July 27, 2022

The Most Petable Dogs In Music

July 27, 2022/ Taylor Grimes

Dogs. They’re everywhere, maybe even in your own home. You might know them as Man’s Best Friend, but I’d argue they’re even more than that–they’re art.

I’ve always been a dog person. My family has had two dogs; Inca (rest in peace) and Miracle. They’re both Keeshonds and both very good girls. I’m just doing a ballpark estimation, but I’d guess that I’ve taken dozens of gigabytes worth of photos and videos of both of them over the last sixteen years. They’re cute, and I love them!

It only makes sense that musical artists have the same connections with their dogs, so it’s no surprise why many of them have immortalized their pets (or other people’s pets) on the covers of their albums.

Go on, just think about it. You can probably name a few off the top of your gear right now without even trying. As far as album covers go, I’d like to make a bold and substanceless claim that no other creature within the album kingdom has been as well-represented as canines. Big guys, small guys, fluffy guys, feral guys, they’re all here in some form or another on various album covers from indie rock to experimental bullshit.

In this article, I’d like to rank these famous pups by how much I’d like to pet them personally. I’d also like to give the clarifying asterisk that I think all of these dogs are good boys and girls. This ranking is no judgment on the dog’s looks or the artist’s music, purely how much I would personally like to curl up with the dog we see on the album art.

Secondary asterisk: don’t you dare contact me and tell me that I “missed one.” This is all of them, every dog that’s ever existed on an album cover ever. There are no more… Just kidding, please add your favorite album cover dogs in the comments; I want to see them all.

Machine Girl - Wlfgrl

Given the title of this album, the animal captured on Machine Girl’s breakthrough album may very well be a wolf. Regardless, it does not look friendly and is not an animal I would want anywhere near me. 0/10

21 Savage, Offset & Metro Boomin - Without Warning

Not a happy dog, and I wouldn’t be happy to be around him. 1/10

Blur – Parklife

Here they come, barreling towards you, driven by some unknowable primordial force and the taste for victory. I think greyhounds are pretty cool, but any time you see a muzzle on a dog, that signals at least some level of un-cuddliness. Also, minus points for being British. 2/10

Joyce Manor - Cody

I wonder what the dietary information is on a mannequin head. 2/10

Rick Springfield - Working Class Dog

A prisoner of capitalism. One album later, the same dog can be seen riding in the back of a limousine flanked by two girl dogs. He may claim, as the title reads, “success hasn’t spoiled me yet,” but the smile on his face has noticeably faded. Money won’t bring you happiness, Rick Springfield dog, I can promise you that. 2/10

Weezer - Raditude

Sometimes a boy’s just gotta fly. He probably just heard “(If You’re Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To” and got all hyped up. We’ve all been there, right? I would like to vacation in this home, but I don’t know if I could deal with the energy level of this particular dog. 3/10

Nouns - still bummed

Something about this dog has always unsettled me. Maybe it’s the underexposed flash film photography, the modest Christmas tree in the background, or the music itself, but I’ve never been a fan. Plus, huskies always remind me of this meme dog. 3/10

Rush – Signals

Not to go all “Cruella” on you guys, but I once heard that Dalmatians are bad with kids, and that turned me off of them forever. Not even a good Rush album. 4/10

Snoop Dogg - Bush

Look, I know there’s probably a more-famous Snoop Dogg cover you were expecting to see on this list, but Bush is a fun little funk record that’s worth checking out. This is also markedly less horny album cover than Doggystyle, and this is a WHOLESOME list, so I’m opting for Bush. The ideal listening (and dog petting) scenario is nearby a BBQ on a hot summer day with some beers in hand. 5/10

Mogwai - Travel is Dangerous

This is my baby Yoda. The live version of “We’re No Here” is crushingly heavy and one of my favorite songs of all time; please go listen. 5/10

SUB-CATEGORY: CARTOON GUYS

We’re roughly halfway through our countdown, so let’s take a break from the real dogs to look at some fake dogs. I’m putting all these illustrated guys into their own category because they’re still dogs but deserve to be analyzed with slightly different criteria.

In terms of the physical action of petting, would I be petting a 2D approximation of these dogs? Would I myself be 2D? Would it be a Roger Rabbit-style cartoon-into-real-world logic? As you can see, we must look at these boys slightly differently and rank them accordingly. Still scored based on cuteness and overall petability.

Mannequin Pussy - Perfect

I can see why Mannequin Pussy chose this dog as the cover for their awesome EP from last year. It’s a rager of a punk release, and this snarling German Shepard embodies the music well. This all said, cartoon or not, I’d like to keep this dog far away from me. 1/10

Iron & Wine - The Shepherd's Dog

Freaky little dog with freaky little eyes. Honestly would probably put me to sleep just like this album. 2/10

Crywank - Tomorrow Is Nearly Yesterday And Everyday Is Stupid

Here we see a certified looooong boy having achieved Dog Nirvana. I’ll let him enjoy victory over his tail and not disrupt him with my pets or adoration. 3/10

Car Seat Headrest - Twin Fantasy

Long before I knew anything about Will Toledo’s life as a furry, I thought this album cover was just a veiled homage to Daniel Johnston. I’d offer to pet these dogs, but honestly, it seems like they’re comforting each other just fine. 4/10

Hovvdy - Easy/Turns Blue

Technically a single, so technically a dog 5/10

Newgrounds Death Rugby - Pictures of Your Pets

No idea where these guys are, what they’re wearing, or why they're posing for a picture, but I can only imagine they’re a good hang. I’d let them crash on my couch while backpacking across the country. 6/10

Mo Troper - Dilettante

A vibrant and multi-colored dog. Truth be told, I don’t know quite what’s going on here, but the abstractness kinda adds to the charm. If I owned this dog, I’d name him Schlorp. 7/10

