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On The Beths’ album Expert In A Dying Field, Elizabeth Stokes’ songwriting positions her somewhere between being a novelist and a documentarian. The songs collected here are autobiographical, but they’re also character sketches of relationships – platonic, familial, romantic – and more importantly, their aftermaths. The shapes and ghosts left in absences. The question that hangs in the air: what do you do with how intimately versed you’ve become in a person, once they’re gone from your life?

The third LP from the New Zealand quartet houses 12 jewels of tight, guitar-heavy songs that worm their way into your head, an incandescent collision of power-pop and skuzz. With Expert, The Beths wanted to make an album meant to be experienced live, for both the listeners and themselves. They wanted it to be fun -- to hear, to play -- in spite of the prickling anxiety throughout the lyrics, the fear of change and struggle to cope.

Most of Expert was recorded at guitarist Jonathan Pearce’s studio on Karangahape Road in Tāmaki Makaurau, Aotearoa (Auckland, New Zealand) -- and sometimes in the building's cavernous stairwell at 1am -- toward the end of 2021, until they were interrupted by a four-month national lockdown. They traded notes remotely for months, songwriting from afar and fleshing out the arrangements alone, the first time they’d written together in such a way. The following February, The Beths left the country for the first time in more than two years to tour across the US, and simultaneously finish mixing the album on the road. That latter half felt more collaborative, with everyone on-hand to trade notes in real time, until it all culminated in a chaotic three-day studio mad-dash in Los Angeles. There, Expert finally became the record they were hearing in their heads.

Expert is an extension of the same skuzzy palette the band has built across their catalog, pop hooks embedded in incisive indie rock. The album’s title track “Expert In A Dying Field” introduces the thesis for the record: “How does it feel to be an expert in a dying field? How do you know it’s over when you can’t let go?” Stokes asks. “Love is learned over time ‘til you’re an expert in a dying field.”

The rest is a capsule of The Beths’ most electrifying and exciting output, a sonic spectrum: “Your Side” is a forlorn and sincere love song, emotive; while “Silence is Golden,” with its propulsive drum line and stop-start staccato of a guitar line winding up and down, is one of the band’s sharpest and most driving. “When You Know You Know” skews a bit groovier, pure pop and a natural addition to the band’s live set. “Knees Deep” was written last minute, but yields one of the best guitar lines on Expert. There’s a certain chaos across the 12 tracks, the palpable joy of playing music with long-time friends colliding with the raw nerves of pain.

Stokes strings it all together through her singular songwriting lens, earnest and self-effacing, zeroing in on the granules of doubt and how they snowball. Did I do the wrong thing? Or did you? And are we still good people at the end of it? She isn’t interested in villains, but instead interested in just telling the story. That insecurity and thoughtfulness, translated into universality and understanding, has been the guiding light of The Beths’ output since 2016. In the face of pain, there’s no dwelling on internal anguish - instead, through The Beths’ music, our shortcomings are met with acceptance. And Expert In A Dying Field is the most tactile that tenderness has been.

When Ryan DeRobertis announced the name change of his project from Saint Pepsi to Skylar Spence, there was no indication of any stylistic departure, though the change arrived with a musical shift toward faster tempos and more pristine production. Whereas Saint Pepsi had often used decades-old boogie, disco, and new wave as grist for the sampling mill, Skylar Spence is intent on trafficking more overtly in those genre aesthetics through his own production techniques and vocal contributions. With Prom King, DeRobertis reorients his music for his new full-band live act and winds up with an album full of tight and enveloping dance tunes.

Working with Carpark Records 'gave me the confidence to 'go big' with the new material: to write pop songs with universal messages in the sonic wrapping paper that I've grown accustomed to,' DeRobertis says. 'A few songs on Prom King are about specific events in my life—a party where I got too messed up, watching a friend's life spiral out of control and trying to help—but I tried hard not to be too autobiographical because I want my music to unite, above all else. I'm much more interested in connecting with the listener than mystifying my personality.'

While DeRobertis' previous long-players have been more amorphous collections in the style of beat tapes, Prom King is compact and cohesive, with the album's varied stylistic references (new wave, UK garage, boogie) united through strong guitar melodies and Todd Edwards-ian cobblings-together of tiny vocal samples. 'I slowed some music down and called myself an artist,' DeRobertis sings on lead single 'Can't You See,' acknowledging in his lyrics what is already apparent in the music's tone—he can maintain fidelity to his vision while working in more uptempo, disco-based song structures.

'Ridiculous!' and 'Bounce Is Back' are big groovers that capitalize on jacking hi-hats and hand drumming, respectively, and both have an air of Balearic warmth and smoothness. On the title track, DeRobertis entwines a chorus of unintelligible but expressive samples with his own vocals—what feels like a synthesis of two approaches—and the result is an affecting pattern of build and release. More contemplative sophisti-pop numbers like 'Fall Harder' and 'Affairs' add a realist's breadth of scope: thoughts of past foibles bleed into present-dwelling and dancing.

Prom King is DeRobertis making sense of missed opportunities. His high school did not have a prom king; he has filled the position with an imaginative album of personal and musical revisionism.

There’s an alternate reality where everyone makes a living wage and the cleanest buses you’ve ever seen arrive every other minute. Where the most intense songs are about confessing your love to a crush at the apple orchard, and where gentle feelings and chaotic energy are inseparable best friends. This is the timeline where Cootie Catcher is right at home. This Toronto based four-piece exudes both vulnerability and unbridled excitement, creating a sound that hypercharges the open-hearted tenderness of twee pop with spiraling synths and giddy electronics. New album Something We All Got is the clearest and most vibrant reading of Cootie Catcher’s vision yet, with songs of sweetness, nervousness, and expectancy that beam out unguarded.
After releasing music made primarily in basement recording environments, Something We All Got is the band’s first flirtation with studio recording. The edges are still sharp, however, with some parts assembled from time-honored lo-fi methods and fun, personally-sourced samples seeping into the production. The sound is explosive and upbeat, with euphoric guitars, bubbly synth lines, speedy drums both played and programmed, and all other manner of sound constantly colliding. Cootie Catcher has three songwriters, Sophia Chavez, Anita Fowl, and Nolan Jakupovski, all of whom have distinctive voices but still manage to overlap in their writing on shared concerns like navigating the lines of romantic and platonic relationships, their city’s social scenes, and struggles in both the microcosmic experience of playing in a band and the zoomed-out challenges of living through late-stage capitalism.
Joy still touches every surface of Something We All Got. “Quarter Note Rock” bounces around the room in a fit of jangling guitar chords, scratched samples, and interplay between breakbeat loops and somersaulting live drums. It’s a blast of positivity even with lyrics about how disappointing it can be to meet your heroes. A smiling electro pop instrumental supports lyrics about having to step painfully away from an almost realized love on “Gingham Dress,” a song that subverts themes of domesticity as a backdrop for the dashed wilt of hopeless devotion.
Cootie Catcher rolls down hills and jumps through flaming hoops throughout Something We All Got without ever dumbing down the visceral emotions that drive these songs. There’s a palpable tension between the band’s exhilarating sonics and the raw, often uneasy sentiments expressed, but it’s an integral part of what makes them unique. Rather than hide behind the kind of calculated vagueness that plagues so much of the indie rock landscape in the time of cursed algorithms, Cootie Catcher runs full-speed toward every confusion and excitement, fearlessly direct and embracing the reality they’re in.

The anticipation is there in Elizabeth Stokes’ solo guitar riff under the opening lines of “I’m Not Getting Excited”: a frenetic, driving force daring a packed Auckland Town Hall to do exactly the opposite of what the track title suggests.

As the opener of The Beths’ Auckland, New Zealand, 2020 expands to include the full band, the crowd screeches and bellows. It’s a collective exhalation, in one of the few countries where live music is still possible.

The album title, and film of the same name, deliberately include the date and location, lead guitarist Jonathan Pearce says. “That’s the sensational part of what we actually did.” In a mid-pandemic world, playing to a heaving, enraptured home crowd feels miraculous.

In March 2020, everything seemed on track for another huge year for The Beths. Home after an 18-month northern hemisphere tour, they had just finished recording sophomore album Jump Rope Gazers and were primed for more extensive touring. But within days, New Zealand’s lockdown split the band between three separate houses. All touring was cancelled.

“It was existentially bad,” Stokes says. As well as worrying about economic survival, they lost something crucial to the band’s identity: live performance. “It's a huge part of how we see ourselves... What does it mean, if we can't play live?”

The band found an outlet through live-streaming, returning to the do-it-yourself mentality of their early days to connect with a global audience. The album and film have their genesis in that urge to share the now-rare experience of a live show, as widely as possible.

The fuzzy-round-the-edges live-streams pointed the way aesthetically. Native birds, wonkily crafted by the band from tissue paper and wire, festoon the venue’s cavernous ceiling while house plants soften and disguise the imposing pipes of an organ. The presence of the film crew isn’t disguised: much of the camerawork is handheld; full of fast zooms and pans.

With much of the material still fresh, the band was less focused on re-invention than playing “a good, fast rock show”, Pearce says. The tempo is up on crowd favourites “Whatever” and “Future Me Hates Me” (released as a live single on its third anniversary) as both band and audience feed off the mutual energy in the room.

Certain songs have taken on special resonance post-Covid. Pearce has found “Out Of Sight”, a tender rumination on long-distance relationships, hits particularly hard with live audiences.

Album closer “River Run” visibly brings Stokes to tears as a mix of achievement and relief kicks in. “You can finally relax at that point … You play the last note, breathe out a sigh and look up - and you’re in a giant room full of people happy and smiling.”

Talulah’s Tape is the debut offering from magnetic Midwest-jangle collective Good Flying Birds. Across a patchwork mixtape of stripped-down home recordings that span the independent-guitar spectrum, the band delivers colorful, intricate pop songs perched between the immediacy of DIY punk and the intimate sweetness of twee. Breakbeats, memes, and noise glue everything together, making the album feel as chronically online as it is timeless.

Originally released on cassette in January 2025 by Midwest-punk legend Martin Meyers’s Rotten Apple label, the tape sold more than 300 copies in under a month and quickly became an out-of-print and coveted item. Meyers called it “certified catnip for popheads.” Now, with a refined track list and a fresh master from Greg Obis, Talulah’s Tape returns on LP and CD via Carpark and Smoking Room in October 2025.

While production and approach vary, a through-line of sensitive self-contemplation rests on bright, scrappy guitars and hyperactive melodic bass. Opener “Down on Me” rides a buoyant bass line while jangling guitars frame reflections on overcoming trauma: “I see you in the mirror every time I cry / I hear your voice every time I try.” Next, the guitars trade twinkling counter-melodies on “I Care for You,” pairing sugary, lovestruck lyrics with effervescent strums: “You catch me when I fall / You build me up so tall.”

The rosy grin occasionally twists into a wicked smirk. “Dynamic” warns, “You used to paint the face, but now you’re just the clown,” while “Glass” asks, “Is it lonely at the top when everyone follows the trend, and you hold the pen?” Both tracks brim with sparkling guitar interplay. By the closing, nearly five-minute “Last Straw,” Good Flying Birds stand far beyond conventional indie-pop or 4-track punk, unveiling a roller-coaster of unpredictable changes, vocal harmonies, and instrumental cross-talk.

