Album-art-for-The-Dead-Age-by-Unicycle-Loves-You Unicycle Loves You – The Dead Age


Punk isn’t dead, but it’s bored out of its mind. Brooklyn trio Unicycle Loves You promises a peculiar record in its fourth LP The Dead Age with quirky song titles like “Suicide Pizza” and “Endless Bummer,” but delivers little more than predictable, mediocre punk rock.

The album artwork depicts a seagull-littered beach, neon pink and green cursive font, and a severed statue bust, but The Dead Age isn’t nearly as intriguing. The record quickly blends into any background, with a constant tempo and a blanket of fuzzy distortion enveloping the entire album.

The self-described “noise pop/psych punk” act limits itself by burying its vocals under blaring guitars, defiantly thick basslines, and primitively pounding drums, making most lyrics impossible to distinguish. Singer/guitarist Jim Carroll’s slurred, sloppy vocal performances further instruct listeners to focus on other elements. His vocal melodies are often doubled by his guitar (“JAWS,” “Grownups”), implying yet again that in ULY’s music, the vocals are no more important than guitar, bass, or drums.

Carroll’s only prominent vocal line on the album appears in the screeching punk anthem, “We Never Worry,” where he proudly calls, “If I knew now what I knew then/then I would learn what I don’t know!”

The intentionally vague lyrics indicate again that vocals are just another crude weapon in ULY’s punk rock arsenal.

An additional weapon is the nonstop barrage of descending, single-string guitar phrases that rubber stamp a majority of The Dead Age’s songs and inhibit them from having unique personalities (“Falling Off,” “Suicide Pizza,” “Face Tattoo,” “Bad News Club,” “Endless Bummer”).

One anomaly is the intoxicating, spacey waltz “Any Daydreaming Morning.” True to Unicycle form, vocals float faintly in the distance, but in this scenario they add ambience, helping rather than hurting. Carroll’s guitar solo consists of rapidly-repeated notes, performed with surprising precision and skill. At the end of “Any Daydreaming Morning,” noisy, off-putting feedback splashes icy water in listeners’ faces, waking them from the track’s hazy, relaxed atmosphere and back into the cold, harsh realities of a hum-drum punk record.

Another gem is the summery “Bad News Club,” which boasts a potent surf rock influence. The sunshine-soaked guitar solo that introduces the track is the most aware on the album, building up to the song’s main riff with keen pop sensibilities akin to the Clash.

Unfortunately, ULY forgoes the Clash’s compositional ambition; predictability is The Dead Age‘s greatest fault. Bassist Nicole Vitale’s lines thump along sufficiently, but not poignantly. Meanwhile, drummer Dennis Lehrer’s bombastic playing meets punk standards, but goes no further. Stagnant, unchanging guitar parts (“Falling Off,” “Endless Bummer”) and far-from-captivating solos (“Suicide Pizza,” “JAWS”) also help confirm The Dead Age‘s status as an unsurprising, typical punk record.

Standout “Face Tattoo” suggests a stylistic change, jumping in with a drum beat that could almost be considered “dancey,” but ULY’s thrashing guitars quickly make it clear that the trio’s punk rock core is immovable, even by their own experiments. At almost five minutes long, the track, like the whole of The Dead Age, doesn’t stay interesting enough to warrant its length.

Unicycle Loves You pairs atypical song titles (and band names) with typical music. Despite its varied influences, attempts at creative songwriting, and the couple of hidden treasures it harbors, The Dead Age is surprisingly forgettable.

Unicycle Loves You – The Dead Age tracklist:

  1. “Falling Off”
  2. “We Never Worry”
  3. “Suicide Pizza”
  4. “Silent Minus”
  5. “Face Tattoo”
  6. “JAWS”
  7. “Bad News Club”
  8. “Endless Bummer”
  9. “Any Daydreaming Morning”
  10. “Grownups”
  11. “X-ray Glaze”
  12. “The Dead Age”
Album-art-for-Jaded&Faded-by-Cerebral-Ballzy Cerebral Ballzy – Jaded & Faded


It’s been a few years since the offensively-named Cerebral Ballzy unleashed hell on its self-titled debut. Cerebral Ballzy embodied the spirit of the great punk bands of the ’70s and ’80s, fueling mosh pits and filling venues full of sweaty teenagers as well as any other hardcore band.

But despite the contagious energy of the music, the blistering riffs and stereotypical “we don’t give a fuck” punk mentality, Cerebral Ballzy lacked fundamental songwriting skills, much like the outfit’s new record, Jaded & Faded.

A slew of shoddy, muffled mixes, absurd vocal stylings, and unbearably similar songs make Cerebral Ballzy altogether off-putting. While trying hard to be a rebellious, let’s-piss-off-our-parents type of album, Jaded & Faded comes off as nothing more than an unlistenable mess.

Of course, punk is a uniquely disorderly genre, but Jaded & Faded surpasses the acceptable dose of lawlessness. It’s hard to tell what’s going in any of the brief songs, all of which sound nearly identical with their lifeless riffs.

The album starts on “Another Day” with a slow, overdriven guitar, but it’s not long before the song loses any tinge of organization as it speeds up and singer Honor Titus starts barking his unintelligible lyrics. Impulsive tempo changes clash as the band clumsily trips over itself in a hasty effort to play as fast as possible, only to end up sounding musically illiterate. The same horrendous trend carries over the rest of the album, but gets more unbearable as it’s repeated for the umpteenpth time.

