Judith Ann Warren Went From Arizona Choirgirl to LA Punk Singer to Mature Vogue Model

Photo Credit: Nina Kraft (Courtesy Judith Anna Warren)

Judith Ann Warren is experiencing the peak of success at the age of 67. In February this year, she posed nude on the digital cover of Vogue Singapore, followed by modelling pastel purple hair in the June edition of Harper’s Bazaar US. The LA-based model/singer/photographer reveals a full-throttle life that careened her from her childhood home in Arizona, to New York City punk clubs to refugee camps in Darfur, finally to land in the City of Angels with newfound recognition as an icon of beauty at any age.

Warren was the first of two girls born into an Irish Catholic family in Chandler, Arizona, to a Navy submariner father and stay-at-home mother. Money was scarce and there was not a great deal of joy at home, and music became a natural escape for a girl who knew she’d inevitably leave Arizona. The 1967 Jefferson Airplane track “White Rabbit” was one of her formative musical memories. “I was 13 and that song was so powerful to me, for some reason,” she remembers. “I didn’t understand it, but I put my own meaning to it.”

Her devout mother forced the kids to attend church every weekend, so Warren joined the church guitar group and began to sing, playing local coffee houses to entertain diners. As a naturally shy child, it was a way of making friends. In high school, she joined the choir. “We weren’t hipsters, we were the odd kids,” she recalls. “I tried out for state choir and made it both years, and as a result of that, I was able to audition for a choir that was going to tour Europe.”

The 250-voice choir (with a 200-piece symphonic orchestra and 50-piece band) flew to New Jersey, stayed on the campus of Princeton University, and held their first concert at Carnegie Hall. “At the age of 16, I was in Carnegie Hall, and it was just such an emotional thing for every kid,” Warren says. “My father flew out to see it, but my mother couldn’t afford it because we had to pay for our own travel expenses. My stepfather and my mum tried to pool what they had, and we did fundraisers.”

The choir’s next stop, in June 1970, was the White House, where they sang for Richard Nixon and Spiro Agnew at the signing of the 26th Amendment giving the right to vote to those aged 18 and up. To me, it was epic. Carnegie Hall was something you’ll never forget, but we sang ‘The Battle Hymn of The Republic’ and the arrangement was such a powerful, powerful arrangement. It was electric in that room,” Warren says.

From Nixon’s office, the choir headed to London’s Royal Albert Hall. “I’d never been out of the country – I really was an Arizona girl. I was a different human being after that. I was 16 and this was the catalyst for me. I knew I was going on a different journey than my family,” Warren says. “We travelled for a month, then came back to Arizona and in my junior year of high school I left home to save myself. I slept on the sofa of a house with a bunch of college girls and cleaned the house to pay rent. Then, when I was a senior, I rented a house with a friend. All those years, I kept singing.”

As soon as she graduated, Warren moved to California to live with her dad, his second wife and their two sons. “Los Angeles was hard for me,” she admits. “I didn’t know my dad well, and Los Angeles is a hard city to make deep, lasting friendships. I always say to newcomers to this city: don’t be frustrated, you’ll meet your people.”

She ended up working with a “really bad” cover band, Fred Moore & The Best Thing, while trying to break into the music industry. They played various Ramada Inns and Air Force bases. “Fred was a Glen Campbell lookalike who lived with his mother, wore polyester bouffant sleeves, and his mother would make crushed velvet vests and match his shoes to the vest. The keyboard player’s claim to fame was that he’d composed a song for Sonny and Cher. But I loved the guys, unemployed rockstars. Fred was the guy who got the job and paid us all, but I wanted to be like the rock guys,” Warren says.

Photo Courtesy Judith Ann Warren

After a year or so, Warren had a baby. “The father wasn’t a good choice, and he did go on a couple of legs of the tour with us, but he was jealous and had some drug and alcohol problems,” she remembers. “In my infantile world, I thought, having a baby will make us happy. I left the band and I had my son when I was 20. He was brilliant, but I was a baby raising a baby. I kept trying to sing in bands and I always held a job down, but it was hard leaving him to go to rehearsals and sometimes he’d sleep on sofas in studios, like many kids in the music industry.”

Warren had maintained work as a temp for major music executives. “As an assistant I was really fortunate to meet Cavallo Ruffalo & Fargnoli in Santa Monica, who managed Prince, Earth Wind & Fire, and Weather Report,” she says. “I worked in music publishing rights. They had a recording studio and I used to go down on my lunchbreaks and watch Wayne Shorter and the guys from Weather Report or Earth Wind & Fire. I loved it. Prince was this little, wonderful creature who was so shy and so quiet. Jaco Pastorius was brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.”

Through that job, she met Eric Eisner, who was in his 20s at the time. He was legal counsel in-house but was headhunted by David Geffen, beginning work the same week John Lennon was killed. Warren recalls meeting Geffen during a period in which she was being especially experimental with hair and makeup looks. “I was arriving at work with streaks of color or a shaved temple. David Geffen found me in the staff kitchen one morning and said, ‘I don’t get you’, and I said, ‘but you dated Cher!’ It was the best job I ever had.”

Wild hairstyles have always been Warren’s calling card (Photo Courtesy Judith Ann Warren)

She also worked at Island Records, and “met Tom Waits there, which was a dream come true for me,” and recorded vocals for 1995 rave hit “Deus” by Electric Skychurch.

Warren had begun modelling for friends in the downtown scene, including James, her roommate of six years. “He took me from cowboy boots and jeans to something I’d never imagined myself as. I was a dress-up doll for him and his friends – designers, stylists and photographers,” Warren says. “His boyfriend contracted AIDS and died a terrible death, and James discovered later that he had it too. About 20 years ago, he took his life. I lost quite a few friends.”

James preps Judith for a hair show (Photo Courtesy Judith Ann Warren)

At 28, she began dating an Englishman who had formed a punk band of three teenage boys called The Invisible Government Of The World, and recruited Warren as the singer. “Those three boys had never played instruments before this band, but they were brilliant. They were commandeered by this Englishman, and I was too,” Warren says. “It was a terrible relationship – he was abusive, and he was a Svengali. It was his ode to politics, and he really wanted to be the star of the show. But we eked out our own space.”

That’s when the former “dress-up doll” got behind the camera; Warren started taking pictures of the band and various shows. As a photographer, she also volunteered with OpUSA, a disaster relief organization, from 2004 until 2008, when she was hired to travel to Darfur with the head of InterAction, which represents most US NGOs. At the time, more than 3 million refugees were displaced and nearly half a million dead in ongoing civil war and genocide at the hands of the Sudanese government.

“We met and spoke with aid workers on their mental health within a conflict zone on what was, at that time, the world’s worst humanitarian crisis,” Warren says. “Darfur was very, very tricky and frightening. I did not have permission to take my camera into the country and you have to have permission, so I was on guard at all times. The airport was surrounded by men with machine guns. We went to Zam Zam camp with 75,000 refugees and I documented that camp and the efforts that international organizations were doing in that camp. It was heartbreaking and life-altering.”

When Warren returned to Los Angeles, she says, “I came back thinking I was going to be in the ranks of all the big photojournalists, but the recession hit. I was the first to be cut loose from the NGO.” She continued to work with non-profits as a photographer, shooting for the American Cancer Society and working with the Taproot Foundation in Louisiana, as well as doing portrait work and dabbling in fashion.

Photo Courtesy Judith Ann Warren

And that brings us to 2019, when Warren’s modelling career 2.0 took seed. “I met a woman via a Facebook page for creatives who was working with Vogue Italia and they were doing a masterclass. The top 10 would be chosen to have their editorial work in the magazine,” Warren explains. “I was partnered with a teenage girl for a theme on the span of ages. They made my hair as straight as an arrow, I had a lot of makeup on, it was the hottest day of the year. We did the shoot and I hid the photos for months. I was so mortified and embarrassed by how old I looked. Two months later the photographer wrote and said, ‘We didn’t win a spot, but I’ve sold the photographs to a magazine.’ One of my solo photos was then chosen to be on the digital platform of Italian Vogue.”

Warren was shocked, but she pulled the photos out and decided to make peace with the way she looked in them. “After that, I got a call from a young woman with the Dragonfly Agency. I walked in and 30 minutes later, walked out with a 3-year contract, and they didn’t even look at my pictures!” she says. “Almost two years later, at the end of 2020, I got the Vogue Singapore job, which came out in February this year. I’ve worked in a couple of commercials, but after Vogue Singapore my life changed in so many ways.”

Overnight, Warren’s Instagram followers went from 75 to over 1,000. She’s being courted by editors and photographers. Not only did the height of her creative career occur beyond 60, but it happened at the height of the pandemic. There’s no clear path to success, if we’re going to find the Hallmark card message here. And there’s no cut-off point at which your skills, passion and curiosity cease to open doors. Warren’s story is a woman’s story, a creative’s story, a musician’s story, and a model story.

Follow Judith Ann Warren on Instagram for ongoing updates.

Kelly Jean Caldwell Returns to the Outer Limits Stage to Celebrate Birdie LP

Kelly Jean Caldwell is not dead. The singer, songwriter, and owner-operator of Hamtramck’s Outer Limits Bar and record label laughs as she tells me a rumor of her death has been swirling around town. “The other day, someone at the bar was asking what’s the next show coming up,” she explains, “and they [the bartender] were like, ‘oh it’s the Kelly Jean Caldwell/Loose Koozies record release show, and the person was like, ‘Oh, I thought Kelly Jean Caldwell died.’” Conversely, Caldwell is one of the liveliest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of talking to. A mother of two, she gracefully floats between answering my questions and ogling a unicorn drawing made by her daughter, Birdie, the namesake of her latest record.

Although Birdie was released in December of 2020, the record never received a proper release show due to the pandemic. So, this Saturday, June 12, Caldwell will finally play the record live at Outer Limits, joined by Monica Plaza and best friends and label mates, the Loose Koozies. Originally scheduled for last July, Caldwell explains that this show feels like a triumphant return after a year and a half of playing alone or to a computer screen. In a similar way, Birdie feels like a triumphant return to the studio after her last album release, Downriver, in 2016. She says that this record finds her at her strongest as a musician, person and a mother. “I am getting older I’m getting stronger, I’m a better musician, I’m a better lyricist,” Caldwell explains. “I feel like I’ve definitely come up as a musician. I’m more confident than ever.”

Part of this transformation is owed to Caldwell’s deeper exploration of the flute over the last few years. “My flute teacher changed my life,” she says. Though she’s played flute for years, Caldwell says taking lessons completely changed her perspective on the instrument and songwriting in general. She was pushed to go outside her comfort zone and learn things she hadn’t tried before, like reading music and playing classical songs. After months of practicing three hours a day, Caldwell’s lessons culminated in a classical flute recital at Outer Limits where she donned her wedding dress and played a full classical repertoire accompanied by friends.

This transformative experience, in tandem with all the frightening and beautiful events that accompany motherhood, helped shape the colorful sound that characterizes Birdie. The album’s title track opens with swooping layered flute melodies, reminiscent of the magic and innocence of childhood. “All those ’70s rockers have songs about their daughters but you’re not sure if it’s about their lover or their dog,” Caldwell laughs. “I was like, ‘I wanna write one like that… a creepy song about my kid.’” But, honestly, the song leans more towards tear-jerky than creepy, especially when guided by Caldwell’s instinctively poetic lyrics.

She opens the song with a dreamy description of motherly love – “Sunshine follows my flower all the time/Blue eyes water my dreams ‘til summertime.” The song then opens up into a ’60s rock-type tempo, seemingly mirroring the fast-paced and sometimes chaotic rhythm of parenting. Bright guitars and Caldwell’s vivid depictions welcome the listener into a world of vibrant colors and endless possibilities. You can imagine Caldwell running around in the backyard with her daughter, blowing bubbles and creating their own world together, especially when she sings, “She’s got glitter in her hair/She grows flowers everywhere.” She’s able to capture these moments of pure happiness like a firefly in a jar and distill them into a few simple lines.

But, ever the honest songwriter, Caldwell makes room for both the precious and ominous sides of motherhood in Birdie. She explains that “SIDS,” one of the most musically upbeat sounding tracks on the record, is about being terrified that her son was going to pass away in his sleep. “I was really obsessed with Sudden Infant Death Syndrome,”explains Caldwell. “This was about my son and he obviously survived. But, when you have a new baby, you really, or at least I, felt like they were so close to death. I really felt like they could just switch back to the other side at any moment.” 

Unless you’re really listening, you wouldn’t notice the somber nature of the song, and that’s exactly how Caldwell meant it to be. “I didn’t want it to sound sad because I didn’t want people to worry about me,” says Caldwell. “So it’s probably the most upbeat rockin’ song I’ve ever written.” She explains that channeling her worries into music was the most natural way she knew how. The song’s fuzzy guitars and punchy chorus melody beget a story of hope and tenacity while Caldwell’s trepidatious lyrics ask the morbid question: “Does it call you back/Do the stars attack/Or will the dark dream continue?” 

As a musician who has never been anybody but herself in her songwriting, Caldwell’s vulnerable lyricism allows listeners to connect on a deeper plane. Even if you haven’t experienced motherhood and the anxieties that come with it, you can relate to the paralyzing fear of loss and the euphoric happiness of being with someone you love completely. “I think that, weirdly, the more specific you get about things, the more people relate,” says Caldwell. “The more personal that I make things and the more truthful, the more people feel it.”

Follow Kelly Jean Caldwell on Instagram for ongoing updates.

The Stools Press Energy of In-Person Shows to 12″ Vinyl on Live at Outer Limits

Photo Credit: Noah Elliot Morrison

The last time I attended a Stools show was on February 14th, 2020 at Outer Limits Lounge. Somebody in the audience passed out after their first song and I left because it was stressing me out. People were freaking out, but turns out the guy just had low blood sugar or something – he was fine. That being said though, if you’re gonna pass out at a show, it’s probably gonna be at a Stools show. The Detroit-based garage rock revival band is known for their high-octane performances that feel like having a front row seat to a drag race. These invigorating shows are what drive people to see bands live in the first place, and are undoubtedly what fans have been missing the last fifteen months of shut downs. Luckily, The Stools – Will Lorenz, Charles Stahl and Krystian Quint –  have just released their first 12” Live At Outer Limits, which brilliantly captures their rapturous performance and is almost as good as the real thing. 

The album was recorded on December 28th, 2019, and released digitally in May 2020; the vinyl came out a few days ago and has already sold out on their Bandcamp, but you can still grab a copy via Big Neck Records. The band seems genuinely surprised by this success. “I am always surprised when I see so many orders come in, because I really don’t know what to expect,” says Lorenz. “Without playing shows all the time, it’s easy to forget that people outside of our little bubble exist and buy records too! I hope some of the success is due to the snapshot in time aspect of it, a little more than we originally intended though since you can’t see us play for now.” 

