95COROLLA – LONG TIME LISTENER / FIRST TIME CALLER | Album Review

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We’re Trying Records

I’m thinking of a specific moment right now. The memory feels hazy, but I know I’m standing at a show, the lineup obscured by many years of tall cans and spliffs. My mind is trying so hard to conjure pictures or faces and is failing miserably. But my body remembers the sounds, the hum and vibrations of the instruments, the feeling of strangers pressed around me on all sides, as we’re all screaming and dripping sweat. Must be 100 degrees in that living room; it smells like stale beer and BO while several someones are lighting joints, thickening the limited oxygen with plumes of weed smoke. The band is two songs in, and they are in an absolute flow state, playing so loud that the air density begins to change, becoming viscous, submerging the separation of us in the crowd and them up front until it fully dissolves as we all move and yell and climb and dance together. It's absolute ecstasy. It can be, in my opinion, the type of moment that turns someone who goes to shows every once in a while to a person who is at every single one. 

Every scene has had “their band” for “their time.” As much as the internet has given us all the gift of feeling like we’re in those living rooms, basements, and community spaces, the painful truth is that we weren’t. I can only tell you what it was like seeing Joyce Manor play at The Cabin, the same way someone from the Miami scene can only tell us what it was like to see Glocca Mora play FEST. In this same vein of something special happening before the rest of us fully catch on, so too is Nashville having their moment with local punkmo outfit 95COROLLA. The band’s debut album, LONG TIME LISTENER / FIRST TIME CALLER, captures, morphs, and evolves 2000s arena emo, reverse engineering its finer points and injecting them with the distilled atmospheric ambrosia of the $5 house show.

The album opens with a voicemail, which sounds like the caller is suffering from different injuries, possibly head trauma, before the band kicks into some soaring and thematic mid-aughts riffage. This sort of concussed recounting makes multiple appearances throughout the album, weaving in and out of clear, sharp storytelling before falling back into the occasional fog of a somewhat obfuscated narrative. 

Calling the first full track of the album, “TO BE CAREFUL,” anthemic would be a significant undersell, as its structure of build and chorus triggers deep, deep yearning for a crowd to surf and careen off of. The song builds to a turbulence that quickly spikes and jumps, perfectly mimicking the abrupt panic and eerie calmness of getting “that” phone call. Never before has the horror of a car accident felt so catchy and huge (yeah, I said it), and that's the ultimate rub, at least in my opinion, on this album: covering the complex feelings of living and breathing with the delicate outlines of temporal absurdity, all assembled into a collection of tracks that would be an easy pick for any Tony Hawk game.

This seems to be the specific balance 95COROLLA strikes between having the joyous, style saccharine emo punk with a ponderous yet snarky lyricism that feels like Bren Lukens and Diablo Cody fighting for control of the pen. This battle occurs throughout the album on songs like “PLANTER” and “NO COAST.” There’s an almost 4th-person narrative where the songs feel as though there’s some type of out-of-body experiences being grounded but in the most non-euclidean way possible communicated as awkward, cloying, spiritual gasps in lyrics like 

We dance it, dance around it, I’ve been here before
I’m outside your window, your outside my door
No chance about it, chance about it, I fell on the floor
I’m fucking landlocked

The album’s third single, “NOTHNXLOL,” is so dreadfully catchy that I almost missed the whisper of my stomach knotting. Meanwhile, “NOTHING MAJOR” operates as a vehicle for fun, dancy, and moshable riffs while laundering in lyrics like

Can you imagine
It's just a quick incision
Replace the face if you want to
Rearrange the shape if you want to
I don't need anybody else
I can fuck this all up myself
I can think of nothing more permanent
Than a fucking temporary fix

which really didn’t sink in for me until the 4th listen-through. And trust me, the subsequent listens still feel as hot-breathed and infectious as the first spin, with its undeniability remaining even after you return to the world outside of the album.

All of this is already quite engrossing when it’s coming in through the decaying speaker system of your 2011 Honda Civic, so I can only imagine what the 95COROLLA live experience is like. As much as this album is easy to disappear into, I still wanted to get a bit of confirmation that what I’m hearing is what is being felt, so I asked fellow Nashvillain Douglas Kinsella of Tennessee fever dream screamo twinkle dadmo revivalists, Captain Jazz what one could expect from a ‘ROLLA live show and he had this to say:

“95Corolla hits the first few notes, and suddenly you're there: Watching FuseTV on a glowing CRT with the lights off, memorizing call and response choruses for nighttime car rides. Sneaking into a theater with a 12-pack RC Cola, reading tabs for Senses Fail b-sides until you're knocked free of nostalgia by the shoulder of the moshpit.”

Yeah, that sounds about right. 

