where Scott Aukerman’s deadpan interviews and pop culture dad jokes bounce off characters like a cowboy poet Laureate, a put-upon carpet saleswoman, a perilously thin intern, and Santa Claus himself. It’s the furthest thing from reality, and that has never been more of a blessing than this year. 

As much as I love it, I was also a year or two behind on Comedy Bang Bang (as I said, I don’t have a ton of time). Despite how far behind I was, Comedy Bang Bang has proved to be a much-needed escape this year. As I listened nervously throughout 2020, I realized I was getting closer, week by week, to the outbreak of the Coronavirus. Being a year behind meant I had a few dozen hours of comforting pre-Corona comfort at my disposal. Yet the paradox was each time I ventured to this well of distraction, I was also using up a finite supply of entertainment before the sharp pain of reality injected itself into my sacred space.

Sure enough, I made it to an episode in March, and the reality of the podcast was broken. Even the shroud of improv couldn’t keep out the harsh, deadly reality of the world outside. The pandemic struck, and suddenly, without warning, my favorite podcast was in March of 2020, just like everyone else. Suddenly the members of my one artificial safe space were all trying their best to adapt to this new life of home recordings and deadly viruses. It felt, in a word, violating. Not necessarily the show’s fault, but it felt weird to see reality so wholly inflict itself upon my mental playspace. 

It became symbolic, a microcosm of the year that I got to re-experience months after the fact while catching up on the podcast this fall. I got to hear them joke about Tiger King for the first time. I got to listen to all sorts of (now trite) Zoom jokes. I got to experience both the host and guests struggle with the change a deadly pandemic brings in real-time. I got to hear insight from these people I’d been listening to for years as I watched them face their own mortality and possible death as we all did at some point in the early weeks of quarantine. Not only that, I got to see them struggle with all the same things we collectively did back in March and April. 

Some of those early episodes were… rough. There were technological issues galore, unfunny moments, and awkward interruptions of every size. It made me realize how much this year was unshakably universal.

Then the end of the year rolled around. The cold weather swept in, the snow started falling, and my Christmas spirit started to emerge. As my hectic year at work wrapped up, I decided to skip ahead in the CBB timeline to the annual Christmas episode. Listening to this episode and playing video games has become a time-honored tradition that I look forward to every holiday break. I fired my console up, threw the episode on, and, much to my surprise… it sounded like a classic episode of Comedy Bang Bang. The audio quality had gotten better, and the guests weren’t wrestling with Zoom anymore. It sounded like the episode could have been recorded in a studio last year. It sounded like good ol’ CBB.

To skip from these episodes in April that took me back to such a dark place in the quarantine timeline to the present day where they’ve ironed out nearly every conceivable aspect of remote recording was affirming. Aside from meaning I had good episodes to look forward to, it also meant that this podcast, like the rest of us, was able to adjust over time. It meant there was hope. I only had that perspective because I made such a drastic jump forward in the podcast’s timeline, but now looking back on my own year, I realize how much I’ve adapted to change as well. I look back at where I was back in March and where I am now. I’m a little bit heavier, but I also feel like I’ve adjusted to this frightening time quite nicely. I feel fulfilled at work, I feel fulfilled creatively, and I feel fulfilled in my relationships. I am making it work. And sometimes, just “making it work” is the best you can do.

I’m not going to pretend we are in a better spot right now. I’m not going to pretend Joe Biden’s win is a good thing… but it was at least the better thing. I’m not going to expect the COVID vaccine to solve every problem we’re currently facing… but that’s at least better than another nine months of this. I’m not going to pretend that all of our issues are solved because a few good things happened at the end of the year… but that’s better than how things have been going for a long time. 

The word is still deeply fucked, and we are still deeply fucked with it if we don’t do something. People need your help. Your friends, neighbors, brothers, and sisters need your help. If you have the ability, the time, and the resources, it’s time to do something. We need to use what little momentum we have to change things for the better. Our current path is unsustainable, and, if nothing else, 2020 has made that abundantly clear.

I’m not going to pretend that we’re in a better place than we were one year ago, but we have to imagine that ideal world and work towards it actively. Right now, it feels like things might be changing for the better, so let’s use our voices and make sure of it. 