TTNG - Animals

A landmark math rock album in which a group of five British men attempt to replicate the energy of 13 various animals across as many tracks. While the dog only may be one small piece of this album and its art, it’s hard to deny how small and cute this guy is. Plus, if he can coexist alongside an alligator, elk, baboon, and more, you just know he’s a stone-cold chiller. 8/10

Various Artists - No Earbudz Vol. 1

Look, ain't no rules says a dog can't play basketball. There also aren’t any rules that a PR company can’t put out one of the best compilations of 2021. Assisting in album campaigns for the likes of Bartees Strange, Into It Over It, Future Teens, Caracara, and more, No Earbuds is a killer organization that’s home to some of the best and brightest minds in emotional indie rock. Having all these artists cover each other was a stroke of genius. Here’s hoping we get a Vol. 2 someday. Very petable, very good. 9/10

Advance Base - Animal Companionship

Regal, majestic, pure. These are just a few of the words that come to mind when I look at the dog on the cover of Animal Companionship. He might be a little cold, but I’d gladly let him inside and allow him to warm up by the fire. Also, possibly my favorite album on this list besides TTNG. 10/10

Okay, that about covers us for the two-dimensional dogs. Now, back to your regularly-scheduled dog ranking…

Alex G - Trick

Look at him go. He may have grown up in a religious environment, but you can just tell that this German Shepherd knows how to party. 6/10

Phoebe Bridgers - Stranger In The Alps

In Phoebe Bridgers’ first (and, in my opinion, best) album, we take in an image that, much like her music, is equal parts haunting and charming. Set on a pastoral farm scene, a scratched-out cartoon ghost obscures the humanoid figure beneath. A rainbow breaks through the sky, dog nearby, cautiously surveying the scene and looking damn cute while doing it. Phoebe has also posted a cool unedited version on Instagram, which is great for all your Deluxe Edition needs. 6/10

Hot Mulligan - you’ll be fine

Me? Depressed. Emotionless. Existing, but not feeling. My dog? Luckily my dog feels everything. We both take in the endless expanse of nature listening to the post-emo of you’ll be fine, and for 31 minutes, it seems like things might just turn out okay. 6/10

Pet Symmetry - Pets Hounds

Floppy-ass ears and big hangin’ tongues, what else could you want in an animal? I just know these dogs would be down for a couple of hours of fetch and a long rest on the front porch afterward. 7/10

Jimmy Mayo - Whoops

Boop. Oh, sorry, I didn’t see ya there. In what feels like the tonal inverse of the Nouns dog, here we have a warm but just-as-out-of-focus pic of a pup on the cover of one of the most underrated and under-the-radar emo EPs of the past few years. 7/10

See Through Person - Chariot

Another great emo dog. He’s chillin’, you’re chillin’, life is good, and the riffs are twinkly. 7/10

Kate Bush - Hounds of Love

The Stranger Things lady? Cool! All kidding aside, I’m happy for Kate Bush and the legions of Gen Z fans she’s recently attained. I’m even happier to report that the titular hounds on Hounds of Love appear infinitely cuddle-able. In fact, the album cover acts as undeniable proof of that fact. 8/10

Pet Symmetry - Two Songs About Cars. Two Songs With Long Titles.

Whoa, boom, second entry from the same band on one list! Pet Symmetry is easily taking home the “most dog-friendly band” award. They must have been trying to make this a theme in the band’s early days, and how could you deny them when you look at a dog this cute? A wonderful boy that I would drive to the dog park any day of the week. 8/10

Little Big League - Tropical Jinx

Michelle Zauner, mustaches, and a singular fluffy pup snuggled in between them. What else could you possibly need? 9/10

Beck – Odelay

One of the types of dogs. I’ve always wanted to pet him. I’ve always wanted to see him on a windy day. I’ve always wanted to see him do everything. 10/10

Shelley FKA DRAM - Big Baby DRAM

Damn, look at DRAM. Look at that pup. This image radiates happiness in a way that few album covers ever do. A perfect composition. 10/10

July 21, 2022

Long Neck – Soft Animal | Album Review

July 21, 2022/ Grace Robins-Somerville

“Who told you you have to be good?” Long Neck frontwoman Lily Mastrodimos sings on album closer and Soft Animal title track, paraphrasing Mary Oliver’s 1986 poem Wild Geese. The record is nearing its end, and at this point, we get the sense that Mastrodimos has grown tired of being good. Or rather, she’s grown tired of having goodness dragged out of her by thankless, unforgiving circumstances, much like how she drags out the words “polite and gracious”-- to borrow from the late Ms. Oliver –“a hundred miles in the desert.”

Mastrodimos’s stripped-down 4th LP, composed mostly in Covid-induced solitude, marks a sonic return to her solo era before Long Neck’s sound had been filled out by a backing band. Even with occasional contributions from her collaborators, the absence of company is felt throughout Soft Animal. It’s an album that often sounds lonely, recalling long solo walks during the early days of quarantine, tentatively breathing in the air of the outside world while still feeling disconnected from everyone in it. This sonic emptiness is fitting thematically, as much of Soft Animal’s lyrical content deals with the struggles of isolation. It’s a reflection of the self-questioning spirals we go down when we’re left alone in our own heads for too long, as well as the difficulties of re-adjusting to social and professional life that follow those periods of reclusiveness.

She begins the album by comparing herself to the minute-long opening track’s titular “Evergreen”-- strong, dependable, always in bloom, not because she necessarily wants to be, but because she feels like she has to be. The spacey, ominous production mimics the fogginess of someone who has overextended herself to her breaking point. The distorted background vocals and sample of a barely-discernible conversation between a mother and toddler give the track a disorienting feeling, not unlike sleep paralysis. Like much of the rest of the album, it feels transient and unsure, existing in an in-between space.