Lorenz says that the choice to press their live show wasn’t exactly scientific, but simply due to the fact that it was their longest release to date; the band has favored releasing their songs four or five at a time on small runs of 7″ EPs, including 2019’s When I Left (via Third Man Records), as well as Car Port (via Goodbye Boozy Records) and Feelin’ Fine (via Drunken Sailor Records), both from this year.

He also credits the band’s endearment to local punk bar Outer Limits as a driving force. “As a band we share a love for live albums as well as Outer Limits Lounge in general,” says Lorenz. “Everybody who works there is great and the sound is always perfect. We just waited until we had a chance to fully book our own show there [to record], but we had had the idea for a while.” 

For a band that started out as a manic idea between Lorenz and Stahl, the Stools have reached many milestones faster than some bands ever do. You could make any number of assumptions of why this is, but if I had to guess, it would be because of the band’s genuine chaotic energy. At a time when it felt like garage rock was giving way to shoegaze and “indie rock” (whatever that means), three young guys from Grosse Pointe, Michigan bonded over a shared love of the White Stripes and Black Flag. These influences (as well as youthful angst and energy) are palpable in the band’s live performance. 

The record encapsulates the punk microcosm that resides within Outer Limits Lounge. Nested on the outskirts of Hamtramck, MI – a tiny city that lies within Detroit City Limits – the bar literally and figuratively emits the “outcast” vibe that is historically associated with punk rock music. But, once inside, the humble digs serve as an oasis for “music nerds,” fringers, or pretty much everyone. It’s cool but not exclusive, messy but unthreatening. The Stools’ baby-faced frontmen encapsulate these dichotomies and their music serves as an allegorical safe space welcoming rejects of all kinds – or anybody who wants to scream along in their car. 

Follow The Stools on Instagram and Facebook for ongoing updates.

Plush Palace Screams It Out on Debut EP

plush palace oakland band
plush palace oakland band

I love 2020. No, really — though to be clear I don’t mean in a political, interpersonal, or general sense; only in a musical one. Only in 2020 would someone have to audacity to refer to themselves as “introspective indie punk” in their Bandcamp bio.

Genre, like the concept of hugging your loved ones, is a thing of the past. I love this. Nothing matters. Seduce a tree. Make shoegaze hyperpop. Do what you want. 

Oakland’s Plush Palace, the writers of said Bandcamp bio, really did the damn thing — the introspective, the indie, the punk — with their new, self-titled EP. They also seem to be one of the many bands forged in the fires of quarantine, as indicated by this additional bio note: “Shows? We’ll see.” The EP is delivered with a dash of self-effacement; I don’t particularly blame them, as being delighted with your own vulnerability on the Internet takes a certain kind of person. Regardless, lead singer Diz seems to be gifting us with this introspective indie punk content on the tail end of an acrimonious, or at the very least somewhat unexpected, divorce. And they don’t care who knows.

Surely you know what they say: many a truth is said in jest, and if there is ever a better example of this than track one, “First Date,” I would love for you to show it to me. Sort of the antithesis to the Blink-182 song of the same name, this first date, perhaps unlike those in vocalist Diz’s recent experience, actually made me laugh out loud (or “lol” if you will… please ignore me). “Everyone hates/first dates!” Diz cries in the chorus. “I want to die!” How succinct. How evocative. Whoever invented haikus had it right all along: less is indeed sometimes more.

Jokes aside, the whole chorus – indeed the whole song – is delivered with such semi-hysterical abandon that if the lyrics had been any more complex, it just wouldn’t have been so goddamn fun.

The rest of the EP touches on some classic Bay Area themes, most notably performative activism on “Fake Fucking Liar.” The song is clearly about some kind of paternalistic figure: “Thank god you’re who I have to trust/because I just/can’t make my own mind up!” The pissed-off chorus is classic ’90s riot grrrl, but not in a pastiche way; it’s pretty effective at getting the core message of the song across: “In order to be a real ally/you have to give up your share of the lie.” Taken together, these lines exemplify Plush Palace’s strength: fury with a dash of perceptive humor.

The other two tracks on the EP are a little more structurally loose. “Stairs” manages to achieve the circular feeling of being stuck in a depressive episode, or the like, with repetitive verses and a somewhat unexpected lyrical outro. “Cluelessness,” however, returns more explicitly to the divorce — “now I’m stuck here/standing in front of a jury” — to great effect. Though not as catchy as some of the first two songs, it ends on a a fuzzy guitar riff that solidifies — and there’s no “we’ll see” about it — that Plush Palace has the musical chops to back up the bravado.

Follow Plush Palace on Instagram for ongoing updates.

Eli Burke of 8 Inch Betsy Maintains Bandmate’s Posthumous Legacy With Digital Re-Release of The Mean Days

Meghan Galbraith, lead singer of Chicago queercore band 8 Inch Betsy, passed away in 2015.

After queer Chicago punk band 8 Inch Betsy wrapped up a 30-day U.S. tour in 2010, many things appeared uncertain for the members. Their original drummer Stephanie Levi had left the band, and the transition from life on the road to everyday life left the remaining members Meghan Galbraith (guitar, vocals) and Eli Burke (bass) feeling downtrodden. Galbraith was up every night working as a bartender, then would wake up to “alone days of nothing after just coming off the high of tour and traveling all over the country,” as Burke puts it. This situation spawned the band’s latest album, The Mean Days, a meditation on life’s difficult experiences.

As Galbraith and Burke worked on the album, recording it with drummer Melissa Thomas, Galbraith became ill, so the two of them put their music on pause. Burke moved to Tucson to focus on making and studying art; he’s currently a PhD student in Art and Visual Culture Education at the University of Arizona. As Galbraith’s health declined, she asked Burke to release the album, which was mainly written by her, on her behalf.

Then, somewhat unexpectedly, Galbraith passed away at age 35 in 2015, leaving her bandmate heartbroken and eager to commemorate her in music. Burke released a physical version of the album in late 2015 but, preoccupied with grieving his friend’s death and undergoing a gender transition, has not been able to release it digitally until this year, on August 13.

“I felt a really deep sense of urgency to get it out there and release it in a way that was going to do it justice. I just want her music to be heard,” says Burke. “[Initially] we didn’t release it digitally [so] not a lot of people had access… That’s why I’m doing this now to get it digitally out there.”

The Mean Days might as well be a reference to the grunge heyday of ’90s; the band cites Hole and PJ Harvey as influences, but you’ll also hear hints of pop punk bands like Blink 182, Yellowcard, and MXPX. The songs open with strong guitar riffs and progress to catchy, emotive choruses, exploring relationships, transitional periods, and growing pains. On the title track, Galbraith sings of “slipping further through the cracks” as “the days turn to mean,” while “Water” tells a poetic story of renewal: “Yesterday I crawled out of the sea/Salt in my eyes and sand on my feet… wash me out inside.”

Burke describes The Mean Days as more mature than 8 Inch Betsy’s first album, 2008’s This Time Last Time Every Time. “Not only is it more mature in terms of we were all getting older, I think we were growing together and having musical experiences together. For me, it has more personal meaning because I know what the songs are about. I still love that first album — it has a real rawness to it that I really like — and so does this one.”

Even though Galbraith wrote the lyrics, songs like “Uh Oh” and “So Dark” touched Burke deeply when he first heard them. “She didn’t tell me this, but a lot of the lyrics are things I was going through, and I don’t know if she wrote them for me, but I just really resonated with the lyrics.” “True North” appeared to be drawn from conversations they’d had about leaving Chicago, and “I Will Never Go Home” references the band’s experiences on tour.

Currently busy with his PhD program, Burke is unsure where the band is headed in the absence of its lead singer. For now, his main goal is to continue Galbraith’s legacy, which also includes a not-yet-released solo album.

As part of an all-queer band, Galbraith and Burke found belonging in the punk scene, although most of their music is not explicitly political. “A lot of our songs are not overtly queer, but when I listen back to them, I think, ‘Wow, these are really queer songs,'” says Burke, who believes much of the band’s impact on the queer community came simply from connecting with queer fans.

“I think being queer, we were just able to connect with people who didn’t see themselves reflected in music during that time,” he explains. “I think we’re always looking outside for reflections of ourselves in the world, so I think when you can find that, it’s special and you want to hang onto that. I’m grateful a lot of the fans we have, I still talk to, so I think just having the support of the queer community meant a lot to us. I think it’s OK not to be overtly political and connect with people socially. That’s something that’s important.”

Indeed, that kind of connection and support is something that outlasts the life of an artist gone too soon.

Follow 8 Inch Betsy on Facebook for ongoing updates.

Boris Connects Pandemic-Torn World With Subversive Metal on Latest Album ‘No’

The latest album from Tokyo-based experimental rock band Boris is simply titled NO, a word that sums up the ethos of the metal aesthetic that pervades it, as well as the sentiments behind the songs. With the coronavirus pandemic leading members Takeshi, Wata, and Atsuo to question everything about their culture, they decided to create an album dedicated to the theme of skepticism and societal subversion, and independently released it via Bandcamp earlier this month.

“We’d observe the different events, news, people’s words, actions,” Takeshi told Audiofemme through translator Kasumi Billington. “Those directly impacted us. In these kinds of critical situations, culture always loses power and is even left behind. What can we do as artists? What do we do? What kind of music can be played in any situation, and can be delivered? The production proceeded as we questioned these types of doubts.”

The word “no” is meant to express rejection of the societal mores and ideals one grows up with — an idea expressed in the song “Non Blood Lore,” a term the band created for mythologies and ideologies stemming from wider culture rather than family.

“We’re always slaves to our unconscious,” Takeshi explains. “We accept what we see and hear without questioning, we interpret things conveniently, and we become paralyzed by unreasonable things. We eventually forget what it means, and even forget how to think. It’s an abominable system. We unconsciously decide everything and follow it. The first step to getting free will is to deny your unconscious thoughts. We point with NO toward that system: ‘What did I feel? Did I think this myself? Did I choose to, and take action myself?’ We get to live by questioning and denying yourself first.”

The need to think for oneself is even more important in today’s political climate, where people are bombarded with information and ideas online and in the media, he adds. “People are chased by various anxieties, fear, doubts, and hatred, turning into chaos. In that situation, rather than blindly following the information, we need to think and judge for ourselves. The answer is not given; you must derive your own.”

This is why the band decided not to publish the lyrics for NO. “Our work doesn’t give answers to the listeners, but we’d rather it become material such as values and aesthetic sense that guides you to the answer,” says Takeshi.

The 11-track collection includes a variety of experimental sounds falling within multiple genres. The opening track, “Genesis,” exudes a doom metal style, with strong, ominous, sometimes discordant guitar riffs and drums that repeat and gradually speed up. Other songs on the LP, like “Anti-Gone,” “Non Blood Lore,” and “Temple of Hatred,” follow more of a punk aesthetic, with dramatic guitar and shouting vocals. “Lust” spotlights the band’s use of electronic effects, with almost drowned-out vocals.

Boris also recorded a cover of Japanese hardcore punk band Gudon’s “Fundamental Error” after the band’s ex-bassist Guy came to a show of theirs in Hiroshima. This was exciting for Takeshi, as Outo was a favorite hardcore punk band of his as a teen.

Finally, the album closes with “Interlude,” where Wata almost whispers against dark, mellow synths and slow-paced cymbals. The track’s title suggests that the end of NO is merely a transition into more music to come.

Based on the band’s history, there very likely is. Boris has been releasing music since 1996, and NO marks their 27th album, not counting albums recorded in collaboration with others, which include Japanese noise artist Merzbow, Seattle black metal duo Sunn O))), The Cult frontman Ian Astbury, and Japanese noise metal band Endon. Currently, Takeshi plays guitar and bass, Wata does guitar and Echo, Atsuo is in charge of percussion and electronics, and all three contribute vocals.

Despite its message of rebellion and resistance, NO is ultimately intended to unite a world that’s physically divided. Takeshi hopes it can help people make something good out of the negativity currently in the atmosphere and validate people’s emotions, the way hardcore and thrash metal did for him when he was younger.

“In this current messed up world, people have sunk in hatred and sorrow,” he says. “We hope that for those who listen to this album, their negative feelings reflect like a mirror, and reflect in another direction into something positive. That’s the possibility that extreme music has.”

It sounds heady, but the band practices what they preach. With their planned two-month U.S. tour canceled, Boris is in the process of recording about four albums’ worth of music at the moment – a positive, healing process born of a negative situation. “All we can do is create,” says Takeshi. “Artists must all be in a similar situation. We’re hoping that from this adversity, we can create great music.”

Follow Boris on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter for ongoing updates.

INTERVIEW: L.A. Punk Legend Alice Bag Returns with Sister Dynamite

Photo: Denée Segall

On “Spark,” which opens Sister Dynamite, Alice Bag crafts an earworm. “Hell no! I’m not dimming my/I’m not dimming my spark,” she sings. That line can stick with you throughout the day. In can infiltrate your dreams. It’s can be a constant reminder to be yourself no matter what, words of comfort and encouragement from an acclaimed singer and songwriter who admits on our recent phone call, “I felt like a weirdo my whole life.”

I’ve had the chance to interview Alice Bag a few times over the years and am still awestruck whenever we have the chance to catch up. She’s an icon of L.A. punk, one the founders of my hometown’s scene due her work in The Bags at the end of the 1970s. In 2011, she released her must-read memoir, Violence Girl, which spawned a creative resurgence as a writer, artist and musician. On April 24, she released Sister Dynamite, her third solo album in four years.

But, what’s truly admirable about Bag is the way that she uplifts seemingly everyone around her through her work. The first time I interviewed Bag was in 2014, when she showed her visual art at a gallery in L.A.’s Chinatown. Bag had painted portraits of herself and her bandmates from the early ’80s band Castration Squad, calling attention to the women of post-punk Los Angeles. More recently, she collaborated with the poet Nikki Darling on the song “Dolores Huerta Street,” which directly led to an intersection in Boyle Heights named for the civil rights activist. Some people talk a lot about feminism and community, but with Alice Bag, it’s present in every aspect of her work.

Take the video for “Spark” as an example. It’s directed by Rudy Bleu Garcia, who is also the co-promoter of the beloved LGBTQ party Club sCUM, and is partially filmed at Chico, the Montebello venue that’s the party’s home base. It stars Vander Von Odd, winner of the first season of the reality competition series The Boulet Brothers’ Dragula. Bag first met Von Odd while DJing at Club sCUM.

“The back room at sCUM at Chico’s is really a tiny room. It’s where the DJ sits and usually there’s just one person back there,” she says. It’s also, Bag recalls, where drag performers change their outfits. “This particular night, Vander was there getting dressed and I was playing records. We bumped into each other,” she says. “We both turned around and were apologizing profusely, making sure the other person was okay, and then we just became friends. I found an instant kinship.”

