Summer BBQ Bangers Courtesy of Swim Into The Sound

The dog days of summer are officially here, which means for the next couple months, it’s time to make the most of the scorching temperatures and extensive sunlight; just don’t forget your sunscreen. The time is now to venture outdoors and embrace everything the summer has to offer, from outdoor festivals to walks around the park and ice cream excursions (save me a scoop of strawberry). 

Here at Swim HQ, we firmly believe the best part about summer is backyard barbecues with your friends and family. There’s something about that grill smell combined with the warm weather and people you love that brings the summer together better than the macaroni and cheese your favorite aunt cooks. There’s only one thing that separates an all-day rager from a total snooze fest. Can you guess what that is? No worries, I’ll just go ahead and tell you it’s all about the music. 

Music is the key component at any pool party, barbecue, or box social you have ever attended. The stakes get raised even higher during the summer because everything revolves around large gatherings of people outside trying to live their best lives in the heat. So, a perfectly curated playlist created by your own bare hands is the cherry on top of the sundae. 

There's no better feeling than seeing everyone bobbing their heads and strutting their stuff to songs you painstakingly sourced from your streaming services. Setting the party off with an immaculate playlist in America is the equivalent of being knighted in England. The only difference is that people across the pond get medals for their achievements. What laws must we pass to get trophies handed out to people who can turn a party out with their musical taste? Imagine showing up to a barbecue holding three trophies from your musical dalliances; talk about an icebreaker. 

I know what you're thinking: what makes for a good summer barbecue rock song? You can go a few different ways. The nostalgic approach is a surefire home run; go with a song everyone knows that brings back memories of yesteryear. Alternatively, uptempo pop-leaning rock is another genre that can't miss, music that is easy to digest while people are eating food that isn't so digestible. Lastly, if you want to show off your musical knowledge, sneak some underground bands into the playlist. What better feeling is there than seeing folks trying to Shazam the songs that you’re severing up off the queue? 

The only “BBQ don't” is to avoid any Nu Metal, and I say that from personal experience. Heed my warning: if you play even three Limp Bizkit songs, a gang of bros will magically appear like Beetlejuice, breaking glasses and stepping on furniture while wearing backward caps. Instant mood killer, trust me. 

Now that you know the rules of the game, it’s time to construct your playlist. Below, you will find some choice selects from our esteemed Swim Team. Feel free to use these songs as jumping-off points for your own backyard summer barbecue to set the vibes in the right direction and maybe even earn some bragging rights as a supreme music curator. 

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Nickelback – “Photograph”

Roadrunner

I personally guarantee that more than 75% of BBQ attendees will pretend not to know the lyrics to this song, but I posit that Nickelback is the ultimate summertime guilty pleasure. Despite pushing 20, “Photograph” still sounds like just as much of a hit single as it did when it was first released. Plus, the song is the perfect conduit for classic BBQ conversations like ‘Remember when we went and did that thing at that place?’ and ‘Hey, what do you think Blank is up to these days?’ With the benefit of hindsight and time, these middle-school-joke songs have now become dad-rock classics. And even though it’s incredibly indulgent, the song is self-aware, reminding us that memories are meant to push us forward, not trap us in the past. Bonus points for giving a Canadian cultural export airtime at the USA’s birthday party.

Braden Allmond - @braden.allmond

Oso Oso – “all of my love”

Yunahon Entertainment

It’s important to have a song at your BBQ with some quick claps in it. Clap-clap-clap. There’s a good chance your get-together will be made up of people you’ve met at various stages of your life, some of whom don’t really know each other. Giving everyone a chance to clap together will do a lot to build comradery/save you the headache of an awkward party. Not everyone will know this song, but because it’s short and very good, you can probably get away with playing it like five or six times over the course of a few hours; once repetition three hits, people should get what’s going on, and from there, you’re all set. Everyone will be clapping together (clap-clap-clap), laughing, and sharing stories; it’ll just be a good time. Getting a bunch of people together can be stressful, let “all of my love” do some of the heavy lifting so you can focus on the grill.  

Josh Ejnes - @joshejnes

XTC – “Summer’s Cauldron”

Virgin Records

Almost 40 years later, I’m still not sure why you’d release an album like XTC’s Skylarking in October. Beyond the sounds of bees and heavy humidity that open “Summer’s Cauldron,” the British band’s Todd Rundgren-produced masterpiece is essential dog days music. It might evoke walking through a wooded clearing at sunrise after taking mushrooms more than grilling brats, but it welcomes a warm weather mindset no matter when or where you’re listening. You don’t have to be lying in an English countryside field to appreciate “Summer’s Cauldron” — in fact, it proves just as potent out on the porch, soaking up Minnesota’s eclectic summertime. XTC’s dappled psychedelic pop shouts for the sun to join in the party, even while Andy Partridge sings of drowning “under mats of flower lava.” This is also how I would want to go.

Aly Eleanor - @purityolympics

D’Angelo – “Spanish Joint”

Virgin Records

D'angelo's Voodoo is a hot, thick, sweaty, and bright delight for all five of your senses. The album is peak summer for me, largely due to my association of it with the Texas heat I was enduring when I first heard Voodoo, but also because of how perfectly the drums ooze along with D'Angelo's sighs and cries. “Spanish Joint” falls on the bright and hot side of my earlier sensory evaluation. The song bounces through plumes of charcoal smoke and screened doors with ease and is sure to have everyone within earshot head-bobbing along. “Spanish Joint” is the open-toe shoe that is sure to fit your summer backyard BBQ, and if it isn't, then please don't invite me.

Kirby Kluth - @kirbykluth

Switchfoot – “Meant to Live”

Sony BMG

The pineapple is fresh off the grill, the jackfruit shredded and coated in sauce, and spirits are high. Suddenly, you hear it: the riff. Despite the arena rock energy of “Meant to Live’s” opening, vocalist Jon Foreman finds space between the larger-than-life instrumentation to softly tell of someone who feels as though the world is passing him by before building into a raucous, infectious plea of a chorus as he longs for something greater than merely drifting through life. Going into the bridge, Switchfoot briefly pulls the song towards a softer dynamic space as Foreman pleads for “more than the wars of our fathers.”

I take this song as a reminder that there’s so much work to do if we want to ensure we’re not fighting our parents’ wars and passing them down to future generations. It’s a call to action in the face of multiple genocides, civil rights being rapidly stripped away in America, and an election that seems as though it’s destined to make both of these issues worse no matter the outcome. I also take it as an invitation to remember that within the community that’s built and reinforced through the summer BBQ, we have managed to find part of the “so much more” that Foreman cries out for. The riff comes back. You get a second sandwich. After all, “we were meant to live.”

Noëlle Midnight - @noellemidnight

AC/DC - “Shot Down in Flames”

Leidseplein Presse B.V.

When in doubt, the Godfathers of Summer Barbecue Rock will never steer you wrong. You want something familiar and catchy when at a barbecue or party, especially in the summer. Something that casual music fans can latch on to for dear life and will get everyone to start tapping their feet uncontrollably. AC/DC checks off more boxes than an election form. From the chunky riffs, up-tempo music, and absolutely filthy guitar solos, they will have your party cooking with gasoline. “Highway to Hell” is the obvious choice here, but it’s incredibly too expected; that song has been played a kajillion plus 1 times to death. Instead, go with a song from the same album, “Shot Down in Flames,” it’s just as energetic and rowdy also, you still get that same jolt of electricity as “Highway to Hell,” but it feels light a slight flex by picking a deeper cut.