Soft Animal’s ability to toe the line between the universal and the deeply personal is perhaps its greatest strength. Almost as soon as lockdown began, we were bombarded with co-opted “we’re all in this together” messages from celebrities and politicians whose lived experiences of pandemic life were worlds away from the average person’s (as well as empty promises and inaction from those in power). This Long Neck album recognizes that the grief is simultaneously all of ours (collectively) and each of ours (alone). Take the delicately fingerpicked “Cut & Burn” for example, in which Mastrodimos likens her isolation to “a cat run out to die,” sighing, “this is private, this is mine.” She presents this cycle of ups and downs– mostly downs –as a forest burning to the ground, growing back from the ash and decay, and burning down again.

That’s the crux of Mastrodimos’ songwriting on Soft Animal– failing and starting over a million times, all while struggling to show herself the same kindness that she’s committed to showing others, whether or not it's returned. On piano ballad “The Headwaters,” she fruitlessly attempts to preserve an unequal relationship and in the process, sacrifices her own wellbeing for someone who doesn’t reciprocate her efforts. “What can I do to mean something to you?” she pleads, so clouded by her good intentions that she forgets to mean something to herself.

Interpersonal relationships aren’t the only area of our narrator’s life in which she puts herself under immense pressure during extenuating circumstances. “If I can’t put a pen to paper, what good am I? / The calendar says April, but it’s May, June, and July,” she muses on “Ants,” having internalized the message that her self-worth must be directly correlated with her creative outlet, even in an ongoing global crisis. Especially during an ongoing global crisis. For artists and writers, the fear of emerging from quarantine having not finished our King Lear became an existential one. Who are we outside of our art? The harsh truth is that adversity doesn’t always equal creative motivation, and sometimes the things that make our lives harder don’t inspire our greatest work. There’s this idea that if we’re able to spin our suffering into great art, that suffering will somehow become meaningful and “worth it.” “Ants” grapples with this notion and occasionally falls for it, finally settling (sort of) on the resigned, open-ended line, “I guess that everybody is.”

“558” is the cut that holds the most personal resonance for me, and if you spent any part of the last two years working in the service industry, I’m guessing you’ll feel similarly. It's a jarring departure from the bare-bones acoustic folk of the rest of the album, with its fuzzy electric guitars and discordant low-fi production mimicking the alienation of a tedious, mind-numbing job. It reminds me of the protective detachment I had to develop last year while working as a waitress, shutting my brain off for hours at a time and turning myself into a customer service robot. I pushed all the grief and fear down as customers pointed at my mask and said, “you know you don’t have to wear that anymore, right?” and on a couple occasions, told me I’d look prettier without it; as the two drunk girls at the end of the packed bar on a Monday night toasted “to Covid being over!” during August of last year; as an immunocompromised coworker got infected just weeks later, and our manager neglected to tell the rest of the staff that we’d been exposed. The first time I heard Mastrodimos snarl, “thank you for coming into work / wasn’t my choice to make,” I felt that same anger bubbling back up. Listening to “558” felt like stealing a few minutes in the walk-in fridge to cool down and indulge in my resentment toward rude customers and bosses who prioritize profit over safety before returning to dissociative, dehumanizing work with a smile on my (masked) face.

Other tracks on the album’s back half like “Gardener” and “Visitor” deal with recovery and rebuilding over quiet, sparse instrumentation that gradually grows into something grander, swelling at each song’s emotional peak. The former takes a more introspective approach, while the latter is more socially-inclined, depicting a reunion scene between acquaintances who haven’t seen each other in a long time and might not see each other for a while afterward. We see Mastrodimos momentarily healed by much-needed human connection, tenderly singing, “there’s no one on earth I wanna know more than you.” She caps off this campfire sing-along country ballad with a bittersweet farewell– “not goodbye but see you soon.”

“Soft Animal” closes out the album of the same name, serving as the thesis statement that Mastrodimos has been slowly building up to. Her dissection of the album’s central questions– “Who do you love? / How do you love them? / What do you want? / How do you show it?” --feels reminiscent of Mitski’s subversive 2014 ballad “I Will,” which Mitski has said is not a love song for someone else, but a series of reassurances that she herself would want a lover to say to her. In a similar vein, “Soft Animal” sees Mastrodimos finally putting herself first for once after a record’s worth of self-neglect. In learning to extend her forgiving nature and generosity to her own needs, she ends up letting go of some resentment towards both herself and others. Mastrodimos’ strength does not come from rejecting her vulnerability and gentleness but rather from directing it inwards and using it to care for herself the way she’s used to caring for those around her. By the time the key change hits and the band begins to play us out, she’s ready to fly with the wild geese into the harsh and exciting unknown.

Grace Robins-Somerville is a writer from Brooklyn, New York. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at @grace_roso.

July 14, 2022

Camp Trash – The Long Way, The Slow Way | Album Review

July 14, 2022/ Connor Fitzpatrick

I love deceptive music. More specifically, I love pop music that is so bubblegum it becomes saccharine. Those types of songs where the more that sickly sweet flavor sits on your tongue, you begin to realize how dark and upsetting it is. You can spit out the gum if you want to, but you can’t get rid of the taste it left in your mouth. No, it’s gonna stay there. It’s gonna remind you of the decision you made to ingest this seemingly delightful candy. You’ve been duped, and now you have to see the song for its true colors.