Altogether, Talulah’s Tape is a pastel-yellow, candy-coated shell filled with thoughtful juxtapositions and melodic experiments. Standing on the same ground as idiosyncratic songwriters like Connie Converse and Daniel Johnston, Good Flying Birds find sweetness in sadness, tear stains on a colorful flower-print couch. Simultaneously, it’s packed with the scratchy guitars and vibrant rhythms of Scottish guitar groups like The Pastels, Orange Juice, and Josef K. It’s a tremendous opening statement from a band just getting started.

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The Beths occupy a warm, energetic sonic space between joyful hooks, sun-soaked harmonies, and acerbic lyrics. Their debut album Future Me Hates Me, forthcoming on Carpark Records, delivers an astonishment of roadtrip-ready pleasures, each song hitting your ears with an exhilarating endorphin rush like the first time you heard Slanted and Enchanted or 'Cannonball.'

Front and center on these ten infectious tracks is lead singer and primary songwriter Elizabeth Stokes. Stokes has previously worked in other genres within Auckland's rich and varied music scene, recently playing in a folk outfit, but it was in exploring the angst-ridden sounds of her youth that she found her place. 'Fronting this kind of band was a new experience for me,' says Stokes. 'I never thought I had the right voice for it.'

From the irresistible title track to future singles 'Happy Unhappy' and 'You Wouldn't Like Me,' Stokes commands a vocal range that spans from the brash confidence of Joan Jett to the disarming vulnerability of Jenny Lewis. Further honeying Future Me Hates Me's dark lyrics that explore complex topics like being newly alone and the self-defeating anticipation of impending regret, ecstatic vocal harmonies bubble up like in the greatest pop and R+B of the '60s, while inverting the trope of the 'sad dude singer accompanied by a homogenous girl-sound.'

All four members of The Beths studied jazz at university, resulting in a toolkit of deft instrumental chops and tricked-out arrangements that operate on a level rarely found in guitar-pop. Beths guitarist and studio guru Jonathan Pearce (whose other acts as producer include recent Captured Tracks signing Wax Chattels) brings it all home with an approach that's equal parts seasoned perfectionist and D.I.Y.

'There's a lot of sad sincerity in the lyrics,' she continues, 'that relies on the music having a light heart and sense of humor to keep it from being too earnest.' Channeling their stew of personal-canon heroes while drawing inspiration from contemporaries like Alvvays and Courtney Barnett, The Beths serve up deeply emotional lyrics packaged within heavenly sounds that delight in probing the limits of the pop form. 'That's another New Zealand thing,' Stokes concludes with a laugh. 'We're putting our hearts on our sleeves—and then apologizing for it.'

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The Beths occupy a warm, energetic sonic space between joyful hooks, sun-soaked harmonies, and acerbic lyrics. Their debut album Future Me Hates Me, forthcoming on Carpark Records, delivers an astonishment of roadtrip-ready pleasures, each song hitting your ears with an exhilarating endorphin rush like the first time you heard Slanted and Enchanted or 'Cannonball.'

Front and center on these ten infectious tracks is lead singer and primary songwriter Elizabeth Stokes. Stokes has previously worked in other genres within Auckland's rich and varied music scene, recently playing in a folk outfit, but it was in exploring the angst-ridden sounds of her youth that she found her place. 'Fronting this kind of band was a new experience for me,' says Stokes. 'I never thought I had the right voice for it.'

From the irresistible title track to future singles 'Happy Unhappy' and 'You Wouldn't Like Me,' Stokes commands a vocal range that spans from the brash confidence of Joan Jett to the disarming vulnerability of Jenny Lewis. Further honeying Future Me Hates Me's dark lyrics that explore complex topics like being newly alone and the self-defeating anticipation of impending regret, ecstatic vocal harmonies bubble up like in the greatest pop and R+B of the '60s, while inverting the trope of the 'sad dude singer accompanied by a homogenous girl-sound.'

All four members of The Beths studied jazz at university, resulting in a toolkit of deft instrumental chops and tricked-out arrangements that operate on a level rarely found in guitar-pop. Beths guitarist and studio guru Jonathan Pearce (whose other acts as producer include recent Captured Tracks signing Wax Chattels) brings it all home with an approach that's equal parts seasoned perfectionist and D.I.Y.

'There's a lot of sad sincerity in the lyrics,' she continues, 'that relies on the music having a light heart and sense of humor to keep it from being too earnest.' Channeling their stew of personal-canon heroes while drawing inspiration from contemporaries like Alvvays and Courtney Barnett, The Beths serve up deeply emotional lyrics packaged within heavenly sounds that delight in probing the limits of the pop form. 'That's another New Zealand thing,' Stokes concludes with a laugh. 'We're putting our hearts on our sleeves—and then apologizing for it.'

Chaz Bear (formerly Bundick) was a musician from birth. Growing up, it was normal to hear music across genres, from Michael Jackson to Elvis Costello to The Specials, in the Bundick household. These influences were quite unique for a biracial kid growing up in South Carolina, contributing to the complexity of Chaz’s self-understanding and expression through his own music.

Chaz began playing and recording original compositions in his preteen years, forming multiple indie bands starting in middle school and continuing until his personal project, Toro y Moi, was signed by Carpark Records in 2009. Before getting signed, he was already an incredibly prolific artist, having released over 10 Toro y Moi albums on his own (and undoubtedly retaining a vast compendium of unreleased songs). His personal work drew upon a vaster array of influences than did his full band. Early Toro work called upon Chaz’s childhood exposure to 80’s R&B, pop and electronic music, while also evolving with his discoveries of acts like My Bloody Valentine and J Dilla and his burgeoning interest in French house. Just before his graduation from the University of South Carolina, where he earned a degree in graphic design, Chaz caught the attention of music bloggers and record labels with his dreamy, bedroom recordings.

Outer Peace, was written and recorded in the Bay Area after Chaz’s return from a one year stint in Portland. It is somewhat of a homecoming celebration, filled with features by friends and saturated with a playfulness that had not previously been embraced in past Toro albums. Outer Peace stands in contrast to the more sparse and contemplative Boo Boo, an album recorded while in Portland in relative isolation. With Outer Peace, Chaz showcases his ability to remain on the cutting edge of music’s evolution while not taking himself too seriously. There are contemporary hip hop references mixed in with funk, Eurodance and ambient elements, all interwoven expertly and retaining that quintessential Toro y Moi aesthetic.

“My hero’s back,” Madeline Kenney sings on the second track of her newest effort, Kiss from the Balcony. In a sense, she means herself; made with friends Ben Sloan and Stephen Patota across just a few in-person studio sessions in Oakland, these tracks represent a culmination of Madeline’s musings on growth and resilience reaching back years, brought to life through this generative and vibrant collaboration. Close listeners can hear the breadth of stylistic elements and themes carried through from various eras of her work, which all come together in a cohesive and timeless record.

In two week-long intensive sessions, the three collaborators grew these nine songs from fragments, sketches, and seeds. With a background in experimental percussion and sound design, Ben Sloan brings an electronic sound to Kenney’s writing; Stephen Patota provides ingenious guitar melodies throughout and grounds the project in acoustic elements. Kiss from the Balcony was originally intended to be an EP, but the sessions brought forth such fruitful ideation and play that the project was expanded to a full length album. It sits in Madeline’s discography as a thematic and musical progression that sees her iterate on ideas about love and explore new sonic motifs through her work with Patota and Sloan.

Much of Kiss from the Balcony is a meditation on modern relationships, a feminist and utterly human contemplation of power and who holds it. “Hereditary backward leaning,” she describes in ‘Slap,’ of the female condition; “But no-one ever likes to see the girls break down / So they keep it to the bathroom floor” she sings in the rapturous opener, ‘Scoop.’ While the songs are shrouded in metaphor, the ubiquity of heartbreak and resilience decode much of the internal conflict Kenney depicts. The album sees her recognize the precarity and peculiarity of life and take it by the horns, realizing she controls her own narrative:


She explores the relationships between joy and suffering, choosing to see them as inseparable, two sides of a single coin. “It’s never over / When will they love me?” Kenney asks on ‘They Go Wide,’ describing her positionality both as a woman in relationship and as an indie artist in the modern music industry.

A playful hopefulness pervades the record, providing a sense of revelation in the journey throughout, Kenney’s radical acceptance of life as it is like a lyrical tongue out at the absurd.

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Everything changed for The Beths when they released their debut album, Future Me Hates Me, in 2018. The indie rock band had long been nurtured within Auckland, New Zealand’s tight-knit music scene, working full-time during the day and playing music with friends after hours. Full of uptempo pop rock songs with bright, indelible hooks, the LP garnered them critical acclaim from outlets like Pitchfork and Rolling Stone, and they set out for their first string of shows overseas. They quit their jobs, said goodbye to their home town, and devoted themselves entirely to performing across North America and Europe. They found themselves playing to crowds of devoted fans and opening for acts like Pixies and Death Cab for Cutie. Almost instantly, The Beths turned from a passion project into a full-time career in music.

Songwriter and lead vocalist Elizabeth Stokes worked on what would become The Beths’ second LP, Jump Rope Gazers, in between these intense periods of touring. Like the group’s earlier music, the album tackles themes of anxiety and self-doubt with effervescent power pop choruses and rousing backup vocals, zeroing in on the communality and catharsis that can come from sharing stressful situations with some of your best friends. Stokes’s writing on Jump Rope Gazers grapples with the uneasy proposition of leaving everything and everyone you know behind on another continent, chasing your dreams while struggling to stay close with loved ones back home.

"If you're at a certain age, all your friends scatter to the four winds,” Stokes says. “We did the same thing. When you're home, you miss everybody, and when you're away, you miss everybody. We were just missing people all the time.”

With songs like the rambunctious “Dying To Believe” and the tender, shoegazey “Out of Sight,” The Beths reckon with the distance that life necessarily drives between people over time. People who love each other inevitably fail each other. “I’m sorry for the way that I can’t hold conversations/They’re such a fragile thing to try to support the weight of,” Stokes sings on “Dying to Believe.” The best way to repair that failure, in The Beths’ view, is with abundant and unconditional love, no matter how far it has to travel. On “Out of Sight,” she pledges devotion to a dearly missed friend: “If your world collapses/I’ll be down in the rubble/I’d build you another,” she sings.

“It was a rough year in general, and I found myself saying the words, 'wish you were here, wish I was there,’ over and over again,” she says of the time period in which the album was written. Touring far from home, The Beths committed themselves to taking care of each other as they were trying at the same time to take care of friends living thousands of miles away. They encouraged each other to communicate whenever things got hard, and to pay forward acts of kindness whenever they could. That care and attention shines through on Jump Rope Gazers, where the quartet sounds more locked in than ever. Their most emotive and heartfelt work to date, Jump Rope Gazers stares down all the hard parts of living in communion with other people, even at a distance, while celebrating the ferocious joy that makes it all worth it -- a sentiment we need now more than ever.

o encapsulate the themes. “Aseurai means around you in the atmosphere, hard to reach, fading away,” Choi says. “It’s a poetic expression. You wouldn’t say it in normal conversation, but I like that.”