The good thing about AC/DC is that they have generational music, and Bon Scott’s raspy/high-pitched vocals pack a knockout punch that will scratch every itch in any generation. So fear not, kids today would be crushing hard seltzers all day under the scorching sun to this song. Say you’re with an older crowd, though, it’s an instant light bulb moment for them to reminisce about listening to them for the first time or hearing about how AC/DC was their soundtrack for all the youthful shenanigans they got into. Were your Mee Maw and Pop Pop rebels back in the day? Who knows? Let’s find out by putting on “Shot Down in Flames” to see what happens.

David Williams - @davidmwill89

Chicago – “Saturday in the Park”

Columbia Records

Few records are worthy of making the cut for a summer BBQ playlist, but anything by Chicago is a non-negotiable add. Maybe my love for the band is driven by nostalgia or maybe it’s my unabashed love of wearing socks with my Birks. Either way, “Saturday in the Park” is a guaranteed success for the backyard bash you’re planning. Robert Lamm and Peter Cetera’s smooth harmonies, backed by chipper drums and warm brass, are impossibly catchy - before you know it, the whole party will be singing along: “Saturday in the park / I think it was the Fourth of July.” Hot dogs sizzle on the grill, the Miller Lites in the cooler are icy cold, and your new neighbors Tom and Barb just arrived with potato salad in tow. You’re wearing the “Kiss the Chef” apron that your brother-in-law gifted you for Christmas (you pretended to hate it, but secretly, you’ve been dying to bust that bad boy out). Like Robert said, it’s “a real celebration, waiting for us all.” Cheers!

Britta Joseph - @brittajoes

Petey – “I Tried to Draw a Straight Line”

Terrible

From his raspy voice to his NASCAR enthusiast aesthetic, Petey feels like he belongs at a barbecue with a Miller Lite in a koozie. You look at his vintage tees and beaten-up hats and can instantly smell the charcoal lingering. While all of his 2023 album, USA, is ideal for flipping hot dogs, “I Tried to Draw a Straight Line” is the quintessential grilling song. On the surface, it’s charming background music with a dancey beat to which people nod their heads without even noticing. The lyrics are a stream of consciousness you can easily hear being spoken over the sound of sizzling beef. “Yeah, I’ve been kind of angry since the Kings lost to the Lakers in the Western Conference Finals.” These seemingly banal thoughts are interrupted by moments of sheer panic. “Why you looking at me like that? Are you wishing that I was dead? Am I making you feel uncool? Is it something that I said?” Later, he spirals as he goes from talking about tricks he learned in his childhood to wondering whether he deserves to one day be a parent. This is a millennial barbeque at its finest: Nathan’s Ballpark Franks, Boca Burgers, and existential crises. If no one has volunteered yet, I’ll bring some tomato salad. 

Lindsay Fickas - @lindsayfickas

The Menzingers – “Bad Catholics”

Epitaph Records

It could be the religious background, the Irish heritage, growing up as a suburban white kid raised on rock and roll, or my penchant for consuming more alcohol than I should. Whatever the reason, The Menzingers are a band that have resonated with me deeply ever since my best friend showed me their song “Midwestern States” back in our early college days. Not only are they one of the best millennial American rock bands of our time, but there is something about their sound and identity that bleeds classic rock vibes, Americana, drinking too much, hanging out with your buds, and causing trouble. Given those qualifications, it would not be out-of-place to hear one of their more sunny, easy-going tracks blaring out of a waterproof speaker in a millennial dude’s backyard somewhere in Anytown, USA on a sweltering summer day. While just about any track off their 2017 record After the Party could fit the bill, “Bad Catholics” has been on my summer playlists since it first graced my ears. The straightforward riffs, steady pre-chorus, and sunny, danceable hooks create the best environment for cracking open a cold one in a beach chair that’s one light breeze away from breaking in half. Lyrics describing a church picnic and children running around with “orange soda mustaches” further elevate the spirit of the season in this banger that, once you hear it, is sure to make its way onto your own BBQ playlists this summer. 

Ciara Rhiannon - @rhiannon_comma

MJ Lenderman – “You Have Bought Yourself A Boat”

Dear Life Records

“It's plain to me to see / You have bought yourself a boat.” Never before in the history of music have the stakes of an artist’s entire vibe been captured so accurately and so succinctly with the opening line of a song. With a charming North Carolina drawl and plenty of breezy twang, MJ Lenderman has been a staple of my summertime playlists for a few years running now. In fact, my love affair with Lenderman’s particular style of southern slacker rock ignited on July 4th of 2022 as I kept Boat Songs on a constant rotation throughout my entire four-day weekend while hanging on the Oregon Coast with my family. I came out the other side half hungover, buzzed on burgers, and with a newfound zeal for all things MJ. In the time since then, my adoration for his personable, everyman aura has only grown, amplified with each subsequent single and live album. While you might have thought I’d go with a more grill-based MJ song, the bright, summertime breeze of “You Have Bought Yourself A Boat” feels like the ultimate summation of feel-good grillin’. I’ll see y’all at the cookout.

Taylor Grimes - @GeorgeTaylorG

Funkadelic – “Can You Get To That”

Westbound

When I started to brainstorm a perfect BBQ song for this prompt, my shortlist borrowed heavily from my dad’s music library (he’s the one who got me into The Hold Steady and Wilco and Steely Dan). But only one of those songs was one that my grill-enthusiast father once asked me to play at his funeral. That’s right, when my dad no longer has a life (or rather, when life no longer has him), he wants to go out to the bluesy psych rock grooves and shimmering harmonies of Funkadelic’s “Can You Get To That” (Bonus points if you also add Sleigh Bells’ “Rill Rill,” a track that brilliantly interpolates Fubkadelic’s timeless melody into  futuristic electropop Americana.) This backstory might seem morbid, but at this point, I’m used to having the kind of parents who have no qualms about dropping their funeral requests into casual conversation. We only have so much time on this earth, so why not use it to grill some burgers? While you’re at it, why not throw on all of Maggot Brain in its mind-bending entirety?

Grace Robins-Somerville - @grace_roso

Queen of Jeans – All Again | Album Review

Memory Music

In my head, there are only two possible outcomes in a relationship: marriage or a devastating breakup. Some (my therapist) might call that black-and-white thinking, but it feels real to me. That worry is enough to keep some people from ever forming a deep connection with someone. But is that something that should even be considered? Is that thought process just dooming the relationship before it even gets started? Breakups often taint any good memories shared between a couple, leaving a bad taste in at least one party’s mouth when they look back at everything. Are the relationship’s good times erased because of the last moments? Were the butterflies and giddiness worth the devastation of the end result? I guess it all depends. 

Photo by Brooke Marsh

Philadelphia’s Queen of Jeans tackles these thought spirals on All Again, their first full-length LP since 2019. On the record, Miriam Devora and Mattie Glass recall memories of a lost love, looking back at all the tumults of a modern love story with both rose-tinted nostalgia and near-insurmountable regret. The memories are chronologically scattered but immersive and moving nonetheless, covering everything from the fatal attraction of the hook-up stage to not being able to cut off communication after a breakup. All those gritty in-betweens are dissected in a way that leans into emotion while propelling the story of the album (and the relationship) forward. The erratic storytelling throughout All Again mirrors how memories of turbulent relationships often come back to you: a few good, most bad, but all leaving you with an unsettling feeling deep in your gut.