I still can’t remember the lineup that I’m thinking of, and frankly, I don’t think it matters. It could’ve been so many different shows with so many different bands. The thing that remains constant is the feeling. The “I know this is where I’m supposed to be” type feeling that now invokes the twinges of joyful melancholy that my years removed from that time have produced. Still, I’m pressing play on LONG TIME LISTENER / FIRST TIME CALLER, and I am transported back to that living room, surrounded by people who I don’t talk to anymore as we smile and scream unintelligibly. The band, which could be any band, is playing every note right and singing every word I want, possibly even need to hear, and the night could be any night, with people spilling out the front of the house. The show will end soon, and we’ll go out to eat somewhere. I am as alive as I’ll ever be.

Elias is a southern California-based music writer relishing the recent screamo renaissance in the area. You can occasionally find them bugging bands about their old forgotten projects on the podcast Not Just A Phase, where they also write reviews for the blog. Their handle @letsgetpivotal can be found across multiple social media platforms, including Instagram and Twitter.

Sinai Vessel – I SING | Album Review

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Keeled Scales

A few months back, I read a book about the dialysis industry called How to Make a Killing: Blood, Death and Dollars in American Medicine. I went in knowing almost nothing about the subject and came out incredibly angry. This is often the price that you pay for learning things; you go from seeing strip mall dialysis centers every day without giving them a second thought to not being able to see one without gritting your teeth and thinking of the ways the people inside are getting screwed over in the name of profit. All because you decided to read a book. 

It puts you in a bind. There are so many reasons why it’s important to be informed about the world around you, but being informed can really suck. Oftentimes, it feels like fighting your ignorance comes at the cost of becoming a constantly incensed and insufferable person. The advice given to counter this is usually inadequate. You're told to remember that we’re all just on a big rock spinning in space, you only have one life to live, you can’t fight for others without keeping yourself well. All of this is true to some extent, but none of it really helps; at this point, we’ve all heard it so much that it feels cheap. In the end, we’re left with a latent anger bubbling beneath the surface as we try our best to live happy and fulfilling lives.

Sinai Vessel’s I SING is an album steeped in this reality. “Can't ride my bike at sunset down a nice street / Past beautiful houses without clenching my teeth / Rolling my eyes / Or imagining myself begging the owners for a chance of relief,” Caleb Cordes sings over soft chords and pedal steel on “Laughing” before continuing, “Suspicious that the circumstance / Has less to do with aptitude or failure to plan / And more with the cardinal sin of not being born to rich parents.” It’s a chunk of lyrics with real bite, delivered over a serene backdrop, driving home the feeling that the sentiment being deployed here comes from a long-building frustration rather than new or short-term anger. As the track continues, Cordes ponders on the failed promise of trickle-down economics before ultimately accepting, at least in the moment, a sense of helplessness where one can’t do much but just sit there and laugh. 

This kind of cursed awareness is also central to “Attack,” the album’s penultimate and most ambitious track. The song begins with a slow build, starting with just acoustic guitar, vocals, and a subtle ambient drone, and finds Cordes approaching the subject from a different angle. Both songs are about acceptance of the feelings brought by heightened awareness of the conditions around us, but where “Laughing” focuses on how this awareness can bring feelings of helplessness and madness, “Attack” focuses on how it can be a catalyst for growth. “This is my A.D. / Today, something dies in me,” we hear after Cordes decides to welcome in discomfort’s attack, “Something dies that needs to go / Something dies, I let it go.” 

Throughout “Attack,” the narrator’s progression is matched by the music, which very slowly ratchets up, first with piano joining in around the three-and-a-half-minute mark and then the full band finally arriving five minutes in. This climax, while satisfying, is big without feeling triumphant the way we often see in longer epics. We’re presented with growth, but the instrumentation makes clear that there isn’t necessarily salvation; it’s just a step forward. 

This kind of restrained arrangement is one of the things that makes the songs across I SING resonate so strongly. There are clear Heartland Rock influences at play, but where we might see a band like The Menzingers use this palette to paint pictures of the anthemic, Sinai Vessel instead takes from the genre’s more ethereal side. There is always something in the mix subtly ringing out to affix a glow around the rest of the track, be it the soft synth hanging back on “Birthday” or the long-ringing smooth-moving bass line on “Dollar.” Though it’s not a direct sonic comparison, there’s something about the approach that reminds me of the way Bruce Hornsby and the Range use piano and synths to create textures that make their songs about small towns and the people who live in them feel otherworldly. In the case of I SING, the ethereal nature of the instrumentation lulls you into the feeling of being lost in thought, priming you to look inside and reflect. 