Following the four-piece band’s 2024 self-titled EP, Aseurai adds disco and city-pop influences while staying true to dream-pop roots. While Phoebe Rings was originally a solo project of Choi’s, Aseurai marks a shift with contributing songwriting credits from the whole band. The four musicians cut their teeth working on other notable NZ projects such as Princess Chelsea, Fazerdaze, Tiny Ruins, AC Freazy,, Sea Views and Lucky Boy.

With a more ambitious collection of instruments, Choi says this album heralds the start of true collaboration: “I feel more precious about this LP because it includes everyone’s gems.” Guitar/synthesist Simeon Kavanagh-Vincent spearheads unexpected arrangements, with bold fuzzy guitar textures, to spice up the mix. Benjamin Locke adds maturity to the lyrics, paired with perfectionist bass lines. And drummer Alex Freer’s slick production soars Aseurai to diverse and synergetic heights. The broth is richer with more cooks in the kitchen, and the brewing of textures creates a distinct ‘Phoebe Rings’ sound.

If the EP was spacey, then Aseurai settles on earth, rooted in tangible moments. “Without getting too gloomy, it’s a weird world out there. A lot has changed in the world since the EP came out,” says Kavanagh-Vincent on this transformation. The album delves into hope and longing across all possibilities, and this exploration of holding on and letting go is organically threaded throughout. Across ten songs, Phoebe Ring’s storytelling ranges from tongue-in-cheek musings on gentrification to tender autobiographical memories.

아스라이 흩어지는 하늘의 별이 (May the falling light of faraway stars) / 그대의 손 끝에 닿아 숨이 돼주길 (Reach your fingertips and let you breathe),” Choi sings in the title track “Aseurai.” Imagined as a breezy track inspired by a 90’s Korean pop band, Choi discovered, when fleshing out the lyrics, that it was about yearning for people she couldn’t see anymore. In the old-school disco track, “Get Up,” Locke addresses struggles with mental health in a Matrix-inspired driven mantra:  ‘Just get up / Just get up.’ The groove persists with ‘Fading Star,” a quirky ballad filled with steely jazz/rock guitar solos dedicated to a suburban aging musician. Kavanagh-Vincent’s lead single ‘Drifting’ is an unrequited celestial love song with bouncing bass and playful synths.

The band wrote, produced, and engineered the album across studios and band members’ homes in 2023/2024 in Tāmaki Makaurau (Auckland). It features mixing/mix production by local legend Jeremy Toy (Bic Runga, Aaradnha, Princess Chelsea) and mastering by Kelly Hibbert. With Aseurai, Phoebe Rings mark out a brilliant new constellation in their sky, bringing their individual compositions to the fore whilst seamlessly threading them into one celestial body - launching skyward on Carpark Records in June 2025.

That’s the Price of Loving Me marks Dean Wareham’s (Galaxie 500, Luna, Dean & Britta, ) evocative return, rekindling his partnership with producer Kramer for the first time since Galaxie 500's This Is Our Music in 1990.

Recorded in six days in Los Angeles, the album is steeped in lush, haunting soundscapes, driven by Wareham's signature reverb-soaked guitars and melancholic, dreamlike vocals. Britta Phillips joins on bass and harmonies, while Gabe Noel’s cello adds depth and tension. “Two takes yield more treasure than twenty,” notes longtime friend Matt Fishbeck, as Kramer's insistence on spontaneity infuses the project with raw immediacy.

Thematically, Wareham delves into the poetry of memory, set against a backdrop of wistful nostalgia and existential reflection. "Songs are in dialogue with other songs" Fishbeck writes. The lead single, “We’re Not Finished Yet,” is a playful, introspective meditation where Wareham drops his own name while relishing the tactile joy of the guitar. “You Were the Ones I Had to Betray” unfolds like a somber narrative, underpinned by Noel’s cello and crowned with a haunting bass harmonica by Kramer, encapsulating the emotional ambivalence of friendship and loyalty.

“That’s the Price of Loving Me” pulses with conga rhythms and Kramer’s vintage Moog, capturing Wareham’s musings on the life of a performer and the sacrifices it demands. Fishbeck describes “The Mystery Guest” as "an acrostic poem" and concludes by saying "We're not finished yet." 'Loving Me' also includes two covers, Mayo Thompson's 'Dear Betty Baby' and Nico's 'Reich der Träume.' The latter highlights his love for blending history and homage, sung entirely in German for a chillingly authentic touch.

Dean returns with his fourth solo album and his first album for Carpark Records. Inspired by the past yet resonant in its present-day relevance, the album’s sonic palette is reminiscent of Galaxie 500’s dream-pop roots, tempered with the matured introspection of Wareham’s later works. “Dean traffics in memory,” writes Fishbeck, reflecting on the record’s seamless blend of intimate recollections and catchy hooks. The result is a cohesive work encapsulating the duality of Wareham’s career: haunted by the past, yet steadfastly pushing forward. As Fishbeck poignantly puts it, “Imagination is nothing but the working over of what is remembered.”

That’s the Price of Loving Me marks Dean Wareham’s (Galaxie 500, Luna, Dean & Britta, ) evocative return, rekindling his partnership with producer Kramer for the first time since Galaxie 500's This Is Our Music in 1990.

Recorded in six days in Los Angeles, the album is steeped in lush, haunting soundscapes, driven by Wareham's signature reverb-soaked guitars and melancholic, dreamlike vocals. Britta Phillips joins on bass and harmonies, while Gabe Noel’s cello adds depth and tension. “Two takes yield more treasure than twenty,” notes longtime friend Matt Fishbeck, as Kramer's insistence on spontaneity infuses the project with raw immediacy.

Thematically, Wareham delves into the poetry of memory, set against a backdrop of wistful nostalgia and existential reflection. "Songs are in dialogue with other songs" Fishbeck writes. The lead single, “We’re Not Finished Yet,” is a playful, introspective meditation where Wareham drops his own name while relishing the tactile joy of the guitar. “You Were the Ones I Had to Betray” unfolds like a somber narrative, underpinned by Noel’s cello and crowned with a haunting bass harmonica by Kramer, encapsulating the emotional ambivalence of friendship and loyalty.

“That’s the Price of Loving Me” pulses with conga rhythms and Kramer’s vintage Moog, capturing Wareham’s musings on the life of a performer and the sacrifices it demands. Fishbeck describes “The Mystery Guest” as "an acrostic poem" and concludes by saying "We're not finished yet." 'Loving Me' also includes two covers, Mayo Thompson's 'Dear Betty Baby' and Nico's 'Reich der Träume.' The latter highlights his love for blending history and homage, sung entirely in German for a chillingly authentic touch.

Dean returns with his fourth solo album and his first album for Carpark Records. Inspired by the past yet resonant in its present-day relevance, the album’s sonic palette is reminiscent of Galaxie 500’s dream-pop roots, tempered with the matured introspection of Wareham’s later works. “Dean traffics in memory,” writes Fishbeck, reflecting on the record’s seamless blend of intimate recollections and catchy hooks. The result is a cohesive work encapsulating the duality of Wareham’s career: haunted by the past, yet steadfastly pushing forward. As Fishbeck poignantly puts it, “Imagination is nothing but the working over of what is remembered.”

Chaz Bear (formerly Bundick) has been immersed in music from a young age, shaped by a household rich with sounds ranging from Michael Jackson and Elvis Costello to The Specials. Growing up biracial in South Carolina, these diverse influences contributed to the unique blend of styles Chaz weaves into his work. Nominated for Best Dance Recording at the 2020 Grammy Awards for his collaboration with Flume on “The Difference”, Chaz’s genre-defying sound has won critical acclaim. His journey began in earnest with early home recordings that showcased his prolific nature, leading to over 10 Toro y Moi albums released independently before signing with Carpark Records in 2009.

Chaz’s debut album under Carpark, Causers of This, was a seminal release that sparked a movement of sample-heavy bedroom recordings. Its success led to early assumptions that he was limited to this sound, but Chaz quickly proved his versatility with 2011’s Underneath the Pine, recorded between tours and featuring entirely live instrumentation. This pivot set a pattern for Chaz’s career: each subsequent release explored new terrain, from the psych rock of What For? to the R&B-influenced Boo Boo, all tied together by his signature production and melodic sensibilities.

Following Boo Boo, 2019’s Outer Peace marked Chaz’s return to the Bay Area after a year in Portland, embodying a celebratory homecoming filled with collaborations and vibrant playfulness. Featuring friends and eclectic references to contemporary hip hop, funk, Eurodance, and ambient textures, Outer Peace was a sharp contrast to the contemplative, isolation-driven Boo Boo and solidified Chaz’s place on the cutting edge of music.

Five days post-release, Chaz teased Soul Trash on Instagram, sharing a cassette titled SOUL TRASH V1 with a Dropbox link, which was later removed. The mixtape was officially released digitally on October 29, 2019, and has since garnered over 39 million streams. This album was also his first collaboration with Elijah Kessler, who later released an album on Chaz’s Company Records. Now available on vinyl for the first time, Soul Trash epitomizes Chaz's experimental spirit, featuring ambient sounds, lo-fi loops, and contributions from Old Grape God, and Caleon Fox. Released alongside more recent projects like Mahal and Hole Erth, Soul Trash bridges his past with his ever-evolving artistry, proving Chaz’s creative well is far from dry.

Tanukichan, the musical project of Oakland, CA’s Hannah van Loon, has been a prominent figure in modern shoegaze music since 2016, when she first collaborated with Chaz Bear of Toro y Moi. Together, they released an EP and two full-length albums under Bear's Company Records, culminating in 2023's GIZMO. With her new EP Circles, out September 20th, 2024, via Carpark Records, van Loon ventures into new territory by teaming up with a new producer for the first time – Franco Reid.

The genesis of their partnership dates back to the GIZMO campaign, when Reid noticed van Loon wearing an Incubus shirt in a press photo on Instagram. Intrigued by whether or not van Loon was a genuine fan, he sent her a DM. Their shared musical interest sparked a dialogue that eventually led to the creation of the single "NPC" in 2023.

Lead single “City Bus,” offers a reflection on van Loon's childhood bus rides in San Francisco, evoking the stop-and-go rhythm of commuter life through hard-hitting drums and heavy guitar feedback phasing in and out of the mix. Themes of self-reflection and societal belonging permeate the track, echoing van Loon's ongoing personal journey.

While much of Circles delves into internal struggles, “It Gets Easier” takes on a more celebratory tone as van Loon realizes she’s developed a heightened sense of maturity when dealing with hardship. “It feels easier to let go of situations or people that don’t serve me,” reflects van Loon, “Or if they can’t be avoided, at least I don’t have to dwell on the sadness or discomfort I feel when letting someone down.” Introduced by Reid, nu-gaze sensation Wisp, contributes a verse in her similarly ethereal vocal style.

There is a notable shift on Circles when you consider the first three Tanukichan releases were produced by a pioneer of the chillwave genre. With van Loon’s consistently dreamy songwriting and Reid at the helm, Tanukichan enters new sonic territory that feels larger, arena-ready, and more like a highspeed night drive than the hazy summer dream of its predecessors.