Cerebral Ballzy consistently stumbles through every song, regardless of speed, begging the question of whether the band has played its instruments at all in the years since its debut.

And just when you think the album couldn’t get worse than the muddled chorus of “Downtown” or the garbled shouts in “Parade of Idiots,” it sinks even lower.

Other bands have pulled off joke songs in the past (see: Blink-182’s “Depends”), but Cerebral Ballzy turns it into a total shit show. “Speed Wobbles” is a horrific waste of time and a serious challenge to sit through. It’s unclear whether the song was intended to be funny or not, but given how utterly dreadfully it’s performed, it can only be a failed joke or an ironic mockery of punk music. Titus squeals child-like lyrics about the dangers of speed wobbles while skating, further ruining the already dull instrumentals. As if the tone of his voice wasn’t bad enough, the lyrics, “Going so fast that it’s bound to end/Going down hard no matter how I shred,” are as basic as they come.

Titus goes back to adulthood on the following track, “Fast Food,” though he’s covering an equally vapid subject. This classic punk song proves that breakneck riffs and rebellious lyrics do not always make a hit. The instruments are so tangled that it’s hard to tell one from another, and the simple, repeated chorus of, “Fast food, kill that dude” reinforces the impression that Cerebral Ballzy is simply clueless.

The group has every necessary element of a punk rock band—except, of course, what makes the genre good. Yes, they thrash and scream and cause mayhem. Yes, they sing about sex and skateboarding and junk food. But the complete absence of depth destroys any chance of it becoming quality music. Without intelligent, pressing subject matter, the music loses its power, ultimately retracting to nothing more than incoherent noise.

What this all comes down to is Cerebral Ballzy’s complete lack of songwriting skill, which doesn’t reach far past a screaming baby dropping a distorted guitar on a drum set. The band knows punk and how to mimic it, but not how to make it worthy of anyone’s attention.

Cerebral Ballzy – Jaded & Faded tracklist:

  1. “Another Day”
  2. “Fake I.D.”
  3. “Parade of Idiots”
  4. “Better In Leather”
  5. “City’s Girl”
  6. “Lonely As America”
  7. “Downtown”
  8. “Speed Wobbles”
  9. “Fast Food”
  10. “Off With Your Head”
  11. “Pretty In The City”
  12. “Be Your Toy”
  13. “All I Ever Wanted”
Album-Art-for-Familiars-by-The-Antlers The Antlers – Familiars


The Antlers, best known for their 2009 record Hospice—a concept album set in a cancer ward—are no strangers to profound emotional probing. Lead singer and guitarist Peter Silberman’s lyrics almost always come back to themes of grief, confusion, regret, and what we will all, eventually and ubiquitously, experience: death.

This time around, however, on their fifth album Familiars, the storytelling takes a sharp twist along its path. Silberman is no longer caught up in the process of grieving and repentance. Instead, Familiars reveals the endeavors of moving on, moving forward, and accepting mortality.

Self-produced and recorded, Familiars runs slowly, ushering through speakers like a lullaby. Languid horns are accompanied by fluttering keyboard strokes and subdued guitar plucks, creating a beautiful landscape for Silberman’s intense, passionate vocals to drift through. Drummer Darby Cicci’s jazzy undertones are a new tool in the Antlers’ mystical toolbox, adding to Familiars‘ bittersweet theme.

The ambiance is more comparable to a dream than a particular noise—soft and jarring, cohesively cluttered with organs, basses, and harmonicas, setting the mood to an uncomfortable contentment.

The first track, “Palace,” opens with flickering keyboards and steady symbols, followed by somnolent horns and Silberman’s sooty, whispery moans. “But I swear I’ll find your light in the middle/Where there’s so little late at night, down in the pit of the well,” he croons. The last hook is the first taste of the album’s apparent (and newfound) optimism and strength, setting the mood for the tracks to come.

“Doppelgänger” is one of the better examples of Silberman’s upward journey. “If you’re quiet, you can hear the monster breathing…/Do you hear that gentle tapping?/My ugly creature’s freezing,” the second track begins, expressing that confronting your demons and accepting who you are is essential to personal growth.

Familiars succeeds in articulating encouraging, heroic couplets of inspiration, buried within the individual stories each song presents. “You will hate who you are/’Til you overthrow who you’ve been,” Silberman coos on the fifth track, “Director.”

Only three verses long, the last song, “Refuge,” may be the most powerful one on the album. “You’re already home and you don’t even know it/You have a room you can return to, and you’ll never outgrow it/See, you’re already home when you don’t know where to find it,” Silberman’s soothing vocals urge, backed up by wavering horns that stack emotions high.

He closes the album by singing, “It’s not our house that we remember/It’s a feeling outside it when everyone’s gone but we leave all the lights on anyway,” summarizing into one, achingly beautiful and nostalgic feeling, the message of Familiars.

We only have what we remember. Emotions, memories. These are what we are left with—and we must try to accept our mortality and vanquish human-natured tenacity.

Familiars is more than just a dream that listeners can slip in and out of. It’s a world that demands utter devotion. Utter willingness to jump into the wistful, abstracted abyss without looking back—a cold plunge and a heavy burden. The Antlers may be asking too much of listeners. Sometimes, a simple dream is enough.