Third Eye Blind’s “Semi-Charmed Life” comes to mind. Filled with blaring guitar chords and “doo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo’s,” the song deftly slides into your subconscious. You’re singing along, and you don’t even realize it. Maybe you’re starting to get a sense of what lies beneath the surface, but when Stephan Jenkins finally utters the words “crystal meth,” the glass breaks, and it is now all too clear that you’ve been singing along to a stark drug ballad. There is no coming back from this; it’s the “Ring Around The Rosie” effect. You can keep shouting the lyrics, but you will always know what the song is about.

Florida’s Camp Trash practices this sort of arcane magic. Their debut album, The Long Way, The Slow Way, is filled with songs like “Semi-Charmed Life.” The tracks come across as summery indie rock loaded with massive hooks and slick melodies. You know where I’m going with this. The lyrics are not in line with the instruments. They’re pained and anxious self-assessments that are harsh but honest.

“When did I get so hard to love?” muses Bryan Gorman over a punchy drum beat on “Soft.” Early single “Weird Florida” is a high-energy pop rock song that begs to be blasted from a boombox while you cannonball into the pool with your boys but acts as a facade for the story of a summer relationship that was doomed from the start. The penultimate track, “Riley,” digs into the apathy of knowing you need to end a relationship but wanting the other person to call it off because you can’t do it yourself.

Many songs have that cool, breezy tone mastered by bands like Built to Spill, but in no way are they derivative. Camp Trash can write one hell of a hook, but they are more than just a pop rock band. On my favorite track, “Another Harsh Toyotathon,” they step outside of the radio hit structure to deliver something that falls somewhere between Pavement and Jesu. Behind the heavily distended bass, Gorman delivers one of the more savage burns I’ve heard in years as he shouts, “You’re an only child: what do you know about being replaced?” Album closer “Feel Something” even hints at the possibility that, in spite of all of the anxiety and self-doubt that’s expressed throughout the album, meaningful change can be achieved.

So maybe not all of the songs on The Long Way, The Slow Way fit my bubblegum analogy, but a lot of them do, so I’m sticking to it. But don’t let my willingness to die on this self-constructed hill deter you from Camp Trash’s achievement because this is one of the most well-crafted debuts to come along in a long while.

Connor lives in Emeryville with his partner and their cat and dog, Toni and Hachi. Connor is a student at San Francisco State University 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.

July 06, 2022

HTML – Righteousness Endures Forever | Album Review & Interview

July 06, 2022/ Taylor Grimes

I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately. My own death, the death of my parents, the deaths of my friends and the people I love. When I really get thinking about it, the totality of death just feels so all-consuming. It's endless and inevitable. It’s a heavy thing to have on your mind, but sometimes sitting in those thoughts is the only way through.

As long as I can remember, I’ve also always enjoyed albums about death; Carrie & Lowell, Psychopomp, Tunnel Blanket, Springtime and Blind, just to name a few. I think it’s fascinating to hear someone articulate their personal understanding of grief in such a public forum.

There’s something beautiful in hearing an artist you admire grappling with their own version of the same things that are weighing heavy on your mind. There’s something comforting in hearing that journey and those learnings summarized in a condensed album-length format. There’s also a strange peace of mind in knowing that something so gorgeous as any of those records can come from the loss of a loved one.

I don’t want to romanticize death, but it is a fact of life. It’s something we all brush up against at some point, and it’s a topic that people shouldn’t shy away from. HTML’s Righteousness Endures Forever is the latest in a long line of death albums in which I have found refuge. Pitched by lead singer Travis Verbil as “a dad-rock record about my dead dad (but chill though),” the release is heavily inspired by 70s singer-songwriter fare but also acts as a clear continuation of the emotional indie rock sound found on 2018’s Topmost Grief.

Album opener “How to Grow Muscle” begins with far-off bird chirps and a Jeff Tweedy-indebted acoustic guitar riff. Much like the opener from last year’s Unmake Me, this song grounds the listener in the physical space where our narrator is about to lose their loved one. With a first line of “outside the room you died / there were gold sunbeams and gardens green,” HTML waste no time jumping straight into the topic, immediately letting the listener know what type of album this is. The song describes the horror of walking in on your father having collapsed on the floor and the frantic thoughts and actions that go into the following minutes. It’s harrowing and morbid but also beautiful.

Knowing that Verbil has made it through this experience, processed it, and turned it into the beautiful piece of music you are now consuming gives a sense of relief that makes the recounting palatable. Rather than let this loss render him inconsolable, Verbil uses it to make a statement about impermanence–eventually arriving at the ironic conclusion that there’s a serene finality to be found in this kind of loss.

After something as heavy as this opener, “Queens Blvd (Drunk Moonlight)” adds some unexpected (but much-needed) levity to the affair with a cocky instrumental fit for strutting around Queens wrapped in your favorite jean jacket. After some good-natured borough-on-borough shit talk, initially-innocuous lyrics like “I will never let your buds die” begin to shine through and take on a whole new death-tinted double-meaning upon repeat listens.

The album’s upbeat streak continues with both “Reservation Cigarettes” and “Reapin’,” the former of which has a boppy acoustic groove and bouncy drum pattern while the latter bears the album’s most distorted guitar lick and catchiest chorus. Perfectly-placed bells give “Reapin’” a sun-soaked Sam’s Town-era Killers feel. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say Springsteen, but the two might as well be used interchangeably here. Evoking a religious-flavored viral tweet, Verbil outlines, “Reapin’ / I don’t like reapin’ / I much prefer sowing / So I sow” in one of the album's most singable moments.

Throughout the final three songs, HTML flips back into a more somber and introspective tone as Verbil shifts perspective to focus on his relationship with his mother, his late father, and eventually himself.

Album closer “Light Hypertrophy” ends the release on an overtly happy note as Verbil sings, “I’m glad I’m alive / Oh, I’m glad I never died / I’m glad, I’m glad I’m alive.” Hearing these words as the period mark on the end of an otherwise grief-filled album only reinforces that good can be pulled out of the depths, making the journey worth it.