The vibe of the party was important to the message that Bag wanted to convey in the video. “Whatever you want to do, however you want to express yourself, it’s okay when you go to sCUM events. You feel like you can be yourself, you feel like you’re with friends and family,” she says. “I really wanted that to be the feeling of the video, that it was a video meant to extend support to people who feel like they’re out there.” She adds, “When you find a community where you’re supported, where you’re accepted for yourself, it’s really a good feeling.”

On Sister Dynamite, Bag worked with her usual band members, including David Jones on bass, Sharif Dumani on guitar and Candace PK Hansen on drums. The album, which was produced by Bag and Lysa Flores (who also produced Bag’s previous records), includes contributions from regular collaborators and friends like drummer Rikki Watson and singer Allison Wolfe.

In the past, Bag says, she would select players who might work well with the instrumentation of certain songs. This time, she opted for a different method. “For this album, I really wanted to bring the energy and the rhythm that you fall into when you play together a lot,” she says. “I feel like we have a family,” says Bag. “I wanted to bring that feeling.”

Part of that is inspired by Bag’s experience as a producer for Fea’s 2019 album No Novelties. “They anticipated each other’s moves, everything. It was beautiful,” she says of the band. “I thought that we could have that.”

Photo Credit: Denée Segall

Bag says that bringing her bandmates to the forefront with her has been a process, unfolding over various tours. She asked her bandmates to sing more this time around too. “I feel like a lot of the backing vocals are actually co-leads,” Bag says. “It’s really rewarding for me to see my band step up and own it. They’re all in my band because I admire their musical skills and also because, as people, they’re fun to tour with. We get along great.”

For now, though, touring is on hold due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Bag says she’s waiting to see how her gigs for late summer and fall of this year will be impacted. She explains that, after being hospitalized for pneumonia about a eighteen months ago, she’s more flexible about performances. “In the past, if I had been sick, I would still play. I never, ever wanted to cancel a show because I didn’t feel well,” she says. “Now, I feel like I’m going to be around to rock another day. I want to be able to do what I like to do for a long time.”

Follow Alice Bag on Facebook for ongoing updates.

The Venomous Pinks Speak Out About Immigration Crisis on “Todos Unidos”

With every headline these days centered on COVID-19, it’s easy to forget there are other things going on in the world. Let punk trio The Venomous Pinks’ latest song “Todos Unidos” remind you that the usual problems plaguing society – namely, the United States’ treatment of immigrants – have not gone away.

“Todos Unidos / never be divided / nuestra familia / we stand united,” they sing in Spanish and English, calling for listeners to support undocumented immigrants. Together, the three band members have parents and grandparents who have immigrated to the U.S. from Mexico, Colombia, and Palestine, and they wanted to make a statement in support of people in that situation today.

“People are fleeing from other countries to escape violence and poverty, hoping for asylum in the United States,” says the band’s drummer Cassie Jalilie. “The song was an artistic decision to encourage cultural unity. ‘Todos Unidos,’ which translates to ‘everyone together,’ demands listeners to stand up and fight against these political issues.”

The band felt particularly compelled to speak out against Trump’s threats to abolish DACA, as well as attacks on immigrants in their own communities. “We just want to use our platform to help people see what’s going on and become aware that the only change that’s going to happen is from us,” says Jalilie. “Even with the coronavirus, we’re still hearing about ICE raids going on, which is crazy because we’re in the middle of a global pandemic.”

She hopes the song inspires people to push for reform in immigration laws. “You have families being separated, locked up in cages, and that’s just not right,” she says. “We can put people in power who can change some of those things.”

The Mesa, Arizona-based Venomous Pinks — a name inspired by the pink ladies from Grease — just signed to Die Laughing Records. On their upcoming album, I Want You, the band also sings about the need for government transparency, making healthcare a human right, and race, gender, and economic equality. It’s not just their music that’s working toward good; they also volunteer for The Sidewalk Project, which brings art, music, and food to the homeless in Los Angeles and Phoenix.

As part of an all-female band, the members face their fair share of discrimination, but Jalilie is encouraged to have seen things changing since she and her bandmates started making music as teens. “Sometimes we feel like we constantly have to prove ourselves. You’re usually categorized, and people will underestimate us, but luckily, our music and performance speaks for itself,” she says. “Growing up, there were fewer women role models in the punk scene and even fewer female musicians our own age. Now, there are many publications run by and focusing on women in music. It’s not as uncommon to see women both on stage and in the pit.”

She hopes to start seeing even more women pursue their musical interests. “A lot of women will tell us ‘I wish I could play drums’ or ‘I’ve always wanted to play guitar,’ but they just didn’t really have the courage to do it,” she says. “We just want women to not be afraid to pick up the guitar and just play. There are no rules.”

Follow The Venemous Pinks on Facebook for ongoing updates.

Neneh Cherry’s Raw Like Sushi Gets 30th Anniversary Re-Release

We were existing on the cusp of the 1990s. The ’80s as people remember it now, an era marked by new wave, John Hughes’ teen flicks and Ronald Reagan, was essentially over by 1989. Yet we were still a ways off from the sounds, sights and politics that would come to define the ’90s.

During that in-between time, music was all over the place in the best possible way. Hip-hop was at its peak of sample-heavy creativity: De La Soul debuted with 3 Feet High and Rising in March of that year; that summer, the Beastie Boys dropped Paul’s Boutique. The Cure and Depeche Mode were cementing their status as icons of the alternative, the former with the album Disintegration and the latter with the hit single “Personal Jesus.” Meanwhile, underground dance music from Chicago house to Detroit techno to U.K. acid had infiltrated its way into pop music, whether or not the average listener realized it.

That space between the ’80s and ’90s is a sorely underrated era for music. It wasn’t as easy to define and market as the early ’80s or the post-Nirvana ’90s. And, to be fair, there were loads of releases that any of us could argue were terrible (of course, that’s the case for any given era, not to mention completely subjective). But it’s also a time of albums like The Stone Roses self-titled debut and Janet Jackson’s landmark Rhythm Nation 1814, both of which went on to influence generations of subsequent artists.

I thought about this while listening Neneh Cherry’s album, Raw Like Sushi, a 30th anniversary edition of which was released digitally in January and out on vinyl on February 14. The full-length appeared midway through 1989 and went on to have chart success in multiple countries, cracking the top 40 of the U.S. album charts in September of that year. Meanwhile, lead single “Buffalo Stance” would become the album’s calling card, peaking at number 3 on Billboard’s Top 100 in June of ’89. It was a mainstream hit of its time that would settle into a sort of cult popularity over the decades that followed. It was a commercial album steeped in underground culture – mainly hip-hop and house, but also punk by way of its attitude and Cherry’s musical history – that would quietly influence the club sound of the coming decade and beyond. In fact, just last month, Robyn referred to Cherry as her “hero” in an Instagram post.

Technically, Raw Like Sushi was Cherry’s debut album, but the Swedish singer had been active for years prior to its release. She played in a string of post-punk bands, including The Slits and Rip, Rig + Panic, and had collaborated with The The. She also appeared on a 1987 b-side from the duo Morgan McVey (featuring Cherry’s future husband and frequent collaborator Cameron McVey) called “Looking Good Diving with the Wild Bunch.” That song would eventually morph into “Buffalo Stance.”

In a 2015 mini-documentary, Cherry refers to “Buffalo Stance” as a “tribute to the Buffalo crew,” group of creative Londoners led by the stylist Ray Petri that would influence British fashion of that decade and beyond. Cherry herself was part of that circle and it was through Petri, who died in ’89, that she would connect with art director and stylist Judy Blame, who became the singer’s close collaborator. Cherry’s look during the Raw Like Sushi period – big earrings, lace-trimmed bike shorts and bomber jackets – linked together the ’80s and the ’90s.

Similarly, the sound of the album links together the decade that was ending with the one that was about to start. Tim Simenon, otherwise known as Bomb the Bass, co-produced “Buffalo Stance” at a time where he was emerging as a dance music heavy-hitter. The album’s players included Nellee Hooper, who was coming into his own as a producer with his work for Soul II Soul; he would go on to produce for Björk and Madonna. “Manchild,” another single from the album features Robert “3D” Del Naja of Massive Attack as a co-writer. In fact, the connection between Massive Attack and Neneh Cherry is quite close. She was an early champion of the group and, as member Daddy G recalls in an interview with The Guardian, they recorded parts of their debut album, Blue Lines, at her home.

Listening to the 30th anniversary edition of Raw Like Sushi, which includes oodles of remixes, the depth and breadth of this album’s dance music legacy are more obvious. Arthur Baker, whose previous work on tracks like Afrika Bambaataa and the Soul Sonic Force’s “Planet Rock” and New Order’s “Confusion” made him an icon of cool ’80s, provided both a house and “nearly neu beat” remix of “Buffalo Stance.” Kevin Saunderson, a pioneer of the Detroit sound then well known for his project Inner City, gave the single a “techno stance.” Meanwhile, Massive Attack, still a couple years away from their debut album, remixed “Manchild.”

Cherry would go on to have a fruitful career; four solo records followed Raw Like Sushi, the most recent being Broken Politics from 2018. She has also collaborated with a number of other artists, including Peter Gabriel, Gorillaz and Loco Dice. But her first solo effort remains a particularly strong legacy. It’s an album so dialed into the moment in which is was made that it essentially predicts the future.

IN2ITIV3 Invent Punkadelic Sound on Debut EP

IN2ITIV3

IN2ITIV3

IN2ITIV3 is making waves as a musical embodiment of the growing punk/hip hop crossover in Cincinnati’s local music scene with their debut self-titled EP. Featuring bandmates that listen to everything from B2K to Patti Smith, IN2ITIV3 settles on lyrical rap infused with punk rock instrumentation – but they are not Rage Against The Machine.

“I’m not even a quarter as good of a guitar player as Tom Morello, so it’s not that,” jokes the band’s vocalist and guitarist Kelby Savage. Violinist Frankie Strings, drummer Ezra Plymesser, and bassist Max Vignola complete the quartet. They’ve coined their unique sound “punkadelic rock,” and even more than creating warm waves of party-ready tunes, IN2ITIV3 is the natural next step for a city with both thriving and experimental hip hop and punk scenes.

“Hip hop and punk music have always kind of been in the same scenes, like in New York, in a lot of the early scenes,” says Savage, who is also behind the local Punk Hip Hop Show series. “A lot of the punks go to the hip hop parties, a lot of the hip hop kids go to the punk parties. It’s starting to make that change here now.”

That change comes with curious and open-minded artists. Thankfully, hip hop as a genre, as Savage points out, has never been one to box itself in.

IN2ITIV3
IN2ITIV3 photo by Bobby Tewksbury

“We have psychedelic influences, punk influences, and hip hop, but what makes it hip hop is that hip hop is a conglomerate of genres, so it’s hip hop by default,” he explains. “I love trap, but that’s the most overdone style. So, just take a little bit of this cadence and then put it with a punk rock beat and make something completely new, to where people are like – this is something different.”

A non-formulaic sound, however, isn’t easily earned. Savage explained over the year-long IN2ITIV3 recording process, the band used hour-long jam sessions to experiment with riffs and potential melodies. It’s also IN2ITIV3’s debut effort, so rather than collaborate with other artists, the project aims to cement the band’s own distinct sound.

“We had to tighten up our sound and just really get that solid unit working… If we do [work with features] I wanna do something unique,” he said, pointing to the likes of BADBADNOTGOOD and Free Nationals.

Moving forward, IN2ITIV3 plans to release a single called “The Moon” in April.

IN2ITIV3
IN2ITIV3

Savage has been making music for over a decade, crediting Jimmy Hendrix as his guitarist icon and also boasting a dexterous rapping flow. During the course of our interview, he reminisced about opening up for Twenty One Pilots back in 2009 in front of 60 people at a local coffee shop.

“I saw them kind of become the band that they are today,” he said of the Columbus-bred duo.

With IN2ITIV3 now rounding their two-year mark, Savage is glad their debut project has finally come to fruition and that fans are starting to come around to their uniquely engaging style.

“Where you say loss, I say learning experience,” he said of his career philosophy.  “They’re both L’s.”

Stream IN2ITIV3 below.

Church Girls Set Apathy Ablaze With “Florida”

Photo by Natalie Piserchio.

When we last caught up with Philadelphia-based indie punk band Church Girls, they were just about to release their third EP Home; as the follow-up to their debut full-length Hidalgo, it showed a distinct evolution trending toward a rougher, more raw sound. That evolution has continued as the band — consisting of vocalist/guitarist Mariel Beaumont, drummer Julien Varnier, bassist Vince Vullo, and guitarist Joseph Wright — has released a steady stream of singles and last year’s Cycles EP. Simultaneously capturing the fun, energetic, beachy vibes of Best Coast, the angsty pop of Paramore and Garbage, and the campy, minimalistic style of CAKE (which Church Girls counts among its influences), the band is set to release its second full-length album this Friday, February 7 on Anchor Eighty Four Records. The Haunt, which ranges from the catchy, high-energy “Better” to the dark, brooding “Recede” and its aggressive title track, is some of the most honest and bracing music from the band yet.

Beaumont wrote the album’s latest single, “Florida,” about the conflicting feelings she experienced in a place where she spent time growing up and then visiting a love interest. The song encapsulates the ethos of a dull vacation in a way that perfectly conveys what it is like to feel stuck in life.

We talked to Beaumont about the inspiration behind her new single and album, the history of the band, and what punk music means to her.

AF: What are the central themes of The Haunt?

MB: I’d say we focused on addiction, like when a loved one or a family member closely is dealing with that, and then beyond that, other challenges that friends and family are going through, such as divorce and even sometimes not living up to your own standards. I was just watching close family and friends going through those kinds of things and was able to relate them with the issues that I’ve tackled myself.

AF: What do you hope listeners take away from the album?

MB: Although we explore some dark themes, the hope is that there is a little bit of hope among the maybe sometimes nihilistic or dark themes. I’d say often, the themes I’ve had are frustration with dealing someone else’s addiction but also knowing that no matter what, I’ll still be there for that person, even if I’m disappointing myself with my own behavior. The idea is that I’m recognizing it, and at least that’s the first step toward moving forward.

AF: What inspired the song “Florida”?

MB: I have a friend who lives down there, a guy I was kind of seeing, and I spent a lot of time down there. My mom actually lives there, too, and we’ve kind of grown up spending a lot of time there. I love it in ways, but I also kind of hate Florida because when you’re there, time kinds of stops, and the weather’s always nice, and you’re at the beach, and it can feel nice in the moment, but I start to feel very antsy after a while — I’m not moving forward. And sometimes I feel like my friend down there is stuck in the Floridian ways, and I’d like to pull him out. It’s nothing against Florida, by the way.

AF: Does the title of the song have anything to do with the Florida band Church Girls that you filed a trademark infringement lawsuit against?

MB: They’re not called Church Girls anymore, but it’s kind of funny. That wasn’t my intent when I wrote it, but I do find it kind of funny that we have a song called “Florida” now.