The Antlers – Familiars tracklist:

  1. “Palace”
  2. “Doppelgänger”
  3. “Hotel”
  4. “Intruders”
  5. “Director”
  6. “Revisited”
  7. “Parade”
  8. “Surrender”
  9. “Refuge”
Album-art-for-Pedals-by-SPEAK Speak – Pedals


With summer underway, countless playlists are being created in hopes of achieving all sorts of vibes that make you want to dance your way to the beach or unwind with friends at a backyard cookout. But with Speak’s upcoming album Pedals hitting the shelves, playlists won’t be necessary; this album takes you into every little summery sound nook you never knew you were looking to find.

Pedals sounds like a blend of Foster the People and Passion Pit: it’s synthesizers and positive vibrations galore, with lyrics that lend themselves easily to nostalgia.

The album flows just as nicely as a good summer playlist should, with a few explosive dance songs to pump up the crowd and a chill middle section followed by a few slow, emotional numbers, ending boldly with chants that leave a happy ringing in your ears.

From the start of “Oh Lord,” an already infectious drum line hooks you right in.

A brief triangle/bass duet follows the first chorus, bringing a bit of funk into the song. The wailing chorus line, “Oh Lord, it’s another one,” brings a feeling of pure, unabashed joy to the summer anthem, and the melodic tune sticks long after the first listen, like a juicy watermelon slice in your hand. 

The hopeful track “Nightlight” makes it seem like summer will never have to end. Singer Troupe Gammage croons, “And if every day is an eye for an eye, well then I won’t lose sight/’Cause if I never get any closer to it, the longer I’ll try.” The sound is equally uplifting, and sways like waves with a moderate tempo that pushes the lyrics to the foreground.

When the album finally decides it’s time for a little cool down, “11 12 13” brings hazy vocals and an echoey ambiance that feels soft and slow on your ears.

Halfway through “11 12 13,” the melody cuts off and morphs into an even slower and hazier snippet of sound. Speak pulls this trick throughout the album, completely switching gears near the end of almost every track. These little twists are enjoyable at points, but more than once, a song goes on after it should have died out.  

Still, Pedals‘ crisp sound flows seamlessly between every summer mood with infectious charm. This shuffle-able album is a must to shed a fresh light on the tunes of any summertime occasion.

SPEAK – Pedals tracklist:

  1. “Gates”
  2. “Mystery Lights”
  3. “Nightlight”
  4. “Weiss”
  5. “This Much I Know”
  6. “Peaks”
  7. “Oh Lord”
  8. “Modern Art”
  9. “Be Reasonable, Diane”
  10. “Congo”
  11. “Heavy Metal War”
  12. “11 12 13”
  13. “The Meantime”
  14. “Trials”
Album-art-for-9-Songs-by-Dub-Thompson Dub Thompson – 9 Songs


Experimental noise rock is a hit-or-miss genre. If a band can manage to venture past the confines of traditional rock with unyielding originality and accessibility, it can work. On the other hand, if a band writes the equivalent of musical gibberish, lacking both direction and song quality, it’s bound to be a disaster.

Unfortunately, the young L.A. duo of singer/guitarist Matt Pulos and drummer Evan Laffer, writing under the name Dub Thompson, falls more under the second category (though not entirely) on the ironically named 9 Songs. A few great moments shine through, but you have to wade through too much shit to find them.

The 19-year-olds try out a lot of trippy, shoegaze sounds and structures, but for the most part, that leads to indistinguishable, jumbled tracks with no real form. Many of the riffs are too dissonant to be in any way enjoyable, and a majority of the lyrics are mumbled, which, when paired with the overwhelmingly distorted vocals, makes for a rough listen.

Opening track “Hayward!” sets the tone of the album with a stuffy, disjunct medley of a few short songs. Poor recording quality downgrades the already subpar tracks, but that’s not easy to help on a debut. Still, Pulos’ lyrics are completely undecipherable aside from a few stints here or there, making “Hayward!” a complete mess in every aspect.

Continuing through 9 Songs, which actually includes only eight songs, the tracks uphold the befuddled feel of the intro, but some fall flat in other ways as well. “Epicondyles” has a similarly off-putting melody and unclear lyrics, while “Mono,” though it has some cool shrieking guitar sections, is unbearably repetitive.

9 Songs is blatantly experimental, with both members trying to take their instruments as far as they can go.

It’s not that they have no clue what they’re doing or are plucking irrational chords and nonsensically beating on drums—rather, they’re clearly talented musicians. Dub Thompson went out on a limb with 9 Songs, but unfortunately, it crumbled under the weight of excessive distortion and irksome harmonies.

And yet, there are a few songs that hit the mark, sticking with the same strange flair that drives the others, but actually pulling off the experimental style. The title track is an instrumental interlude that feels much more on-point than much of the record. Pulos gets weird with effects and spastic guitar solos while Laffer backs him up with equally deranged drums. “9 Songs” is primal and intricate, counteracting anarchic convulsions with an organized refrain. The opposing sides put on a thrilling fight, making for an album-defining song that proves the duo is both original and talented.