Phoebe Rings is a dream-pop band offering a unique blend of introspective yearning with celestial danceable grooves. Their self-titled debut EP, a hopeful collection of musings, out on Carpark Records, is a testament to the distinctive musical style of Auckland jazz-school-trained pianist and songwriter Crystal Choi. Across six tracks, the EP is a love letter to some of the band’s influences: Studio Ghibli films, Zelda and Stardew soundtracks, Bossa Nova, Stereolab, and 90’s Korean ballads.

In 2020, the band played their first gig in a ‘funny side room’ during a festival at Auckland Town Hall. Choi’s songwriting was brought to life with Alex Freer on drums, Simeon Kavanagh-Vincent on guitar and synths, and Benjamin Locke on bass. Choi says she knew the tracks had to be recorded after the band played the songs better than she could ever imagine. And so, remotely through the COVID-19 lockdowns, the band started recording the EP.

“Daisy” is the vibrant leading single, with the shimmery refrain “Ooh-wee-a-waa” and the uplifting mantra: “When you’re next to me, the world’s full of daisies.” The swirling synths fizz on the skin like warm sun, promising growth and new starts. “Cheshire” is an Alice in Wonderland-inspired trip through the rabbit hole, pacing in anticipation. “Like a Cheshire cat, it grins and disappears in moments when you accept yourself,” explains Choi. Locke and Choi finished the lyrics one evening, huddled in the corner of a local underground music venue, with references to Murakami’s book Dance Dance Dance.

Choi grew up in Seoul, developing a palette for K-pop and retro sounds. The city-pop influence of “January Blues” shines through, with Choi crediting one of her favourite songs from the ’80s: “연극이 끝난 후 After Play”. The track explores her disconnect with the summer break. “In the Northern Hemisphere, January is winter,” says Choi. “I missed that a lot, and I don’t vibe with the beach.”

“Spissky,” chimes in with Choi’s lilting vocals reminiscent of childhood lullabies, inspired by a lonely-looking castle she saw on tour with Princess Chelsea in Slovakia. While “Ocean” leans into its mumble-core roots, taking a leaf from the Cocteau Twins. There’s an external shift in the EP, with “Lazy Universe” being the most energetic track, evolving with the band’s chaotic sci-fi experimentation. Asking, “Are you still waiting for a kiss?” Choi is self-critical and urgently speaks up from being passive.

The members of Phoebe Rings are cemented in the musical ecosystem, balancing other projects and full-time work. Yet Sundays will always be carved out for Phoebe Rings to dream up imaginative, world-building tunes — often with a Nintendo game soundtrack in the background as inspiration.

‘The Oakland band’s wide-ranging debut is a whirlwind of biting critique, nervy post-punk guitars, and absurdist humor. Rarely does a first record speak with such a trenchant voice.’ 7.5 PITCHFORK
‘Post-punk lovers have a new act to follow" - PASTE
Fake Fruit’s visceral indie rock operates so firmly in the present that it’s transportive and unmooring. The Oakland trio’s songs careen with volatile energy and lead singer Ham D’Amato’s lyrics are enveloped with acerbic humor and resonant perceptiveness. Though their new LP Mucho Mistrust is a sly reference to a beloved Blondie lyric, the title encapsulates both the anxieties of daily life, a bloodless music industry, and global capitalism as well as the clear-eyed skepticism needed to rebel against it. Across 12 propulsively unpredictable tracks, the album is both their most collaborative and most immediate yet.
Following the 2021 release of Fake Fruit’s self-titled debut LP, the band’s personal lives hit a turbulent and transformational period. “There were big life changes and I was so close to boiling over,” says D’Amato. “I left a bad relationship, entered a more stable and loving one, got diagnosed with alopecia, and I'm turning 30 soon too.” This personal upheaval was channeled into the explosive lead single “Mucho Mistrust.” The track is simultaneously disorienting and direct, with clanging guitars from Alex Post, off-kilter drums from Miles MacDiarmid, and D’Amato snarling, “How you gonna blame me / when you could’ve done something about it / it’s not right / How you gonna marinate me / in shitty things overnight.” She explains, “This song was a snapshot of how I got through a difficult year.”
Recorded live at the Bay Area’s Atomic Garden studio with producer Jack Shirley (Deafheaven, Home Is Where), the band’s palpable ferocity shines throughout the record. Single “Más o Menos” is searing punk, with buzzsaw guitars and surging bass. It’s a clenched-fist song, one where D’Amato sings, “I decided to assert myself / After I lost all my sense of self.” Later in the track, D’Amato, who is Chicana, sings in Spanish, “¡No me hables! / ¡No escuchare!” While some of these songs deal in heartbreak, they are charged with way bigger themes. “There's also wanting to break up with capitalism and feeling upset about things politically,” says D’Amato.
For the band, these themes are personal. “I'm managing us while I'm in between changing diapers in my day job as a nanny,” says D’Amato. “Everyone in the band still believes in it and is motivated to keep wading through the bullshit.” On this album, they had no choice but to bet on themselves and each other. No track broadcasts their evolution better than the single “Cause of Death,” which morphs from a gorgeous sax-laden banger to something cathartic and anthemic.
As adventurous and righteous as Mucho Mistrust gets, there’s still an inviting core that never takes itself too seriously. From the ripping “Cause of Death,” which self-deprecatingly takes aim at anxiety and indecision, to the searing title track, Fake Fruit imbue their songs with humor and heart. “Our band is fun,” says D’Amato. “My number one coping mechanism for all of life is to joke about it. Even when the album talks about serious things, I am proud of how funny it can be.”

Compassion combines ethereal pop with ‘80s synth textures, and slacker-rock charm. It's got a bit of Matthew E. White, chilled out BC Camplight and Conor Oberst.

The inviting and perceptive songs on Rui Gabriel’s debut LP Compassion all tackle growing up. It’s about how the older you get, your priorities shift, friendships evolve, and responsibilities become inescapable. For Gabriel, the Indiana-based, Venezuela-born artist and co-founder of the acclaimed band Lawn, the changes in his own life inspired him to write a solo full-length that sounds like nothing the indie rock journeyman has done before. Across 10 vibrant tracks that combine ethereal pop with slacker-rock and piano-driven dance music, it’s a galvanizing showcase of personal growth and the grace you give yourself to push forward.

Work on Compassion started in 2018 when Gabriel was living in New Orleans. “I was living a pretty teenage life in many ways,” says Gabriel. “I worked at a pizza restaurant and would just go to shows or parties. I wasn’t doing anything other than music. I didn't have many responsibilities.” The songs he was working on at the time—tracks that didn’t fit Lawn but Gabriel still liked—initially went unfinished. But as Gabriel’s life changed, so did his songwriting and his desire to see his ideas through. “When I was writing lyrics, I was settling down with my partner and about to become a dad,” says Gabriel. “I was making choices about my life that contradicted the existence I had before. I had a different set of priorities.”

The songs on Compassion deal with youthful carelessness ("Dreamy Boys") and coming face-to-face with newfound responsibilities ("Change Your Mind"). It's consistently a biting, observant look at getting older thanks to Gabriel's unique perspective as a South American immigrant who's lived across the United States for the past 13 years. “When you are Hispanic, English isn't your first language, and you're in a music scene with a bunch of white people, you're going to stand out a little bit,” he says. On “Church of Nashville,” “Hey, Leonard Cohen is singing poems by the gentrified alley” he humorously aims at scene pretension and industry gatekeepers.

Compared to Gabriel’s work with Lawn, where he writes frenetic post-punk songs and yells, for Compassion he explores more straightforward pop sensibilities and showcases his singing voice. “I wanted to do a solo record to prove to myself that I could sing,” says Gabriel. Take the meditative, piano-based lead single “Target,” which is inspired by Dido and finds Gabriel gorgeously harmonizing with singer Kate Teague. He reaches similar infectiousness on the sunny rocker “Summertime Tiger,” which guests Stef Chura. Co-produced by Gabriel and Nicholas Corson (The Convenience, Video Age), Compassion is consistently warm, generous, colorful, and adventurous.

“Compassion is a record about change,” says Gabriel. “It's a coming-of-age record but for somebody who's coming of age into their thirties.”

In March 2023, @ turned heads with their debut album Mind Palace Music that utilized an array of acoustic instrumentation and densely layered harmonies, like the great outsider folk records of the 60s and 70s and placed it in a modern setting. If Mind Palace Music was @ playing on story mode, their new EP Are You There God? It’s Me, @ is the darker, stranger side quest.
Mind Palace Music was written in very specific circumstances. The band was formed while they were confined to their homes during quarantine — Victoria Rose in Philadelphia and Stone Filipczak in Baltimore — exchanging musical sketches over iMessage and email. Even though the world has opened back up and they’ve been able to play together live, this EP was again created remotely while in their respective cities. What did change, however, was the production.
Are You There God? It’s Me, @ is @’s foray into electronic music — consisting primarily of software instrumentation (with the occasional flute, guitar or bass part sprinkled in). The band’s experience producing in this style was minimal, but they found the new process to be a rewarding exercise allowing them to explore new textures and structures made possible by computer music. Where their previous acoustic recordings had a looser and more human feel, these new songs allowed them to experiment with autotune and quantized beats. Rose was able to resurrect her passion for classical choir by singing and recording a capella vocal arrangements to be incorporated into Filipczak’s instrumentals.
Across five songs, @ call upon a higher power, as the title suggests, in search of fulfillment. While they try to remain hopeful, daily suffering casts doubt on whether that high power even exists. On “Soul Hole,” overtop an autotuned vocal loop and hyper-pop-esque production, Rose repeats “I’m going to the soul hole and I’m never coming back,” hoping to leave behind the material world and the desires that comes with it. “Webcrawler,” named after the pioneering search engine, might be considered Are You There God?’s epic. @ sees their search for meaning in life akin to how search engines pull together data from all over the internet to find answers. The music itself is even reminiscent of dial-up internet connection, with droning keys and machine-like drum programming until overheating and erupting into chaos, in the form of heavy-metal shredding, only to cool down again back on a loading screen.
While the band confesses the departure from their usual sound may only be temporary, it’s an exciting listen full of twists and turns that surprised even themselves. “We’re both really dramatic in our musical sensibilities and don’t shy away from ridiculous choices,” Rose recalls, “which can really be exaggerated when working mostly with electronic sounds.” Full of soul searching and sonic experimentation, Are You There God? It’s Me, @ is an encapsulating spiritual saga for the digital age.

Every morning when Dent May wakes up, the first thing he says is, “What’s for breakfast?” For the Los Angeles-based songwriter and pop auteur, this question is part inside joke with his girlfriend, part sitcom-style catchphrase, and part mantra about getting up every day and persevering in the face of good or bad is happening around you in your life. It’s also the title of his sixth album, which is out on March 29, 2024 via Carpark Records. What’s For Breakfast? is May’s most immediate, nostalgic, and rollicking LP yet, one that’s concerned with breaking daily routines and rediscovering the joys of songwriting.