AF: Where does your band’s name come from?

MB: I grew up going to Episcopalian school, and I was an acolyte growing up. I discovered punk music in high school and started going to a lot of shows, and in a way, that became my new type of church. I’ve always found that live music especially provides the same kind of soul-feeding you’d look for in going to church. It’s communal, it’s cathartic, and it’s reaching at something metaphysical.

AF: In what ways do you find punk music spiritual?

MB: I’ve always loved the way punk music is physical, and there’s aggression in it, but I remember going to a lot of shows growing up — I was scared sometimes in these pits, but I found the people in them were accommodating if people fell down or something. So, there was this combination of tapping at something primal and aggressive, but also, there was a communal aspect to it. I got a feeling it was kind of above cognition.

AF: What are your next plans?

MB: We’re heading out for a seven- to eight-week tour, and we’ll be going pretty much all over the US and hitting SXSW, and then basically spending the rest of the year touring as much as possible and writing our next LP, which we’re hoping to record at the end of the year or early next year.

Follow Church Girls on Facebook for ongoing updates.

SHOW REVIEW: Brutus @ St. Vitus

On the one hand, it’s hard to imagine a better venue than Greenpoint mainstay St. Vitus for the stateside return of a band that integrates black metal, punk, and post-hardcore into their dizzying sound. But even if it seemed appropriate on paper, the stifling black box of  the venue was hardly enough to contain Belgian trio Brutus, whose towering sophomore effort Nest has easily placed them in the running for many a genre-spanning year-end list. Though the densely packed room and breakneck speed at which they played muffled some of the more dynamic qualities of their recorded output, there was no mistaking the explosive energy of drummer/vocalist Stefanie Mannaerts, guitarist Stijn Vanhoegaerden and bassist Peter Mulders. The force with which they played is practically begging for bigger rooms, better soundsystems, and longer sets allowed to linger beyond the neighborhood curfew.

Opening with atmospheric, disembodied synths, the band humbly took the stage and immediately launched in the slow-burning assault of opening Nest track “Fire.” Mannaerts’ drum kit was situated stage left, facing Mulders in the middle and Vanhoegaerden at house left; her mic was perched over her left shoulder, there to amplify her full-throated howls and yet somehow remain out of the way of her rapidly moving arms. She seemed to perform mostly from muscle memory, pounding out complicated blast beats and thrashing her cymbals as if her life depended on it. Her voice channeled “Human Behavior”-era Björk, the air pushing from her lungs in a raspy, desperate wail.

Vanhoegaerden was mostly stoic, focused on threading raw-nerved guitar through ominous bass and careening percussion; every so often, he’d wander toward Mannaerts’ kit, as if checking to make sure she wasn’t about to keel over from sheer exhaustion (incredibly, she showed little sign of fatigue). Mulders, meanwhile, hammed it up, throwing devil horns and sticking out his tongue after the band nailed more difficult stretches of music. It helped that he is comically tall – for those stuck in the bottleneck by St. Vitus’s soundboard, he was the only visible member of the band. The show was sold out, one of only a few U.S. dates the band had booked around their set at Austin’s Levitation showcase with Sargent House labelmates.

There wasn’t much banter between songs but Mannaerts in particular espoused her thanks at every opportunity – the band seemed truly blown away by the positive response to Nest, not just in the sold-out room, but the world over. After their Los Angeles show at The Echo, they posted a heartfelt message to fans on Facebook, saying, “When we started this band, we had no idea what it would bring for us. We had big dreams, and we thought we were ready. But we were not.” They went on to explain that Nest was written in the wake the initial success they experienced surrounding their debut LP Burst, “for our loved ones, left in the dark at home while we were on the road chasing this weird and unpredictable light.” It was certainly revelatory to bask it its glow, if only for a moment.

BRUTUS TOUR DATES:
11/17 – Mexico City, MX @ Corona Capital
11/24 – Berlin, DE @ Festaal Kreuzberg
11/25 – Köln, DE @ Stollwerck
11/26 – Amsterdam, NL @ Melkweg
11/28 – Leeds, UK @ University Stylus
11/29 – London, UK @ Electric Ballroom
11/30 – Paris, FR @ Le TrianoN
12/03 – Milan, IT @ Alcatraz
12/04 – Ljubljana, SI @ Kino Siska
12/05 – Munich, DE @ Backstage
12/06 – Vienna, AU @ Arena
12/08 – Warsaw, PL @ Progresja
12/14 – Brussels, BE @ AB Brussels (SOLD OUT)

PREMIERE: True Dreams Follow EP with Title Track from Upcoming LP No. 1

When I meet up with feminist punk duo True Dreams at drummer Hannah Nichols’ Brooklyn apartment, they’re wearing what they call their “uniforms”: black school girl skirts, leather harnesses, and crisp white Dickies button downs, each emblazoned with half of the band’s logo: Nichols’ shoulder says “TRUE” and guitarist Angela Carlucci’s says “DREAMS” in a slimey green font with pink stars Carlucci embroidered herself. It’s a twisted take on the “Best Friends” necklaces girls trade with their gal pals in grade school, each half of the necklace a broken heart that connect to the other whenever said besties reunite. Nichols and Carlucci are very much two halves of a whole, their friendship the gooey glue that holds their band together; on their forthcoming LP No. 1, you can hear it pulse in their call-and-response vocals, shouting out supportive messages to one another (and to anyone else that might need to hear them).

“A big part of our band is our friendship,” Nichols says. “We’re best friends – [Angela] is like a sister to me. You can’t separate the two.” They co-write everything, and Carlucci says the act of writing together is a huge adrenaline rush. “We really try to make it 50-50,” she says. “There’s no one leading.” The egalitarian approach is rooted in their political ideals, which make their way into the songs as well.

Carlucci and Nichols met at a video shoot for an ex-boyfriend’s band, back when Nichols was just beginning to learn drums on an electronic kit in her living room. Carlucci had already been involved with a number of anti-folk bands, most notably with duo The Baby Skins and as a backup singer with Herman Düne, as well as releasing solo work under the moniker Little Cobweb. As the two became close, they realized making music together was the next step, and punk music felt the most accessible. “Growing up listening to punk bands was what made me want to play drums,” Nichols says. “[Punk] is fairly easy to pick up; it’s simple when you’re first starting out. It was what I wanted to do and what I was capable of.”

Carlucci says “as soon as I learned Hannah was learning to play I was already scheming” to get a band going, but it took a while for Nichols to feel confident enough to do so. They formed True Dreams about four years ago, and the project is now beginning to bear fruit – they released a three-song EP in 2016, and slightly re-mastered versions of those songs will appear on their forthcoming full-length No. 1, out Novembver 22 on King Pizza Records in Brooklyn and Lousy Moon Records in Frankfurt, Germany. Audiofemme is pleased to premiere its first single and title track, “No. 1.”

“No. 1” is an excellent introduction to the album, a delightfully lo-fi affair recorded mostly live in a few days at their friend Frankie Sunswept‘s New Hampshire studio. The single quickly gets to the heart of what the band is all about; its jangly guitar riffs show off the duo’s DIY garage rock influences like Shannon & the Clams and Bratmobile. “It’s made to feel empowering,” Carlucci says. “It’s about getting dumped and owning the bad feelings around being dumped, feeling that thing that happens in New York where you feel really alone and lonely but there’s people right next to you on the subway.”

Carlucci’s verses dial up the snotty factor when she sneers “I am my own horror show” and laments “Why is it so hard to find somebody who will call me No. 1?” Nichols chimes in her support with a deadpan echo of Carlucci’s inner monologue (“Never should’ve left you!” she agrees as Carlucci bemoans the end of a relationship). “[My vocal] is kind of calling the person out on treating me bad, and [Hannah] is basically like, ‘Yeah what she said!’ like a team or something,” Carlucci says. “That’s how it goes down with your best friend when you get dumped,” Nichols adds with a laugh.

There are a couple of songs on the LP of a similar theme: the contemplative “Across Your Arm” and seething surf-rocker “The Scum” both express frustration with being taken for granted. Though these frustrations feel acutely personal, there are just as many moments on the LP that express frustration with society at large. Whether it’s the rollicking, tongue-in-cheek “Female Artists” or the incensed “Please Sir,” (Nichols warns: “If you were born a woman you better act sweet/We’ll save you a piece, We’ll save you a seat” and Carlucci spits back, “Everything I’ve suffered for and all that I’ve achieved/doesn’t mean shit when you’re a piece of meat!”), these songs demand respect when it’s lacking without feeling heavy-handed – more like complaining about the state of the world to a girlfriend than excoriating the patriarchy. “I feel like the act of creating this band is sort of a feminist statement in a way,” Nichols says. “It feels good to scream.”

Even if the band’s feminist anthems are cathartic to perform, their casual delivery is all in the spirit of fun. “We play music to have a good time,” Nichols explains. “We’re not here to like, try and be self righteous or condemn other people. We want to open up a conversation; we want people to have fun when they see us. It’s like… we could be your friends, but also, shut the fuck up and listen to us.”

In other words, True Dreams is not looking to alienate anyone, just state their piece. “If you’re trying to connect to people and have them hear what you’re saying, singling them out or telling them they suck is not gonna get anyone to hear it,” Carlucci points out. “It’s a little bit scary, but I’d be happy to talk with anyone who felt negative about it.” Their biggest goal is to inspire young women, particularly those keen to start their own bands (because “There aren’t enough, aren’t enough FEMALE ARTISTS!” as the two sing on “Female Artists”). “Music was so important to me [as a teenager],” Carlucci says. “I would love to somehow influence women or girls, especially ones in high school, feeling left out or different and not really knowing where they fit in [to start their own bands].”

For now, the pair live double lives – Carlucci as a baker and Nichols as a barber – and rock out on short weekend tours. But they’ve got big plans; in February, they’re off to Europe to play shows in Belgium, France, Germany, and possibly more. They’re having a blast – like their mutual heroes The Ramones – with making music, but what drives them day to day is knowing that they’re at the forefront of a progressive sea change. “The world is really changing right now in a tangible way and I feels good to part of it,” Carlucci says “We’re with the change, adding our part to it, and that’s awesome.”

True Dreams’ No. 1 is out via King Pizza/Lousy Moon Records on November 22. Pre-order the cassette here and RSVP for their record release show at Alphaville on 11/23.

INTERVIEW: Rock Queen Super Group The Coolies Talk New EP & Fighting ALS

The Coolies

After being friends for decades, former members of The Muffs, The Pandoras, and The Friggs, Kim Shattuck, Melanie Vammen, and Palmyra Delran, finally decided it was time to start their own band together. Kim and Melanie first played together in The Pandoras and went on to form The Muffs, meeting The Friggs’ Palmyra on a Pandoras tour. The uber-talented trio is now known as The Coolies—a female-fronted super group backed by decades of rock stardom, who are using their platform to combat ALS.

The Coolies dropped their self-titled debut EP earlier this summer and have donated 100% of proceeds from record sales to support research for the ALS Association. Living in different cities, the six-track EP was recorded at both West and East Coast studios and mixed by Grammy Award-winner Geoff Sanoff.

From the very first track, “Uh Oh!,” bubbling down to “Yeah I Don’t Know,” The Coolies dabbles in fizzy pop, punk, and pure rock—an essence that’s perfectly captured by its psychedelic 3-D vinyl cover.

Here, The Coolies talk their new band, The Coolies EP, upcoming music, and why ALS research is important to them.

AF: Why is combatting ALS and the ALS Association important to The Coolies?

K: Because it runs on my dad’s side of the family and I am super sick of seeing it take down my relatives without a cure!

M: It has affected us all by knowing loved ones enduring this horrific disease. It’s time to find a cure!

AF: Do you plan on continuing to raise awareness and funds with your next project/s?

K: I’m always gonna do a lot more work with The ALS Association – I will always do it!

M: I will always want to help in whatever way I can.

P: We’re committed to raising awareness and donations to find treatments and a cure for ALS. Diseases can be cured, and ALS is such a mystery. It’s time.

AF: How does it feel coming together at this point in your career and being able to form The Coolies?

K: Pretty crazy dammit! I love these chicks with my whole heart and soul, and we have some tales to tell! We are like peppermint pirates!

M: It’s incredible and so special! I love these badass chicks and it means everything to me.

P: It’s actually pretty hilarious how this whole thing happened out of three old pals having a laugh about a picture of Paula Pierce’s ass! We figured, why not? And it’s been a mind-blower how fast it all fell together. I love these dames!

AF: Are you planning any future shows / touring?

P: We are scheming!

M: We’re figuring it out! I can’t wait for people to hear Coolies songs live!

AF: What are you currently working on / planning next?

K: Pretty cool things that we have planned!

P: We’re already working on the next batch of songs.

M: A full-length album!

AF: Your EP is available on vinyl with a 3-D album cover, which is awesome. What gave you guys that idea?

M: I think Palmyra and Louie (the artist) suggested it.

P: Everything comes out of the three of us sitting around laughing! Kim would sign her emails as “Kimba,” which sounded like a cartoon character to me. I started signing my emails as Palimba, and not missing a beat–Melanie became Melimba! The whole thing morphed from there and ended up on (Art Director at Wicked Cool) Louis Arzonico’s desk, who came up with the illustration.

AF: What was the trans-coast recording experience like?

K: It was a hoot! Hey, it should be that easy all the time. I’m so happy! The best thing is recording with them. And we did it!

M: It was so easy! First time I’ve recorded like this and we got to be just as creative this way like if we were all in the same room together. It worked amazing!

P: This definitely proves that anything can be done these days!

AF: How has your current sound been influenced by each of your musical backgrounds?

M: You know, we all do our thing with our signature styles and sounds.

P: It’s what comes out naturally from within each of us. It just so happens to fit together really well.

AF: Anything else you’d like to add?

M: Take time to laugh in life! Be yourself and don’t doubt your abilities! We love our record. Hope you love it too!

The Coolies

ALBUM REVIEW: The Heartfelt Nostalgia of Tony Molina’s Tapes from San Mateo County

Bay Area indie artist Tony Molina has always had either foot in two worlds, which is perhaps the only obvious observation one might make about him. He maintains deep ties to the punk and hardcore scenes in which he cut his teeth, having played with bands like Healer, Caged Animal, and Bone Sickness in the past. He evades definition, however, in that his solo work is audibly a far cry from these genres. He pens earnest power-pop ballads with soaring guitar solos and melancholic lyrics about lost love and forgotten friendships, more akin to Weezer or The Replacements than the powerviolence and hardcore sounds of his other projects. 

His latest release is a rarities collection put out by Smoking Room Records Friday, July 19, entitled Songs From San Mateo County. Over the years, Molina has lessened the vocal distortion and heavy reverb of previous releases for a cleaner sound, but has held onto the tender lyricism, cheeky guitar riffs and short song lengths – each track clocks in at under two minutes. The tracks on this collection are for the most part unheard until now, unable to be streamed and only available on analog cassette releases: “Where’d You Go,” “Not The Way To Be,” “Can’t Find My Way” and “Separate Ways” all appeared on 2014 cassette West Bay Grease, and “I’m Not Down” appeared on 2008 recording Embarrassing Times, both put out on Molina’s own Bay Area label 650 Tapes.