The next song reinforces that realization, sounding more polished and thought-out than the rest of the LP. “Ash Wednesday” still masks Pulos’ voice with a combination of echo and distortion, but it works well with the ferocity of his delivery and the eerie groove of his bass and squealing guitar parts. With well-defined verses and a catchy chorus, “Ash Wednesday” is easily the most accessible track on 9 Songs.

Dub Thompson’s debut is an experimental plight that’s often difficult to listen to, but it does have its moments. 9 Songs is filled with thrilling, schizophrenic guitar, chaotic drums, and a shitload of effects, which bring brief snippets of brilliance to the heaping pile of unlistenable noise.

Dub Thompson – 9 Songs tracklist:

  1. “Hayward!”
  2. “No Time”
  3. “Epicondyles”
  4. “Dograces”
  5. “Mono”
  6. “9 Songs”
  7. “Ash Wednesday”
  8. “Pterodactyls”
Album-art-for-Honcho-Dreams-by-Be-Calm-Honcho Be Calm Honcho- Honcho Dreams


Be Calm Honcho is SoCal cool with its first full length, Honcho Dreams. The quartet hails from the Bay Area, the San Fernando Valley, and Lafayette, L.A.—a fact that vocalist Shannon Harney, drummer Mikey Carrera, and multi-instrumentalists Jacob Landry and Alex Weston seem to be very proud of. The Crossbill Records release is a hodge-podge of beach rock, indie-pop, and rock ’n’ roll that dabbles in psychedelia. Such a mix can hail positive results, but in this case makes for an incohesive record.

“Step Out” is a crisp, clever opener and a call to action. Harney sings, “Take your dress off/It’s your goddamn house/Make a mess of it all.” Her vocal quality is immediately striking—ranging from soft and coy to Alanis Morissette at her angriest.

“Each Day” has a blues-rock flavor with a steady, prominent bass guitar groove. The blues comes out in its somewhat dreary lyrics: “Get your fill while you can ’cause there’s no takeaway/And when you’re called to the stands what will you say?/You were fighting the good fight this time/This game.” This track is also a call, but it’s the other side of the coin.

Instead of minimalist and light like “Step Out,” “Each Day” is rough around the edges, a breath of fresh air in an album full of easy, breezy, borderline-pop songs.

Other tracks explore mediocrity through many different lenses. “Mean Pack” attempts to be poetry set to music, but Be Calm Honcho forgot that it’s not Bjork or Beck. “Brimming” floats along, carried by a wind made of long tones from horns and a web of instrumentation, but it’s a bit underwhelming. For all its layers and trappings, it could be infinitely more engrossing.

Meanwhile, “What We Have Made” cuts to the chase. Harney calls, “I like you more than everybody without a doubt,” and, “All I want to do is touch your body, baby, and sleep all afternoon in each other’s light.” Frankness is often commendable, but in this case, it’s distractingly on-the-nose.

One of the most successful songs, “Jacob’s Revenge” dishes out punchy surf rock juxtaposed with breakdowns borrowed from the Alabama Shakes. This and closing track “I Love CA” are high points in a record that falters in a few spots. Be Calm Honcho didn’t go the obvious route with “I Love CA,” staying as far away from the Beach Boys’ characteristic sound as possible. The track features a chorus and a spoken-word story section throughout. Harney, accompanied by the gang, croons, “I love California like you do/I fall for it harder in the full moon/Meet me by the creek/I’ll be there all day/Wading in waist deep/Beneath the meteor display.” For once, the foursome’s layers and experimentation come together in all the right places.

Honcho Dreams’ mash-up of genre, style, and attitude makes the record a pleasant, sometimes perplexing journey, much like a dream itself. This West Coast quartet can crank out some gems (“Each Day”), but could stand to avoid certain traps. Be Calm Honcho, we get it. You really like being from California.

Note: Be Calm Honcho has since re-released Honcho Dreams with a new approach on several tracks, a changed-up tracklist, and a few other tweaks, resulting in a more cohesive record. The re-vamped version will be released June 24.

Be Calm Honcho – Honcho Dreams tracklist:

  1. “Step Out”
  2. “Mean Pack”
  3. “Pretty On The West Coast”
  4. “Sea of Xs”
  5. “Go Outside”
  6. “Be Brave”
  7. “Always My Fault”
  8. “Each Day”
  9. “Brimming”
  10. “What We Have Made”
  11. “Jacob’s Revenge”
  12. “I Love CA”
Album-art-for-Lazaretto-by-Jack-White Jack White – Lazaretto


“I wanna cut out my tongue and let you hold onto it for me/’cause without my skill to amplify my sounds, it might get boring,” Jack White flatly warns on the thrillingly dark “That Black Bat Licorice.” Luckily, not a moment of his sophomore solo LP Lazaretto gets boring.

When White toured his 2012 solo debut Blunderbuss, he played career-covering sets including songs by the White Stripes, the Dead Weather, and the Raconteurs, making it unclear whether his solo career would even continue. Lazaretto destroys those doubts; it confirms White’s satisfaction with the sound of Blunderbuss, but insists on expanding it. With Lazaretto, White cements his solo career by bringing back Blunderbuss’ successful songwriting, but this time with confidently varied instrumentation and his darkest lyrics to date.