After reiterating this affirmation of life, Verbil shares a condensed version of the process that led him to this optimism in the wake of his loss. In his most heartfelt delivery, he sings, “Lately I’ve been thinking / The hole that you left / could be where the light comes back.” He then pauses for a beat, letting the sentiment soak into the air before adding, “into my life.”

As these words wash over the listener, the release ends with more bird chirps, a lovely full-circle moment that acts as a reminder that life keeps moving. Much like those first chirps of birds in the morning, the record stands as a testament to beauty coming after darkness.

I sat down with HTML vocalist/guitarist Travis Verbil and lead guitarist Brian Mazeski to discuss their artistic process, death, and the creation of the band’s stellar sophomore record.

SWIM: You describe the album as having a 70s-era singer-songwriter “dad rock” vibe first and foremost. What artists or albums most directly inspired this sound?

BRIAN MAZESKI: Travis had the idea to put together a sort of “inspiration” playlist while we were writing/ideating the album, and it was filled with both actual 70s music (Van Morrison, Dylan, Dr. John, Paul Simon) but also more modern singer-songwriter tunes. A lot of these artists and albums I had only heard in passing, but I started to listen to them more and more, just to have it all rolling around in my head while we were writing the album. I’m not sure any of that influence comes through explicitly on the album we actually wrote, but I do think that influence helped inform our decision-making, in sort of a “what kind of lead would Van Morrison want on this track” sense. And Travis would also use some of these influences for direction on certain instrumentation; if I were stuck writing a lead guitar part, he’d say, “think Van Morrison hazy seventh chords,” and somehow that would help.

SWIM: Righteousness Endures Forever represents a bit of a genre pivot for HTML. How do you view this record in relation to your previous work?

BRIAN MAZESKI: I think a big aspect of the genre/tone shift for me is that I think about music and writing music much differently now than I did when we wrote our first album. Back then, I wanted our songs to stand out for their complexity and technicality (which I still admire in artists/music), whereas writing this new album, my sensibilities aligned much more with Travis’s, and we both sort of locked into this goal of writing a free-wheelin', groove-oriented album of songs that all hit the ground running and could be arranged/played a number of ways and all sound good. That being said, I think we have a certain style (guitar tone sensibility, for instance) that is common to both albums, which is really cool given how different both projects are.

TRAVIS VERBIL: Going into this record, both writing and recording, I was on a really sprawling Dylan kick and tried my best to divorce my thoughts on production and genre from songwriting. It was extremely freeing. We were able to tear down a lot of walls we built for ourselves. I think our best work comes when we tend to think of genre as window-dressing.

SWIM: Given that the album is about your late father, the songs get into heavy topics and imagery. How do you go about writing and recounting things like this through your lyrics?

TRAVIS VERBIL: It didn’t feel particularly hard or uncomfortable to recall those moments to write; I already had gone through them a million times in my head. Between the living and the writing, the writing was certainly easier.

SWIM: You’ve tweeted before about being your own audience which is the creative philosophy I most respect at this point. How did you arrive here? Similarly, given that this record is so personal to you, who do you think this record is for?

BRIAN MAZESKI: One of the things I love about being in a duo with Travis is that we have a kind of litmus test method between the two of us such that, if we’re playing around with a song or an idea, if we both love it then we love it and the seal of approval ends there, and if one of us is lukewarm on it, we can usually play around with it more until we fix it or scrap it. But at the end of the day, we both want to make music we love, and we rarely make decisions based on how we think something is going to be perceived (I've definitely been guilty of that in the past, though). Nowadays, I think we both share the view that if you make art for and from yourself, you’ll find your tribe out there who dig it.

TRAVIS VERBIL: It’s been a long road, but I’m glad we arrived here. I feel like people get in your head at a young age and will try to be the arbiters, the proprietors of capital-c Cool or capital-s Style. Brian and I have been playing in bands together, playing a lot of different genres, since we were literal children. And in that time, the only times I have ever felt fulfilled or spiritually nourished, whatever you might call it, is when I feel like we’ve been true to ourselves and our shared sensibilities. In that vein, I feel like this record is for anyone that enjoys it, hopefully as much as we do.

SWIM: I love the cover art and feel like it perfectly captures the feeling of the record. Who took this photo, and why did it feel right to use it as the cover?

TRAVIS VERBIL: Thank you! I took the photo— it’s actually the view from my childhood bedroom window. And before you ask, yes, I grew up in front of a cemetery; that’s an extremely Queens thing. This photo was taken in 2017, I would guess. It’s the spot where my dad began planting a vegetable garden just weeks before he died.

SWIM: Between the title of the album and Reapin’, you evoke quite a bit of religious language throughout this record. What's your background with religion, and how does it factor into this collection of songs?

TRAVIS VERBIL: I had a Catholic upbringing, and a lot of that stuff just lingers in my head— especially when I think about death. There’s no real rhyme or reason to it. It’s always there, though.

SWIM: Sonically, it feels like the record has two modes: quiet, subdued folk tunes and explosive full-band bombast. Was this a conscious decision or just a byproduct of your songwriting process?

BRIAN MAZESKI: That’s a really good question, and I think you nailed it with the second bit about the songwriting process. Every track on the album came directly from an initial rough demo Travis sent via voice note, usually just him playing an acoustic guitar. For some of those tunes, we knew that “the song,” meaning the essence of what made it good or unique, was that it was loud and distorted and driving and quick, whereas for other tunes, we felt that “the song” was just Travis and the guitar, with maybe some ambient piano, and nothing else was needed. For the more subdued songs, I think we took our cue from classic songs we loved that are relatively minimal (either overall or maybe in the sense that they are drumless or more open rhythmically) and tried to be conscious of realizing/acknowledging what makes a song complete and what it actually needs versus what we can pile on in the studio.