The record has a song for just about every emotional state you could find yourself in throughout a whirlwind romance, offering a little bit of everything in terms of genre, tone, and instrumentation. Producer Will Yip worked with Devora and Glass to create massive sounds with a more experimental lean which included bringing in Patrick Wall on drums and Andrew Nitz on bass. This results in an LP that utilizes everything from blown-out post-rock to twangy indie folk to build out the pieced-together world of this tumultuous relationship. 

All Again opens with “All My Friends,” an unexpectedly heartbreaking track that drips in good old-fashioned longing. It comes through as a jolt of reality, with the hook “All my friends around / but I’m not home,” emphasizing the type of loneliness that permeates all facets of your life after a breakup. The whole thing has a boygenius-esque sad rock spin (very “True Blue”) with chorused instrumentals that add a consuming intensity. Devora’s vocals cascade through the windy synth textures and warbling guitars, depicting the heartbreak that lingers for the rest of the record. With this first track, it’s clear that All Again begins at the end, tipping their hand and letting the listener know where this relationship ends before even giving you a chance to root for it. The certainty of heartbreak adds context to the songs that follow. It’s like a reminder to listeners: ‘Don’t let any of the following songs fool you, this all ended badly.’

“Horny Hangover” immediately throws us back to the true beginning of the romance, speaking from a voice of anger and regret, like looking back and kicking yourself for not noticing all the red flags. The song has a grungy pop lean (like Veruca Salt’s anger mixed with Linda Ronstadt’s heartbreak) that gives Devora space to show off her wailing vocals, as if yelling at her past self. Yet no matter how many times the line “I don’t want you and I can’t stand you” is repeated, there’s something in the delivery that hints these words aren’t as emotionally detached as they may seem. 

The album continues in this ping-pong format, adding a frenetic energy of never knowing exactly where the next song will lead you. Sonically, “Karaoke” gives off all of those sweet feelings of new love until you realize we jumped forward in the relationship timeline again with lines like “The cart’s lighter at the grocery store / I can’t deal with people anymore,” and the idea of being so lost in your own heartbreak that you forget where you are and what you’re doing. It’s a ripper of a track that leans into the post-breakup crazies of trying to move forward without the person you thought would always be there. The shattering line “I’m a stranger to myself” is a gut punch, emphasizing just how much was given to this failed relationship. 

Mid-album cut “Neighbors” is a devastating look at insecurities and a need for reassurance that wasn’t being met. The lyrics “I want it clear / You still feel like we’re okay / That there’s no change” depict an image of someone sheepishly asking their partner if they still love them. Devora highlights a desperate need to be seen and validated that is not being met, yet one song later on “Let Me Forget,” we see her swiftly giving that assurance to her partner after a betrayal. This track paints a picture of someone willing to forgive their partner for just about anything because they’re scared to be alone. Strings, twangy acoustics, and haunting vocals make this one of the most excruciating yet beautiful tracks on the record and left me speechless, mouth agape at the amount of emotion put to one song.

“Bitter Pill” provides a rocking emotional release of all the pent-up anger caused by the relationship’s torment. There’s a clear power imbalance at play that has come to a head. Lines like “I don’t wanna bend my mind to anybody’s will / I don’t need you to know what’s real” make it clear that Devora has separated herself from the relationship’s toxicity, something that can only be done with the healing powers of time. It’s a hard rocker with an explosive guitar solo from Glass that complements the angst and vengeance in the vocals. Not to mention, the hook is catchier than catchy: “I don’t want that bitter, bitter, bitter pill,” which I can already envision helping others release themselves from the grip of an unhealthy relationship.

Closer “Do It All Again” mirrors the opening melodies of “All My Friends,” highlighting the powerful cycles these memories hold and our inclination to repeat these unhealthy relationship patterns. The hummed melody of “All My Friends” is even more haunting on “Do It All Again,” sounding like it’s playing through a radio that adds distance and creates even more of a dream-like note to end the album on. The song’s sole lyric, “If I got to do it all again / I’d find you there like I did back then,” shows that even in hindsight, love and desire squash any anguish from the certainty of heartbreak. Maybe it was all worth it in some twisted way? We might have to cycle through the memories all over again to find out.

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

Lip Critic – Hex Dealer | Album Review

Partisan Records

> It is a Friday afternoon in May of 2024. Summer has yet to begin officially, yet the sun is punishingly bright as it tries to burst through the shuttered blinds of my home. I have attempted to counteract the blistering heat that awaits outside by running the a/c unit of my apartment into overdrive, yet it does not seem to be working: my insides are cooking. I am approximately eight minutes and twelve seconds into the thirty-one-minute runtime of Lip Critic’s debut LP Hex Dealer, and something is happening. 

> My heartbeat has gradually increased as each minute ticks by. I first noticed this reaction precisely four minutes and twenty-three seconds into this listening session, around the closing point of the opening track “It’s The Magic,” when I began to experience shortness of breath and a slight blurring in my vision. There is something living in this album. 

There is something simultaneously familiar and refreshingly new to a record like this, always the surest sign a band has at least the potential to become interesting if they are not right out of the gate. Lip Critic need not worry about the potential of being interesting; they sprinted right past potential quite a while ago with a series of EPs and singles dating back to 2019. Hex Dealer is, in many ways, the ideal form of a debut LP: it is a record that’s overflowing with ideas both musically and lyrically, the unmistakable sign of a band that’s spent years experimenting as they build up the anticipation for what a fully realized album by them could sound like. Now, Hex Dealer is here, ready to punish all who dare delve into Lip Critic’s world. 

> By the third song, my nose has started to bleed. It’s a slight drip, like an old faucet that won’t stop. I can feel my brain pulsating against my skull. It is trying to escape. There is no escape.

All that time I waited
Just to find out I’m from hell
I burn right through
My mortal shell

> It appears I blacked out shortly after my last audio log. The nose bleeding has intensified. Some minor cuts and scrapes have developed on my scalp. I can’t feel them, but I know they are there. I am going to attempt to continue from where I passed out before. 

What to say about a track like “Bork Pelly”? This is the first of two tracks on the record to feature guest verses from other vocalists (in this case, those guests would be GHÖSH and ID.Sus) and also the sort of track that is going to grab the inevitable, and frankly lazy, comparison to Death Grips. Why is it any time a punk band that draws just as much from hip-hop and dance music must always be compared to those titans of trolling? They certainly weren’t the first group to marry that cadre of sounds together. Is it just that they were the first to quote-unquote “breakthrough” to the mainstream? The first band of this ilk to get Pitchfork coverage and major festival slots? Probably. Almost certainly. But there is such a slice-of-life playfulness, not just to a track like “Bork Pelly,” but to all of the output from Lip Critic up until this point, that their sonic forebearers have seriously lacked. Sure, this album is populated with grimy, intense, breakneck-paced songs, but it is also a truly funny and engaging album. 

> There is a warbling synth embedded in the track “Spirit Bomber” that has shifted my pre-existing nausea into full-on illness. The way the notes gurgle has sent my brain into convulsions, though my body is completely still, paralyzed in fact. I am lying here on the floor of my bathroom, incapable of vomiting, but at this moment, for the first time in my life, there is nothing I would love to be able to do nothing more right now than just that. I can feel my organs shifting inside me.