Molina wishes we’d all stop talking about how short his songs are, saying in an interview years ago that he was “sick of that shit,” but it’s hard not to. It’s the greatest, and most plainly apparent, evidence of his hardcore roots. And it makes sense, in that hardcore music is more about the emotiveness of the sound than the content itself – the searing, fast instrumentals and the screamed, oftentimes dark but incoherent lyrics are ephemeral in time but strong in message. They are supposed to feel a certain way: angry, anxious, disillusioned. Molina takes this stylistic device and applies it to these wistful songs to create a different type of feeling but a feeling all the same, one of nostalgia and longing. It doesn’t matter that he trades songs among releases, because it’s about the big picture. The collection is bookended with an instrumental intro and outro; the intro gears us up with a power-pop riff while the outro melts into a twinkling surf rock ditty, the end credits of a heartfelt movie, music you ride off into the sunset to. As a unit, all fourteen tracks contribute to a fifteen-minute whole of a sentiment, or even the memory of a sentiment, rather than units in and of themselves. These songs are evergreen, containing emotion so universal as to mean the same thing in 2008 as in 2019, albeit evoked by different circumstances. After all, on track “Been Here Before,” Molina observes: “The more I change, the more I stay the same.”

PLAYING SEATTLE: Nauticult Scream Into the Void on Human Use of Human Beings EP

Seattle’s Nauticult— equal parts industrial hip-hop and thrashing noise punk—was born in a moment of raw inspiration. For years, the members had known each other and even considered rapping over beats together, but they didn’t actually pull the trigger until a surprise birthday party performance in 2015.  The result was cataclysmic innovation—electric drums, synth guitar and rasping energetic rap over a rousing Busta Rhymes instrumental—so memorable, friends at the party were reliving the moment on social media the next day.

This marked the beginning of Nauticult and the fiercely conscious music they continually chew on and spit out. Their new EP, Human Use of Human Beings, the follow up to 2017’s Phantom Limb, drops July 9th, and all three members of Nauticult—vocalist Austin Sankley (She/Her), guitarist and synth Dylan Berry (He/They), and drummer/sampler Evan Fitzgerald (He/Him)gave Audiofemme the scoop on their upcoming release show at The Ruins on July 9th, bridging the seemingly disparate genres of hip hop and noise punk, and their preoccupation with themes of religion, cults, and group thought.

AF: Tell me in more detail how you got started making music together—and about that birthday party in 2015.

EF: We had been friends or at least known each other for years and wanted to do some sort of rap group type shit for a while. In 2015,  we had a birthday party for Dylan, and that night Austin had some intense family trauma happen and said she didn’t want to perform that night at all. We had only thought about just making beats and rapping to them, but we got juiced and put on Busta Rhymes instrumentals, then I got on my electric drum set and Dylan picked up his synth guitar and Austin quote “channeled the negative energy into the mic.” At the time I actually didn’t remember a thing about it until Dylan told me the next day “yo, Geoff got a sick Snapchat of us last night.” I watched it, and it was the filthiest blend of bassy, thrashy hardcore rap that I hadn’t heard, and I was like yo, fuck making beats, we’re doing this.

AF: What was the objective you had when you first started out?

AS: Our objective was purely to make music we wanted to hear. I had never really imagined I would be in a band, let alone making the music I was making. I think the feeling was mutual. We were all obsessed with experimentation. We were really trying to create a style we hadn’t heard before, and to make music that contrasted what was being made around us. It took me a while to really learn how to match the energy and for us to find our rhythm together. 

AF: What’s Nauticult mean?

AS: It is a play on “Not a cult.” To me it really means not assimilating to toxic bullshit and group thought, and not making music that everyone else is making. And trying to be successful while retaining individualism. Sort of critiquing the cult-like logic that goes into writing processes, and social dynamics and powers and the way we operate in society. It’s also thought of as something that someone says about the cult they are in to someone they are trying to indoctrinate into a cult. It also plays into nautical themes. My rap name is Argonaut so it plays into the last four letters of my rap name. 

DB: Nauticult also directly translates to a cult of the sea, and relates to how a lot of sounds and textures we use are drenched in effects and very wet in the mix of things, almost to the point of being overloaded; it represents the more psychedelic elements of our band and the overall vastness of the influences we are pooling from. Nauticult is definitely a multiple iteration type of name. 

EF: Naughty cult (lmao). We were way more naughty and trouble making a few years ago; now we’ve cooled our shit down. But yeah we used to go egging and shit. Ah man, I got some good stories from then though.

AF: What inspired you to combine elements of hip hop with punk? 

EF: I wouldn’t say we were inspired to do anything from other artists, [but] me and Dylan had been death metal musicians from the jump, and now we are just influenced from a wider range of music. [We’re] heavily [into] production of rap, goth synth shit, all that, and now with our unique music equipment, the music is an organic blend of how we play our instruments naturally and what we listen to. And Austin has rapped since she was five, so why would she do anything else than her super power? Might I also add she is the greatest lyricist of all time.

AF: Who or what do you feel like your music is in conversation with? A place, another artist, an era? 

DB: There was never one artist that we’ve all looked to as a band upon starting this group. Part of what made the inception of Nauticult so exciting was the raw energy of all the genres we were bringing to the table. This day and age there is more noisy/industrial music than ever, bridging from hardcore to hip-hop and psychedelic music and everywhere in between, screaming out to the void of the world. This tension we all feel. We have been inspired by artists such as Shabazz Palaces who blend live percussion with psychedelic productions and more metaphysical and spacial themes, similar to the lyrical themes used in the group, clipping. who also bring a blistering, industrial flavor to hip-hop, and JPEGMAFIA, who has some of the grittiest production and lyrical style out there in this genre—which has been described as nihilistic, villainous or satirical. Our music is not a nod to any of these artists but an acknowledgement that we are all a product of our environments and influences in an intense and evolving sort of way when it comes to our experimental approach, musical background and industrial creed in approach to sampling, ideology and crafting our own sounds. 

AF: What spaces and communities in Seattle have been most supportive to you and your music? 

AS: There have been so many spaces that have supported us: Fred Wildlife Refuge, The Ruins, Chop Suey, Barboza. We have gotten a lot of support from the hip hop community, punk, queer community, burlesque, and metal scene. We are so lucky to have the support that we do. I love everyone who comes out to our shows!

AF: Tell me about your new EP, out July 9th. What energies or forces brought it to fruition? What are some of its underlying themes and drives? 

AS: We honestly wrote a lot of the songs on this EP directly after Phantom Limb came out and have just been refining them. The process has taken a long time with playing shows and everything else taking up time. The themes are commodification, violence, group thought, possession, technology, and war. It really plays into a lot of the themes behind our name. It’s an exorcism for the things that possess us, such as religion, group thought, trauma, identity, abuse, sexism, masculinity and all things cult. 

AF: How did the new EP challenge you? 

DB: Some of the material on Human Use of Human Beings we’ve been sitting on for some time but with how many shows we would be playing and tours we went on we had a hard time solidifying our writing process in the studio, having four different practice spaces since our first album. We took a much needed hiatus last fall/winter in order to distill these elements and finally put together our own home setting where we have the utmost control in our writing process and production as well as the workflow of putting together our music. It was a real challenge to get to this point.

AF: In comparison to your other releases, how does the new EP stack up? 

DB: With our first EP, Phantom Limb, I feel like we were really finding our voice, charging straight ahead into making these songs that were thrashy, psychedelic and dense. With this EP we are about to put out I feel as though all of our approaches are much more developed. We use more effects and arrangement and samples, pieced together with more progressive song structures, longer songs and even more conceptual lyrics. We have all integrated more as far as how we write together and communicate and that has definitely translated into the music.

AF: Tell me a bit about the show at The Ruins. Is this a place you play often? Will you have an opener? Any surprises as a part of the release show?

AS: This is our first time playing the venue. We are playing with So Pitted, Fucked & Bound, and Guayaba. OC Notes is doing a DJ Set, we have burlesque and aerialists, as well as live tattooing & vendors. It’s going to be wild. 

AF: Are you touring with the EP? What are your future goals for Nauticult?

AS: We actually aren’t going to tour with this EP – we want to play a few more shows  and then go back into writing. We have the skeleton of an album that we are writing done, and it’s a big switch up from either of our EPs. It’s going to be our first full length. So after this release we are going to get back to cooking. 

AF: How can people follow your band/buy your music?

AS: We are available on all streaming websites – Bandcamp is a good place to purchase our music and merch. We are most active on Instagram and Facebook as far as updates go.

PREMIERE: Loamlands Explores Southern Queer Roots on Lez Dance

Kym Register’s voice is familiar, the kind of husky twang you traditionally hear on old country records. While the medium of folk music is timeworn, the stories Register spins have a modern slant, as they speak from the perspective of a genderqueer musician living in North Carolina.

“We gotta love that’s so hard to define / Still gotta work and we have to be kind / What is it worth if I’m always on your mind?” Register croons in “Stage Coach,” the second song off Loamlands new LP. Lez Dance is full of music that needs a few turns to truly make its way into your soul; the songs are sweet and complex, dripping with tender, forlorn love. “Maureen” is the kind of sleepy tune that sticks to your bones after a few listens, with haunting lyrics that paint pictures of romance under an Appalachian moon. It’s the raw need, the helpless surrender to passion, that make song after song stand out.

We spoke to Kym about their writing process and how they define their sound. Listen to Lez Dance and read our full interview below.

AF: You grew up listening to your parents’ records, Fleetwood Mac becoming a touchstone later on in your career. What caused you to reject that music initially and what led you back to it?

KR: I think rejection of authority and the need to find my own identity – basically preteen puberty – made me reject that kind of music in the first place. And to be clear – my parents listened to a lot of pop country and a little classic rock. Growing up in the south, classic rock was just the music that defined southern and elder, two concepts that as I grow older I start to embrace rather than reject. This isn’t to say that the rejection wasn’t important, but it feels natural to work through the stigma that I had surrounding country and classic rock and for this particular record, Lez Dance, gay culture. I suppose not everyone goes through as much anti identity as this. I don’t want to assume that it is normal for someone to constantly need to be individual or different. But that is a facet of counter culture or subculture and I’m very into the weirdness and wildness that comes from those movements.

AF: Music seems to be in your family line. You play your grandad’s electric guitar and even use his amp! Are there any lessons you’ve learned from your family in terms of writing and performing?

KR: I’ve moved on a bit from my grandad’s amp and guitar – but still have them and write with them! Music has always been in my family – but not as creators necessarily. My mom can’t carry a tune – but sings loudly anyway. I don’t remember a lot about my dad but I do remember that he loved old soul / beach music. I never knew most of my family well – and never saw my grandad perform except in his house with some smokey old men. So I think what I learned about performing I learned from my queer community, open mics, friends, parking decks, elders that took me on tour from a young age. I got to play the Fillmore in San Francisco at age 27 with The Mountain Goats because John [Darnielle] met my band at the time and just wanted to hang out, liked our energy. He’s not much older that I, but that kind of elder really showed me the ropes of booking and performing. All of the conversations I’ve had with “elder” performers albeit in age or experience like Mirah, Mal Blum, Sadie Dupuis, Kimya Dawson, Sharron Van Etten, Katty Otto, Amelia Meath – I mean so many female and queer folks that are open about their experience in this field – that’s who has taught me. I’m ever grateful and indebted to the kindness that these people, who I’ve made friends with and many who have been open on the fly during a tour or short hang, have shown me over the years!

AF: How do you go about writing a song? Do you start with lyrics or is the melody the jumping off point?

KR: I just hole up in the studio and start writing. First comes the tune – then comes whatever words are on my mind. Then I analyze – what am I thinking about? That’s generally the process. For some of the more historical / storyline songs I submerse myself in news and knowledge about a story that is captivating first, then just open the gates later. I’ll edit and make sure that I’m not slinging my privilege or skewed perspective all over the place (hopefully), but it’s really free form!

AF: Loamlands is described in many ways online: folk, country, rock, punk. How do you define the band’s sound?

KR: Just like that! Influenced by Bonnie Raitt / Stevie Nicks / Prince / Kim Deal (who I have tattooed on my body) and rounded out by friendships and queer community.

AF: Your music encompasses personal experiences, a genderqueer perspective, life in the South. It’s a punk soundtrack if there ever was one. Do you ever feel pressure to represent, to accurately encompass, to be a strong voice for these often marginalized groups?

KR: Thank you for asking! No! I don’t… I recognize the privilege in making music. I can only represent my experience and tell stories that I hear from others. I hope to be able to help create space for those that want / need to tell their own stories though. That’s what I think my whiteness and economic privilege can do. And to tell stories that speak to people both in an out of the south about queerness that either they can relate to or that can help them relate to others.

AF: What albums do you currently have spinning at home? Any new artists we should check out?

KR: So many!  LIZZO all the time. Your Heart Breaks and Nana Grizol and anything off of Cruisin Records. That new Daughter of Swords and Molle Sarle (Alex’s and then Molly’s new project from Mountain Man). Always Flock of Dimes (Jenn from Wye Oak) and old school Des Ark! Team Dresch is reuniting so a lot of that right now. So much! Courtney Barnett! Solar Halos who just released a new record!

AF: Where can folks see ya’ll live? And what could someone expect from a Loamlands show?

KR: Well, it’s stripped down through the fall to promote this new record. But it’s always an adventure. I’m very ADD and can tell a story or ten in one, depending. So there is definitely rambling and always something awkward – which I live for!

We have a smattering of full band and solo shows and are looking to hop on some tours this fall and record another record so – stay tuned!

Loamlands’ new LP Lez Dance will be out 6/7 on Cruisin Records.

TOUR DATES
6/8 – Durham, NC @ North Star Church of the Arts *Record Release*
7/27 – Saxapahaw, NC @ Saxapahaw Summer Concert Series

PLAYING PHILLY: Big Nothing is Back With Debut LP “Chris”

When Philly four-piece Big Nothing broke onto the scene back in 2017 with their self-titled 7” EP, they brought with them an impressive lineage. Guitarist Pat Graham fronted the punk trio, Spraynard, and fellow guitarist Matt Quinn played with Beach Slang’s Ed McNulty in band Crybaby. Liz Parsons played bass in NJ punk outfit Casual, and Chris Jordan (drums) hails from Gainesville, FL’s Young Livers. With that level of punk rock pedigree, it’s not shocking that their first release was well received, but with just four tracks clocking in around ten minutes total, it left fans in the Philadelphia scene wanting more.