SWIM: I love the little ways you chose to round some of these songs out (the bells on Reapin’, the harmonica on NY Cowboy, even the bird chirps that appear throughout). I’d love to hear about the decisions that went into these little flourishes that appear across the album.

BRIAN MAZESKI: I am so glad to hear you dig those little details! I think we’ve always been interested in auxiliary percussion/instrumentation, dating way back to the first album Travis and I made years ago (we used bells and a ukulele and even some of Travis’s theater group members as a backing choir), but for whatever reason, I personally felt inspired to explore auxiliary percussion much more for this album. I really wanted these songs to groove and for people to feel the groove and bop their heads. I found myself thinking about being back in the high school percussion ensemble, playing all these shakers and guiros and bongos, and thinking about how so much of the music I love (both older and modern) takes full advantage of these tools (“Do It Again” by Steely Dan, for example, or the congas on “Patience” by Tame Impala) and that we should do the same if we want to make music that really grooves and makes people feel the rhythm.

As for the bird sounds, I was inspired by Travis’s vision for the album and wanted to go all-in on it; when we would talk about the sequence of songs on the album, he said the first track, “How to Grow Muscle,” is like the sun rising on the first day of summer, everything is lush and growing, and so I decided to throw some bird sounds at the beginning of one of the later demos and fortunately, we both liked it and decided to keep it for the final mix. Many of the songs on the album (as I understand them, and what I admire about them) are about a specific moment and feeling, and I felt like a small detail like bird sounds would go a long way toward transporting a listener (I hope!). There are dark moments and aspects to some of the songs and the album in general, but at the beginning of “How to Grow Muscle,” we want the listener to feel like they’re listening to the beginning of a new summer day.

SWIM: You haven’t released any music since 2018’s Topmost Grief, and death isn’t exactly something you can plan for in advance. When were these songs written, and how did this album come together?

TRAVIS VERBIL: It all came together very organically. In December 2020, just about six months after the Father’s Day when I discovered my father had passed away in the night, I broke three different bones in my foot in a freak accident. I ended up going on worker’s comp, and my boss (a songwriter himself) called me and told me to write an album to pass the time. I ended up staying with my sister for a few weeks since my apartment was a walk-up, and I started messing around with her acoustic guitar–the same one I taught myself on when we were kids.

I started writing one song a day and sending them to Brian. I started on New Year’s Day; I think that’s when I recorded the first demo for “How to Grow Muscle,” and by the end of the month all of the songs were written. Brian created arrangements for all the songs on the GarageBand app on his phone in the Winter, and he would send them to me, and we would talk about leads, drum parts, you name it.

There was an issue though— we had, essentially, already written most of the follow-up to Topmost Grief, an album we were calling Heaven II. We had to make a creative decision based on the moment, and, for a lot of different reasons, we decided to shelve Heaven II and go full-speed ahead with Righteousness.

It was the right call. We were in the studio that spring, started recording on weekends, and were finished by late July. We decided to sit on the record because we both envisioned it coming out at the beginning of the summer and decided that a Spring 2022 release date was best.

SWIM: Twenty minutes is pretty lightweight for an LP, but Righteousness feels like it has enough time to tell a complete story. How was it to assemble this collection of songs? I’m curious if there was any whittling down on your part, or did these seven songs just make sense?

TRAVIS VERBIL: We had some songs that didn’t make the cut for us. There were songs called stuff like “Rosemary,” “My Cup Runneth Over With Junk,” “Death House,” one called “The Last of the Coffee Grounds,” and a handful more that didn’t do it for us. Some of them we really liked and some of them we liked less. Brian and I came to the consensus we’d rather have a very tight set of seven than release a record with songs we didn’t think were our absolute best. I was also very inspired by summer 2018 when Kanye put out a new seven-track record he produced every Friday. I really dug some of those records, mostly Pusha T’s DAYTONA, and thought that we could similarly get away with a seven-song tracklist.

SWIM: Were there any other albums or pieces of media (about death or otherwise) that helped you through your personal experience with loss?

TRAVIS VERBIL: I kept going back to “Real Death” by Mount Eerie. I have this very funny memory of making my girlfriend and sister listen to it in a hotel room before going out on the town in South Beach, Miami. Talk about a pre-game!

SWIM: Queens, NY plays a central part in the identity of this record and your band. How do you see that physical space coming through in these songs, and why is that important?

TRAVIS VERBIL: I feel like I spent some of my earlier years wishing I had a Brooklyn demeanor, Brooklyn sensibilities, all that. I wasn’t being true to myself. I’m a Queens guy; I’m a 7 Train guy, a chicken-over-rice guy, a white sauce and hot sauce guy, a Let’s Go Mets guy. We wrote these songs during the one year of my life I lived in Brooklyn, and as much fun as I was having, I definitely missed Queens. And the more I wrote about my dad, the more I missed Queens. Just like the genre stuff I said earlier, I really felt like making this album so unapologetically Queens was fundamentally important in Brian and I being true to ourselves.

SWIM: The final song speaks for itself and ends the album on a bright, optimistic note. What’s one thing you hope people take away from this album as a whole?

TRAVIS VERBIL: The response to this record from our friends and contemporaries has been unreal. All I could hope is that people are excited for what’s next.

June 30, 2022

The Best of Q2 2022

June 30, 2022/ Taylor Grimes

We’re halfway through the year, and, well, lots has happened. As always, music has been a guiding light in my life, offering both something to hold onto and something to look forward to. If you’re reading this, you probably feel the same way and have just as many albums that have helped keep you grounded over the last [insert number of bad months here].