> 47 seconds into “Death Lurking, one of the cuts on the back of my scalp has developed into a larger wound, though it does not hurt in the slightest. In fact, it feels nice to touch. 

> The high-pitched, scraping synth on “I’m Alive” feels akin to white noise, but if it physically hurt to listen to. I have pulled a small (about 3” in length and thin in diameter) bit of what appears to be wire out of the large unfeeling wound on the back of my head. It is covered in a viscous black goo that smells and tastes of nothing.

> The death metal-adjacent growl of “My Wife and the Goblin” feels like a moment of relief from the abuse my brain and body have endured until this point. The bleeding from my nose has stopped. I have continued to pull more frayed bits of wire of varying lengths from my headwound. 

> I have lost a tooth. My body feels like static. The pulse of album closer “Toxin Dodger” has given me the sweet release of vomit purging from my body. It is similar to the black goo that coated the bit of wire I pulled from my head wound. I can now feel bits of wire protruding through the skin on my palms and fingers. There is little of me left how I was before. My body and mind are not what they were. I pick at the wound on my head. It has gotten significantly larger. I can fit almost my whole hand in there. My entire body tingles with static as I pry and feel around gently. 

> There it is. The wire from where all of these bits I have pulled seemed to have originated from. It’s hefty feeling and causes my legs to spasm and pulsate when I grasp on it. I pull on the large wire that appears to be stuck to my brainstem. I tug at it ever so slightly as more and more unspools from the wound in my head. It feels good…

> It feels good. 

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Jack Nelson is a writer, bartender, and former stand-up comedian (don’t hold that last part against him) based in Wilmington, NC. He can be found on Instagram and Letterboxd as @itsjackiekeyes. You will soon be able to see him in the upcoming mockumentary Soda Pop Spencer Storms Atlanta. All updates on that and future film projects can be found on the IG for the production company @punisher_skull.jpg.

I Hate Music Part 2: Four Days with Carpool

Click here to read Part 1. Read on to learn what it’s like touring with Carpool.

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When Josh and I first met Carpool at Richmond Music Hall, there were lots of jitters on both their side and ours. The two of us were worried (or at least conscious) of how well we’d assimilate into the group, making sure to stay out of their way and not cramp their style, allowing the members to be as natural as they could while knowing a camera might be pointed toward them at any time. On the band’s side, this was the first show they had played together in almost six months and the beginning of the biggest tour they had ever been a part of. Opening up for emo legends like Free Throw is a blessing and a pressure, but Carpool were ready to deliver. 

That night, I saw the band take the stage and witnessed the same spectacle that poured out of them at Fauxchella just a few months prior. They ripped through a 25-minute set of old and new material alike, stacking fresh singles like “Can We Just Get High?” and “No News Is Good News” up against old favorites like “Whiskey & Xanax” and “The Salty Song.”

Gradually, I watched the band win the crowd over more and more with each song, which was a trend I noticed at all three shows. The beauty of a song like “Can We Just Get High?” is that it’s dumb and straightforward, but because it’s dumb and straightforward, that also means it’s catchy as hell. Pretty much anyone can hear that chorus once, get it, and join in before the second one is even over. 

With the first song, I’d notice lots of head bobbing, swinging hips, and nodding along. By the second song, a few people might be finger-pointing or filming short clips on their phones. By the end of the set, at least a few people would be headbanging, thrashing around, shakin’ ass, and screaming along. It was beautiful to watch this transformation happen each night with completely different crowds of people; it felt like I got to watch the genuine power of rock music happen again and again. 

Left to right, Carpool is Stoph Colasanto (Lead Vocals, guitar), Torri Ross (Vocals, Bass), Alec Westover (Drums), and Tommy Eckerson (Vocals, Guitar). Photo by Abby Clare.

Even though there’s an entire documentary showcasing Carpool’s live presence, it’s worth breaking down a little bit here. Just like in the band’s music, Stoph Colasanto is happy to fill the role of charismatic ringleader. He has a yowling, scratchy voice that defaults to a scream but can also stretch and hit a beautiful high note whenever he needs to serenade. To give you an idea of fits and vibe, I saw him rock a David Cone Jersey, black leather cowboy hat, and vintage Hamm’s work shirt across our three shows. 

On the opposite end of the stage, you have Tommy Eckerson, a classic rock guitar god with natural-born solo wizardry and a clear admiration for the greats. He can belt it out when he’s on lead vocals like on “Crocodile Tears,” but more often than not, he is happy to just hit the occasional backup vocal so he can focus on his impressive guitar tapping skills. Tommy dresses in classic single-color outfits like James Dean; he might have a chain or sunglasses on, but not in a flashy way. 

Between them, you have Torri Ross, an Arizona-born bassist who bounces across the stage like a pinball, busting out a high kick and nailing every note along the way with an infectious grin. At one point, Tori said someone compared them to a character from Guitar Hero, so that’s the level of icon we’re working with here. Tori is also a knockout vocalist; their presence makes the band sound even more full, and their delivery during the bridge of “No News Is Good News” would regularly get stuck in my head for hours after each show. 

Behind them all is drummer Alec Westover, a fellow Pacific Nortwesterner who apologized in advance if he was ever a bit of a “space case.” The two of us pretty much immediately spoke the same language, as I also share a rainy-day pensiveness, which means I’m often content to sit back and observe as opposed to being the center of attention. He was usually fitted in another DIY band’s merch or a hoodie with a sports team on it. It was amazing to watch him shift into performance mode each night, busting out 30 minutes of pretty relentless drumming, knocking out every mathy twist and turn of a song like “Whiskey & Xanax” with absolute precision. It was bonkers to watch him hammer out something like that and then find him minutes later backstage chilling like it was no big deal. 

Together, I watched these four rip through the same 25-minute set three times over, and each night, it was nothing short of captivating. The setlist consisted of the same eight songs: they’d kick things off with the two-note nod-along “Can We Just Get High” and then hit us with a Carpool Classic in the form of “Whiskey & Xanax.” From there, the band would wind through songs off each album, with a couple pulled from their recent EP for good measure. If the crowd played along, they’d be treated to a cover of “Teenage Dirtbag,” a nice little throwback that allows for a unique form of participation as half the members of the crowd remember the lyrics in unison, eventually building up to that cathartic cry of “OH YEAH!!! DIRTBAG!!!” 

It’s a wonderful note to end on a non-canonical song because it feels like a fun way to let people know what you revere as a band without taking everything so seriously. In the past, Carpool has put “My Own Worst Enemy” by Lit into a similar spot at other shows, but I could see any Sum 41 or Third Eye Blind slotting in there if the band ever needed any more rowdy 90s alt-rock crowd-pleasers to cap off the set with. On a similar note that I want to include here for completeness sake, I still maintain that Carpool’s cover of “Soak Up The Sun” should have been a bigger deal than it was; that thing is a work of art with an amazing video to match. Regardless, Carpool nailed their Wheatus cover and walked off the stage to raucous applause and maybe even a few new converts. Based on the amount of vinyl I saw the band singing that night, it’s safe to assume people were excited to go home and listen to the new record. 

Behind the scenes, the band was already abuzz with an infectious, if not slightly shitposty energy. Throughout most of our time together, Stoph radiated a charming and hilarious front-person energy, indulging in plenty of dirtbag antics but still keeping everything fun and good-natured, much like Carpool’s music. 