So much of I SING is about the internal struggles inherent in dealing with the world around you, so when “Window Blue” starts with “Man, I would’ve been alright / If you’d been there every night of my life / Telling me to shut the fuck up / Man I would’ve been fine,” I cracked a smile. In my experience, the best tonic for the latent anger discussed to this point is community. Though you don’t want to build community with people who are constantly hand-waving away your feelings or concerns, there is a lot of value in having someone that will, in a friendly way, tell you to shut the fuck up when your neurosis begins to take center stage in your life. Actual human friendship and interaction can’t be replaced by self-regulation and advice read on the internet. It’s really poignant that the song on this album that offers the listener the most comfort is the one most focused on others. 

“Best Witness,” the song immediately following “Window Blue,” further explores the comfort of friends by bringing us back down to think about the struggle we face when community becomes hard to find. Here, Cordes sings from the point of view of somebody struggling to find the kind of friends you make when you’re younger, observing, “Out here, here / I care for me best / Out here, here / I’m my best witness.” This type of solitude is tough to survive under; ultimately, connection and reassurance are needed from the type of connections paid tribute to in “Window Blue” with Cordes singing, “Sweet brother, can I call you? / I’m not doing well / Can you state the obvious? / Will you say you love me still?”  

Though nothing can replace the type of companionship pined after on “Window Blue” and “Best Witness,” there is something similarly comforting about having an album like I SING that so frankly addresses what it’s like living in this current moment as somebody coming out of young adulthood. So often, as I move through my day, taking in information about what’s going on around me and throughout the world, I begin to feel a bit like I’m losing my mind. When I see other people’s reactions to things, these feelings accelerate, and while this is all happening, more and more life responsibilities are popping up everywhere. I SING isn’t an album that says everything’s going to be alright, but it is an album that shows me someone else observing the type of things I’m observing and struggling in similar ways. It’s not a “you’re fine” record but a “you’re not alone” record, and right now, I think the latter is far more valuable. 

Josh Ejnes is a writer and musician living in Chicago. You can keep up with his writing on music and sports on Twitter and listen to his band Cutaway Car here.

Pitchfork Music Festival 2024 Recap

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As far as music festivals go, Pitchfork tends to be one of the better ones. It may not be as gargantuan as Lollapalooza, as buzzy as Coachella, or as tapped-in as Rolling Loud, but you know what Pitchfork has that most other festivals don’t? Identity. 

For better or worse, Pitchfork is a festival designed around one of the world’s most influential music publications and the particular tastes of its readers. Since this festival is centered around such a longstanding entity, the lineup tends to be more curated and intentional than other festivals which often fall into the trap of trying to be everything to everyone. Sure, it’s easy to look at lineups for bigger festivals and imagine how cool it would be to see Megan The Stallion, Deftones, Ethel Cain, and blink-182 in the same place, but in practice, it’s sweaty, messy, overpriced, and you rarely get to “see” many of those artists in a genuine way. 

In contrast, Chicago’s Union Park also translates to a near-perfect festival layout, converting its 13.5 acres of grassy fields and tree-lined borders into wide-open spectacles and tucked-away stages that each feel like distinct areas. There’s ample room for the festival’s three main stages, food vendors, beer tents, merch stations, record stores, local artists, companies handing out free tchotchkes, and a smaller side stage dedicated to artist interviews. It can get pretty packed, but it’s never that hard to traverse, and you can generally get a pretty great view of any artist’s set, especially if you plan ahead a little bit. 

Location aside, the “indie”-leaning lineup of Pitchfork feels like it typically strikes a nice balance between up-and-coming bands, recent breakthroughs, and more enduring legacy acts of all genres. This year, the top-level headliners closing out each day were Black Pumas, Jamie xx, and Alanis Morissette. Directly beneath them, you had artists like Jai Paul, 100 gecs, Carly Rae Jepsen, and MUNA, all legendary projects to a very specific type of person. I personally was excited for Saturday’s shoegaze gambit, where the schedule flowed from Hotline TNT to Feeble Little Horse and Wednesday, each stacked one after the other like the promoters took a page directly from my Spotify Wrapped. 

I’ve only attended one other Pitchfork Music Festival in 2022, so I was eager to return and see what’s changed in the last couple of years. Going in, I was interested in how Pitchfork’s recent fusing with GQ under Condé Nast would impact the vibe, if at all. Truthfully, I wasn’t planning on  until Swim Into The Sound’s own David Williams approached me with a behind-the-scenes photo pass, and I didn’t want to miss out on that opportunity. Below, you’ll find thoughts from me, David, and Logan Archer Mounts on the weekend, along with David’s photography, all shot on 35mm film for maximum coolness. 