Two years after their debut, Big Nothing has delivered. Chris, the band’s first LP, dropped May 10th, and it brings with it a heavy dose of 90’s-era indie (think: Superchunk), with laidback skate-punk vocals and the looseness of garage acts like the Replacements. What really sets Chris apart though is the piercing melancholic backdrop of the album juxtaposed against the infectious riffs that are on display in almost every song.

Big Nothing seems to have the unique ability to peer into the vast void of existence, and pull out songs that are sublimely catchy yet steeped in personal catharsis. “Being in a band is often a cheap alternative to therapy,” quips the group in their bio, and you’re inclined to believe them. As a whole, Chris is self-reflective and angsty—hurling itself toward big questions of existentialism (“If I don’t know why I’m looking/then what can I hope to find out?” rasps the album’s opening track “Waste My Time”) just as quickly as it voices more immediate frustrations (“I’m caught in a daydream about leaving here for good/Maybe if I move down to Virginia, I’ll find myself in a better mood” on “Autopilot”).

Though it grapples with understanding the looming “big nothing” that challenges our existence, the album is exceptionally big-hearted and vulnerable. It’s an accessible meditation on the human condition that speaks directly to lingering quarter-life anxieties but also has you singing along to its massive hooks—relishing in melancholy rather than being dragged down by it.

While the full album is worth a cover-to-cover listen (and with three different songwriters writing in widely different lyrical styles, you’d be cheating yourself if you tried to cherry pick), entry points to the LP include its lead single “Real Name,” featuring a bursting chorus and achingly relatable lyrics on being “seen,” and “Honey,” a track with soaring melodies and themes of externally seeking self-validation.

Listen to Chris via Bandcamp below, and follow the band on Facebook for updated tour dates if you want to see what promises to be a dynamic stage show with your own eyes.

PLAYING CINCY: Leggy Talks New Album, Tour & Videos Coming Soon

Leggy

Initially coming together in high school and emerging as a dreamy punk-tinted band after college, the Northside-bred, female-fronted Leggy has grown into Cincinnati’s latest long-reaching musical output. They signed to independent UK record label Damnably (Wussy, Golden Gurls) in 2016, after label head George Gargan heard them perform a live set on the local radio station WAIF 88.3; soon after, they released a self-titled compilation of their first three EPs. But the release of their latest studio album, Let Me Know Your Moon, in late March, has brought the trio even greater recognition – and lots of critical acclaim.

The band – made up of Veronique Allaer, Kirsten Bladh, and Chris Campbell – just finished up a headlining tour, so now they’re diving head-first into upcoming summer shows. Here, Leggy lead singer and guitarist Veronique explains the origins of the 12-track LP, reflects on the trio’s beginnings and gives some deets on visuals in the works. Make sure to stream Let Me Know Your Moon and check out their upcoming shows below.

AF: How did you all come together?

VA: We started the band a year after college, when [I] moved back to Cincinnati from Washington DC. The three of us moved into a house in Northside together and talked about starting the band for a while before actually doing it. We named our first EP Cavity Castle after that place. I still walk past the place all the time and it makes me when I think about us all living there!

AF: Let’s talk your new album! The stories reflect the ups and downs of lust and heartbreak. Was it anything specific that inspired these concepts?

VA: Just relationships. All my lyrics are mostly inspired by real things. I think you can tell when it’s inauthentic and those songs don’t really appeal to me. But also, I don’t think each song needs to be about a specific one person or incident. I will mash up lyrics or ideas or something to make a better song. Some of the songs have been slowly evolving for years. For example, I wrote the chorus lyrics of “Eden” back in 2013, but the verses were written write like a week before we recorded the album.

AF: What’s each of your favorite song to perform off Let Me Know Your Moon?

VA: “Eden”
KB: “My Room”
CC: “Eden”

AF: Will you release any visuals for the album?

VA: Yes! We are cooking up music video ideas with Jo Shaffer, who co-directed all of The Ophelias‘ music videos. They have a really keen eye for simple and gorgeous aesthetics! We are super excited.

AF: You also just finished up your tour, how was it?

VA: We just got back from a three-week long headline tour, which we haven’t done in a while! It was really fun. It’s also really intense to be on a tour that is so long – essentially you’re spending every minute of every day 24/7 for three weeks straight with your bandmates. Even the nights we didn’t crash at someone’s house and splurged on a motel, we would have to take turns sitting in the van to call our [signficant other] just to have some privacy. It feels good to know that we are still able to tour and have a good time and respect each other’s boundaries and need for space [and] alone time. We’ve all known each other since we were 14, so sometimes it honestly feels like touring with siblings. We are about to go on a shorter tour with The Ophelias who are a super sick band also from Cincinnati. I’m very excited to spread the Cincy love.

AF: Are you planning on stopping in Cincy any time soon?

VA: We have a few local summer shows that we are really excited for.

AF: Anything else you’d like to add?

VA: Audiofemme is sick, thanks so much for having us. Cincinnati has a ton of really amazing bands right now – people should check out LUNG, The Ophelias, Strobobean, Electric Citizen, Soften, Triiibe, Fruit LoOops, Smut, Pout, Slow Glows and Lashes off the top of my head. Thanks for having us!

Leggy
Photo by Will Fenwick.

Upcoming Leggy Shows:

June 8 – Bay City, MI @ Riverscene Indie Fest
June 9 – Detroit, MI @ PJs Lager House (with The Ophelias)
June 10 – Cleveland, OH @ Beachland Tavern (with The Ophelias)
June 11 – Rochester, NY @ Small World Books (with The Ophelias)
June 12 – Brooklyn, NY @ Alphaville (with The Ophelias)
June 25 – Columbus, OH @ Ace of Cups (with Potty Mouth & Colleen Green)
July 11 – Cincinnati, OH @ Urban Artifact (with And The Kids & Strobobean)

ONLY NOISE: How PUP – and Punk Rock – Changed My Relationship with Physical Intimacy

PUP photo by Vanessa Heins.

ONLY NOISE explores music fandom with poignant personal essays that examine the ways we’re shaped by our chosen soundtrack. This week, Sophia Vaccaro finds empowerment and personal autonomy in the mosh pit, with PUP providing the punk rock release. The mosh pit at a PUP show helped Sophia Vaccaro see the punk tradition as an exchange of energy rather than a violation of space.

“The mosh pit never lies,” Norah reminds herself in Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist. It took me a room full of friendly punk kids and almost ten years to understand what she meant.

I was not a wild teen. I was not even a wild college kid. Nick and Norah’s world of all-nighters, secret shows, and closet makeouts was as astronomically foreign to me as it was eminently desirable. I wanted to traipse through the post-midnight music crowd mooning over someone while not realizing how absolutely fucking cool I was being, too! But why was it so fucking hard?

It was the pit; moshing was asking too much of me. I spent a long time — too long — hyper-aware of the bodies of men in my space. I can’t stand a casual touch from a man I do not know. It feels like a physical weight, like leeches peppering soft marks on my skin to remind me: you did not want this hug. You did not want this hand on your shoulder. You didn’t want. You didn’t want. Everything was always about what I didn’t want, and it was exhausting.

So how could someone, uncomfortable even with the physical feeling that comes from an uninvited look, willingly throw herself into a horde of sweaty, aggressive punksters? Enter PUP the band — and my friend’s pink backpack.

I love PUP. Formed in Toronto in 2010, PUP consists of bassist Nestor Chumak, vocalist Stefan Babcock, drummer Zack Mykula, and guitarist Steve Sladkowski. Since their first self-titled LP, they have been steadily evolving as musicians and lyricists. But it’s not only the music that’s fucking good; they also seem to be four actual friends who are doing their best to deal with mental health, growing up, and the complexities of the occasionally vagrant musician life. They are more than aware of the community that has grown around them; in anticipation of their third full-length album, Morbid Stuff, which was released last Friday, they asked fans to cover the second single, “Free at Last,” with only the chords and lyrics available. The result was a funny, light-hearted music video compiling these clips that was not only surprising in its musical diversity, but also surprisingly tender and utterly appreciative — of both fans and band alike.

Release is paramount to every PUP song, as it is paramount to punk. Every song is an expungement of all the bad things you were thinking and feeling and have convinced yourself you were floating on top of which you were in fact slowly sinking under. There are many things about this that could be considered unsettlingly hypermasculine and phallic, especially when experienced live — the half-swallowing of the mic, the aggressive guitars, the plain and simple anger of it all. But I believe that this idea of release in punk is fundamentally about the body. Movement in connection with music is a way to take your love for the sound, unwind it from the ball inside your chest, and let it out. PUP showed me how that ball could have somewhere to go.

They were doing a show in Oakland as part of their headline tour for their second LP, 2016’s The Dream Is Over. I wanted to go. I needed to go. They were all I had been listening to for weeks straight at the time. But the part of me that stands between myself and the world, pickax in hand, had some considering to do. What would the crowd be like? What would the vibe be like? And, most importantly: would there be somewhere for me to hide?

The music won, because the music always does.

I bought my tickets, employing my friend Maranda as my chaperone. We Ubered to Starline Social Club, and as we waited outside the entry steps on that cool September night, I prepared to face the masses — and the men — from the fringes of the audience.

Only that is not what happened.

Not even halfway through the show, I was sandwiched between two huge guys, watching them good-naturedly shove anyone spinning out of the mosh pit back into its boisterous center. I watched, and I learned. As I screamed along to “Doubts” and “Guilt Trip,” I let my body relax into flow of the others around me. I began to see them not as violations of my space, but rather as an extension of myself and how the music made me feel. The last piece of the puzzle was watching Maranda, a modern dancer who is in incredible control of her body, throw herself with single-minded joy into the center of the pit, her mini pink backpack the only part of her I could see as she tossed and was tossed.

That’s the key, I realized. The mosh pit is not a stripping of power for the benefit of the biggest and strongest — it is an exchange. It is a release that gets passed from body to body, and if it is too much for one person to take, there are people waiting to pick you up, even you out, and send you back in. I didn’t go into the center of the pit that night, but I felt something loosen inside me. Those ragged and dirty knots of distrust had been tied by fear, but the music and mayhem of punk rock — and PUP — had started to pick them free.

As I said: I was not a wild teen. In fact, I would say the peak of my Big Messy Adolescence is currently happening right now, after a year full of last-minute moves, big betrayals, old friends lost and older friends renewed. So to make it through 24, to do things I had waited long too do, I needed to find a place where physical intimacy with people I did not know was not a cue to panic; I needed to have space inside me for things that were not fear.

Today, I turn 25, and Morbid Stuff arrives just in time to help me reckon with the good and the bad of those experiences. Besides mental health and yes, morbidity, the new LP is more than anything a painful dive into the hell of caring about people who couldn’t be more indifferent towards you. It is a testament to the self-inflicted, full-body bruise of obsession that blooms as you grasp for information and explanation, while those people think about anything else but you. The city of Toronto acts as both peer and antagonist, veering from rapscallion comrade-in-arms in “Morbid Stuff” to looming oppressor on “City.” The fact that it remains unnamed on the latter parallels the theatrical storytelling of 2016’s “Pine Point” and “The Coast” and this album’s “Scorpion Hill.” As Babcock croons “don’t wanna love you anymore” on “City” it’s not clear who this is in reference to — a partner or the city itself.  It’s a pertinent reminder that, in your 20s, the familiar becomes frightening, and your life can seem a folktale rife with monsters that take the faces of the people you care about — or yourself. And while these bigger-scale moments still hit, it’s the smaller stuff — Babcock’s cold-sweat fear about the potential deaths of former partners; running into one of those previously mentioned indifferent people while in the midst of mundanity at the grocery store — that have me inching further and further into the pit.

The first time I heard “Closure” on the new LP I yelped “fuck!” loud enough for a bleached-tip pedestrian at Yerba Buena gardens to look at me in semi-alarm. This was justified, as it was semi-alarm that was ricocheting through my body — at how hard this song was hitting, already, thirty seconds in. At how excited I was, changing my socks on a granite pillar for the benefit of my not-yet-broken-in Doc Martens, to press out my sorrow into the pit and watch it be washed away and returned as something softer.

The second time I listed to Morbid Stuff, I found myself itching to move — it’s hard not to listen to PUP without wanting to thrash. I would have gotten up, walked straight out of my house and put on the blistering “See You at Your Funeral,” but it was pitch dark and 11pm, so I sat, bound to the steps above the kitchen heating grate.

I turned the music off. The first few listens of any beloved band’s new album are a sacred thing, and it wasn’t right.

But those initial run-throughs also illuminated to me how much my listening has changed. I can feel myself anticipating that release of movement, but I don’t imagine myself alone any longer.

That is why the music always wins. It will drag you closer and closer to the stage. It will make you want to feel the bodies of others moving around you, moving against you, pushing and pulling and jabbing and screaming, because not every touch has intent to take. In the mosh, which never lies, touch is trying, simply, to be.

I needed to be reminded that that I could do that.

CUT AND PASTE: A Brief History of Zine Publishing

CUT AND PASTE is a new column that celebrates proto-blog culture by delving into the world of self-published print media – colloquially referred to as zines – which cover a wide scope of the personal and political lives of its authors and their various cultural obsessions. The column will be a mix of zine reviews, profiles and interviews with zinesters, highlights of zine archives and libraries, and coverage of zine events in today’s still-thriving culture. For our first installment, Rebecca Kunin, who teaches a course she designed at Indiana University called  “Punk, Zines, and D.I.Y. Politics,” gives us a brief rundown of zine history.

Zines are handmade and self-published print media. With relatively limited amounts of copies in circulation – both a practical constraint and ideological decision – they critique for-profit mass production. Zines often draw from the personal perspectives. As such, they tend to cover niche topics and come in many different shapes, sizes, colors, textures, and formats.

While the term was first utilized in 1930s/40s sci-fi fandoms, zines were embraced by punks in the 1970s as a counterattack to elitism in mainstream music journalism and the music industry. When punk music exploded onto local scenes, it upended mainstream notions of popular music. The core methodology of this critique was a D.I.Y. ethos. D.I.Y. suggests that one creates something – a show, song, zine, etc. – using the resources at their disposal. It suggests that an authentic message is one that is unfiltered by gatekeepers, who are swayed by corporate interests and the need to market and sell to mass audiences. A “rough around the edges” aesthetic, as it follows, is gladly embraced as evidence of human ingenuity in the face of an increasingly corporate and elitist artistic marketplace. This aesthetic (or ideal) manifested in punk music, fashion, political organizing, and print media, i.e. zines.

Zines became an important form of insider communication in punk scenes. One could turn to a local fanzine for a show review, interview, scene report, and pretty much anything else related to punk or otherwise. Beyond local contexts, zines traveled via touring bands and snail mail, spreading information and drawing connections across regional, national, and international D.I.Y. networks.