Thanks for reading along this year. I’ll see you all in 2021.

Swim Into The Sound's 15 Favorite Albums of 2020

I don’t think anyone could have predicted how 2020 would go. Back in January, we all seemed determined to enter the new decade with a renewed sense of optimism… but that fell apart pretty quickly. Within three days, the US on the brink of war with Iran. A month in, and Australia was on fire. Three months into the year, a global pandemic sequestered us all to our homes. Midway through the summer, the pressure cooker of police brutality, racial inequality, and an ever-worsening economic reality erupted into protests, rebellion, and long-simmering (long-deserved) unrest. Cap that all off with forest fires, near-miss asteroids, murder hornets, and a demoralizing election cycle, and you’ve concocted a perfect storm of anxiety, depression, and exhaustion that made each day of 2020 feel like its own special type of hell.

This was the year of the plague. It was the year of death. It was the year that everything became unsafe for everyone. The year that half of the country came out to protest police systematically killing our black brothers and sisters in broad daylight while the other half protested bars, barbers, and Disneyland closing. It was fucked. But I’m not here to complain.

As bad as this year was for pretty much everyone, music helped keep my spirits afloat. Music has always been a creature comfort for me (as I’m sure it is for many of you reading this), and that comfort was needed this year more than ever before. It’s not like music was more important than any of those things happening out in the “real world,” but it provided a constant outlet and distraction for me when I needed it most. What I’m saying is that I know this isn’t vital to the world, but it’s vital to me.

Music is always there, ready to reflect your feelings and quell your anxieties. Music is there to vocalize the things that you cannot, affirm the way you see the world, or get you to see it from a new perspective. It’s there to support and provide a sense of ease, even years after an artist has released it into the world. It’s an outlet for emotion and a fount for creativity. As an artist, there’s nothing like releasing your creation into the world and seeing it well-met. As a listener, there’s nothing quite like discovering another group of humans out there who can sum up your thoughts and experiences succinctly over the course of an album. It’s a symbiotic relationship, and that’s something we can’t lose sight of. Music is a blessing and a resource. As humans, music is something that we need to create and something that we need to consume, and it has never been more vital than this year. 

Whether they were a distraction or a reflection, these are the 15 albums that helped me make it through one of the darkest years of my life. 

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15 | Touché Amoré - Lament

Epitaph Records

Lament is an album caught in the blurry middle ground of life. What happens after the death of a loved one? How do you handle losing family members to conspiracy theories or the cult of Donald Trump? What do you reach for when you need a reminder of love? Turns out the answer to all of these questions is you hire producer Ross Robinson and create one of the best post-hardcore records of the year. Lament possesses everything you would expect from a Touché Amoré record; there are throat-shredding bellows, whiplash-inducing blast beats, and beautifully poetic sentiments that speak to a larger human truth. There are also some unexpectedly great surprises: one of the catchiest songs of the year (with a bonus Julien Baker feature nonetheless), a soul-rendering duet with Andy Hull of Manchester Orchestra, and a confessional piano ballad to wrap things up. It’s an album that looks back on life with equal parts reverence and regret. The band seemingly knows that looking back is not inherently productive, so they spend just as much time looking forward out onto the great stretch of horizon that lies before them, questioning what comes next. In a year where music, life, and pretty much everything else that we consider remotely important felt suspended in stasis, what better time to pause, reflect, and collect ourselves for what’s to come?

14 | Deftones - Ohms

Reprise Records

Like most other Deftones albums, I have no idea what Ohms is about. Sure, I could read interviews, take in reviews, or analyze some of the lyrics, but that would take away all the fun. Also like most other Deftones albums, Ohms bears the same intoxicating mix of Chino Moreno’s piercing screams and Stephen Carpenter’s sludgy riffs. These songs sway, lumber, and envelop the listener with heavy metal perfection. At a certain point, the lyrics don’t even matter because the emotion carried in these songs speaks for itself. There’s a weight to Ohms reflected in tracks like Pompeji, Genesis, and This Link Is Dead that is simply unparalleled by any other band in the genre. Any group that makes it to nine albums is doing something right, and Deftones have stuck to their sound faithfully and completely for three decades. That alone is worthy of praise. The band’s 2020 release comes off as well-rehearsed chaos. Ohms bears the full weight of the emotional spectrum, but, as usual, Deftones somehow manage to make it look easy.