White’s musical feast highlights his talents as a narrator, balladeer, and, as Rolling Stone put it, “a rock ‘n’ roll Willy Wonka” by meticulously placing each skill in its rightful setting. The organ-led opener “Three Women” presents compelling storytelling, affirming each line of the tale (originally penned in 1928 by Georgia bluesman Blind Willie McTell) with a proud piano figure. Elsewhere, White signals the continuation of his signature straightforward, rowdy rockers with “High Ball Stepper,” a noisy, jarring instrumental.

Lazaretto’s title track spices up White’s familiar, ear-crunching garage rock with Spanish lyrics and lightning-fast wordplay. Its eruptive, manic guitar solo sputters in a way that’s inescapably similar to Blunderbuss opener “Missing Pieces,” but doesn’t leave it at that; a hard-hitting violin solo brings the track to an ominous close.

The strong stance taken by Lazaretto’s violins exemplifies White’s aim: to restate, confirm, and magnify the sonic ideas of Blunderbuss.

While they contributed only texture to White’s first solo LP, violins quickly become a staple on his second. They dominate much of Lazaretto, making powerful musical statements in White’s hard-rock breakdowns (“Lazaretto”), gentle intros (“Temporary Ground”), and country-tinged, harmonized fiddle flare-ups (“Just One Drink”).

Despite the aforementioned fiddle line, “Just One Drink” isn’t a country-inspired number. In fact, its driving riffs and sincerely sung lyrics return White to his true passion: modernizing American blues. His update features a pounding piano, deliberately-strummed acoustic guitars, and stunning audio clarity, proving that White is truly committed to keeping the blues alive in the 21st century.

While the laughter heard at the end of “Just One Drink” and overall zest displayed throughout Lazaretto show him enjoying what he does best, the pessimistic lyrics throughout the album reveal the cynicism of an aging Jack White.

“Alone In My Home” ironically sounds like a walk in the park with its deliberately cheery, upbeat piano figure, but the disconcerting lyrics find White hurt by those he trusted. Instead of confronting the “lost feelings of love that hover above [him],” he chooses to simply stay indoors, avoiding people altogether.

“Entitlement” is Lazaretto‘s crankiest track, portraying White as an old man bitterly lamenting the selfish, impatient attitudes of the iPod generation.

Oddly enough, he actually envies the brats he scolds. Regretting his own good conscience, White admits, “I can’t bring myself to take without penance, atonement, or sweat from my brow/…/I feel like I’ve been cheated somehow.” White closes his acoustic bitch-out session of Generation Y with the realization that no one, of any generation, deserves to feel entitled, concluding that “not one single person on God’s golden shore is entitled to one single thing/We don’t deserve a single damn thing.”

Biting pessimism may run rampant on Lazaretto, but superior songwriting runs right alongside it. Album closer “Want and Able” is a brilliantly confusing take on the universal “ends vs. means” conflict. The folky tune personifies desire (Want) and the means to obtain it (Able). “Want and Able” forces listeners to determine which “character” governs their actions, asking in each chorus, “Who is the who telling who what to do?/Tell me who, tell me who, tell me who.” By the end of the song, listeners can no longer distinguish between the two.

White’s songwriting raises the status quo on every record he touches, and Lazaretto is no exception. With masterful songwriting, clearly defined instrumentation, and indelibly negative lyrics, Lazaretto solidifies Jack White’s solo career as an unstoppable force.

Jack White – Lazaretto tracklist:

  1. “Three Women”
  2. “Lazaretto”
  3. “Temporary Ground”
  4. “Would You Fight For My Love”
  5. “High Ball Stepper”
  6. “Just One Drink”
  7. “Alone In My Home”
  8. “Entitlement”
  9. “That Black Bat Licorice”
  10. “I Think I Found The Culprit”
  11. “Want and Able”
Album-Art-for-Sunbathing-Animal-by-Parquet-Courts Parquet Courts – Sunbathing Animal


Parquet Courts look too well kept to be garage-punk—too healthy, with too many flannel-cardigan combinations. Nonetheless, the impending poster boys of American “punk” will be heard, undoubtedly, blaring through brand new Crosley’s (courtesy of Urban Outfitters) in trendy studios on hot summer nights.

A Brooklyn basement band that went from playing DIY shows in garages and sweaty apartments to making a guest appearance on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, these mid-to-late 20-year-old deadpan punk boys are taking advantage of the rise of emotionless Tumblr girls and post-punk college kids. Drenched in unwarranted angst, Parquet Courts’ timing is spot on: they are exactly what every hipster wants to add to their vinyl collection.

Fittingly, their third studio album, Sunbathing Animal, was released under the New York-based label What’s Your Rupture?, specializing in small-scale vinyl records, as well as Mom + Pop Music, best known for producing artists such as Cloud Nothings and Wavves.

Though Parquet Courts are blatantly and nauseatingly trendy, they’re trendy for a reason.

The monotonous Andrew Savage sounds plagued with ennui while droning about relatively complex issues. “Most freedom is deceiving/If such a thing exists,” he sings on the second verse of “Sunbathing Animal.” “When I was young, I knew but didn’t care/Faces change and shape to represent the same old beast.” He exposes the observations of a bonafide wallflower, but they’re buried in pretension. Yes, Savage is that psuedo-intellectual douche holding an original copy of Catcher in the Rye.