What follows is a collection of ten albums released over the last three months that have connected with me. If you want to read about my favorite albums from the first three months of the year, click here. Other than that, read on for the tunes that have helped keep me sane throughout the spring and early summer of 2022.

Angel Olsen - Big Time

If I were to describe the new Angel Olsen album in one word, it would be “breathtaking.” I’ll be the first to admit that–aside from last year’s phenomenal one-off Sharon Van Etten collab– I haven’t been the biggest fan of Olsen’s output as of late. That waning interest is less about declining artistry and more because 2016’s My Woman is one of my favorite records of the entire decade, and that’s a tall order to surpass. This all said, Big Time has been a fast love and now feels like the closest she’s gotten to the sublime energy captured on that seminal record. The approach taken on her fifth album ends up fitting Olsen perfectly; twangy and honest country-light is a great backdrop that allows our heroine to unleash the full power of her voice and emotions. The instrumentals are aching and meticulously crafted, gently guiding the songs forward while also being beautiful in their own right. After making one of the best indie rock records of the decade, getting orchestral-gothic, and taking a vibrant 80s detour, Big Time proves the only place left to go is back home.

Ben Quad - I’m Scared That’s All There Is

I feel like every couple of months I extol the virtues of some emo band with a variation of “I love that tappy shit,” but it’s true, dammit. My desire for noodly riffs is insatiable, and luckily emo is a genre where bands can crank that shit out in abundance. Ben Quad, however, is better than all of those mid-ass midwest bands, as they prove throughout their debut full-length I’m Scared That’s All There Is. Evoking equally punctual emo greats like Oliver Houston, Ben Quad pack relatable lyrics, dizzying riffs, and hypnotic chants into a compact and fulfilling 23 minutes, resulting in what’s already one of the best emo albums of the year.

Heart To Gold - Tom

There he is, peering out at you, all freckled and wide-eyed. Who is that on the cover of the second full-length from Heart to Gold? Is it a member of the band? Is it the titular Tom? You’ll have to press play to find out. In one of my biggest surprises so far this year, Heart to Gold utilize an intoxicating mixture of emo, pop-punk, and just a dash of hardcore, bending the best (and least-embarrassing) aspects of these genres to their will. The songs on this record are boisterous, energetic, emphatic, and every other descriptor you’d want to hear while packed into a sweaty Minneapolis basement. There are hilarious samples, touches of tappy midwest emo instrumentation, cathartic group chants, and even some killer Title Fight-esque screams. As with most records of this genre, the theme of Tom seems to be a general sense of maturation. Whether they’re grappling with the weight of existence or riding the waves of tumultuous relationships, the band maintains an open-hearted approach that keeps the release grounded and relatable. Much like the first dude at the show who opens up the pit, Heart to Gold do an excellent job of inviting you into their world and encouraging you to scream along.

HTML - Righteousness Endures Forever

Death is real. That’s far from an original insight, but HTML manage to put a revelatory spin on loss throughout their sophomore record, Righteousness Endures Forever. Pitched by lead singer Travis Verbil as “a dad rock record about my dead dad (but chill though),” the release is heavily inspired by 70s singer-songwriter fare but also acts as a clear continuation of the dynamic indie rock sound found on 2018’s Topmost Grief. Just seven songs clocking in at a lightweight 20 minutes and 20 seconds, Righteousness explores what it means to lose someone, love someone, and honor their life through your own. A stunning and touching collection of songs that have spoken to me on an intimate level.

PUP - THE UNRAVELING OF PUPTHEBAND

On some level, the fourth studio album from PUP just feels like “More PUP.” It’s not a massive departure from the music they’ve been making their whole career, but when you can crank out anthemic shout-along punk by the albumload, why not go back for another helping, right? A lightly conceptual album depicting the Toronto punks as a floundering business, THE UNRAVELING OF PUPTHEBAND sees the band fraying at the seams attempting to turn their musical passions into a sustainable career. The group experiments with new elements like pianos, synths, trumpets, trombones, saxophones, guest features, and more. Perhaps most noticeably, the album is loud and not just in a thrashy punk way, but in a blown-out, bit-crushed way. It’s a stylistic choice that allows everything to hang together nicely and makes this album feel distinct from prior PUP releases.

Even with a relatively unique wholistic sound, there is some retreaded material here. As much as they shred, both “Robot Writes A Love Song” and “Matilda” are love songs projected onto non-human objects, a previously-winning formula for the band. Even my favorite song, “Waiting,” evokes the angry “Full Blown Meltdown” but differentiates itself by launching into a stellar two-syllable single-word chorus that is a marvel of songwriting and economy of words. At worst, these redundancies come across as a kind of steadfast artistic consistency that can only be achieved by a punk band who have somehow managed to claw their way to a decade-plus career. UNRAVELING is a stellar record that proves more PUP is never a bad thing.

Sadurn - Radiator

I will always give at least one listen to everything that Run For Cover puts out. After building up a decade of goodwill with releases that have become lifelong loves, this trustworthiness has paid off in spades, leading to some of my favorite records of recent years, like Springtime and Blind and Animal Companionship. When the Boston-based label announced they were signing Sadurn earlier this year, I did the same thing I always do and listened to the first single. Also doubling as the album opener, “Snake” hits a sweet spot between Ratboys-style indie rock twang and DIY heart-on-sleeve sensibilities. Perhaps most importantly, the track is topped off with a lovely dollop of slide guitar, an instrument that has become a light obsession for me over the last few years. After letting it marinate for about a month, Sadurn followed that first single up with “Golden Arm” and then “Icepick,” each song quickly cornering a different fold of my heart.