13 | Seahaven - Halo of Hurt

Pure Noise Records

If Reverie Lagoon is a warm, sandy beach with light glinting off the summer water and Winter Forever is… well, winter, then Halo of Hurt is the soundtrack to a cursed late-fall. From the winding knotty basswork to the haunted, witchy lyricism, this album practically oozes spooky energy. Fittingly released in November, Halo of Hurt is a dark and menacing record that takes cues from Brand New and the alt-emo of the early 2000s but modernizes it in the most impactful way. From second one, this record creeps forward with sinister intent. The band counterbalances this abject darkness with uplifting choruses and beguiling instrumentals that offer glimpses into something lighter. It’s an intoxicating combination that transfixes me every time I put the record on. It’s haunting, stark, beautiful, and inward. If it takes the band seven years between releases to turn out an album of this quality, then I say take as much time as you need. 

12 | Sinai Vessel - Ground Aswim

Self-released

Whenever I write a review for an album, I always find it hard to cover again in the context of an Album of the Year list. First off, I feel like I’ve already said everything I need to on the topic; reviews are written to be comprehensive and delve into every aspect of an album. Second, how do I take an 800+ word analysis and synthesize it down to a single paragraph? Turns out it’s easy with Sinai Vessel’s sophomore album. The sentiment of my review still stands; Ground Aswim remains a beautiful, careful, meditative listen that points its listener towards the refuge of a calmer life, yet it’s also an album that evolves with you over time. 

From the whisper-quiet remorse of the opening track to the winding wonder of the closer, Ground Aswim is an album that changes each time I listen to it. There are pointed Oso Oso-esque cuts like “Shameplant” alongside songs of painfully emotive loss like “Guest In Your Life.” While the messages and lyrics of these tracks never change (self-growth and dying relationships, respectively), the topics shift depending on what you bring to them as the listener. They’re evergreen subjects that can always be applied to our ever-complicated lives. Depending on what you’re experiencing in your life at the time, these songs can sound completely different, and you’ll always take away something new with each listen. Ground Aswim is a record that poses a series of emotive prompts to the listener and leaves them enough space to fill in the blanks. It’s a beautiful, wondrous, and precious release that ponders, jangles, and reverberates its way deep into the ventricles of your heart. 

11 | Hot Mulligan - you’ll be fine

No Sleep Records

Now, I know what you’re thinking, ‘a white dude putting an emo band on his album of the year list, how original,’ but I swear that you’ll be fine is better than any of those descriptors would lead you to believe. Look no further than the opening few seconds of the record which kick things off with an aggressive drum line and a frantic bout of tappy emo guitarwork. It’s an all-out assault on the senses, a moshpit-inducing volley that immediately signals Hot Mulligan has ascended to a new level musically. That feeling of an artistic level-up is firmly backed up by the lead singles “Feal Like Crab,” “BCKYRD,” and “Equip Sunglasses,” each of which pair Tades Sanville’s whiny yelp with Chris Freeman’s emo croon. Other highlights include the overwrought “Green Squirrel In Pretty Bad Shape” and the electronic-drum-led “SDPS,” which ends up feeling like a spiritual sequel to “How Do You Know It’s Not Armadillo Shells?” These are songs that beg to be performed live in a room full of sweat-covered strangers who have memorized every word and know every beat. You may not know these people, and they may not know you, but you both know all the words to “OG Blue Sky,” and that is enough.

10 | Dogleg - Melee

Triple Crown Records

Melee is an LP years in the making. After countless gigs, lineup changes, and onstage handstands, Dogleg finally revealed their energetic debut album to the world earlier this year on March 13th, just days before society ground to a halt thanks to COVID-19. Look no further than any videos on Twitter, the band’s own music videos, or this very blog for evidence that Dogleg is a band that thrives in the live setting. Robbed of that outlet, the world in which Melee was conceived of and created in no longer exists, and that hurts. Watching the group shred on Audiotree or smash household objects in a freezing Michigan garage is a nice substitute, but everything pales in comparison to being pressed up against a wall of strangers and friends yelling “I’VE BEEN. SET UP. YET AGAIN.” as the serotonin in your body spikes to unforeseen levels. 