The third track, “Dear Ramona,” is the epitome of a dusty, blues-influenced, punk love song. “This lady is a hypnosis poet and when she speaks, her words weep like rain,” the slightly demeaning ballad begins. Savage almost affectionately sings—truly sings, for the first time on the record—“Whoever she might be going to bed with/You can read about that in her Moleskin,” before the chorus ends rather abruptly. The punky angst toward Ramona is brief, almost like an inside joke between the two. This falls flat, of course–it’s too personal. There’s no room for relation to Savage when everything is a private poem.

However, the rest of the band—singer-guitarist Austin Brown, bassist Sean Yeaton and baby brother Max Savage on the drums—virtually make up for the excessively astute, in-your-face, contrived intellect that are the lyrics of Sunbathing Animal. But not quite. Lou Reed-inspired punk plus 1990s indie grunge meets harmonicas, resulting in a loud, confusing (although quite rhythmic and precise) lack of consistency.

Sunbathing Animal is instantaneously anticlimactic as well as anxiety inducing, an interesting feat. Raw guitar plucks and pulls encourage listeners to hold their breath, but flat lyrics leave faces turning blue—the first time around, at least. Parquet Courts’ efforts at lyrical storytelling is cute (“Instant Disassembly” may be the best attempt on the album), but in vain. The stories are too deeply embedded in stoner, slack rock pretension to have any distinctive depth for the average listener. Perfect for Lollapalooza.

Parquet Courts – Sunbathing Animal tracklist:

  1. “Bodies Made Of”
  2. “Black and White”
  3. “Dear Ramona”
  4. “What Color is Blood”
  5. “Vienna II”
  6. “Always Back in Town”
  7. “She’s Rolling”
  8. “Sunbathing Animal”
  9. “Up All Night”
  10. “Instant Disassembly”
  11. “Ducking & Dodging”
  12. “Raw Milk”
  13. “Into the Garden”
Album-art-for-Disgraceland-by-the-Orwells The Orwells – Disgraceland


The music industry has a knack for proving that age really is just a number.

The Orwells, consisting of five recent high school graduates, have been making waves in the rock industry since their 2012 debut Remember When, and playing at major festivals like Lollapalooza since last year. Now, with the wind still in its sails, the band released its  more polished sophomore record Disgraceland.

The Chicago-based quintet has the sound and persona of a typical garage rock band, covering edgy subject matter and writing crunchy, power chord-driven anthems since its inception. That aside, the transition between the Orwells’ debut and Disgraceland is blatantly obvious; the new tracks sound more concise and less experimental. The transformation makes for more radio-friendly material, but that doesn’t mean the Orwells have lost their flair this early in the game.

It’s evident from the get-go that the Orwells are the same reckless lot everyone fell in love with a few years back.

The alcohol-fueled, sex-filled “Southern Comfort” kicks the album off with style, from the classic drumbeat to the wailing lead guitar and singer Mario Cuomo’s signature drawl. “Southern Comfort” is a pivotal step in the band’s metamorphosis, even bringing up Cuomo’s newfound knowledge after a hit album and subsequent tour with the line, “I’m not that old, but I’m getting pretty wise.”

The line holds true for the band as a whole and Cuomo, both of which have grown in the last two years. Unfortunately, the group has slightly dumbed down its artistic range, but the shift is bittersweet; it’s led to a more tailored version of the Orwells’ past work that feels more put together, making for more direct takes on the few genres they wade through.

“Bathroom Tile Blues” has a distinctly different sound that’s adopted and exploited for one song only. The warm track gets the signature Orwells twist, still talking about a rough night of drinking and complicated relationships over a passive riff. The band breaks from the madness of punk tracks like “The Righteous One” or “Let It Burn” with a simple, catchy take on the blues. The song is a lot more stripped down than many of the others, but lead guitarist Dominic Corso doesn’t waste the opportunity to shine, delivering one of his best guitar solos to date.

The intensity of Cuomo’s vocals and Corso’s riffs increase on the unforgettable single “Who Needs You” and zealous waltz track “Blood Bubbles,” both of which show the Orwells bringing all they have to the table.

The first is a catchy summer anthem with a pinch of the Strokes sprinkled on top, calling for an end to violence and pushing for a carefree life away from war and oppression. It’s an energetic mess of instruments, cranking up the distortion and drums to match the emotion behind Cuomo’s call to action.

The latter is the most powerful song on Disgraceland, with the staccato riffs creating constant tension and release. Corso is in his own world, delivering a solo for almost the entire song, while Cuomo’s vocal performance is stunning, as he once again deals with tragic subject matter—this time, suicide. “Blood Bubbles” is an intoxicating track, and proof of the Orwells’ growth, making listeners completely forget the band’s age.

The entirety of Disgraceland sounds like it was written by much older musicians who’ve had the time to hone their style—a shockingly impressive feat for a handful of high school grads—but there’s still room for improvement. At times, the songs can be primitive, doing no justice to the musicians’ skills; they only write to their full potential in short spurts.

Regardless, this is an excellent sophomore attempt by one of the scene’s best up-and-coming bands. There’s plenty of time for the Orwells to develop, and judging by the transformation from Remember When to Disgraceland, it’s only a matter of time before this young bunch rule over the world of rock.