The band members already had an ongoing bit, singing the chorus of Lonestar’s 1999 hit “Amazed” back and forth to each other whenever there was a brief lull in conversation. They’d affectionately refer to each other as “cousin,” a term that felt recently re-popularized thanks to The Bear but, in Carpool’s case, felt steeped in the fact that most of the band members still work in the service industry. At one point after their first set, Stoph turned to me and, over his shoulder, offered, “Cousin is gender-neutral,” a surprisingly open-minded logic for something that just felt like an affectionate auditory tick. There’s also “cro,” a portmanteau of “cousin” and “bro” that served a similar purpose. 

Later on in the run of shows, the phrase “Stand on Business!” would take on a life of its own, eventually becoming a universally positive affirmation you could use to respond to just about anything. Just ripped a set? Stand on business. The green room has the exact flavor of Gatorade you like? Stand on business! Hearing someone bark that out and mentally nodding along in affirmation became a shared language. 

Once the concert wrapped up, Carpool spent a good chunk of time slinging shirts, signing vinyl, and snapping pics with fans. We were only an hour or so from the album’s midnight release, so we hung around the bar long enough to celebrate with the band when My Life In Subtitles officially dropped. The vibes were immaculate; Carpool’s first set of tour went off without a hitch, and the record they had spent years working towards was finally out for the world to hear. We celebrated an adequate amount, but eventually, we all packed up and headed north toward New Jersey, where we had an off-day before show #2.

-2-

After a full day of driving, our “off-day” in Asbury Park was more like an off-night. We arrived at the Airbnb around 6 pm after navigating through the utter hell that is the DC highway system. I’ve driven across the country multiple times, so I’m no stranger to long road trips, but that specific drive reinforced how much of tour is just spent packed in a car getting from one city to the next. It’s a lot of gas stations, rest stops, and fast food. You take vegetables where you can get them and get good at constructing a queue of music and podcasts long enough to stretch across multiple hours. By the time we rolled into Jersey, Carpool already had pizza on the way and YouTube up on the flatscreen TV in the shared living room space. The group flipped from the Gel Audiotree to goofy music videos and, at one point, wound up sparking (mostly ironic) a group sing-along to Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA.”

I already had some idea of who Carpool were as people before this, so I wasn’t too worried about anything dramatic or salacious happening during my time with the band. Even still, I was wondering if things would ever get tense or “real” once we were all out on the road together. The closest we ever got to some Behind The Music-style drama was when the band’s manager, Danny Doyle, learned that Tommy ordered from a jerk chicken place without him. This restaurant was apparently a bit of a tradition any time the band visited Asbury, but Doyle was only (jokingly) a little put out that Tommy ordered without him. That exchange, the cold and calculating betrayal at the hands of Tommy, was about the closest the group ever came to rising tensions.

A tender moment between Stoph and Alec

After long enough, Carpool, plus myself and Josh in-tow, moseyed a few blocks down to Georgies, a gay bar, in search of karaoke. While we didn’t find an open mic, I quickly discovered that Torri and Dan were absolute pool sharks as I watched them each go on six-ball hot streaks, sinking multiple billiards into the bar’s only pool table. 

We wound up hopping to another bar that actually contained multiple other bars, a needlessly complicated way to cram several distinct vibes on top of each other. My night almost evoked that one Lady Gaga clip, except it was bar, bar, another bar. At one of these bars-within-a-bar, I wound up chatting with Jake Trieste and Frankie Mancini, two of Stoph’s high school friends who were in town from Rochester just to watch the band perform the following night. They were more than happy to tell tales of putting up with a younger version of Stoph and how it felt like he had eternal senioritis, even back then. “Teachers thought he wouldn’t do shit, but look at him now, he’s following his dreams,” Jake laid out at one point. While I was already privy to Eyes Wide Shut, an (admittedly bad) post-hardcore project featuring members of Carpool and calicuzns, Jake was the first to inform me of Stoph’s high school rap project, something I’m still hoping I’ll be able to get my hands on at some point, if the files still exist at all. 

That night, I ended up having some pretty in-depth discussions with most of the band members. At one point, Tommy and I were embroiled in a conversation about our shared reverence for classic rock, specifically Van Morrison. He informed me how this admiration for that older style of rock music influenced his approach to songwriting for the new LP, and I could totally hear it. The proggy guitarwork at the end of “CAR” and the fiery solo at the end of “Can We Just Get High?” made total sense when placed in a lineage of boomer rock I inherited from my dad. 

Similarly, Alec and I were both from Oregon, a fact I didn’t know until I saw him sporting a forest green University of Oregon hoodie. Bonded by that shared upbringing and mutual appreciation (or tolerance for) rain, the two of us got deep talking about the creation of Subtitles and how it compared to the band’s previous work. He explained his role as drummer and how the instrumental parts for some of the songs on this record took shape long before the lyrics were in place. 

The group communally discussed their shared appreciation for Bug Jar, a 200-cap music venue in Rochester that the band has played so many times they might as well have their name engraved on the rafters. In fact, this July, Carpool will be playing two triumphant nights at Bug Jar, celebrating the release of My Life In Subtitles. The first night will be a set of Carpool classics, covers, and songs the group never plays anymore, while night two will be a full album playthrough of Subtitles for the ravenous hometown crowd. With support from legends like Equipment, Carly Cosgrove, Del Paxton, and Cheap Kids, these shows are gonna be a Carpool summit for the ages.

Carpool Album Release Shows

In a telling moment, at one point, I overheard the band talking to a table of patrons as they were hunting for a lighter. Upon learning that Stoph and Tommy were in a band, they asked what kind of music Carpool made. “Good luck playing Wonder Bar if you’re not a ska band,” one of them warned, “This is a ska-only town,” he said with the most serious grimace one can manage while still talking about ska. 

Knowing how averse everyone is to the “emo” label, my ears perked up to hear what the answer would be. The two band members shared a knowing look before Tommy said, “You wanna know what the actual answer is? Real scumbag rock.” The labels of “punk” and “emo” encapsulate so much yet feel so limiting, especially for a band that just put out a record as diverse and varied as My Life In Subtitles. 

That same night, your boy made a rookie mistake of Taking Too Much. While I’d been cautious to monitor how much I’d imbibed on night one, on night two, I wasn’t drinking at all. Instead, I decided to help stimulate New Jersey’s blossoming dispensary economy. I started the night off with a little baby joint to myself as we were on the way to Bar #1 and felt fine. Actually, if anything, I felt leveled out after a day's worth of travel in the car. My mistake came at Bar #2, where I went back for seconds, cheefing on a $10 pre-roll of Jersey weed that sent me into an actual panic attack by the time we’d reached Bar #3. 

The band had decided to leave the second bar in search of a casino, something that we quickly learned does not exist anywhere in Asbury Park. Instead, the band was stopped by Joey DiCamillo of NJ emo band Straight Jacket Feeling. “There’s no casino in Asbury Park,” he laughed towards our group, “Come on in here and grab an espresso martini.” At this point, I was so deep in my head that I was sure it would be my last night alive. I pulled Stoph outside, muttered an exchange that was probably as confusing as it was incoherent, and walked back to the Airbnb, fully freaked the fuck out. Not exactly my finest moment. 

While that was an all-time embarrassing moment in my life that happened in front of a band I’d long admired, I wanted to include it here for accuracy’s sake and also to illustrate how sweet and kind-hearted the members of Carpool are. By the end of the night, Tommy, Alec, Josh, and I were huddled around a patio set in the backyard of our Airbnb talking (unironically) about the brilliance of the Goo Goo Dolls, and I could feel my anxiety dissipating by the minute. I apologized to Stoph the next day, and he assured me it was okay; Carpool, if nothing else, are a band that understands the experience of getting too high and freaking out; that’s the content of about half their songs. 