Because punks directed their rage towards corporate elitism and promulgated an ethos of inclusivity, it is easy to romanticize their outreach. While punk critiques capitalism, sexism, homophobia, and racism, for instance, it also exists within a world that is capitalist, sexist, homophobic and racist. Far from an egalitarian utopia, queer and femme punks and punks of color have had to exist within what scholar and zinester Mimi Thi Nugyen describes as “whitestraightboy hegemony.” Zines, however, became important sites for such critiques within punk spaces. Because of their participatory nature, more punk subcultures formed along these lines of critique.

One of these subcultures was queercore, a critique of homophobia within punk and conservatism within mainstream gay and lesbian movements. In the 1980s, Toronto-based multi-media collaborators Bruce LaBruce and G.B. Jones published J.D.s and helped to pioneer a local queercore scene. While there are many more titles than can be listed here, some of the most circulated Toronto-based zines included Bimbox and SCAB (Society for the Complete Annihilation of Breeding), Double Bill (Caroline Azar, Jena Von Brucker, G.B. Jones, Johnny Noxzema, Rex Roy), and Jane Gets a Divorce (Jena Von Brucker). Queercore, however, was not only based out of Toronto. Participants collaborated across geographic distances to other cities. Out of Southern California, Vaginal Davis published The Fertile Latoyah Jackson in the early 1980s. Up the coast in San Francisco, Homocore (by Tom Jennings and Deke Nihilson) and Outpunk (by Matt Wobensmith) were circulating widely. Out of Portland, Team Dresch bandmember Donna Dresch published Chainsaw, a homocore and riot grrrl zine. Many of the above-mentioned zines (and more) can be read in digitized formats on the Queer Zine Archive Project’s website.  Although centered on zines, queercore was a multimedia punk subculture that created music, films, and social networks. Outpunk and Chainsaw, for instance, doubled as record labels. By fusing art and activism, queercore reclaimed punk’s queer roots and created networks for queer individuals.

In the early 1990s, riot grrrl grew from local scenes in Olympia, Washington and Washington D.C. into an international movement with local chapters across North America, Europe, and Asia.  This activist art scene developed from feminist punks who were tired of the white boy mentality that dominated punk spaces. Riot grrrls used zines to discuss their personal experiences with sexism. Many members of this scene also performed in punk bands and advocated for feminist values and safe spaces at their shows. Famously, Kathleen Hanna of punk band Bikini Kill would call all the girls to the front at the beginning of their set. While it would be impossible to list all of the riot grrrl zines that were produced, some of the germinal ones include Jigsaw (Tobi Vail), Bikini Kill (Tobi Vail, Kathleen Hanna), Girl Germs (Molly Neuman, Allison Wolfe), Riot Grrrl (Molly Neuman, Allison Wolfe, Kathleen Hanna, Tobi Vail), and Gunk (Ramdasha Bikceem). These, and thousand more zines, connected femme punks across local, national, and international D.I.Y networks.

While riot grrrl opened a lot of spaces for women in punk, it is not without its critiques. Riot grrrl was mostly (although not exclusively) white, and many of its participants were middle class.  Punks of color and non-white riot grrrls critiqued riot grrrl for failing to address structures of racism and their own privilege within those structures on more than a superficial level. This critique of the whitewashing of feminist punk echoed a critique of race and racism in punk across many local scenes. In the 1990s, Race Riot emerged within this discussion. Mimi Thi Nguyen and Helen Luu published Evolution of Race Riot/Race Riot 2 and How to Stage a Coup, respectively, which are compilation zines that brought together punks of color to discuss racism in punk spaces and larger societal institutions. Bianca Ortiz (Mamasita), Sabrina Margarita Alcantara-Tan (Bamboo Girl), Miriam Bastani (Maximum RocknRoll),  Osa Atoe (Shotgun Seamstress), and Anna Vo (Fix My Head) are some of the central zinesters who have contributed to this discussion. Many of these zines can be read in digital formats via the People of Color Zine Project, founded by Daniela Capistrano.

By the 2000s, early social media websites and blogging platforms such as WordPress, Tumblr, Myspace, Live Journal, Bebo, and early Facebook introduced a new way for young people to interact with each other in an unfiltered format across greater geographical distances and at higher and faster rates. E-zines and blogs took zines from print to digital format.

Amidst all this, zine culture in its print form has remained alive and well. Zines can be found in cities and towns across North America (and around the world) at record stores, bookstores, comic book stores, zinefests, community centers, libraries and elsewhere. A handful of stores, such as Quimby’s (NYC and Chicago) specialize in zines. Rather than a replacement for zine culture, the internet has become a tool for zinesters to access a wider audience.

Now, when I go to a zinefest, I see zines on a number of different topics. I see zines about everything ranging from music, film, animals, feminism, and racism, to food and more. It is hard to ignore that a significant proportion of zines that I’ve encountered lately relate to themes of health and wellness – a trend that I suspect might be influenced by the inaccessibility of healthcare in the US and the stigmatization of mental illness and trauma. Another widespread theme in contemporary zine publishing is prisoner rights. Ranging from political essays by scholars and activists outside of prison to poems, essays, and illustrations from people who are incarcerated, these zines critique the prison industrial complex from an intersectional lens, exploring racism, classism, sexism, ableism, and homophobia. Tenacious, for instance is a zine written by incarcerated women and compiled by activist Victoria Law.

A lot of people in zine culture that I’ve chatted with mention a first zine that drew them in completely. For me, it happened when I was a 23-year-old ethnomusicology graduate student. I was at Bluestockings, a radical feminist co-op in Manhattan’s Lower East Side, and I saw a brightly colored, glossy zine that stood out and immediately drew me in. The front cover was embossed in sections with glitter tape and a metallic noise maker was attached to the binding. It was called They Make Noise by Lou Bank and it featured portraits and bios of underground queer musicians. I remember being stricken by the fact that the zine was not just words on the paper, but a carefully thought out piece of art that someone spent a lot of time and care to assemble.

I became quickly consumed by zines and before I knew it, I was collecting them for my own bedroom archive. I made my first zine a couple of months later – my roommate Emmie Pappa Eddy and I collaborated and collectively created a fanzine about Friday the 13th. After that initial step I began to make more zines and after a couple of years, I built up my nerves to table at Bloomington’s Zine Fest. In graduate school, I have begun to work with zines in classroom settings as a creative alternative to elitist (and stodgy) academic formats.  My goal with this column is an extension of this research: to introduce more people to zine culture. As zine culture is fundamentally participatory, I also humbly hope to prompt more people to grab a piece of paper and make a zine.

Cover of Friday the 13th Fanzine. Cover art by Emmie Pappa Eddy

Recommended Further Reading

Queercore: Nault, Curran. Queercore: Queer Punk Media Subculture. Routledge: New York, 2018.

Riot Grrrl: Marcus, Sara. Girls to the Front: The True Story of the Riot Grrrl Revolution. Harper Perennial: New York, 2010.

Race Riot: Duncombe, Stephen and Tremblay, Maxwell. (editors). White Riot: Punk Rock and the Politics of Race. Verso: London, 2011.

Zines: Duncombe, Stephen. Notes From The Underground: Zines and the Politics of Alternative Culture. Microcosm: Bloomington, 2001.

PLAYING DETROIT: GIRL FIGHT Release Fiery Sophomore Album ‘She’s a Killer’

photo by Studio 29 Photos

Detroit feminist punk/noise band GIRL FIGHT released their sophomore record, She’s a Killer, last week – a politically charged twenty-minutes that barks and bites. Ellen Cope and Jacob Bloom fine-tune their brazen two-piece effort with tighter riffs and rhythms and lyrical prowess that breaks down complex topics and makes them digestible. The result is an album that begs for critical conversation as much as it does headbanging.

Back in 2017, Cope – who manages a team of web engineers by day – had never even touched a drum set, let alone taken to the stage with a microphone. “I have no musical background, I had never played an instrument or sung or done anything my entire life,” says Cope. It wasn’t until they saw British punk outfit Slaves live that the duo decided they were going to start a band. “They have a song called ‘Girl Fight,’” explains Bloom. “Right after the show, I went up to Ellen and I said, ‘We’re going to start a band, you’re going to play drums, and it’s going to be called GIRL FIGHT.”

It wasn’t long before Cope had purchased a children’s drum set from Craigslist and set it up on a Home Depot bucket and milk crates. She and Bloom started experimenting by playing covers of The Cramps. “We started writing our own songs and were like, these are actually pretty good,” remembers Bloom. After getting through their first live performance where the sound engineer asked them to leave the stage (they didn’t), they picked up a bi-weekly gig at a comedy show put on by local comedian and music enthusiast, Jason Brent. The group cut their teeth there and started to see their vision come to life.

A year after they started playing music together, they had a record – Fight Back, which Bloom views more as an EP or sample of what was to come. “Fight Back was like, ‘here is who we are and what we do, and She’s a Killer is like, ‘here is us making an album that sounds good.’” Their latest album was recorded, mixed and mastered by Paul Smith of The Strains and definitely shows a more polished version of the band.

While She’s a Killer is a bucket of water to the face sonically, it is just as hard-hitting lyrically, tackling things like race, gender, privilege and economic disparity. A few songs – “She’s a Killer” and “My Own God” – address personal empowerment and feeling strong and confident within, while “Ladder” is a plea for equality. “The song is about breaking down barriers and how we all have to help each other to get there,” says Cope. “You have to redistribute the power.”

Cope addresses her own privilege in “White Girl.” At first, she confronts white women who act as allies to minorities but end up abusing their power or turning a blind eye just the same. “White girl / think you’re so woke girl / your just a joke girl,” Cope shrieks in her cutting and powerful voice. Later, she turns the blame on herself. “I am a white girl / I am the problem / I am the oppressor.” She acknowledges that even having a platform from which to speak is a privilege. “As a white woman, being in front of a band yelling at people about stuff, I feel like it’s important to say, ‘Hey, I’m here yelling and you’re listening to me, but I’m not the only one you should be listening to.’” Both Cope and Bloom are conscious of their privilege and aim to use their platform as a way to encourage equality, power redistribution, and affecting change.

Listen to the full record and see tour dates below:

2/15 @ Bingle Mansion – Lansing, MI (w/ Rent Strike, she/her/hers, No Fun)
2/16 @ Charm School – Chicago, IL (w/ Pledge Drive, Wet Wallet, Sparkletears)
2/23 @ AIR: Artists Image Resource – Pittsburg, PA (w/ Dumplings, Princex, Jorts Season)

PREMIERE: Anna Connolly “Stars”

photo by Claire Packer

Where do you see yourself in ten years? Are you doing the same job? Or do you see yourself picking up a secret passion and taking it out on the road? Musician Anna Connolly spent her teen years romping around the D.C. punk scene, hanging with bands like Minor Threat. A few decades and two kids later, Anna Connolly has picked up a guitar and is making music her own way.

“The waves kept coming in / but the air was getting thin / and the best I had / was to blame it on my dad,” Anna’s halting, raw style of singing feels fresh and familiar all at the same time. While Leonard Cohen and Bright Eyes are clear influences on the music, the stripped down vocals have a marked punk vibe to them: direct, brash, with a sly sense of humor. “Stars” has an unwinding quality to it, the words coming out carefully, a kind of forced memory. It is a great teaser to Connolly’s debut album After Thoughts; it seems to mirror the album’s cover photo of a girl sitting astride a horse, gazing out on a landscape that is both her past and her future.

Listen to “Stars” below and read our full interview with Anna:

AF: In the 1980s, your family moved from California to DC. You and your sister Cynthia got involved in the punk scene there. Can you give us a feel for what that was like?

Anna Connolly: It was pretty small at the time. I was still pretty young, and so it wasn’t like I was part of the LA scene much, but it felt bigger and a little more intimidating in LA. In DC, we just went to a record store, and immediately met a guy named Danny who worked there. We just spent some time at the store, and more kids came in. I definitely felt very welcomed by people. It felt like a community from the beginning. I admit that I knew a certain group of people – mainly the kids around the Dischord Records scene. It’s not like they were the only people around, but that’s who we met first and sort of “fell in” with.

Anna & Cynthia, 1981. Photo credit Jane Bogart. Taken somewhere in Venice Beach.

AF: What drew you to punk music?

AC: My sister Cynthia, who is 2 years older than I am, was into punk and new wave before me. That’s how I first learned about it. I remember going to see Devo at the Santa Monica Civic Center, and a really young punk kid called me a poseur. He might have been the first “punk” I’d seen in real life! I was probably 12 or 13. But I loved music, and Cynthia was going out to see bands, and I guess I was just curious and went with her.

AF: Let’s say I don’t have a background in punk music…What bands would constitute a quick education?

AC: Well…. that’s a big question! The bands that shaped me, or that I was listening to at the time, were bands like the Circle Jerks, TSOL, Black Flag… I liked Crass, and I was obsessed with the Damned. I’d throw Minor Threat into the mix as a very influential (and a very good) early punk band. And Big Black. This is only scratching the surface of course.

But I also always liked what I would call “sad” music like the Cure, Joy Division, New Order, the Cocteau Twins, Bauhaus… I listened to those bands in the ’80s too. And Siouxsie and the Banshees. I’m sure there’s a better term than “sad” but music that is somewhat melancholy in sound and in lyrics has always resonated with me.

AF: A birdy told me The Cure is coming out with a new tour / album. My soul takes flight.

AC: Wow!!! They’re just amazing.

AF: In your press release, you said, “It just didn’t cross my mind to try to play when I was younger. Maybe I was rebelling against my rebellious friends.” When did that spark hit you? The need to write your own music?

AC: This reminds me of what we were talking about before… Well, I have two kids, and when they were really little, I took them to a “music class” which in hindsight I realize was kind of silly. But a woman had an acoustic guitar and would sing songs and do other activities with them. So, I bought a cheap acoustic guitar with that in mind – I thought, “I’m going to be this wonderful mother who sings songs to her kids!” Ha. Well that didn’t work because they just saw the guitar as something that came between me and them!

But I liked it, so I took lessons with an old friend. I think it was just nice to have something to do for myself, that wasn’t about my family. And then I tried playing songs that I liked, and then I finally wrote a song.

AF: Very Loretta Lynn of you! Are your kids still firmly annoyed or are they getting used to the idea of you as a musician?

AC: Ha! Well…. it’s been an interesting journey in many ways. They actually haven’t seen me play because I always felt like my lyrics in some of my songs are pretty intense. But they’re coming to my record release show and will help at the merch table.

I had played out a little bit when my kids were small, right when I was learning, and for some reason, I stopped for about eight years. I started again in 2016. So it’s really only been in the past two years that I’ve been playing out regularly. My kids are older now, so they’re quite aware of what I’ve been doing, especially around the recording sessions, making the vinyl LP, the t-shirts. I try to involve them in those aspects of it. My older son wore one of my t-shirts the other day, which was super nice!

AF: What kind of music are they into? Do your music interests cross paths?