Over the past 17 years, May has been a consistently adventurous and prolific bedroom pop pioneer and connoisseur of impeccably crafted melodies. Though his songs are always well-written and comfortable, with What’s For Breakfast?, May has freed himself up to more playfully experiment with new and vintage musical inspirations. “I’ve occupied a lot of different lanes over the years,” says May. “I’ve always been drawn to making kaleidoscopic pop inspired by old soul, disco, country, whatever. This time around, I was tapping into music from my childhood, like The Strokes, Weezer and Elephant 6 Collective bands.” By revisiting the music of his youth—energetic and infectious guitar rock—he found a vibrant palate to explore for this new LP.

Lead single “One Call, That’s All” kickstarts with frenetic guitar-driven intensity. While the track slyly takes its name from the slogan of an ambulance-chasing Mississippi lawyer, May sings of unrequited love and phone-based ennui. “It’s a fast tempo pop-rock song that isn’t like anything I’ve done before,” says May. Elsewhere, opener “You Already Know” showcases May’s goofball lyrical charm with lines about playing chess online and looking like a Dawson’s Creek character. Beyond the jokes in the song, there is a bittersweet recognition of time passing and a call to action when May sings, “Now you already know what time it is / It’s time to live your life / Cuz it’s flying by / No matter the day, week, month or year / It’s time to do a lot / Ready or not.”

What’s For Breakfast? marks another first for Dent in being his most collaborative LP yet. Alongside guest appearances from Jimmy Whispers and co-writes with Paul Cherry, are two standout singles with Jordana and Pearl & The Oysters respectively. Jordana assists on the wistful “Coasting on Fumes,” which captures the feeling of being stuck in a rut while the yearning “Time Flies When You’re Having Fun” guests Pearl and the Oysters. “My first album came out almost 15 years ago, so bringing in others to help out is crucial to keep things interesting,” says May. “I’m constantly falling back in love with music through the eyes of others. This album is about remembering why I like music.”

Standing in a Greyhound Bus station, wearing a Sylvester t-shirt and huge duct-tape-covered glasses, Baltimore ’s Dan Deacon doesn't invoke the image of a composer to the other bus riders. The two suitcases he loads under the bus, which accompany him from city to city, hold the sweat-and-grime-soaked electronics that he uses to craft his raging, maxed-out party music and light show. After 12 tours and 300+ shows in little over 2 years, the gear is beaten and battered, but the show and the energy it produces is anything but.

Dan Deacon has garnered a reputation in the underground as an intense performer and classic showman. The table top full of pedals, a sine wave generator, vocoder and casio blasting through the PA, joined by a makeshift light board with various bulbs and green skull strobe light, make his all out dance-til-you-drop performance a complete experience.

But it isn't all fancy feet and bouncy beats. Deacon is a classically trained composer with a Masters degree in electro-acoustic composition. He has released 7 albums from 2003 to 2006, but those self-produced recordings do not contain the vocal-based experimental pop that he has fine-tuned in live performance. His latest full length, Spiderman of the Rings is the first album bridging the gap between party performer and genuine composer. A mixture of his live show dance anthems, intricate instrumentals and humorous monologues, Spiderman of the Rings establishes Dan Deacon as a new type of entertainer in the contemporary underground.

Harm’s Way is Duck Ltd.’s most intuitive and organic album yet, the result of keen observation, self-possessed songwriting, and a collaborative spirit. Building on the successes of their previous releases, the deeply relatable album displays a band operating at a nuanced, lyrical and musical best.

Ducks Ltd. make inviting and frenetic guitar pop for when life feels overwhelming. While the band’s songs are ostensibly breezy, a palpable anxiety boils underneath that communicates something deeper about everyday existence. On their latest album Harm’s Way, the Toronto duo of Tom McGreevy and Evan Lewis hones in on interpersonal and societal collapses, urban decay, and the near-impossibility of keeping a level head when everything around you seems to be falling apart.

“They’re songs about struggling,” says singer and lyricist McGreevy (who also plays bass and rhythm guitar). “About watching people I care for suffer, and trying to figure out how to be there for them. And about the strain of living in the world when it feels like it's ready to collapse.” 

Even with its often dark subject matter, Harm’s Way is Ducks Ltd.’s most vividly rendered and collaborative collection yet. It’s an undeniable evolution for the band, not just in how these songs soar, but in their entire writing and recording processes. Composed on tour while supporting acts like Nation of Language, Illuminati Hotties, and Archers of Loaf, the album displays the band’s finely tuned songcraft and well-earned, road-tested confidence. “When we got signed, we had played maybe five or six shows ever. After last year, it’s in the hundreds. That experience can change your perception of your own music and songwriting,” says McGreevy. “In the past when we got stuck on a song we had a tendency to look at our favourite records to see how they tackled it. But now, instead of asking ‘what would Orange Juice do?’, we’d ask, ‘what would we do?’.” Lewis adds, “We have this really great thing where every decision with the band is filtered through both of us. Here especially, we really figured out how to make something that truly sounds like us.”

The band, fortified by this strong sense of sonic identity and a self-assurance in their new material—and in contrast to their critically acclaimed 2021 debut Modern Fiction and 2019 EP Get Bleak, both self-recorded and self-produced in a Toronto basement—wanted to bring Harm’s Way to life in a new city, with an outside producer, and with some of their favourite musicians. “We realised that so many of our favourite bands who are making guitar music right now are from Chicago,” says McGreevy. Working with producer Dave Vettraino (Dehd, Deeper, Lala Lala), they enlisted a marquee cast of Windy City collaborators to round out the tracks on Harm’s Way, including: Finom’s Macie Stewart (violin, string arrangements); Ratboys’ Marcus Nuccio (drums on most tracks); Dehd’s Jason Balla (who helped arrange the backing vocals, to which he also contributed); and backing vocals from Julia Steiner (Ratboys), Nathan O’Dell (Dummy), Margaret McCarthy (Moontype), Rui De Magalhaes (Lawn), and Lindsey-Paige McCloy (Patio). The band’s touring drummer, Jonathan Pappo, and bassist Julia Wittman also appear on the LP.

Ducks Ltd. are a band that already thrives on skirting the edges of buoyant jangle pop and driving power pop, and the duo credits these collaborators with helping to push their sound even further. “Historically our process has been really tightly controlled and insular. On this record, we worked with people who we trusted with a pretty wide range of musical backgrounds and they had approaches and ideas that helped open up the record's sonic palette,” explains McGreevy. “Jason thinks about backing vocals in a totally different way than I do and is super intuitive with melodic ideas. Julia and Margaret have a really deeo understanding of harmony. Macie and Dave were comfortable with the idea of improvising string parts which took some of those layers in some surprising directions. Dave also has an amazing ability to create atmosphere on a recording, and encouraged us to use a bunch of different techniques, tones, and processes to achieve that.”

Harm’s Way’s lush, melodic swagger is clear from the first notes of opener “Hollowed Out.” A song about living with decline (inspired by a Toronto sinkhole), its bright, indelible catchiness serves in contrast to its lyrical unease. Anchored by Lewis’ shimmering electric guitar, “The Main Thing” laments growing apart from a person whose views you once shared while managing to toss in references to both the unglamorous lives of middle relief baseball pitchers and the occult. Other songs split the difference between country and krautrock, like the rollicking “Train Full of Gasoline,” which uses the 2013 Lac-Mégantic rail disaster in Quebec as a metaphor for self-destructive patterns. Meanwhile, “Deleted Scenes” mourns the absence of someone no longer in your life (even if for very good reasons) and recalls The Cure at their most direct, and closer “Heavy Bag” employs enveloping, mournful strings to evoke a sense of how misery frequently loves company.

Clear Vinyl

On Rock Island, their second LP, Palm produces evidence of a distinct musical language, developed over time, in isolation, and out of necessity. On the island, melodies are struck on what might be shells or spines. Rhythms are scratched out, swept over, scratched again. Individual instruments, and sometimes entire sections, skip and stutter. There is the sense of a music box with wonky tension or a warped transmission in which all the noise is taken for signal.

Like other groups so acclaimed for their compulsive live show, Palm has been burdened by the constant comparison between their recorded material and their touring set. On Rock Island, they render this tired discussion moot, using the album form to present that which could never be completely live, reserving for performance that which could never be completely reproduced.

Despite appearing behind the instruments typical of rock music, Palm trades in sounds of their own making. On these songs, one of the guitars and the drum kit are used as MIDI triggers, producing an index that can be combed through later and replaced with new information. The percussion is sometimes augmented so as to suggest a multiplication of limbs. The strings are manipulated to choke, crack, and hum like other instruments, or other bodies, might.

Working again with engineer Matt Labozza, the band spent the better part of a month in a rented farmhouse in Upstate New York. With the benefits of time and space, Palm recorded the various elements piecemeal, only rarely playing together in groups larger than two or three. While some members tracked, others holed up in the next room, experimenting with quantization, beat replacement, and other methods borrowed from electronic music. Even accounting for the many labors that brought them to be, these materials seem produced by an organic logic. Their complex friction forms a habit of thought, scores a network of grooves on the floor of the mind.

This is music with dimensionality. Sonic objects are deployed, developed, and dissected in various states of mutation. The listener flits about between the field and the lab. The tone is warm in a way only the sun could make, the pace as forceful and as variable as a gale. Whether one locates Rock Island in a sea or in a refinished attic (as in Greg Burak's album cover), whether one escapes to there or is banished, its psychic environs are charted clearly enough. Only at this remove from the mainland can we sense the conditions necessary for such a strange species of sound.

Bathed in a green haze, the crowd oozed to the mutant rock and roll roaring from the basement's dusty depths — everything and everyone was sweaty and sticky. But as Speedy Ortiz crammed into the back corner, their grins just inches away from ours, D.C.’s Dougout became a moshed-and-sloshed sauna of 20-somethings delirious on rock euphoria.

After spending much of the new millennium bored out of my skull by network soap indie, Speedy Ortiz — not to mention its pals in Pile, Ovlov, Grass is Green and the rest of New England’s burgeoning basement scene — was rock's wild howl. The songs were unpredictable, yet weirdly memorable, swaggering with a winky and wry sense of self. Riffs would twist with a topsy tenderness, then slam a ruptured discord. Sadie Dupuis' sphinxian-yet-sensitive lyrics were not only matched but accentuated by her coil-sprung vibrato. How could Speedy Ortiz not immediately become my new favorite band?

What began as a short-lived solo project recorded in Dupuis' off-hours as a rock camp counselor became a four-piece band in Northampton, Mass., by the end of 2011: Dupuis on guitar and vocals with drummer Mike Falcone, bassist Darl Ferm and guitarist Matt Robidoux. They made cool mixtapes, cracked inside jokes and gushed about teenagers that opened for them on tour. They freaked out (via LiveJournal) when they met the bassist from Polvo or Helium's Mary Timony, but also rolled their eyes at '90s indie-rock comparisons. The band's first single — the gender-bending got-laid grunge yowler "Taylor Swift'' — elicited that rare response of the simultaneous giggle and headbang. The Sports EP amped up the taut yet rubbery riffery.