Day 1

My group ambled into Union Park at 1 pm on the dot, right as the first band was ramping up. The fields were empty, the sun was out, and all the vendors were at the ready with beer and hot dogs. It’s always fun to see festival grounds like this before they get trampled in and filled out by the crowds; there’s a sense of boundless possibilities knowing that three full days of live music await you. Black Duck prattled through a jazzy improvised set that felt like a nice way to roll into the day with relaxed vibes. Angry Blackmen were true to their name, bringing an aggro hip-hop energy that felt like it properly set the festivities off before ML Buch took us to gazy dreamland.

Rosali was one of the first acts on the lineup that I was actively excited for; her album from earlier this year is excellent and has one of the most striking covers of 2024. Exactly as I had hoped, Rosali brought the homespun southern rock vibes, with her backing band locked in for a couple of inspiring jams, including a particularly rousing version of “My Kind.” The group closed their set with “Rewind,” an absolutely undeniable song that was joyful to watch unfold live on stage after being obsessed with it since January.

After a quick lunch break (aka paying $20 for a chicken wrap), I caught slices of Billy Woods, Amen Dunes, and Sudan Archives, each of whom had their own commanding presence. Billy Woods and Kenny Segal kept the crowd on their toes with off-kilter beats and urgent lyricism while Sudan Archives strutted through a solo set of hip-hop-infused R&B, pulling out her violin at key moments and shredding a melody before sheathing it and returning to vocal duties. 

Back in May, we published a review of Amen Dunes' most recent album, which I quite enjoyed but leaned in a reserved, ambient direction. I was surprised to see him playing with a full band and playing such “band” type songs. Their whole set was super fun, oscillating between a DIIV-like grooviness and slightly more upbeat numbers that sounded almost like Future Islands.

Yaeji graced the Red Stage with a theatrical performance shelving out hit after electronic hit during the tail end of day one. Dressed in Shaq-sized cargo shorts and a black tank top, Yaeji moved and grooved through the summer sun with ease. Her blend of R&B, techno, and synth-pop had everyone’s attention the moment she started her set. The crowd erupted when one of her biggest hit songs, “Raingurl,” bled through the speakers, sparking an impromptu dance-off among the fans.
– David Williams

Yaeji to 100 gecs was a pretty lateral move, but definitely brought the Friday Energy that we needed and helped make it feel like the party was really starting in earnest. I watched about half of the 100 gecs set and realized I barely knew their latest album. I still enjoyed seeing “stupid horse” live and will admit that I got full-body goosebumps during the chorus of “Hollywood Baby,” but the set could only feel so “big” given that it was just two people playing songs off a computer. It's still cool to see 100 gecs live after following them for so long, but I’m not sure their set quite hit it home for me. 

I didn’t watch all of Jai Paul’s set, but I did walk by Red Stage just to see the man in the flesh with my own two eyes. I had places to be, specifically catching Jeff Rosenstock’s set over on the blue stage, which was exactly as energetic, shouty, and boisterous as any Jeff Rosenstock set I’ve ever witnessed. The crowd was jumpin, Jeff crowd-surfed while playing sax, and I ate a Chicago dog while taking it all in, a great way to cap off day one. 

I left before Black Pumas started playing both because I didn’t care to catch their set but also because I was headed over to Subterranean to catch Hotline TNT’s aftershow, which was more like a pre-show since they were playing the next day. I watched the opening band, Graham Hunt, from the upper-level balcony, and then I was able to make it right up front for Hotline’s set, which was a swirling delight of hypnotic riffs and loud-ass guitars. I was beyond tired at the end of day one, but it was worth it to see a band like that play an entire set from less than ten feet away.

Day 2

Chicago’s own Lifeguard kicked off day two with the sort of youthful energy only achievable by a group of kids still approaching their twenties. At various points, the trio shifted around from a traditional lineup of guitar, drums, and bass to drums and two guitars, all rendered in an impressive and jagged post-punk style. The lead singer, Kai Slater, was on crutches, so he played the entire set seated, but with that loss of mobility came the opportunity to use one of his crutches during a solo, which was a helluva way to start things off as we sipped on our free coffee.

I caught parts of L’Rain and Kara Jackson before Saturday’s shoegaze onslaught. L’Rain brought the dreamy vibes with lots of slow post-rock builds, mellow beats, and gorgeous vocals layered on top of everything. I only caught a song or two from Kara Jackson, but they were jaw-droppingly beautiful. At one point, she interpolated SZA’s “Love Galore,” and the crowd let out a “Woo!” of recognition. 

Starting at 2:45, Hotline TNT rocked reliably, fusing together into one giant mass of riffage, and even broke out a few songs that they hadn’t played the night before. The crowd was consistently swaying and head-bobbing but didn’t seem to erupt into the same type of chaos I had witnessed at Subterranean, presumably because people were saving their energy for the rest of the weekend.