-3-

The next day, the group filed into Wonder Bar for a stormy Asbury Park soundcheck, then proceeded to play one of the best gigs I’ve seen all year. The room was electric, with plenty of the band’s childhood friends and old roommates embedded at various spots in the sold-out crowd, plus a glut of New Jerseyans ready to cut loose on a Saturday night. The band played through the same setlist, but this time, Corey from Free Throw joined the band on stage for their Wheatus cover and set the room ablaze. People crowdsurfed, shouted along, and shared the mic, all for the god-damn opener. 

Photo by Abby Clare

After the show packed up, the remainder of Carpool and their friends migrated down the boardwalk to a discotheque blasting 70s soul classics, and the group danced the night away in a moment that felt more than celebratory. For me, it felt like everyone had forgotten about my embarrassing faux paus the night before, getting too high and getting weird, but for the band, it felt like genuine revelry. They had just played an incredible set, signed a bunch of vinyl, and were out dancing with some of their oldest friends. As we were collectively shakin’ our booties to Diana Ross, it really felt like the credits could roll at any moment. 

But there was one more show to play. 

After some post-dancing Taco Bell and unwinding with a one-two punch of the Wednesday Tiny Desk and the Elephant Gym Audiotree, the gang called it a night because we all had to be in Pittsburg the next day for the final show of this leg of the tour. 

-4-

In the Steel City, the gig, once again, unfolded in a similar way, with the band winning over portions of the crowd minute by minute. Between songs, Stoph kept talking about how each track was actually inspired by Mean Girls 2 and were all somehow directly tied to the Tina Fey Cinematic Universe. It was also revealed that “Whiskey & Xanax” is actually about the Lizzie McGuire Lego set that got stolen from Stoph when he was in 5th grade (Genius annotators, you can quote me).

Before we all went our separate ways, Stoph, Josh, and I snuck off for a mediocre dinner at a local Schwarma place. We wound up having a surprisingly involved conversation about movies, but it eventually circled back to music. At one point, Stoph talked about how grateful he is to be around such talented musicians, referring to the rest of his band. He spoke about the difference between being an elite musician who can play something flawlessly versus being a band with personality. Ultimately, the three of us agreed that a balance between those two things is the sweet spot, and we unanimously decided that, after watching three consecutive shows, Carpool sat squarely at that intersection. 

Photo by Abby Clare

At the end of this, it was bittersweet and mostly sad to watch the band’s Honda Odyssey pull off into the sunset on the way back up to Rochester for a week off before going back on tour, but I felt like I had been a small part of something incredibly special. 

Josh and I made a brief pit stop to catch Origami Angel close out the Don’t Let The Scene Go Down On Me’s 17th-anniversary showcase, rounding out an already-emo weekend with a heaping helping of dorky pop rock (positive). 

The two of us checked into our Airbnb, and weirdly, all I wanted to do was listen to Carpool. I listened to all of Nasal Use and My Life In Subtitles before going to bed and found myself loving the album more than I ever had. After seeing the band live, I could pick out Torri’s vocals floating through the upper end of the mix. I could spot Tommy’s guitar wizardry after watching him cast the same spells night after night. I could hear Alec’s study drumming holding everything together, the silent assassin murdering every fill and propulsive hit. I could hear Stoph’s voice, literally and figuratively, across each song and every word as I read along with the lyrics and did the public service of uploading all the words to Genius. Maybe all I needed was six months of listening to this album before it clicked. Maybe all I needed was to watch this band play a couple of these songs live to “get it,” or maybe I had just absorbed so much of Carpool’s energy that I started to feel admiration by proxy. 

-reflections-

I think you do something like this (I.e., join a band on the road) out of love but also because it teaches you something about yourself. If it’s not already abundantly clear, I love Carpool: the band, the music, the people, and it was an honor to essentially feel like part of the group, even for a few days. I set out to capture this band as best I could and try to tell their story at what felt like an important inflection point in their career; to try to capture and convey what I love about them to an audience that’s completely external to all of this. 

I genuinely believe this band possesses something special, and that’s evident in the footage we captured for this documentary, the music they painstakingly put to record, and the way that these people navigate the world and interact with each other. You can see it in the fandom they’re building, the merch and videos they’re making, and the connections they’ve fostered. Everything is considered, and nothing is half-assed. Nobody is doing it quite like Carpool.

This entire trip, the final lines of Erotic Nightmare Summer kept floating through my head: “Carpool is a band about sharing smiles with friends.” As I watched the members bounce across the stage each night, nailing every solo and sticking every high kick, it was impossible not to absorb some of that jubilation.

So sure, I did this because I adore Carpool and wanted to show what it’s like to be a young rock band ramping up to release the most important record of their lives. And, despite my initial reservations, I do think My Life In Subtitles is a great album, it’s a giant, challenging, wide-set record where no two songs sound the same. The scope is ambitious, the songs are unlike anything the band has done before, and that’s a good thing. My experience with this album, listening to it on and off for months, has unearthed a level of depth I never expected during that first listen on the Metro North. At a certain point, creating a “grower” is a true test of a band, and that’s what Carpool have done with their sophomore album.

In talking to all these people- fans, friends, the touring bands, and even the members of Carpool themselves- pretty much everyone had a different favorite song from My Life in Subtitles. I think that goes to show how varied and diverse this record is. 

Photo by Abby Clare

Sometimes, you reach a point in life where you just have to throw yourself into something full-force and see what happens. This whole experience of joining a band on the road, interviewing people, taking notes, filming things, sitting in on soundchecks, and spending an extended period of time immersed in a pre-existing configuration of people was all new to me. Sometimes you overshoot (or fly too close to the sun), but even when you do, you learn something about yourself. 

In fact, I think that’s largely the story of My Life In Subtitles as an album: the three-act structure of Dirtbag, Meltdown, and Reclamation feels like a universal truth in some ways. You’ve got this unrepentant scumbaginess in songs like “Can We Just Get High?” and “Open Container Blues,” whose upsides are self-evident. Then you’ve got the middle of the album, which covers everything else: romance (Crocodile Tears), recklessness (Kid Icarus), shitty jobs (No News), questioning who you are (Taxes), questioning organizations (CAR), and the crushing weight of capitalism (throughout). Yet all of this is speckled with glimmers of hope. Despite its title, a song like “I Hate Music” is still a nuanced mediation of the love Carpool has for tour life. They wouldn’t be doing this if they didn’t love it. 

Much like “Don’t Start a Band” by Short Fictions, a song can be a biting commentary and a love letter because sometimes you can’t have one without the other. You can’t criticize something without loving it, and vice versa. In Carpool’s case, I think it’s clear that this band loves the music they’re making. Just look at their on-stage presence or who they are as people. When you’re performing songs as catchy, inventive, and high-energy as these every night, who can blame you for having a great time while doing it?

But this overarching structure of living like a degenerate, fucking up, licking your wounds, and then trying again with better intentions feels like an appropriately large thing to articulate. This feels like a process we all must go through ourselves at some point. 