Instead, Melee offers an alternate reality; it presents a world in which things didn’t go so far off the rails. An alternate reality where we could take in all of these shredding riffs, swinging bass lines, and agro drum fills in real-time together. This album captures the feeling of seeing Dogleg live better than any of the band’s previous recordings, and that alone is an achievement. We can only hope that we’ll all be back in that freezing Michigan garage again soon because that’s what I’m looking forward to most once this is all over.

9 | Guitar Fight From Fooly Cooly - Soak

Self-Released

Listening to Guitar Fight From Fooly Cooly is the audio equivalent of the let’s fucking goooo meme. Within two seconds of pressing play on Soak, you’re greeted with an infamous broken English Mario clip followed by a barrage of jittery emo guitar tapping and frantic drumming. As the band jostles the listener around with energy drink riffs, a flurry of gleeful Mario sound effects score your increasingly-elated emotions as your serotonin rises… and that’s only the first minute. Over the course of the album’s remaining 26 minutes, the group shepherds the listener from Kingdom Hearts samples to throat-shredding screams with skill and ease. The entire release is a free-spirited excursion that never takes itself too seriously. It’s like those nights you spent with friends in high school where you all just gathered at someone’s house and wandered wherever your collective desires took you. Maybe you went on a midnight McDonald’s run, maybe you went into a 7-Eleven with ten bucks and came out with an armful of Arizonas and sour candy, maybe you just stayed in and smoked weed on someone’s dirty couch… maybe you did all three. There isn’t much of a point to be made or a thesis statement to be had on Soak, but much like those high school nights, not having a point kind of is the point. 

8 | Bartees Strange - Live Forever

Memory Music

I’m going to come out of the gates swinging here with a bold claim that Live Forever is one of the most creative and confident records released this year. From the floaty introduction on  “Jealousy” to the screaming synthy “Mustang,” no two tracks are alike. Bartees Strange (born Bartees Leon Cox Jr.) culls together a wide array of influences and inspiration throughout the release, resulting in an album that’s always exciting and multifaceted. Songs like the leaned-out “Kelly Rowland” and the rapid-fire “Boomer” deploy contemporary hip-hop vernacular over indie rock instrumentation resulting in a combination that’s distinctly Bartees Strange. “Stone Meadows” is a mid-album highlight that hits with the same soaring emotive weight as a National song (fitting as he also released an EP of National covers earlier this year). There are deeper, more dissonant tracks like “Flagey God” and “Mossblerd,” which lean further Bartees Strange’s electronic tendencies. These interjections come across like uncontrollable bouts of Death Grips-like energy that exist primarily keep the listener on their toes. This is an album that could only be created by Bartees Leon Cox Jr., a collection of ideas, influences, sounds, and words that have been picked up across twenty-some years of hyper-unique learned experiences. It’s a musical melting pot that beautifully reflects the unique space in which creativity flourishes most. 

7 | Barely Civil - I’ll Figure This Out

Take This To Heart Records

For now. Forever. Those are the two sentiments that lie on opposing ends of Barely Civil’s horseshoe of a sophomore album I’ll Figure This Out. While the two states are connected in theory, the path from one to the other is messy and complicated. After all, how does one go from something as temporary as “For Now…” to something as definitive as “...Forever”? How does a relationship move from ‘this is my person for now’ to ‘I love you forever’? How does life go from ‘this is my situation for now’ to ‘this is my existence forever’? It’s staggering to think about how many events make up the space between those decisions, but I’ll Figure This Out does its best to articulate what that arc feels like. 