Feeble Little Horse were wild to see in concert after feeling like they were on the brink of breaking up after an untimely hiatus right as they dropped their second album. It was still too close to Black Country, New Road’s shakeup, and fans were bummed but understanding as we wished the band the best and hoped for their eventual return. Seeing a song like “Chores” live was an experience; there are so many janky little beats and knotty twists in their songs, it was impressive to see them break that all out live. At one point between songs, the guitarist stepped up to the mic and said, “These are songs from an album Pitchfork gave a seven,” which got a laugh from the crowd before he continued incredulously, “We’re like, ‘why are we here?’ Why do they want us?”

At one point, we were halfway through Feeble Little Horse’s set, and I was glimpsing over my shoulder to see Wednesday sound-checking on the Green Stage and felt like I was in my own personal slice of heaven. To be sandwiched between these two bands I’ve been listening to obsessively for years was almost too much for my brain and brain to compute. 

Shortly after that, Wednesday ripped through a scorching set of career-spanning material, rolling through songs from all three of their albums, plus a Drive-By Truckers song thrown in for good measure. They played a few new songs and lightly teased their upcoming album in an interview directly after the set, with Karly stating she’s even more proud of this batch of songs than their last but promising it very much feels like a continuation of Rat Saw God. Of course, the North Carolinians ended their set with the titanic “Bull Believer,” allowing the audience a chance to air out any anger and frustrations they might have had at that moment, either with life or just the state of the world. It was cathartic, it was twangy, it was beautiful.

De La Soul’s set was a celebration for hip-hop, and as DJ Maseo yelled over the microphone, “40 years of friendship!” Legendary rap group gave the crowd exactly what was advertised with a nostalgic trip down memory lane, performing their biggest hits, “Potholes in My Lawn,” and my personal favorite, “Me, Myself and I,” courtesy of the film Good Burger. Surprise guests Talib Kweli and Pharoahe Monche kept the crowd jumping nonstop. Posdnuos made it a point to tell the fans in attendance that it was his duty to bring it for them every night. De La Soul lived up to that reputation tenfold.
– David Williams

Between sets, I got to chat with MJ Lenderman and capture his portrait in 35mm film, which I like because the photos look cleaner and more classic. Film is timeless; there's a reason why movies today still look better shot in 35mm instead of digital. The portraits of him and the band give a vintage feel that, if you didn’t know better, you might not know if the photo was taken yesterday or 30 years ago. Lenderman's reputation of having an everyman demeanor was right on the mark as he couldn't have been a more gracious and friendly guy as he put up with my silly questions like "Who's your all-time favorite wrestler?" (Rey Mysterio and Mick Foley) or "What ‘dumb hat’ were you singing about that drew so much ire in "Taste Just Like It Costs?" (A golf visor). Truly a hat so hideous that it’s worthy to be sung about with such disgust. 
– David Williams

After screaming it out to Wednesday and catching Karly Hartzman’s post-set interview, it was time for a pulled-pork sandwich and Bratmobile, who brought hearty doses of Pacific Northwest riot grrrl energy. After that vent session, it was time to get a good spot for The Queen, aka Carly Rae Jepsen. We scootched up as close as we could comfortably get while still having ample room to dance and jump around for a solid hour as Carly jumped from one sugary confection to the next. I had seen her back in 2019, and this set was just as elating and life-affirming as the one I saw five years ago. 

Day 3

Day three started a little slower (because I’m in my thirties, and three days of music festing was beginning to take a toll), so we headed over to Union Park an hour or two after doors to catch glimpses of Joana Sternberg, Maxo, and Nala Sinephro.

I took a chance on Nala Sinephro from a friend’s recommendation as “a killer ambient artist,” which was enough to sell me. Although at my first Pitchfork Fest back in 2011, I caught ambient titan Tim Hecker on the Blue Stage, who played right around the golden hour while other, louder acts played on the mainstages, and I can’t say it was the perfect setting. Sinephro was much more than just drones, though; her band ran through spaced-out jazz and rhythmic electronic music as Sinephro alternated between harp and keyboards. It was a beautiful way to ease into day three, and I’m anxiously awaiting her new album in September.
– Logan Archer Mounts

Model/Actriz frontman Cole Haden started the band’s set by coming out, applying lipstick, then walking across the stage and posing with a purse before grabbing the mic. That was about all I saw before catching MUNA and Mannequin Pussy interviews on the side stage, which was a much chiller (and much needed) way to start the day on a relaxed note. 