Released July 9, 2013, Major Arcana is filled with wedding chapel exorcisms, oiled-down attractants and criminally twisted puny little villains — this is Dupuis' haunted lexicon as she scales the toxic Aggro Crag of a breakup. And while Dupuis wrote these songs, the band's convulsing arrangements and diverse influences sprawled the squigglier edges of feedbacked fuzz to mete out matters of the heart. Falcone — who, it's worth noting, has a knack for vocal harmony — swung as much as he smashed the drums. In easily tipoverable songs, Ferm's burly bass and percussive overdubs gave the unruly glee its momentum. Robidoux ripped skronky guitar solos and countered Dupuis' riffs with decorative splatter. Over a four-day marathon session at Sonelab in Easthampton, recording engineer Justin Pizzoferrato sparked the studio imagination of Speedy Ortiz — not only leaning into gritty tones but layer-caking dense dynamics that made these songs pop and pulverize.

For all her sweet-toothed seething, Dupuis was not easy on herself. Everyone's allowed the idiot growing pains of your 20s and the misery that follows, but I can only imagine the emotional exhaustion that playing these songs on the road, night after night, must have wrought. "But you left something on my lips: a mark so sick," she repeats over the doomy destruction that ends the album. Thinking back to the many Speedy Ortiz shows I caught in those early years, including an unofficial after-after party for my own wedding, "MKVI" often served as the noisy down-and-out closer — heads would bang in solidarity as the crowd became co-authors in the chaos, the biting phrase now a hex, Speedy Ortiz forever our coven. —Lars Gotrich

To celebrate the 10th Anniversary of Major Arcana, Speedy Ortiz release a remastered edition on Carpark Records.

To celebrate the 10th Anniversary of Major Arcana, Speedy Ortiz will release a remastered edition, on Carpark Records.

On their debut full-length, Western Massachusetts' Speedy Ortiz manages a bit of magic by conjuring the spirits of classic American indie rock, while twisting those ghosts into new shapes. It's easy to hear the influences of Helium, Jawbox, and Chavez on this album, as well as nods to their contemporaries including Grass is Green, Pile, and Roomrunner. Sweet vocal harmonies run up against gnarly distortion, aided by basic, chunky bass parts and heavy, fill-laden drums.

The album was recorded in a few days in November at Justin Pizzoferrato's (Dinosaur Jr., Chelsea Light Moving) studio, Sonelab, a huge space in an old factory in Easthampton, Mass. The sessions went from very early in the day until very late at night, with the band taking its time to experiment. Pizzoferrato's collection of old distortion pedals were utilized on both the record's guitars and vocals.

The theme of the occult and the supernatural runs deep through Major Arcana, inspired by singer-guitarist Sadie Dupuis' reading on black magic. Dupuis' sometimes knotty and abstract lyrics bring to mind fellow wordsmith Stephen Malkmus, while referencing horror film tropes, chemistry, and neuroscience. Major Arcana's literal translation is 'major mysteries,' a phrase from tarot cards. 'I don't write in a narrative way and am more concerned with use of language than meaning,' Dupuis says, 'so I like the open-endedness of the title and the way it invites interpretation.'

After too much time freelance writing and watching re-runs in a windowless Brooklyn basement, guitarist and songwriter Sadie Dupuis left New York City for the wilds of Northampton, MA in order to pursue a master's degree in poetry. In doing so, she began Speedy Ortiz, a self-recorded lo-fi project named after a minor character from the Love and Rockets comic series. Speedy Ortiz soon became something else entirely as bassist Darl Ferm, guitarist Matt Robidoux, and drummer Mike Falcone teamed up to form a full band, balancing abrasive noise with infectious earworms. The newly minted Speedy Ortiz quickly found an audience in the Boston DIY scene, playing frequently with their friends Pile, Grass is Green, Fat History Month, Sneeze, Krill, and Arvid Noe.

Almost immediately, the band recorded a two-song single, 'Taylor Swift' and 'Swim Fan,' with Paul Q. Kolderie (Pixies, Hole) and Justin Pizzoferrato (Chelsea Light Moving, Dinosaur Jr.), and self-released it in March of 2012. Shortly thereafter they spent a few weekends at the dingy yet atmospheric Sex Dungeon Studios in Philadelphia recording the Sports EP, a five-track, loosely conceptual 10' released that June on Exploding in Sound Records.

The creation of Major Arcana, their full-length debut, marks the evolution of Speedy Ortiz into a wholly collaborative effort. Darl leans toward basic, chunky parts, while Mike, a talented songwriter in his own right, helped arrange while also providing aggressive, boisterous drums. And Matt is a classically trained guitarist, but his experience in noise and experimental music comes through in his anti-melodic guitar solos, which counterbalance Sadie's angular, scalar guitar riffs and poppy vocals.

The end result is a band able to distill their influences and creative impulses into something at once dissonant and melodic, noisy yet undeniably pop.

GREEN AND WHITE MARBLE VINYL.

The Beths occupy a warm, energetic sonic space between joyful hooks, sun-soaked harmonies, and acerbic lyrics. Their debut album Future Me Hates Me, forthcoming on Carpark Records, delivers an astonishment of roadtrip-ready pleasures, each song hitting your ears with an exhilarating endorphin rush like the first time you heard Slanted and Enchanted or 'Cannonball.'

Front and center on these ten infectious tracks is lead singer and primary songwriter Elizabeth Stokes. Stokes has previously worked in other genres within Auckland's rich and varied music scene, recently playing in a folk outfit, but it was in exploring the angst-ridden sounds of her youth that she found her place. 'Fronting this kind of band was a new experience for me,' says Stokes. 'I never thought I had the right voice for it.'

From the irresistible title track to future singles 'Happy Unhappy' and 'You Wouldn't Like Me,' Stokes commands a vocal range that spans from the brash confidence of Joan Jett to the disarming vulnerability of Jenny Lewis. Further honeying Future Me Hates Me's dark lyrics that explore complex topics like being newly alone and the self-defeating anticipation of impending regret, ecstatic vocal harmonies bubble up like in the greatest pop and R+B of the '60s, while inverting the trope of the 'sad dude singer accompanied by a homogenous girl-sound.'

All four members of The Beths studied jazz at university, resulting in a toolkit of deft instrumental chops and tricked-out arrangements that operate on a level rarely found in guitar-pop. Beths guitarist and studio guru Jonathan Pearce (whose other acts as producer include recent Captured Tracks signing Wax Chattels) brings it all home with an approach that's equal parts seasoned perfectionist and D.I.Y.

'There's a lot of sad sincerity in the lyrics,' she continues, 'that relies on the music having a light heart and sense of humor to keep it from being too earnest.' Channeling their stew of personal-canon heroes while drawing inspiration from contemporaries like Alvvays and Courtney Barnett, The Beths serve up deeply emotional lyrics packaged within heavenly sounds that delight in probing the limits of the pop form. 'That's another New Zealand thing,' Stokes concludes with a laugh. 'We're putting our hearts on our sleeves—and then apologizing for it.'

On Rock Island, their second LP, Palm produces evidence of a distinct musical language, developed over time, in isolation, and out of necessity. On the island, melodies are struck on what might be shells or spines. Rhythms are scratched out, swept over, scratched again. Individual instruments, and sometimes entire sections, skip and stutter. There is the sense of a music box with wonky tension or a warped transmission in which all the noise is taken for signal.

Like other groups so acclaimed for their compulsive live show, Palm has been burdened by the constant comparison between their recorded material and their touring set. On Rock Island, they render this tired discussion moot, using the album form to present that which could never be completely live, reserving for performance that which could never be completely reproduced.

Despite appearing behind the instruments typical of rock music, Palm trades in sounds of their own making. On these songs, one of the guitars and the drum kit are used as MIDI triggers, producing an index that can be combed through later and replaced with new information. The percussion is sometimes augmented so as to suggest a multiplication of limbs. The strings are manipulated to choke, crack, and hum like other instruments, or other bodies, might.

Working again with engineer Matt Labozza, the band spent the better part of a month in a rented farmhouse in Upstate New York. With the benefits of time and space, Palm recorded the various elements piecemeal, only rarely playing together in groups larger than two or three. While some members tracked, others holed up in the next room, experimenting with quantization, beat replacement, and other methods borrowed from electronic music. Even accounting for the many labors that brought them to be, these materials seem produced by an organic logic. Their complex friction forms a habit of thought, scores a network of grooves on the floor of the mind.

This is music with dimensionality. Sonic objects are deployed, developed, and dissected in various states of mutation. The listener flits about between the field and the lab. The tone is warm in a way only the sun could make, the pace as forceful and as variable as a gale. Whether one locates Rock Island in a sea or in a refinished attic (as in Greg Burak's album cover), whether one escapes to there or is banished, its psychic environs are charted clearly enough. Only at this remove from the mainland can we sense the conditions necessary for such a strange species of sound.

With I Will Make a Baby in this Damn Economy, Fat Tony embodies the kind of quixotic figure he would rap about; a singular entity who’s motivated, confident, and hungry; a perpetual-motion-machine locked in a staring contest with his country. It’s the latest album in his catalog produced entirely by L.A-based producer Taydex since 2020’s Wake Up. Later that same year Fat Tony released Exotica, and ever since he’s demonstrated he is in his own lane as a professional rapper with the mind of a magician, as quick to conjure an image as pull it out from under you, deftly manoeuvring through so many details and references a listener feels as if they have witnessed the work of an illusionist. He paints these canvases inside of songs that rarely spill past three minutes; they’re pocket-sized diaries replete with acute observations, character studies, microdoses of storytelling, and single-minded ruminations on a topic that bud, blossom, and fade before too long. Fat Tony & Taydex’s I Will Make a Baby in this Damn Economy cements Tony’s status as someone whose albums are not so much lyrically-lyrical as they are picaresque.
As with any Fat Tony project, the bars are tight as ever, but are so fluid for the 34-year-old it’s almost easy to take for granted the details, warmth, and humanity inside his free-associative tales of day-one friends who’ve passed, edgelord grifters who want to spit game, and nights on ketamine. Taydex’s production sprints through disparate yet simpatico styles, dipping its toes into Pi’erre Bourne-esque bass (see lead single “Spectacular”), house (“Loosen Up”), and even hyperpop. Meditations on loss and grief are woven throughout, but Tony throws a few curveballs as well: Consider “Alexis,” which sweetly reflects on a long-term platonic friendship. Taydex finds a Teddy Riley-indebted New Jack Swing groove just deep enough for the feeling to land and underlines the song’s sincere candor. This is the appeal of Fat Tony writ-large: his boisterous voice and genial personality invite you to the party, then you stick around to hear what he’s saying, which is frequently more introspective and complex than one assumes.
Written and recorded in Taydex’s new studio in North Hollywood, Tony says, “We had much more freedom and flexibility in making this album and you can hear it. It felt like a family project.” If the album is comfortable and loose, it is also dense and substantial. The album’s final two tracks contextualize the immediacy of what came before it—the mezcal with ices drank, Paul Wall swangin’ through to drop knowledge, the Polaris Prize-winning rapper Cadence Weapon providing a vibe check. “Make a Baby” accounts for Tony who’s seen everything, and knows he’s met the one to be a father with, and yet chooses to take his time to get it done. Taydex’s beat recalls turn-of-the-century R&B and the millennial promise of an endless good time. Sombre closer “Jasper, TX” is Tony coming to grips with the story of James Byrd, Jr., a Black man from East Texas dragged to his death by three white supremacists in 1998. These songs are not only trademarks of Tony’s fastidious rapping—they are deeply personal examples of his approach to artistry and life itself, where every decision is made in the shadow of history.
It’s here the mission statement of I Will Make a Baby in this Damn Economy comes into focus—you get the sense he means it, he’s ready for it, he’ll fight for it. He’s waiting to take the world at its word.