With this album, Barely Civil took the definitively midwest emo sounds they had explored on their debut album and fleshed them out to an immensely satisfying degree. Assisted by Christ Teti of The World Is A Beautiful Place, these songs shine immaculately, basking in the glow of one of fourth-wave emo’s most influential figureheads. There’s a foreboding riff on “Graves Avenue” that is shrouded in this unshakable diabolical energy. “Box For My Organs” boasts a shreddy guitar lick that throws directly to a catchy sing-along chorus. Most notably, I’ll Figure This Out sees the band mastering the art of the build, creating dynamic emo tracks that breathe, expand, and contract, all within the space of a few minutes. “North Newhall” is a slow-burn that ignites from a jolting guitar stab and works it’s way up to a soaring affirmation. “Hollow Structures” layers on hushed vocals, precious lyricism, careful drumming, and a remorseful trumpet that all build to a fake-out ending only to erupt in a barrage of instrumentation that ends up simmering back down to the exact same place as the start. In exploring the spaces between something as tentative as ‘for now’ and something as lasting as ‘forever,’ Barely Civil managed to craft something beautiful that will live on for the rest of time. 

6 | Haim - Women In Music Pt. III

Columbia Records

One part Stevie Nicks, a pinch of Shania Twain, and a dash of Sheryl Crow. These were the ingredients chosen to create the perfect indie-pop record, and the result was Women In Music Pt. III. I’ll admit I’ve always been pretty lukewarm on Haim; they were never “bad,” but they never rose above “merely pleasing” for me until this year. Over the course of the summer, Women In Music wormed its way into my heart and became the soundtrack to my season of hiking and exploration. Aside from the throwback appeal, the other aspect that kept me coming back to the record was how catchy it is. “Now I’m In It” takes a warbly 1989-era Taylor-Swift electronic bed and pairs it with a rapid-fire vocal delivery that’s as catchy as it is impressive. “Summer Girl” packs the melancholia of Barenaked Ladies’ “Pinch Me” into a singable chorus about short-lasting love. 

There are also lots of risks for what’s ostensibly presented as a pop record. Mid-album highlight “All That Ever Mattered” pairs trappy hi-hats with haunting siren wails that are capped off by a solo worthy of the late great Eddie Van Halen. Meanwhile, “FUBT” takes the sentiment of Yeah Yeah Yeah’s “Maps” but wraps it around a jangly reverb-laden guitar that allows Danielle Haim’s vocals to shine before the track makes way for a passionate guitar solo. In short, there’s lots to love about Women In Music, almost none of which I expected when I first went into the album. With just the right amount of nostalgia, love, heartbreak, and modern pop sensibilities, the Haim sisters were able to create a masterpiece worthy of absolute adoration.

5 | 100 gecs - 100 gecs and The Tree of Clues

Dog Show Records

Much like 9/11 or the OJ chase, everyone remembers where they were the first time they heard 100 gecs. Maybe you stumbled across a video on Twitter, or you saw a friend talking about them on Discord. Perhaps you saw an out-of-context pissbaby copypasta and decided to do some research. Whatever the case, your first listen to any song off 1000 gecs probably felt like a revelation, and you likely had a strong reaction one way or the other. With 1000 gecs and The Tree of Clues, the hyperpop duo has managed to make their world-shattering debut feel new again and usher in something visionary in the process. 

Whether it’s recontextualizing their songs in a live setting, getting a chorus assist from the likes of Charli XCX, or a Fall Out Boy/Chiodos team-up that completely rebuilds the track from the ground up, it’s incredible how fresh these songs still sound after dozens of listens. Over the course of the album’s 51-minute running time, the gecs allow their guests to explore hip-hop, noise-pop, and Crazy-Frog-esque EDM, all built off the foundation of last year’s debut. 

This record is a marvel of pacing, collaboration, and open-minded ideas. It’s essentially an album-length victory lap for Dylan Brady and Laura Les, who have brought a once-obscure and non-viable genre to the forefront of Twitter talk and Spotify playlists. Tree of Clues is obscure, obfuscating, and ever-changing in the best way possible. The record can radically shift sounds within a matter of seconds, which means it’s never dull. It’s like a shot of espresso injected directly into your veins; for some people, it will leave them fidgety and with a tense jaw, but for others, it will prove to be the exact sort of jolt they needed. Now that the duo has celebrated their win in style, the world waits with bated breath to see what they will do next because nobody is doing it like them. 