From there, Jessica Pratt brought some of the prettiest vibes of the whole fest, with everyone in the band sitting, so it really felt like an intimate, laid-back show you’d catch in a backyard or a beer garden. “I look like a pallbearer,” Jessica Pratt slyly says into the mic, dressed in all black, practically melting under the hot mid-July sun. Fortunately, that heat didn’t stop her from delivering an intimate set that the crowd enjoyed with a hushed tone during the full hour, giving Pratt the space to clear out for her brilliant storytelling and gorgeous melodies.
– David Williams

Mannequin Pussy started a few minutes late and dealt with a couple of technical difficulties, but they are true rock stars and ran through their scheduled set exactly as intended. Missy is probably one of the best front people in music right now, dancing, posing, and strutting across the stage without missing a growl. At one point, Missy asked all the boys in the audience to raise their hands because she “wanted to see what kind of fucked up dude would go to a Mannequin Pussy Show” then asked us all to scream “pussy” as loud as they could and simply replied “pathetic” when it wasn’t loud enough. She then asked the entire crowd to scream the same thing simultaneously because everything’s better together, right? They played all the hits off this year’s I Got Heaven and slammed all their one-minute punk tracks back-to-back toward the end of the setlist for a full-throttle injection of adrenaline that kept the pit in constant motion. Simply one of the best. 

How many opportunities do you get to see a hip-hop pioneer live in the flesh? Grandmaster Flash is hip-hop’s Lewis and Clark, so this was a must-see set if only to see the face of the man who helped lay the groundwork for an entire genre. Grandmaster Flash was on DJ duty, spinning the 1s and 2s, keeping everyone’s energy up under the humid heat. Getting to hear the beat to “White Lines” live, one of the greatest straightedge anthems ever, was an absolute treat. Only second to Flash dropping in “Sweet Home Alabama” and then immediately shouting “FUCK A STATE TROOPER!” At the Visit Austin Interview stage, I got genuinely emotional listening to Flash talk about the birth of sampling and his “quick mix theory,” how he used to buy two copies of one record, mark them up with crayon to count how many times a record revolved with one beat loop, and switching between turntables to create the endless pattern. Also, he invented the turntable slipmat with the help of his seamstress mother because there was too much traction on his early decks for him to be able to do his scratching and backmasking. An absolute legend.
– Logan Archer Mounts

I generally think of MUNA as something not for me, but I’ll admit, watching the band bounce around the stage (and off each other) as the sun set was a pretty picturesque music festival experience. The songs started to blend together a bit toward the end of the set, but you know I had to show up and throw down for “Silk Chiffon.”

Care to witness a show based solely on chillwave vibes? Then look no further to the psychedelic rock group Crumb. Their song "AMAMA" was a personal favorite of mine, where it feels like you just get strapped in and feel the grooves from the jump. Whenever you see them, just know that they will have you swaying back and forth like one of those inflatable tubes you spot at random gas stations. 
– David Williams 

Les Savy Fav is exactly the type of band I want to see more of at Pitchfork. I grew up on 2000s indie rock, and even though Les Savy Fav wasn’t my most listened-to band of the time, I had always hoped they would get back out there after their hiatus began in the early 2010s. After an exhilarating performance on Riot Fest weekend in 2021, the NYC group brought the same energy back to Pitchfork, now on the heels of their excellent new album OUI, LSF. Like Model/Actriz earlier in the day, singer Tim Harrington spent most of the set in the audience, beginning minutes before the first note was even played by riding a Lime scooter around the crowd, then straight down the center to the barricade before jumping onto the stage. Harrington was covered in glitter with a neon-dyed hair/beard combo and a shirt that read “I’M JUST HAPPY TO BE HERE,” which was removed a few songs into the performance to reveal the same message scrawled onto his stomach. Whether they were playing their ten-week-old songs or their ten-year-old songs, Les Savy Fav was an uncontrollable ball of energy for the duration of their 45 minutes, raucously closing out the Blue Stage for the weekend. 
– Logan Archer Mounts

Brittany Howard brought electronic-infused funk rock to the Red Stage on Sunday night, going deep into her seemingly endless bag of skills. She quarterbacked the entire set, using each instrument at various points and playing each one with the confidence and panache you would expect from someone of her caliber. She pulled off an effortless and joyous performance that felt like the perfect soundtrack as the sun wound down to night. 
– David Williams

Finally, the inimitable Alanis Morissette closed out Sunday with a set that pulled heavily from Jagged Little Pill in addition to tracks from her entire repertoire, sometimes only playing a verse and a chorus of a song as a transition between two others. It felt theatrical, with potential inspiration from her Jagged Little Pill musical that’s been running the last few years. She had the crowd wrapped around the hand in her pocket the entire time; her voice is still absolutely unreal, and watching her close out such a fantastic and full weekend was special.