The Orwells – Disgraceland tracklist:

  1. “Southern Comfort”
  2. “The Righteous One”
  3. “Dirty Sheets”
  4. “Bathroom Tile Blues”
  5. “Gotta Get Down”
  6. “Let It Burn”
  7. “Who Needs You”
  8. “Norman”
  9. “Always N’ Forever”
  10. “Blood Bubbles”
  11. “North Ave.”
The Peach Kings – Mojo Thunder


Los Angeles blues rock duo the Peach Kings blend thick, loud guitars with soft, eerie vocals on their new EP, Mojo Thunder.

Guitarist Steven Trezevant Dies’ deliberate, driving riffs set a solid, though often bland, foundation for Paige McClain Wood’s chronically breathy, anti-melodic vocals and vapid lyrics. The Peach Kings achieve a dark, bluesy mood that almost works on Mojo Thunder, but don’t leave much room for experimentation on future releases.

Mojo Thunder gets off to a healthy start, but fails to maintain its momentum. While the bright, clean chords that introduce the title track suggest an upbeat, garage rock record, the distorted, guttural bass that follows better indicates the EP’s moodiness. Wood’s casual, easy croon contrasts Dies’ super-high, tension-filled guitar licks, but those licks sound expected and uninventive, allowing the song to fall flat.

“Hold On” is Mojo Thunder‘s diamond in the rough. In its bridge, electric and acoustic guitars briefly mingle, revealing an unrealized textural opportunity. A slightly distorted, melodic bass line establishes both purpose and motion in “Hold On,” creating a sense of energetic darkness reminiscent of Black Sabbath’s Master of Reality.

Despite its uniquely chilling opening lyric (“Every silver lining’s got a razor’s edge/We are victorious, now off with their heads”), single “Be Around” limps haphazardly through its three-and-a-half dreary minutes.

Its guitar solo resembles a newborn fawn struggling to stand for the first time; its efforts are in vain, thanks to a sudden fadeout. The ending of “Be Around” feels hurried and cheap, leaving listeners with the impression that they’ve been cheated out of a legitimate conclusion.

“Say What” continues the Peach Kings’ downward spiral, showcasing their trashiest lyrics.

In a half-convincing spoken word performance, Wood recounts a boy in a club “standin’ in the corner just swingin’ his hips/Stompin’ his feet to the beat like this/I walk over from across the room/I said, ‘Hey shy boy, are you in the mood?’” The lyrics go on to instruct vague dance steps, as if the mud-paced number actually warranted dancing. “Say What” tries desperately to feel sexy and dangerous, but exhibits little more than unpoetic sleaziness.

Lyrical flaws aside, Mojo Thunder suffers most from a lack of variety. Unnecessary cutoff-endings homogenize the EP, cheapening four of its five tracks, which are made even more disposable by stagnant vocal lines, unvaried guitar tones, and lazy songwriting. The Peach Kings simply dish out one guitar-heavy, bass-heavy track after another, leaving listeners with a bluesy sludge in their ears.

A refreshing moment shimmers at the end of the EP, on Kent Rockafeller’s synth-filled remix of “Mojo Thunder.” Forgoing the signature heavy guitars, the remix feels disjointed from the rest of Mojo Thunder, offering an awkward contrast to its homogeneity.

The Peach Kings aim for the space between Jefferson Airplane and Black Sabbath, but misfire into murky, uninteresting depths of their own creation. Their EP displays a clearly defined mood, but is too cohesive for its own good. Though a few moments of honest musicianship are present, Mojo Thunder is ultimately a dull, disappointing affair.

The Peach Kings – Mojo Thunder tracklist:

  1. “Mojo Thunder”
  2. “Hold On”
  3. “Be Around”
  4. “Say What”
  5. “Mojo Thunder (Kent Rockafeller Remix)”
Album-Art-for-Are-We-There-by-Sharon-Van-Etten Sharon Van Etten – Are We There


Sharon Van Etten’s Are We There is the soundtrack to overcast skies and rain pattering on windowpanes. The soundtrack to taking hot baths while smoking cigarettes, to driving too fast on slippery streets and ballroom dancing drunk in a parking lot.

Her melancholia is contagious and comforting, the absolute definition of catharsis. “I can’t wait ‘til we’re afraid of nothing/I can’t wait ‘til we hide from nothing,” Van Etten hazily laments on the first track, “Afraid of Nothing,” setting the tone of an album that plays like a diary, chapter by chapter of a passionate, volatile relationship that (presumably and hopefully) has ended. Are We There is the confessional result of the death of a love that left open wounds and unanswered questions.

“Tell me when, tell me when is this over?/Chewed you out. Chew me out when I’m stupid,” she bellows on “Tarifa,” unequivocally one of the most poignant lines off the album; anger splinters through, appropriately in the middle of the album, as if she’s ticking off the pyschologist-diagnosed grieving process cheat sheet.

Are We There is Van Etten’s fourth LP and the first that she recorded and produced herself—without the aid of the National’s Aaron Dessner, who produced her last album, Tramp. The shift is obvious. Van Etten, a New Jersey native in her 30s, has forgone the attempted folk-pop quality to her consistently confessional style, and instead replaced it with more moody, absolutely agonizing naivety.

“Help me deserve you,” she moans within the first few lines of “I Love You But I’m Lost,” exposing her innocuousness, creating an almost pathetic pang that resonates gut-wrenchingly deep. This woman has been hurt.