4 | Lake Saint Daniel - Good Things

Self-Released

Listening to Lake Saint Daniel is like looking at a painting. You stand in front of it, take it in, and eventually find yourself falling into it. This gravitational pull happens over time and occurs so gradually that you might not even notice how involved you’ve become in the piece until something snaps you back to reality. Good Things possesses this transportive power and focuses its message on the concept of youth.

Throughout the album, there are all these little reminders of things you used to do as a child. Things that you had forgotten about, ways of behaving and operating in the world that had once been so viable when you were half the size you are now. “Faking Asleep” hones in on the feeling of being a kid in the backseat on the drive home and pretending to be just sleepy enough that your parents have to carry you in. “Goodbye” fixates on the universal experience of being a kid, getting asked how old you are, and rounding up by a half year or a handful of months to seem more mature. Then, of course, there’s the beautiful cover of “Rainbow Connection” that takes the childhood classic and reimagines it to fit seamlessly within the world of the record. Daniel Radin has a knack for honing in on these universal yet hyper-specific experiences in ways that allow you remember them for the first time in years and love them once again in the process. Good Things makes you want to be a kid again but also acknowledges the reality that those experiences are forever lost to time. It’s a collection of gorgeous country-tinged lullabies for the restless, overworked, anxiety-ridden 20-something, and that’s something I desperately needed this year. This album is a reminder that there are good things in small things, no matter how far removed from them you are.

3 | Young Jesus - Welcome to Conceptual Beach

Saddle Creek

I can’t think of a single album from 2020 that had a more impactful first listen on me than Young Jesus’ Welcome to Conceptual Beach. This record had been on my radar for a while, thanks to the wonderful people over at No Earbuds, but I went into Conceptual Beach completely blind. My expectations were nonexistent, and that worked in the album’s favor. 

A vague concept album, Conceptual Beach seeks to depict the invented place that exists in lead singer John Rossiter’s head. In translating this mental refuge into music, the group utilizes everything from haunting autotune to fluttering woodwinds. Now a decade into their careers as a band, this record sees Young Jesus gracefully transitioning from emo act to flat-out indie rock, a transition many groups before have tried, but few have executed so masterfully. 

Fluctuating between aching Matt Berninger delivery, mathy Peaer instrumentals, and long stretches of jazzy post-rock jams, the band welcomes the listener to this auditory world and allows them to find their home within it. “Every record needs a thesis, needs a crisis, or campaign,” Rossiter bemoans on lead single “Root and Crown,” the record’s shortest song and (ironically) its thesis. This ballad comes after epic seven-minute builds, hypnotic repetitions, heavenly saxophone solos, and a wild whammy bar deployment. It’s a journey worthy of a Lord of the Rings movie, yet the payoff makes the entire expedition worth it.  

While the record’s first half is beautiful and unlike anything else I’d heard this year, what continues to blow me away about Conceptual Beach even now is the final suite of songs that close out the record. While the first five tracks boast skillful instrumentals, memorable choruses, and passionate deliveries, the last two entries swept me off my feet for a completely different reason. The 12-minute “Lark” follows the same format as some of my favorite songs of all time, such as “Like A River” by Sharks Keep Moving or “Goodbye Sky Harbor” by Jimmy Eat World. These songs establish a scene, build a story, then launch into long meditative instrumental stretches that allow the listener’s mind to wander and fill in the blank portions of the canvas with whatever they choose. Similarly, the 10-minute “Magicians” introduces a life filled with decisions and actions, then lets the listener fill in the gaps with their own life and experiences. 

Welcome to Conceptual Beach is depicting a world and a set of feelings that I never knew existed. I’ve found much solitude in this record, and I feel lucky I’ve had it as a realm in which to escape throughout the year. There is no other group making music quite like Young Jesus, and that’s reinforced with every molecule of this release. 

2 | Waxahatchee - Saint Cloud

Merge Records

Saint Cloud is perhaps the only piece of music this year to bring me genuine peace. Whenever it felt like the world outside was spiraling into chaos (a phenomenon I’ve experienced multiple times throughout the last 300-some-odd days), I turned to this album, and it brought me comfort the likes of which no other record could provide. Look no further than the album’s name or cover to experience the tranquil feeling of escaping into the mountains and basking in the warm glow of the sun in the back of your vintage Ford. Listening to Saint Cloud is like wrapping yourself in a warm blanket or finding yourself in the comforting arms of a lover. It is true peace.  