The anticipation is there in Elizabeth Stokes’ solo guitar riff under the opening lines of “I’m Not Getting Excited”: a frenetic, driving force daring a packed Auckland Town Hall to do exactly the opposite of what the track title suggests.

As the opener of The Beths’ Auckland, New Zealand, 2020 expands to include the full band, the crowd screeches and bellows. It’s a collective exhalation, in one of the few countries where live music is still possible.

The album title, and film of the same name, deliberately include the date and location, lead guitarist Jonathan Pearce says. “That’s the sensational part of what we actually did.” In a mid-pandemic world, playing to a heaving, enraptured home crowd feels miraculous.

In March 2020, everything seemed on track for another huge year for The Beths. Home after an 18-month northern hemisphere tour, they had just finished recording sophomore album Jump Rope Gazers and were primed for more extensive touring. But within days, New Zealand’s lockdown split the band between three separate houses. All touring was cancelled.

“It was existentially bad,” Stokes says. As well as worrying about economic survival, they lost something crucial to the band’s identity: live performance. “It's a huge part of how we see ourselves... What does it mean, if we can't play live?”

The band found an outlet through live-streaming, returning to the do-it-yourself mentality of their early days to connect with a global audience. The album and film have their genesis in that urge to share the now-rare experience of a live show, as widely as possible.

The fuzzy-round-the-edges live-streams pointed the way aesthetically. Native birds, wonkily crafted by the band from tissue paper and wire, festoon the venue’s cavernous ceiling while house plants soften and disguise the imposing pipes of an organ. The presence of the film crew isn’t disguised: much of the camerawork is handheld; full of fast zooms and pans.

With much of the material still fresh, the band was less focused on re-invention than playing “a good, fast rock show”, Pearce says. The tempo is up on crowd favourites “Whatever” and “Future Me Hates Me” (released as a live single on its third anniversary) as both band and audience feed off the mutual energy in the room.

Certain songs have taken on special resonance post-Covid. Pearce has found “Out Of Sight”, a tender rumination on long-distance relationships, hits particularly hard with live audiences.

Album closer “River Run” visibly brings Stokes to tears as a mix of achievement and relief kicks in. “You can finally relax at that point … You play the last note, breathe out a sigh and look up - and you’re in a giant room full of people happy and smiling.”

In the quiet surrounding the pandemic, Madeline Kenney made sonic sketches in the basement studio she shared with her then-partner. She arranged phrases that called her—the sharp knife of a synth cutting a path along a blooming arpeggio, drums stuttering firm and tight. Working this way, she amassed a collection of songs she had no particular aims for. Some formed her 2021 EP Summer Quarter, others languished.

But in 2022, Kenney’s partner left suddenly and without warning, plunging her into the solitary act of untangling what happened. In the wake of her ensuing depression, she revisited these songs and found in them something prescient. She’d already laid the foundation for A New Reality Mind.

That her relationship’s end came without warning is only half true, though. The warnings were in the feelings and fears that inspired Kenney’s critically-acclaimed third album, Sucker’s Lunch (2020), which was co-produced by Jenn Wasner (Flock of Dimes) and centered around the idea of flinging oneself freely into the seemingly-assured destruction of new love, come what may.

If sonically Sucker’s Lunch was letting yourself be pulled into the warm bath of a good story, A New Reality Mind reflects the harsh light of truth coming to break the spell. But as sobering as morning light can be, there’s brilliance to it, too. To see in the clarity of day is a gift. A revolution. Rather than reckoning with love lost, the songs on A New Reality Mind grapple with the self that chose to fall. “I guess I only needed to look twice / Reflected in my attitude, my constant compromise,” Kenney sings on “Red Emotion,” the musical landscape screeching and gasping around her observations of how she made herself small to keep the dream of love alive.

These notions of sight and vision pervade the record as Kenney stands before the infinity mirror of selves she’s been to preserve bonds in her life. On “I Drew a Line,” Kenney contends with the stories she’s told herself to keep plodding along, and the way those stories shape her perceived reality. She invokes John Berger’s Ways of Seeing—“Everything around the image is part of its meaning,” we hear him say. “Everything around it confirms and consolidates its meaning.” Here, Kenney isn’t interested in shaming herself for being carried away by the fantasies of the heart, but rather in investigating the unavoidably human propensity to do so. “I, like everyone else, am muddling through my most ordinary disaster of a life,” she acknowledges, a sentiment which reverberates through album opener “Plain Boring Disaster.” “I don’t need to start again,” she sings at the song’s close. “But I can change when it ends.” We may all be doomed to repetitive, ordinary heartbreaks, Kenney realizes, but at least we can cultivate a capacity to witness our missteps and build new realities for ourselves.

This is Kenney’s most expansive work, while also her most solitary. Produced and recorded alone in her basement, these songs are manifestations of what it feels like to be transformed by pain. Textures collide and collude; sonic ornaments emerge and dissipate capriciously; saxophones soar untamed, as on the 80s pop elegy to self-sacrifice, “Reality Mind”. These songs beg you to dance, then pull the rug out from under you once you’ve caught the beat, leaving you dizzy like the whiplash of love’s end.

But in the propulsive power of A New Reality Mind, there’s also acceptance, self-forgiveness, and a willingness to move forward into life, with all its ways of making a sucker of you. “That way of living, I’m over it,” Kenney declares of the habits that hold her back on “Superficial Conversation”. “I do not need to be reminded of what I did,” she assures, the song opening wide and beaming, like a smile expanding to taste a new breath of air.

The Search for God is a wake-up call for a troubled world that’s still worth saving, animated by a belief in the power of small connections to add up to big changes. At 10 songs delivered in a brief 15 minutes, Jimmy Whispers’ long-awaited sophomore album feels present in a way that feels brand new for the cult auteur. Like many of us, Jimmy has been affected by the pressure of the past few years. After embracing sobriety in 2019, and now as a filmmaker sharing the stories of lesser known Los Angeles community members, he’s brought his dreaming down to earth, while turning its direction even further out.

Recorded with his longtime friend Ziyad Asrar of the band Whitney (and re-recorded after a hard drive incident destroyed the original files), The Search for God was created in the wake of Jimmy’s COVID isolation, and returns to some teen influences that are out of step with the chill/lo-fi LA indie rock scene he’s found himself lumped in with. Created mostly with two vintage synths, a single Roland CR5000 drum machine, and a busted karaoke machine, it channels Midwestern emo, the Beach Boys’ Smile, subtle nods at hyper-pop production, and forgotten jewel-box era college radio of the early aughts into a pure pop sound that transcends easy categorization.

The album’s standout single—and its statement of purpose—is “Hellscape,” which packs more into a minute and 40 seconds than you’d think possible: multiple immediately-unforgettable hooks, kaleidoscopic keyboards, and a bracing reminder that even the most transcendent moments are rooted in a world full of suffering. “This is a fucking hellscape,” Jimmy sings. “This is real life / this is happening.”

That may sound like punk nihilism, but The Search for God is anything but. Every lyrical acknowledgment of how fucked things are right now comes with a promise that we can still make positive changes. Jimmy calls it “God”; you might call it Love or Peace or A Place In the Universe That Makes Some Kind of Sense.

Will The Search for God deliver whatever that is to you? Of course not. At its heart, it’s still just a really good pop album. But maybe that’s enough. For a minute or two at a time, Jimmy’s music cracks open a space where the divine can enter our lives. The utopia we’ve all been dreaming of is already here if we’re just willing to build it. Jimmy Whispers is there, ready to add his voice, whenever we want to reach out.

*The product of a move from South Carolina to Berkeley, CA and the subsequent extended separation from loved ones, Toro Y Moi's third full-length, Anything in Return, puts Chaz Bundick right in the middle of the producer/songwriter dichotomy that his first two albums established.

*There's a pervasive sense of peace with his tendency to dabble in both sides of the modern music-making spectrum, and he sounds comfortable engaging in intuitive pop production and putting forth the impression of unmediated id.

*The producer's hand is prominent- not least in the sampled "yeah"s and "uh"s that give the album a hip-hop-indebted confidence- and many of the songs feature the 4/4 beats and deftly employed effects usually associated with house music. Tracks like "High Living" and "Day One" show a considerably Californian influence, their languid funk redolent of a West Coast temperament, and elsewhere- not least on lead single, "So Many Details"- the record plays with darker atmospheres than we're used to hearing from Toro Y Moi. Sounding quite assured in what some may call this songwriter's return to producer-hood, Anything in Return is Bundick uninhibited by issues of genre, an album that feels like the artist's essence.

*Born and raised in Columbia, South Carolina, Chaz Bundick has been toying with various musical projects since early adolescence. Having spent his formative years playing in punk and indie rock acts, his protean Toro Y Moi project has been his vessel for further musical exploration since 2001. During his time spent studying graphic design at the University of South Carolina, Chaz became increasingly focused on his solo work, incorporating electronics and allowing a wider range of influences- French house, Brian Wilson's pop, 80s R&B, and Stones Throw hip-hop- to show up in his music. By the time he graduated in spring 2009, Chaz had refined his sound to something all his own. Music journals across the board touted his hazy recordings as the sound of the summer, and he released his debut album, Causers of This in early 2010.

*Since then, Bundick has proven himself to be not just a prolific musician, but a diverse one as well, letting each successive release broaden the scope of the Toro Y Moi oeuvre. The funky psych-pop of 2011's Underneath the Pine evinced an artist who could create similar atmospheres even without the aid of source material and drum machines. His Freaking Out EP, a handful of singles and remixes, and a retrospective box-set plot points all along the producer/songwriter spectrum in which he's worked since his debut, and Anything In Return is another exciting offering that shows he's still not ready to settle into any one genre.

Standing in a Greyhound Bus station, wearing a Sylvester t-shirt and huge duct-tape-covered glasses, Baltimore ’s Dan Deacon doesn't invoke the image of a composer to the other bus riders. The two suitcases he loads under the bus, which accompany him from city to city, hold the sweat-and-grime-soaked electronics that he uses to craft his raging, maxed-out party music and light show. After 12 tours and 300+ shows in little over 2 years, the gear is beaten and battered, but the show and the energy it produces is anything but.

Dan Deacon has garnered a reputation in the underground as an intense performer and classic showman. The table top full of pedals, a sine wave generator, vocoder and casio blasting through the PA, joined by a makeshift light board with various bulbs and green skull strobe light, make his all out dance-til-you-drop performance a complete experience.