The full Radiator experience isn’t too far off from those singles. Defaulting to the pace of a lazy porch swing on a hot summer's day, these songs ache with longing, love, and adolescent confusion. The perfect record to throw on early morning with a cup of coffee, mid-afternoon with a beer, or late at night in the throes of yearning. Another in the long line of records that proves Run For Cover runs in my blood.

Short Fictions - Every Moment Of Every Day

What if an emo fell in love? And what if said emo fell in love while the world was falling apart? Oh, wait… that’s lots of us. And given the contents of Every Moment Of Every Day, it’s safe to say that Short Fictions vocalist/guitarist Sam Treber is among them. Throughout the phenomenal sophomore album from the Pittsburg emo revivalists, we hear beautiful, loving sentiments nestled between anxiety-riddled observations about the ever-crumbling world in which we live.

Both “Heather” and “You Will Never Be the Best at Anything You Try (Surely Not)” are adoring love songs that also acknowledge the realities of the failing capitalistic system most 20-somethings begrudgingly find ourselves in the middle of. What do you do when you feel the most powerful force on earth while the world around you is falling apart? When the climate crisis has already arrived, when your partner is 100 miles away, when everything is changing and it’s freaking you out? It’s a wildly conflicting feeling to hold such positive and negative things in your heart at once, but that space is where Short Fictions thrive.

Aside from these overarching throughlines of connection and distress, other highlights include when the group gives a realistic view of tour life on “Don’t Start a Band” and express their frustrations with capitalism on the hardcore rager “The Great Unwashed.” Album closer “Don’t Pinch Me I’m Dreaming” lands the record on a hopeful reminder that love can be a powerful motivator despite all the strife that precedes and surrounds it. Much like their phenomenal debut, Every Moment of Every Day is a 30-minute 8-track LP that proves the emo genre still has much more to give as long as you’re willing to listen.

The Smile - A Light For Attracting Attention

As an artist, sometimes all you need to do is give your audience a different angle–a simple reframing that can shift an ordinary object into an extraordinary new light. After being a band for nigh-on 40 years, it’s understandable why the members of Radiohead would find fulfillment in other artistic ventures that don’t carry the same pressure or expectations as a prestige-level alternative rock band. While The Smile counts two vital members of the English rock band amongst its ranks, the addition of jazz drummer Tom Skinner plus the name change forces the listener to conceive of this album as something aside from the Big Band whose shadow it can sometimes fall under.

There is the occasional moment, like a tappy Greenwood guitar solo or an arrant Yorke moan, which sound downright Radiohead, but those are more baked-in flourishes of their respective creators than anything intentional. Artistically, it feels as if this trio approached songwriting from a very different place than they usually do. Songs are wandering, loopy, and almost improvised at points. Lyrics are recursive and often see Yorke repeating the same thing over and over again to a hypnotic effect. A Light For Attracting Attention is a groovy big-budget alternative record packed with a surprising breadth of ideas for a bunch of dudes who are now solidly middle aged. If anything, The Smile proves that, even with a legendary history and larger-than-life expectations, sometimes all you need to innovate is a different perspective.

Soccer Mommy - Sometimes, Forever

Sophie Allison is a fantastic musician with terrible luck. I’ve been looking forward to Sometimes, Forever since it was unveiled back in March alongside the stellar lead single “Shotgun.” Not only was one of my favorite artists releasing a new album this year, but she was releasing it on my birthday. It felt like a little gift from Allison just to me. After a string of incredible singles, the album arrived on the same day the Supreme Court announced it was overturning Roe v Wade. I’m not trying to say this record was the worst casualty of the day, but it’s easy to see how the excitement of a new album can shrink infinitesimally in the shadow of such an appalling and upsetting decision. Much like 2020’s Color Theory which was released just weeks before the world went into shutdown for the COVID-19 pandemic, it felt like Soccer Mommy was once again releasing an album at the worst possible time. Still, I was grateful to have a collection of new music from an artist I’ve loved for years during an incredibly hard day.

Not only is Sometimes, Forever another fantastic album from Soccer Mommy, but it might also be one of her best. Aside from the aforementioned singles that make up the first half of the album, songs like “With U” and “Feel It All The Time” are downright stunners. My personal favorite, “Darkness Forever,” begins with a sinister Portishead-style trip-hop beat and mounts into a lumbering oppressive riff. That darkness is immediately contrasted with “Don’t Ask Me,” which drops the listener into a rip-roaring 90s-style shoegaze lick and builds to the most “fun” guitar solos Soccer Mommy has ever put to music. Allison caps the record off with “Still,” an excruciating closer in the vein of “Wildflowers” or “Gray Light,” where she rips your heart out, holds it up to your face, and leaves you utterly devastated in the album’s final moments. Sometimes, Forever may have arrived at a bad time in the world, but it’s coming at the perfect time for me.

Summerbruise - The View Never Changes

I listen to lots of “sad” music, but no band writes about sadness quite like Summerbruise. Outside of maybe Greet Death, I don’t think I’ve ever found a group with the ability to capture the particular brand of numbness and apathy that I identify with. Luckily, the members of Summerbruise recognize how heavy their lyrics are and expertly counter-balance these borderline-crushing song topics with peppy pop-punk instrumentals that are vivacious, musically diverse, and surprisingly danceable. A couple of choice lyric pulls include, “Well I know it’s not that easy, but I owe you all a try / I’m not that used to trying, but I think it might feel nice” and “so I’m sorry if I seem zoned out, it’s probably cause I am as fuck.” Whew. With song titles like “Kayfabing the Boys” and “Happy Hour 2,” it’s clear Summerbruise only take themselves so seriously–a relief that underscores the otherwise serious subject matter and help makes everything a little more bearable. Much like 2019’s Always Something, the latest from Summerbruise speaks to me on an almost-worrying level. At least the dope riffs make it easier to swallow.

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