Virginity – Bad Jazz | Album Review

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Smartpunk Records

There’s this video of Deer Tick playing “La Bamba” at Firehouse 13 that I used to watch almost every day when I was in high school. It was the coolest shit I’d ever seen, and it made me want to play in a band so bad just because I wanted to be part of something like that. This is a feeling I often find myself chasing when checking out new music; many surface-level things might make me like a band, but the bands that I come to love are the ones that make me feel how I did when I was watching that video–like being in a band is the coolest thing in the world. 

Bad Jazz, the latest release from Florida power-pop outfit Virginity, is an album that makes me feel this way. Simply put, Virginity just sound like a band that would rule to be in. It’s unbelievable how densely they’ve packed Bad Jazz with moments that light the pleasure centers of your brain on fire: the chorus of “2 Sad 2 Get Stoned,” the jangly guitar on “Any Good Thing,” the bass slides on “Midweekend,” it all just hits. Awesome moments keep feeding into awesome moments, with so many payoffs that had me viscerally nodding my head the way I do when Columbo hits a suspect with the “just one more thing.”

“2 Sad 2 Get Stoned” is my favorite track on the album and one of the best rock songs I’ve heard this year. It also exemplifies a contrast found across Bad Jazz; these swaggering songs that sound like they could soundtrack the best night of your life are largely about feelings of doubt and inadequacy. “Is this where you saw yourself when you pictured the progress that you’d hoped to make, or has that been postponed?” At the song's start, Casey Crawford sings over a foreboding backdrop of low thundering toms and swelling guitars, “Was the image that you conjured a portrait of you laid up for weeks, feeling too sad to get stoned?” 

As the track continues, what was simmering boils over, and the song shoots forward into a ferociously sung pre-chorus before turning back for another anticipation-building verse. The next time we get through the pre-chorus, things take off into the kind of soaring hook rock critic Ken Tucker was looking for when he applied some number 45 sunblock and went fishing for power-pop. What really sells this hook is Crawford belting it without inhibition; this is something that’s consistent across the album’s best choruses, he often gets about as close to yelling as you can get without actually yelling. The fact that he’s so palpably giving it his all gets you so hyped you feel like you could throw a football 300 yards. It has a similar appeal as the chorus of Superdrag’s “Sucked Out,” where you hear John Davis’ voice border on cracking, there’s just nothing else like a vocal that sounds like it’s approaching the edge. 

Even when Crawford’s singing is more reserved, like early on in “Swinging South,” there's a Chekov’s Gun-like quality where you know he could floor it and send the band into overdrive at any moment. When Crawford steps on the gas, the instrumentation never fails to meet him; when a hook gets you hyped, a drum fill keeps you there, and there’s always a hot guitar lead or bass lick just when the song calls for it. When Virginity go hard (which is most of the time), they commit fully, and their fearlessness in pursuit of this pure rocking momentum can only come from an unfakeable confidence in the music they're making. 

This self-assuredness is never more evident than on the appropriately named “Nashville Hot Chicken,” a blistering love song that lasts just over two minutes because if it were any longer, the band would spontaneously combust. Here, we see Virginity working from a place of bliss rather than doubt as Crawford sings about the intoxicating promise of a budding new relationship: “Still not tired, isn’t that strange? I’m over most folks within a day.” The song's energy matches the rush you feel in the early stages of love, where you realize that this really might be something.

Virginity are able to hit it out of the park over and over again on Bad Jazz because they fully believe in what they’re doing. It’s an album without half-measures or choices made to please a specific audience or algorithm. The music, even when it’s about sucking, is made with the kind of unbridled joy that I saw in that Deer Tick video back in high school. This is a joy that can so easily be ripped away from a band by various external forces early on in their existence; the fact that Virginity have been able to hold onto it and put it on this record is special. Its presence throughout the album reminds us that as we oscillate between feelings of frustration/love/doubt, there will always be joy to be found. This is something that’s tough to convey without sounding cheesy or trite, which is why the way Bad Jazz makes you feel it, in a way that goes beyond any specific words or lyrics, is so valuable. It’s life-affirming music, and I think that’s the coolest thing in the world. 

Josh Ejnes is a writer and musician living in Chicago. You can keep up with his writing on music and sports on Twitter and listen to his band Cutaway Car here.

Webbed Wing – Vol. III | Album Review

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Memory Music

No matter how many parties you attend, vacations you plan, or hours you spend napping under a blue sky, there’s always a point in the summer when the sun’s glow turns into sunburns. Suddenly, the season’s promise becomes covered in sweat and mosquito bites. The once-endless days that stretched before you are now hazy nights long behind you. When the sun goes down, it’s all briefly too much: too hot, too humid, the day was too long, and oh yeah, are my friends, like, mad at me or something? Did I suck at that party I just left? Why is the bar always so crowded? It's like 100 degrees out. Do I just need to drink water or something? The overwhelming nature of the season sets as fast and low as a sudden summer storm cloud.