Album opener “Oxbow” begins with a resonant cymbal crash and a concave electronic beat that immediately commands attention. It’s a totally left-field way to open such a folksy album; this odd combination of sounds calls things to order like the three meditative bells that signal the beginning of a meditation. After this subversion, Katie Crutchfield commands the spotlight with a pastoral scene of settling and getting sober. This poetic and abstract journey leads to a repetition of “I want it all” that echoes the same sentiment as the opening track of Japanese Breakfast’s Soft Sounds From Another Planet. 

After this wholesome and homey introduction, the doors to Saint Cloud have been opened and, you have officially been welcomed in. The carefree soaring high notes of “Can’t Do Much” make way for the soft keys and remorseful delivery of “Fire.” Equal parts catchy, loving, and sorrowful, these songs possess a sort of earthy power that makes me feel deeply connected to the planet we call home. The record winds from one natural view to the next; “Lilacs” is delicate yet bouncy, waving in the air along with the summertime breeze. Meanwhile, other tracks like “Arkadelphia” spend their time depicting Crutchfield’s youth growing up in the south. 

Album closer “St. Cloud” flashes from different locations and perspectives in a way that allows Crutchfield to honor her father and connect herself to his essence forever. It’s a gorgeous, slow, and aching track that is almost too pure for this world. Much like the ten tracks that came before it, this song is just one step forward in the wholesome, naturalistic view of the world that Waxahatchee is offering over the course of the album. Saint Cloud is a beautiful peek into Katie Crutchfield’s mind that resonates with me deeply and calms my soul. I just feel fortunate we’ve been provided this escape in a year where we needed it so badly. 

1 | Carpool - Erotic Nightmare Summer

Acrobat Unstable Records

When I premiered the second single to Carpool’s debut album back in May, I had no idea I was helping unveil what would ultimately become my favorite album of the year. A virtually-unknown presence to me until 2020, Carpool is a DIY emo band hailing from Rochester, New York, who signed to the excellent Acrobat Unstable Records earlier this year and came out of the gates with some heat. 

Within the space of weeks, I went from ‘this is a fun band’ to ‘this record has defined my year’ because it feels like it was so tailor-made for me. Erotic Nightmare Summer brings together catchy pop-punk bounciness from my childhood, headstrong hardcore passages that take me back to high school, and tappy emo guitarwork that has become my go-to over the last few years. On top of this instrumental excellence you have Stoph Colasanto’s excellent writing and vocals that range from a Prince Daddy & The Hyena-esque yelp to emo softness in the vein of Macseal. Wrap all of this together and you have a collection of ten songs that bring together nearly everything I love in one place.

Opening track “Cruel Intentions” kicks things off with a slow simmer as a multi-tracked vocal line welcomes the listener to the record over a tapped guitar riff. Gradually, bass and drums turn up the heat as the lyrics become more impassioned, culminating in Colasanto’s trademarked sneer. Just as the track builds to a bouncy moshpit-inducing riff, things boil over, transitioning perfectly to “Whiskey & Xanax,” where a boppy glockenspiel is paired with a swaying emo riff equal parts danceable and moshable. I could probably write about every song on this album, but recognize album of the year write-ups are supposed to be somewhat succinct.

Whether it’s the snappy “Salty Song,” the biting “Beauty School Dropout,” the thrashy “Come Thru Cool,” or the heartfelt “Liquor Store Employee,” Erotic Nightmare Summer never makes a misstep. The fact that this record clocks in at a mere 30 minutes means it’s easy to return to and is infinitely relistenable. Erotic Nightmare Summer genuinely feels like a breath of fresh air in the emo scene; it wakes up my mind and warms my body like a good cup of coffee. Hearing these relatable topics tackled in such a laid-back yet energetic way may seem contradictory, but it’s also affirming because that reflects my own approach to life. As my leg bounces along with the drums and my mind pangs back and forth trying to keep up with the frantic guitar work, I somehow feel comforted. As I scream along to each verse and shout every chorus for no one but my steering wheel, I feel at peace. As I listen to Erotic Nightmare Summer, I feel at home.