Even disregarding some larger narrative, My Life In Subtitles is a collection of feelings and experiences laid bare for the listener. It feels like a scrambled collection of ups and downs, highs, lows, and just plain frustrations of life. In Stoph’s case, he argues that if his life were a movie, it would be a pretty shitty one… But I think that’s how everyone feels, isn’t it? “Who would want to watch THIS?” Fuckin’ terrible show. 

If that is indeed the top-level takeaway from this record, I think it’s funny that my reaction to it was to double down in the opposite direction. To hear an album’s worth of songs about how unglamorous and shitty and fucked up life has been for the members of Carpool, then to want to join them on the road to capture more of that life. If it’s such a terrible show, why am I so drawn to it? Why do I want more? Why do I keep coming back to this record and this band? I think the answer is right there in the subtitles.

Poster by Hallie Kanter

I Hate Music Part 1: An Abridged History of Loving Carpool

When Chris “Stoph” Colasanto sent me the new Carpool album back in November, I had never been more excited to open a Dropbox link in my life. I’ve been a music geek forever, and even though this blog is nine years old, it never fails to blow my mind when a band I love sends me their music. 

On a surface level, it’s cool to hear an album early before the rest of the world, but on a much deeper level, it means a lot when an artist trusts you with their creations. That also extends to labels and PR people, but when it comes directly from a band member like this, it truly means the world. 

In the case of Carpool, the punk rock four-piece from Rochester, New York, the group had become a quick favorite of mine over the course of 2020. In a year that was crushing, demoralizing, terrifying, and destabilizing in its own uniquely hellish way, Carpool’s music offered me a brilliant ray of optimism that cut through the darkness. 

The whole thing started with a premiere for “Come Thru Cool (Punk Ass)” that I wrote in early May. We were two months into being sequestered in our homes, and everyone was starting to get a bit of cabin fever. I took the single because it sounded like a fun thing to work on, plus the track was a fucking rager. The screamed vocals evoked equal parts Prince Daddy and Every Time I Die, which was a combo I could fully get behind. I also loved how the song churned into this heavy metal tantrum but still managed to have super catchy verses. 

I didn’t think much about Carpool for the next month until the release of Erotic Nightmare Summer on June 5th. I gave the album a listen. Then another. And another. Gradually, I found myself drawn to the record on a pure, unthinking, gravitational level, and the whole thing became muscle memory. Didn’t know what I wanted to listen to? Throw on Carpool. Driving around the winding mountain roads of Denver? Throw on Carpool. Running errands between my apartment, the dispensary, and the grocery store? Throw on Carpool. It became omnipresent and comforting in the best way possible.

Erotic Nightmare Summer ended up soundtracking my year in a way I never could have predicted. The album’s 30-minute run time made the whole thing a breeze that I could slot into my day at any point. The record had an infectious vibe with flashy guitarwork, tight instrumentation, and heaps of hooks that I eventually got pretty good at singing from the comfort of my car. 

Much like the band’s first collection of songs, Erotic Nightmare Summer is still an album steeped in emo stylings, including lots of guitar tapping, group chants, silly samples, and a lyrical run-down of fucked-up behavior. It’s easy to discount “emo” as a descriptor for an almost infinite number of reasons. The genre has had many lives, revivals, periods, and shades, so it means a million things to a million different people, especially when talking to fans from different generations. No matter who you talk to, there’s bound to be a diminutive undercurrent when the word rolls off the tongue. Describing Carpool as an “emo band” sells them short because, even on this first record, they’re more than that. Lyrically, Erotic Nightmare Summer isn’t afraid to delve into heavy topics like addiction, mental health, and failing relationships, but the band navigates these topics in a catchy way that makes them go down easy. It’s actually a very multi-faceted album, even though your average person would probably listen to it and call it punk or, worse, “screamo.” 

Regardless of how you personally view these ever-blurring genre lines, one thing gradually became clear to me by the time December rolled around: this was my favorite album of the year. I had spent too much time with Erotic Nightmare Sumer for my answer to be anything else. 

2020 was a shit year for a lot of things, but I was grateful to have music there guiding me through the good and the bad and the incomprehensible alike. There may have been prettier albums out that year, like Saint Cloud, and even albums that felt more important, like Fetch the Bolt Cutters, but ultimately, I found myself pulled towards Erotic Nightmare Summer for its simplicity. Turns out that when the world is falling apart, the main thing I want is a hook I can sing along with and some riffs I can thrash around to. 

Fast forward a couple of years, and I’m in a completely different place than I was in 2020, thank god. I was still living in Denver but found myself in an exciting new relationship with someone from New York. The long-distance thing was new to both of us, so it was hard, but it felt like we were in it together. We were honest with each other every step of the way and generally found that the beauty and love we felt in this partnership outweighed the pain of being separated by almost two thousand miles at any given time.

A long-distance relationship like this also meant lots of flying; she’d come out to hang with me in Denver, and I’d return the favor, visiting her out in New York. We went back and forth like that for months, with whirlwind week-long visits punctuated by month-long stretches where we’d talk on the phone almost every night. It was hard, but this relationship felt special enough that it was all worth it. 

Sometime in July of 2022, I got a text from Stoph with a link to a new EP from Carpool titled For Nasal Use Only. I excitedly loaded the files onto my phone and spent the back half of the summer familiarizing myself with the five-pack of new offerings from the band. Specifically, I would throw this EP on during many of these long flights to visit my girlfriend out on the East Coast. Songs like “Tommy’s Car” felt like they perfectly articulated the type of love, commitment, and desire for self-betterment that I was feeling at that time. Obviously, the EP’s one overt love song, “Discretion of Possession,” hit that spot too, but as a whole, this collection of songs felt like a shockingly accurate depiction of where I found myself in this new relationship, including all the worries and possible fuck-ups that come with it. 

It’s also worth noting that I had access to these files with zero other information: no album art, no tracklist, and even a misspelling of “Discresion,” which is now a stain on my last.fm account forever. I listened to the songs in the sequence I imagined the band would place them in, but I would also sometimes just let them run in alphabetical order. It led to an interesting relationship with the EP where this pit-stop in the band’s discography morphed into an interactive piece that shifted from one listen to the next. The songs became abstracted in a cool way, but no matter what order I played them in, they all still hung together as a fun-loving 15-minute excursion that built out the exact type of hookiness I loved on Erotic Nightmare Summer.

I still vividly remember playing “Everyone’s Happy” when my girlfriend and I were dogsitting for a friend in New York. It was months before the song would become publicly available, and it felt so special to be walking around the streets of Brooklyn chanting the song’s coda quietly to myself while walking to get a bagel. I know Rochester and New York City are very different things, but I still felt the power of the Empire State flowing through me.  

By the end of the summer, Carpool had officially reemerged with “Anime Flashbacks” as a lead single, and I was beyond excited to see the public’s reaction. I liked the song a lot, but its heavy addition of synth felt like a wary step away from the all-out rock we heard from the band on their debut LP. Again, receiving music early results in this interesting phenomenon, which almost places you alongside the band, wondering how these songs will be received. 

2023 was largely a year of planning for Carpool as the band prepared to drop their sophomore album, My Life In Subtitles. They brought on bassist/vocalist Torri Ross, who brought an excitable, rambunctious energy to the band’s live performances, along with some killer backing vocals, rounding out the group in the best way. With this new lineup solidified, the band took to the road, performing up and down the country, cutting their teeth on the classics and testing out new material alike. They played an hour-long battle set at Fauxchella VI in Ohio, and after seeing this incarnation of Carpool’s lineup, all I knew was that I wanted more. The band’s battle set saw them facing off against Summerbruise, another perennial favorite of this blog, which resulted in an elated 60-minute stretch of my life that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. 