With guitars that test how high your car speakers can go and lyrics that dictate a spiraling internal monologue, Superheaven’s Taylor Madison and Jake Clarke are back with Mike Paulshock for Webbed Wing’s loudest project yet, Vol. III. The group’s third album solidifies the genre-melding music Webbed Wing is best at–combining garage grunge, 90s alt-radio rock, and fuzzed-out country with their signature guitar shredding. Through ten tracks, Vol. III, soundtracks that looming feeling that you did something wrong at a house party, and also maybe your whole life, while you sit on a plastic lawn chair in jorts. 

If you weren’t ready to rock out with the album’s opener, “Further,” you have about two seconds to brace yourself before “Tortuga” kicks in. The chords hang low, surrounded by static, as Madison laments the bitter feeling that he drags the people around him down. This is a common thread throughout the album, a near-obsessive worry about how others might see you–not how they actually criticize you, but how you think they might. Through the song, the pang of insecurity winds through the guitar strings as the opening static builds into the first livewire solo of the album. The repeated lyrics fold into the melody as the guitar soars and dives in a way that feels almost improvised if it wasn’t so precise. The solo is full of frustration but pushes forward, ultimately crossing the finish line of the impossible race the lyrics describe.

If “Further” was a race, then “So It Goes” is an all-out sprint. It’s the music for a montage at a particularly frustrating part of a movie, and it’s the song that will make you jump at a show. The track feels chasmic as it repeats the universal conclusion, “You’re never gonna get what you feel like you’re owed.” While in other bands this might be a particularly grim lyric, spiteful even, it’s not with Webbed Wing. Instead, it’s factual; it’s just a reality-based observation. The band threads this declaration through the song and ties it together with a relentlessly heavy drum beat, delivering a crushing weight before a brief lull.

The final hum of “So It Goes” feeds directly into “Hero’s Death” – the closest Vol. III ever gets to a breather. The song diverts from the cannonballing drums and pick slides for quieter introspection, allowing the audience a brief period of reflection now that they’ve reached the halfway point. It sits amongst other recent ballad breaks like Militarie Gun’s “See You Around” or Liquid Mike’s “Am,” and its twang feels evocative of Ratboys’ “Black Earth, WI.” While other songs on the album use indirectness to convey their observations, this one looks the listener straight on and relies on layers of self-doubt combined with tongue-in-cheek overconfidence to protect itself from vulnerability. While the personal lyrics toe the line between humor and honesty, the outrageous desires laid out in the lyrics meet the sound, creating a huge and spiraling song. After sitting on your roof in a panic about how weird the summer has been, it’s the equivalent of tipping your head back, breathing in the night air, and staring at the stars sprawling across the sky. It’s not a solution, but it’s a break.

Past an always-appreciated whistle break in “Change Me,” the Nashville keyboard in “I Shared a Cell,” and the psychedelia-infused riffs of “Take It From Me” are the final barnstormers of the album. Vol. III (and Webbed Wing generally) is, first and foremost, a necessary case study on why guitars are the coolest thing in the world, and “Where Mortal Men Dare Not Tread” is the album’s best example. It’s a stoner rock instrumental track that digs its roots deep and spirals up, big and bold, casting a shadow on the rest of the songs. It looms, it sneers, it has a harmonica. Fueled by brash kinetic energy, it reminds me of the relentless buzz of cicadas on a summer night and the feeling that the night sky that briefly offered solace might crash down around you at any moment. 

The album ends on “My Front Door,” the last chance for Webbed Wing to throw in everything they have. The closer takes several turns, switching between the final song a radio station DJ might play before their shift ends and the encore a beloved country act would break out at the end of a festival after the amps have already been humming with hours of electricity. But its finality is apparent as it lulls the album to a natural close. Between a stadium drumbeat, a brief bass solo, and guitar riffs outrunning the rest of the song, “My Front Door” feels like the sun is slowly coming up on the horizon. 

Every weird, gross summer night will end eventually, and the sun will come up. That doesn’t mean that things that ignited exhaustion are suddenly gone; it’s just an assurance that there will always be another day. Similarly, Webbed Wing is not in the business of just saying it’ll be fine, it will happen, and it will eventually be over, and it might happen again. So, unstick your thighs from that lawn chair, turn off the porch light, and call it a night. 

Caro Alt’s (she/her) favorite thing in the world is probably collecting CDs. Caro is from New Orleans, Louisiana and spends her time not sorting her CD collection even though she really, really needs to.