But it isn't all fancy feet and bouncy beats. Deacon is a classically trained composer with a Masters degree in electro-acoustic composition. He has released 7 albums from 2003 to 2006, but those self-produced recordings do not contain the vocal-based experimental pop that he has fine-tuned in live performance. His latest full length, Spiderman of the Rings is the first album bridging the gap between party performer and genuine composer. A mixture of his live show dance anthems, intricate instrumentals and humorous monologues, 'Spiderman of the Rings' establishes Dan Deacon as a new type of entertainer in the contemporary underground.

Foyer Red’s debut LP, Yarn the Hours Away, plays out as a collection of short stories, each with its environment and protagonist(s) meticulously crafted by the band, with lead singer, vocalist, and clarinetist Elana Riordan at the helm. Foyer Red’s debut EP, Zigzag Wombat, showcased their playfully chaotic arrangements, which bridge art-punk, math rock, and sweetly sung indie with a dash of the zoomies.

The band synthesizes their homespun take on magical realist indie rock that was centered on their EP with their varied musical influences; taking cues from the otherworldly melodies of Cate Le Bon, Yucky Duster’s jangle-filled crayon rock, and the organized chaos of Deerhoof’s iconic polyrhythms. The songs that makeup Yarn the Hours Away are fantastical, surrealist stories that hinge on contemporary, post-digital life.

The lead single “Etc” captures this dynamic perfectly. Anchored by Eric Jaso’s hypnotizing bass line, the song unfolds with off-kilter call-and-response vocals between Riordan and Kristina Moore, their stilted deliveries bouncing around the mix. The track is searching but discontent with the algorithmic and claustrophobic realities of daily life: singer/guitarist Mitch Myers throws the song for a loop singing, “gathering information / will set you free once you’ve reached / 37 percent / of the database.” While there’s paranoia and cynicism undergirding the lyrics, the song itself is a thrilling and playful listen.

The songs on Yarn the Hours Away are uniformly exciting and compelling; each track feels distinct and sometimes even in direct conflict. The peppy opener “Plumbers Unite!” belies its themes of gamification of our daily lives and delves into the science fiction and fantasy songwriting of Foyer Red’s debut EP. Centered around a relentless rhythm section, their dueling vocals never abate; Moore and Riordan’s honey-sweet but getting more frantic as the song progresses, while Myers’ erratic talk-singing culminates in one final frustrated scream. Juxtapose this with “Gorgeous,” a lovely song about Riordan and drummer Marco Ocampo’s relationship that sees the band slowing their pace into a blissful sway. Riordan coos and sighs over the track while recalling “Marco-isms”; botched colloquialisms that Ocampo uses.

“Gorgeous” shares little in common with “Pocket,” a loose lamentation on late capitalism that touches on time travel and human evolution. Moore and Riordan’s exclamations are chopped up and used as rhythm instruments, layered over the intricately frenetic guitars of Myers and Moore. Foyer Red thrives on these extremes and contradictions. Where their first release was self-recorded, this LP found them in Figure8 Studios with a deadline. “It was really liberating,” says Jaso. “We're all just kind of throwing in our own voices and challenging each other to make the songs better.”

Yarn the Hours Away comes from a lyric on the closer “Toy Wagon.” The song that first marked the time Moore and the rest of the band worked together, a promising spark of a thrilling collaboration to come. “It harkens back to all of us coming together and spending the hours together in music,” says Moore. “There are few moments where you get to relax and exhale,” adds Riordan. “It's what happened when the five of us got together and started writing. We just wrote all of these out there songs and we didn't see a reason to dial that back. Its natural form is in its chaos and layered craziness.”

Very Limited GREEN SKULL Vinyl.
Standing in a Greyhound Bus station, wearing a Sylvester t-shirt and huge duct-tape-covered glasses, Baltimore ’s Dan Deacon doesn't invoke the image of a composer to the other bus riders. The two suitcases he loads under the bus, which accompany him from city to city, hold the sweat-and-grime-soaked electronics that he uses to craft his raging, maxed-out party music and light show. After 12 tours and 300+ shows in little over 2 years, the gear is beaten and battered, but the show and the energy it produces is anything but.

Dan Deacon has garnered a reputation in the underground as an intense performer and classic showman. The table top full of pedals, a sine wave generator, vocoder and casio blasting through the PA, joined by a makeshift light board with various bulbs and green skull strobe light, make his all out dance-til-you-drop performance a complete experience.

But it isn't all fancy feet and bouncy beats. Deacon is a classically trained composer with a Masters degree in electro-acoustic composition. He has released 7 albums from 2003 to 2006, but those self-produced recordings do not contain the vocal-based experimental pop that he has fine-tuned in live performance. His latest full length, Spiderman of the Rings is the first album bridging the gap between party performer and genuine composer. A mixture of his live show dance anthems, intricate instrumentals and humorous monologues, Spiderman of the Rings establishes Dan Deacon as a new type of entertainer in the contemporary underground.

The Beths debut EP – new pressing on on Light Blue Vinyl

The Beths' Warm Blood is a strong contender for the catchiest record you've never heard. Formed when four jazz students at the University of Auckland bonded over their shared love of the pop-punk sounds of their youth, The Beths bring new energy to the genre. This 5-song debut EP, a deliriously pleasurable statement of purpose, comes crammed with enough blissful hooks to carry through most bands' careers.

Listeners for whom the tag 'New Zealand indie rock' brings to mind the Flying Nun sound of bands like The Clean and The Chills may be surprised to find Warm Blood's five unstoppable tunes landing closer to artists like Slant 6 and The Breeders. The nimble guitar work here moves from heavy riffing reminiscent of Sleater-Kinney to hazily bending lines that would make Stephen Malkmus and Mary Timony beam, while the joyous vocal harmonies from all four members bubble and swell to ecstatic crescendos that channel The Zombies' Odessey and Oracle.

With impeccable production from guitarist Jonathan Pearce and stellar musicianship across the board, Warm Blood is a non-stop delight. Tracks like leadoff track and first single 'Whatever,' the ridiculously addictive standout 'Idea/Intent,' and 'Rush Hour 3,' a playful ode to romance in this era of download-and-chill franchise films, take delight in the challenge of breathing new energy into the limitations of the 3-minute pop song. 

Repress!

For his Carpark debut, Saint Pepsi takes a step away from the more genre-shuffling styles of his Internet releases to focus his skills on high-power pop. The title track of the "Fiona Coyne" 7-inch is an uplifting tribute to fantastical romance and the joyous dreams pop culture can provide

RED APPLE MARBLE VINYL REPRESS.

Everything changed for The Beths when they released their debut album, Future Me Hates Me, in 2018. The indie rock band had long been nurtured within Auckland, New Zealand’s tight-knit music scene, working full-time during the day and playing music with friends after hours. Full of uptempo pop rock songs with bright, indelible hooks, the LP garnered them critical acclaim from outlets like Pitchfork and Rolling Stone, and they set out for their first string of shows overseas. They quit their jobs, said goodbye to their home town, and devoted themselves entirely to performing across North America and Europe. They found themselves playing to crowds of devoted fans and opening for acts like Pixies and Death Cab for Cutie. Almost instantly, The Beths turned from a passion project into a full-time career in music.

Songwriter and lead vocalist Elizabeth Stokes worked on what would become The Beths’ second LP, Jump Rope Gazers, in between these intense periods of touring. Like the group’s earlier music, the album tackles themes of anxiety and self-doubt with effervescent power pop choruses and rousing backup vocals, zeroing in on the communality and catharsis that can come from sharing stressful situations with some of your best friends. Stokes’s writing on Jump Rope Gazers grapples with the uneasy proposition of leaving everything and everyone you know behind on another continent, chasing your dreams while struggling to stay close with loved ones back home.

"If you're at a certain age, all your friends scatter to the four winds,” Stokes says. “We did the same thing. When you're home, you miss everybody, and when you're away, you miss everybody. We were just missing people all the time.”

With songs like the rambunctious “Dying To Believe” and the tender, shoegazey “Out of Sight,” The Beths reckon with the distance that life necessarily drives between people over time. People who love each other inevitably fail each other. “I’m sorry for the way that I can’t hold conversations/They’re such a fragile thing to try to support the weight of,” Stokes sings on “Dying to Believe.” The best way to repair that failure, in The Beths’ view, is with abundant and unconditional love, no matter how far it has to travel. On “Out of Sight,” she pledges devotion to a dearly missed friend: “If your world collapses/I’ll be down in the rubble/I’d build you another,” she sings.

“It was a rough year in general, and I found myself saying the words, 'wish you were here, wish I was there,’ over and over again,” she says of the time period in which the album was written. Touring far from home, The Beths committed themselves to taking care of each other as they were trying at the same time to take care of friends living thousands of miles away. They encouraged each other to communicate whenever things got hard, and to pay forward acts of kindness whenever they could. That care and attention shines through on Jump Rope Gazers, where the quartet sounds more locked in than ever. Their most emotive and heartfelt work to date, Jump Rope Gazers stares down all the hard parts of living in communion with other people, even at a distance, while celebrating the ferocious joy that makes it all worth it -- a sentiment we need now more than ever.

To celebrate the 10th anniversary of Cloud Nothings' seminal album, Attack On Memory, the band has announced a very special limited edition vinyl pressing. 3000 copies worldwide.

It’s housed in a foil jacket with all new colorized artwork, is pressed on Sky Blue vinyl, and includes two bonus flexi 7"s with two never-before-released tracks, "You Will Turn" and "Jambalaya" from the original sessions at Steve Albini's Electrical Audio.

In 2009, Cleveland’s Dylan Baldi began writing and recording lo-fi power-pop songs in his parents’ basement, dubbing the project Cloud Nothings. His music quickly started making the Internet rounds, and fans and critics alike took note of his pithy songcraft, infectiously catchy melodies, and youthful enthusiasm. Baldi soon released a string of 7”s, a split cassette, and an EP before putting out Turning On—a compilation spanning about a year’s worth of work—on Carpark in 2010. January 2011 saw the release of Cloud Nothings’ self- titled debut LP, which, put next to Turning On, found Baldi cleaning up his lo-fi aesthetic, pairing his tales of affinitive confusion with a more pristine aural clarity. In the interval since the release of Cloud Nothings, Baldi has toured widely and put a great deal of focus on his live show, a detail that heavily shapes the music of his follow-up album, Attack on Memory.

After playing the same sets nightly for months on end, Baldi saw the rigidity of his early work, and he wanted to create arrangements that would allow for more improvisation and variability when played on the road. To accomplish this desired malleability, the entire band decamped to Chicago—where the album was recorded with Steve Albini—and all lent a hand in the songwriting process. The product of these sessions is a record boasting features that, even at a glance, mark a sea change in the band’s sound: higher fidelity, a track clocking in at almost nine minutes, an instrumental, and an overall more plaintive air. The songs move along fluidly, and Baldi sounds assured as he brings his vocals up in the mix, allowing himself to hold out long notes and put some grain into his voice. Minor key melodies abound, drums emphatically contribute much more than mere timekeeping, and the guitar work is much more adventurous than that of previous releases.

For all of early Cloud Nothings’ fun and fervor, Baldi admits that it never sounded like most of the music he listens to. With Attack on Memory, he wanted to remedy this anomaly, and in setting out to do so, Baldi and co. created an album that showed vast growth for a very young band.