“Tears stain on the last page/Better leave ‘em/Time will tell and I’ll be back.” She forces the words out of her lungs, elucidating that she knows she’ll come back to this harmful, sadistic relationship, despite knowing better.

Van Etten’s lyrics read like 3 a.m. stupefactions, spilled and scribbled into a bedside notebook filled with heroic couplets, waiting to be swallowed by the night. Her musky, dream-drenched voice drips desolating sorrow—but never acrimony. “At the bottom of a well, I’m reliving my own hell/Someone throws the ladder down/Still don’t know what I have found in our love,” she huskily vibrates on the ambient, desperately hopeful track “Our Love.”

What makes Van Etten so profound is her utter self-awareness and self-assurance with her voice and piano playing. From whispering lines such as “All I ever wanted was you,” to vibratos and tremolos, she goes from naked to absolute skin and bones.

She rises to a level of elegance and poise, despite the obvious agony pouring from her soul. Instead of wallowing in her misery, Van Etten questions and answers herself honestly, regardless of the results. She does what the human race has such an excessively hard time doing: seeing ourselves for who we are, accepting our mistakes, and making something beautiful out of our pain to grow out of it, and—more importantly—above it.

Are We There is sadistically sensual; Van Etten’s raw voice cuts like quick strokes from a short blade with the National-inspired melodies that are smooth and clean. But with lyrics such as “Break my neck so I can’t run to you/Cut my tongue so I can’t talk to you,” it’s impossible to not feel utter empathy—not sympathy—for Van Etten. And it’s impossible not to keep coming back for more.

Sharon Van Etten – Are We There tracklist:

    1. “Afraid of Nothing”
    2. “Taking Chances”
    3. “Your Love Is Killing Me”
    4. “Our Love”
    5. “Tarifa”
    6. “I Love You But I’m Lost”
    7. “You Know Me Well”
    8. “Break Me”
    9. “Nothing Will Change”
    10. “I Know”
    11. “Every Time the Sun Comes Up”


Album-art-for-Sliding-Through-the-Halls-of-Fate-by-Crow-Bait Crow Bait – Sliding Through The Halls Of Fate


Something not terrible is happening on Long Island and it’s called Crow Bait.

Their full-length debut, Sliding Through The Halls of Fate, is part classic Long Island punk and part Replacements, all with a little ’90s alt-rock flair.

Since 2011, Chris Arena (Sister Kisser, American Hellfire Club), Mike Bruno (Iron Chic, Wax Phantom), and Sal Fiteni (Sister Kisser, Halfway to Hell Club) have released several 7” LPs, and have toured New York and California, but this studio debut featuring throaty vocals, a familiar drum and guitar sound, and the occasional harmonica solo cements the trio’s point of view and, more importantly, the fact that they’re not Taking Back Sunday.

Single “83” is the most blatant proof of Crow Bait’s affection for the ’90s alt-rock scene, from its throat-straining vocals and steady drum kicks to the ripping guitar line on top of it all. It’s no wonder the band used “83” as a tease for the rest of the album. It sounds like an old favorite, only a bit more dissonant and experimental, like all of Sliding Through The Halls of Fate.

“Ancient Eyes” distinguishes itself from other tracks with its mellow, toned-down, somber sound. Still, it highlights Crow Bait’s playful experimentation.

The simple, slow-swaying number crashes into drums, turns up the volume, and eventually collapses into a feedback-heavy, dissonant close like an emotionally exhausted man sinking to the floor.

Album opener “The Ocean” is an emotional rollercoaster of its own. Arena sings, “Don’t want the crowded track/And there’s a thief round back/Took one here in your lonesome palm/Oh, I’ve seen the oceans/To the west, sunsets in the horizon/Take me to the exit door/I’m already yours.”

The song’s story seems pretty cut-and-dry until everything falls apart. “I don’t see no ocean/Just a dusty mirror, little potions/This time I’m an angry pawn/I don’t need your anchor anymore/…/This crow is gonna learn to sing/A tune you know.” The sound, especially the boyish, earnest vocals, and the crumbling of this depicted relationship are reminiscent of Weezer’s self-titled album.

That nostalgia runs throughout Halls of Fate. Aspects get a little redundant, like hearing the same opening strummed chord in several tracks—a page Crow Bait took out of the alt-rock book, but shouldn’t have. However, the record contains more bright spots than dark ones: The titular line about “sliding through the halls of fate” appears subtly in “Searching For My Boots On The Highway,” “A Billion Lives” features a crisp harmonica, and the rough “Deliverance Stalls” boasts a soaring, high-pitched guitar tremolo.

Sliding Through The Halls Of Fate exemplifies how a group can master a familiar feeling while also doing something new. The experiments with dissonance, rhythm changes, and more complex lyrics ensure that this debut isn’t merely a compilation of 11 versions of Gin Blossoms’ “Follow You Down.” Crow Bait makes one think twice about the possibilities for the current and future Long Island music scene.

Crow Bait – Sliding Through The Halls Of Fate tracklist:

  1. “The Ocean”
  2. “83”
  3. “If I Could”
  4. “Crow Bait”
  5. “Ancient Eyes”
  6. “Pretty Good Things”
  7. “Searching For My Boots On The Highway”
  8. “Cognate”
  9. “Gran-Saloon”
  10. “Deliverance Stalls”
  11. “A Billion Lives”