Even without a new record, 2023 continued to be a pretty eventful year for Carpool. They went Ridiculousness-level viral when this video of Stoph puking while playing a gig spread like wildfire on Facebook, Reddit, and Twitter. The band even found a bootleg screen-recorded version that had its own millions of views exclusively from within a Spanish Facebook page. The group ripped a flu-game-style set at Fest 21 in Florida while members of the band were under the weather, and I know it just constantly sounds like Carpool is constantly sick, contagious, or puking, but they had a lot of normal gigs too, like this one at a skatepark in Milwaukee, that looked like the set of a damn movie. Perhaps most importantly, by November, the band signaled their next level-up when they signed to SideOneDummy and dropped the first single of their new LP. Everything was in motion. 

When Stoph sent me a text with the new Carpool album back in November, I had never been more excited to receive a Dropbox link in my entire life. I clicked on the link, and my eyes skittered across all 12 song titles, mind racing with what each could contain. I pressed “download” and started to do my favorite thing: edit metadata. I converted the WAV files to MP3, dragged them into my iTunes library, and synched my phone as if this access could be revoked at any moment. I didn’t even have the album art, but I had the new album from fucking Carpool months before most of the world, and with great power comes great appreciation.

I didn’t want to just half-attentively throw this album on in the background while I worked; I wanted my first listen to be intentional and meaningful. I tend to have this problem with artists I love where I’ll wind up waiting weeks, months, or even years to listen to their newest material because I loved their last project so much. For example, I’m a big Wonder Years Guy, and that love definitely extends to Aaron West, solo material, and pretty much anything Dan Campbell touches. I loved the first Aaron West album so much that when the group released their follow-up in 2019, it took me a whole month to work myself up to listening to it just because I wanted to experience it under the “right circumstances.” 

Carpool had released my album of the year just a few years prior, so this new LP wasn’t something I was going to treat lightly. I wanted to make sure that whenever I sat down and hit play, I’d have enough time to make it to the end. I wanted to put my phone away and listen undistracted, fully absorbed in the music, to take it all in at once. 

Photo by Bridget Hagen

My Life In Subtitles sat on my phone for a week or two until I found myself up in New York for Thanksgiving with my girlfriend’s family. The day before Thanksgiving, she and I woke up early and raced to Grand Central Station to take the Metro North up to Connecticut where the rest of her family was spending the holiday. It was my first time visiting the iconic train station or taking a train out of the city, and my little West Coast brain was just taking in the swirl of activity: college kids traveling to visit their families in other states, people with laptops and real adult clothes getting work done on their commute, various couples watching as the world raced by outside the window. 

Like many of my New York Firsts, this train ride quickly became a core memory. After we had made it out of the city and into the (slightly) more pastoral scenery of northern New York, the cabin began to settle in and quiet down. With over an hour left in the trip, I decided that this would be the perfect time to venture into Carpool’s new record. 

I pulled out my phone, popped in my AirPods, and hit play on My Life In Subtitles. Then the craziest thing happened. I only kind of liked it. 

By this point, I had already heard, written about, and loved the lead single “Can We Just Get High?” but the rest of the album didn’t quite connect immediately. I remember firing off an excited message to Stoph when Cliffdiver’s Briana Wright popped up on “Open Container Blues,” a text that simply read “Cliffdiver!?!?” which I meant to intone like the Tiffany Pollard Beyoncé meme. I remember my brain doing backflips when I heard the “OOH OOH OOH” at the end of “I Hate Music,” but other than that, the album played out, and nothing grabbed me quite like any of the songs off Erotic Nightmare Summer. Weird.

At first, I dismissed this as a one-off experience. Deciding to tie my first listen to such a novel trip might have been too ambitious. Sure, this first impression on the Metro North was memorable, but maybe not the best way to experience an album for the first time. I gave the record a few more spins throughout December and the new year and gradually came to an interesting conclusion about the arc of the album. After listening to it enough times, I began to view My Life In Subtitles in three acts:

1. A beginning stretch starting with the introductory title track and winding across the first two singles through “Crocodile Tears.”

2. A more pensive middle stretch starting with “Done Paying Taxes” and ending with “No News Is Good News.”

3. A leave-it-all-on-the-floor final act starting with “I Hate Music” through the end of the record. 

For a while, I straight-up didn’t like this middle stretch of the album. The songs were sadder and slower and felt far away from the peppy pop-punk shreddin’ of the band’s prior work. At one point, I even took the time to make a reqesuenced playlist, combining my favorite songs off Subtitles and Nasal Use into one album-length experience that flowed in its own way. It wasn’t that I outright hated any of these songs; I was just toying around with them as individual pieces in a way you do whenever you’re a deep enough fan of anything. 

I’d throw on the new Carpool album once every week or so throughout the new year, continuing to digest it, and each time, I’d find little moments that would jump out to me: lyrics or instrumental bits that would land differently than the last time I heard them. I still viewed the album in these three acts and still generally liked the first and third better than the middle, but that ebb and flow gradually just started to feel like part of the journey.

I suppose I can cut straight to the chase and say I actually like the album a lot more now, especially after seeing some of these songs live. A comparison that at one point felt astute to me was lining up these two Carpool albums with Nirvana’s last two albums. Much like Nirvana stacked hook after hook on Nevermind, Carpool backed a bunch of rockin’, cheery(-sounding), sing-along hooks against each other. Then, much like Nirvana got darker, angrier, and a little more writerly on In Utero, Carpool have created something that’s more challenging, engaging, and interesting than a record full of hooks. 

On My Life In Subtitles, the band takes you on this winding overview of their life, which is also your life for the entire duration of the record. They absorb you into this world, make you invested in their journey, and then deposit you off safe and sound with a beautiful little piano loop. This experience is broken down in loving detail through this blog’s own review, one I actually didn’t write but am in total alignment with from an editorial standpoint. I really do think the album is brilliant in a lot of ways, from the songwriting and the instrumentals to the design and packaging to the multitude of music videos they were able to create in the lead-up to its release. Everything culminates in one big, swirling 40-minute monument that acts as much as a document of a life as it is a document about life. 

That brings me to the real core of this piece because, in March, I joined Carpool on the road for four days, catching the band’s first three shows of the year and their album release on Friday, March 22nd. Of course, this was a dream come true. To be able to take time off work and follow a band on the road is something I would never have imagined in the early days of this blog, and I was only able to achieve this through covering a band, engaging with their work, and developing a relationship with them that felt like it was built on mutual admiration.

I didn’t let on about my initial reservations about the album; I still enjoyed it and didn’t want the band members to think I was there for anything else. I believe in Carpool and felt grateful they would open their band up to me in any way, so I asked them, and they said yes the same day. Fucking awesome. 

I enlisted the help of Joshua Sullivan, a local friend, filmmaker, and musician in his own right who knew how to work a camera. At the time, Josh was actually in the process of finishing up his own feature-length film, all shot, edited, and released DIY, which was a scale and ambition I admired. The two of us had already spent a few long nights nerding out about music, so I knew he’d gel with Carpool, too. On March 21st, we drove up to meet the band in Richmond, Virginia, for night one of the tour. We were officially on the road with Carpool.

Click here to watch the full tour documentary and read part 2 of this essay.