AC: I realized recently that I think that music was to me what video games is to my kids. For me, music was the way that so many of us connected – by sharing music, listening together, going to record stores (or working there), going to shows, etc. And for others, playing together. For my kids, they connect on the xbox and talk there while they’re playing. It seems like that’s their milieu. But, I do feel like I didn’t do the best job in this regard. I mean, they listen to what I listen to in the car, etc. But they’re not into unusual music or anything. Maybe now that they’re older and can go to more shows, I can take them.

I did take them to see Arcade Fire once, and they covered Fugazi’s song “Waiting Room” in their encore. I was so excited and was telling my kids, “That’s Ian’s band!!!” but they didn’t seem too impressed! (I’m still friends with Ian, and I live pretty close to the Dischord offices, so my kids know who he is in that way.)

AF: Ha! I love it. “Ok, Mom!” I was reading an interview with Noah Lennox (Panda Bear, Animal Collective) and he said his daughter was thoroughly unimpressed with him. I guess no matter who you are inevitably your kids gonna be eye-rollin’.

AC: Yes, I think that’s true. That’s why I was happy when my son wanted to wear my t-shirt! The thing that affects my music though is that I’m a single (divorced) mom, and so that aspect of my life gives me ideas to write about… At least, that’s been what’s moved me to write so far. If I were happily married, I’d have to figure out something else to write about!

AF: In terms of a writing process, is your music mostly autobiographical or do you draw from other sources?

AC: My songs so far have all been autobiographical except for one, which was written about a guy in my area who killed his girlfriend at college. It was in the news a lot at the time, and I was struck by the story. A journalist interviewed neighbors where the guy had grown up, and one talked about how well-raised he was, that he went to really good schools (a private all-boys prep school in Maryland, in fact), and had great manners. And the neighbor said he was 99% good. Which made me think it only takes 1% evil to kill somebody. Anyway, that’s my song “1% Evil.” All the others are based on my own life experiences.

AF: Tell us about the picture on the cover of After Thoughts. The photo is so haunting and beautiful.

AC: Wow – thanks for saying so!!! And that’s an example of a funny twist of fate, in a way. I had a friend take some photos of me that I thought would be on the cover. And then I posted that horse photo on my Facebook page, and everyone said – that looks like a record cover! So after taking the photos for the cover, I ended up instead using a photo that I had sitting around my house the whole time.  That’s me on the horse when I went to visit a friend. It was taken at Frying Pan Ranch in Amarillo Texas. I’m guessing I’m around nine years old? I love that the original photo is square, and faded like that. And I feel like it’s a very evocative photo and makes you wonder, “Why is that girl riding such a huge horse in the first place, and also without a saddle?” You might say that I was brave, or reckless.

AF: Has it been a fluid process, taking the record from studio to stage?

AC: Interesting question! In my case, I write my songs alone, and have played solo a lot. I had started playing with a bass player and drummer, and for my record, I really wanted something more in terms of arrangement. So I found Devin and Don (my two co-producers), and we did some practicing together and played a few shows together, then went into the studio. Some songs on the record are still quite minimal and like how I wrote them originally – “1% Evil,” and “Max On The Black Sea.” Other songs have drums, bass, and more. So, the album is like the live shows we played together, with some additional touches here and there. But since we’re not really a band per se, I need to explore a bit about what exactly I want for my live shows. I’ve played a few with my friend Hannah Burris on viola, just the two of us. But I miss the drums and the louder full band thing for certain songs. This is one of the first things I want to tackle now that the record is almost out – that and also making a video, which I’m dying to do but I haven’t quite figured out how to make that happen yet….

AF: You’ve had a lot of guest performers at your shows, including Devin Ocampo on drums (the EFFECTS, Beauty Pill, Faraquet, and more), Joe Lally on bass (Fugazi), Don Godwin on bass, horns, percussion (Slavic Soul Party), and Hannah Burris on viola (Teething Veils). Who’s been your favorite collaboration so far?

AC: I’m going to get all of them at my release show, which is so exciting!!! Plus I got to play with a couple of other friends in other cities last summer – it was so fun to play music with people who knew me back when I wasn’t playing. Everyone’s so great in their own way…. It’s hard to answer your question! Joe definitely felt that my songs were good in their basic way, without a lot of accompaniment. And some people have said that too about the live shows with just Hannah on viola, that you can really absorb the songs better when they’re that way. We’ll have to see how it works out. I know labels shouldn’t matter, but I’ve noticed that people seem to think if you play solo acoustic, that you are a “folk” artist. I don’t think of myself that way. But yeah – working out this band/arrangement stuff is important going forward for me.

I also have the beginning seeds of about five songs that keep going around in my head that I need to write! I’m really hoping the next album will go much more quickly and easier – like delivering a second baby!!!!

AF: Oh don’t even start! Ha! But seriously, we’ll be on the lookout for that.

AC: No more babies for me though, hahaha!!!! Only more records!

AF: Who do you have spinning at home right now?

AC: I’m a big Conor Oberst/Bright Eyes fan. It’s absolutely because of his music that I started writing. I listen to his music a lot. Also recently I was on a local radio station, and my friend who was DJing asked me to make a short playlist of music to share there. I’m liking that playlist which was supposed to be a list of DC music I like, so this was just a few things I grabbed that I’d been listening to:

  1. Snowblinder by Lilys (they were based in DC at some point)
  2. Torso Butter by Happy Go Licky
  3. Stolen Wallet by Minutes (they’re half in DC and half in Kalamazoo so I guess I cheated a little)
  4. Back and Forth by the Effects (Devin is in this band–I love this song, it’s in 3/4 time like a lot of mine are)
  5. Stars by Swoll (this is a solo project by Matthew Dowling, who plays bass in the Effects).

AF: What advice do you have for people starting their creative lives later in life?

AC: First and foremost, there is NO REASON not to try something creative. If you don’t try, you will never know what could have happened. In my case, it really is so surprising as I have never thought of myself as a creative person. I studied computer programming, and Russian, and business. Yes, you can be creative when doing those things, but what I liked about all those things is that you have rules to follow, and you mostly know when you’re right or wrong. That’s a safer place to operate, at least for me. It is so completely different from creating something out of nothing, taking an idea, and making it into a poem, or a story, or a song.

Also, I’ve really grown so much as a person doing this. It can be quite challenging putting yourself out there. I remember the first time I played a show, and there was a couple sitting and talking, and I thought, “I wonder what they think of me?” You’re really making yourself vulnerable in so many ways. It’s forced me to become more resilient. And also, because I want to grow and explore as a songwriter and musician, I am motivated on my own to improve and try new things. Lastly, I have been just blown away by how supportive other musicians are. It’s a very welcoming community overall. People want you to do well, and they’ll help when they can. It’s really unlike anything I’ve experienced before.

Oh, and about doing it later in life in particular. For whatever reason, I didn’t think to try anything like this when I was younger. And I do feel that all of my life experiences are a key part of my songs, since my songs are so lyric/story-driven. If I was a lot younger, I think I’d have less to say! I’ve lived in different places, including Russia, I’ve done a lot of different things over the years professionally and personally, and that gives me both a lot to work with as well as a perspective that I wouldn’t have had when I was younger. I just don’t think I had as much that I wanted to express back then – it seems like my time for this is now!

Preorder Anna Connolly’s debut album After Thoughts HERE

PREMIERE: Billy Moon “Tangerine Dream”

Punk is a loaded word. It’s been ascribed to popular artists as diverse as New Found Glory, Green Day, and Patti Smith. Graham Caldwell makes music as Billy Moon that expands beyond the label, gifting listeners with a tonally diverse album made for a record player’s full turns.

Punk Songs, Caldwell’s debut LP, contains traces of melancholy wall-of-sound amplitude (see “Big Black Hole”) and mile-a-minute shout-singing (“Dingus”) reminiscent of Parquet Courts. But there are also moments atypical to traditional punk, like the sax solo on “Tangerine Dream,” a make-out anthem that borrows more from Nirvana lyrics than it does from Kosmische music.

We sat down with Caldwell and talked childhood piano lessons, how a riff becomes a song, and his take on the tenuous relationship between drugs and rock ‘n’ roll.

Listen to “Tangerine Dream” from Punk Songs below:

AF: You started playing piano at two years old. Were you naturally inclined or was it a “Tiger Mom” situation?

BM: Honestly, my Dad was really musical but he always felt pressured by his parents to do piano, which was this big point of contention between them. Being that he didn’t want to pressure his own kids the same way, it was my Mom who had set up piano lessons for us. So my Dad was the more musical one, but it was my Mom who set them up. It wasn’t until fourth grade that I started learning guitar – I think I just wanted to start playing a cooler instrument.

AF: What instrument did you write your first songs on? Was piano more by the book?

BM: Yeah, I didn’t know how to write anything myself on piano. I only learned what I had in front of me. It wasn’t until I played guitar that I started writing my own songs.

AF: What were those first songs like? Were they in the punk genre?

BM: The first one was like… four notes. I can still remember it. I was ten. Yeah, that was when I decided I wanted to be punk. Then I really got into the whole ’00s indie phase, so I started writing that kind of stuff.

AF: You started Billy Moon in Hamilton, Ontario. What’s the music scene like there?

BM: Hamilton is a steel town, so maybe it’s comparable to a place like Pittsburgh. I think of it as Canada’s answer to Buffalo, NY. It’s a town that many people in the surrounding area are quick to shit on, but locals have an incredible amount of hometown pride, which is cool. Being a working class city, Hamilton’s main point of pride in history was probably Teenage Head, who were a really great rockabilly style punk act in the ’80s. Currently, this band called The Arkells are the main ambassadors of the city. They’re fairly successful in Canada and recently played a stadium-sized show in Hamilton so I’d say when a lot of people hear Hamilton, they’re one of the things that comes to mind.

The thing about Hamilton is that there was decent music there when I was in University and it was very quickly getting hailed as this hot new scene where all this cool shit was happening. This got all these developers to come in and start buying up property and jacking up the rent, so in a matter of years the “hot new scene” cooled off really fast. More people are moving there because it’s still fairly cheap, but these are people who are buying  houses, not necessarily renting.

Holy fuck, my friend just told me Mac Miller died.

AF: WHAT? Oh my goodness… just googled. Holy shit. Have you noticed more drug use in your own scene? I’m a festival goer, so I’m not sure if I can tell.

BM: Look. Fuck that shit. I have friends who do a fuckload of coke and it’s just so normal. And the thing that I hate about cocaine is that it’s the most boring fucking drug there is. That’s it? Really? You just want to talk really fast about how comfortable your jeans are? That’s your drug of choice? People are starting to know people who [accidentally] OD on [coke cut with] fentanyl and they still do coke regularly. I honestly fucking hate it.

And I’m not straight edge by any means, but I’m really not a “drug guy.” I’ve been in at least one sketchy situation where I eventually learned what the meaning of “risk” is, and when I see people continuing to use drugs like that, I feel like they’re just putting themselves in situations where they could die. I have been to four funerals this past year and the one thing you don’t forget is the permanence of death. People don’t fucking get it until it happens to them. We’re so used to living lives that are based around change that we don’t understand what it means to have something happen that can’t change. Where something stops. Where you have to say “that was the last time.”

So people continue to use and take these unnecessary risks. I don’t want to criticize people with addiction problems, but I do feel like there are others who don’t need to do any of this shit and still do because they don’t realize the danger and the consequences.

AF: Do you feel like certain kinds of music romanticize drugs too much? Normalize it to an extreme?

BM: Well here’s the thing about music: musicians that perform songs about using are singing about a fantasy life that part of us wishes we could live. It makes us feel dangerous and powerful so we like that. I loved FIDLAR’s first record but I’m not a heroin addicted skate-rat. I just wish I could be for three-minute chunks of time.

I read somewhere that we want our idols to live the lives we wish we could live, and I think that’s incredibly true. However, I think it’s this double-edged sword of how we want these people to live out our own power fantasies, while taking responsibility for their power isn’t a part of that. It should be, but it ruins the point of it all.

We want to have Lil Pump’s don’t-give-a-fuck attitude so we idolize it, but he’s not going to say to himself: “Oh shit, I should tell people to not abuse prescription painkillers and stay in school.”

AF: Ha! Yeah it would ruin the fun for sure.

BM: It’s just frustrating and sad. The worst part about the “positivity” wave in music was that it gave people this sense of “I’m all about positivity” but does not hold them accountable to anything. It doesn’t even tell people how to vote – as if worker’s rights and environmental protections are just irrelevant as long as you “emit positivity.”

AF: Do you feel a responsibility as an artist to remain current in terms of subject matter? To tackle global warming or workers rights in your own music? Or is it something you speak out on more in your personal life?

BM: I mean, I’m trying to figure out how to ride that line because I’m not Anti-Flag or Rage. There’s lot’s of examples of how music I love touches on important issues. Given the political body that I currently live in (white, cis, male) I get a little nervous speaking on issues that don’t affect me directly, but I still feel that they’re important to speak on. At this point, it’s more just my personal life, but I’m still… sort of in a bubble… being in a rural area 20 minutes away from everything. I don’t run into a lot of political debate out here.

AF: “Play a riff over and over and over again until you’re bored with it, then write another riff and make a song with it before you get bored with that one too”. That’s songwriting as you’ve previously described it. Is that still how you approach the writing process? It starts with a riff?

BM: Yeah… or an idea… a line… a melody. Then I’ll just build the whole song around that. I wrote “Dingus” because I wanted to write a song called “Dingus.” Sometimes it’s just that. I have one that I want to put out in the future called “One Of Us Is Definitely Wrong (And It’s Probably Me).”

AF: “Bedroom” opens the new album and makes a powerful statement that seems to be in reaction to our current dependency on technology. Why did you want to open the record with this: “Do you remember boredom? And the freedom that came with it? We wanted freedom from desires and they just gave us more desires. Constantly carrying an unquenchable thirst. I once filled up notebooks, I had no surface to scroll through.”

BM: There’s a Pete Holmes joke where he talks about Facebook and he says: “What was I doing? Was I shilling wheat?” I was writing. I was writing, drawing, playing guitar, all that shit. It’s like, now they have classes after school because kids don’t know how to do imaginative play anymore. Klosterman had a line where he said “Kids play on computers and it makes them think like computers.” Kids are now learning that in order to be famous or creative you have to be a fucking YouTube star who douses themselves in Nutella because that’s funny for some reason.

Don’t get me wrong – I know that’s not every kid, and it’s… what… generational cycnicism? to say the one that came after you is worse than yours, but I still feel like kids may be given these powerful creation tools with their phones, but it’s causing them to create within those contexts. I’m just a few steps away from being a cynical Gen Xer trying to tell kids how great Sebadoh were.

AF: You worked with animator Tru Dee on the music video for “DWTBA”. The video feels almost like a trippy D.A.R.E. commercial, with The Namma, an innocent fuzzball being influenced by his demonic skeletal friends. Can you tell us more about the video?

BM: I randomly met Tru in Toronto and then a friend recommended that I talk to her to do an animated video. I just wanted to juxtapose the two styles together. Kind of like Jeff Smith’s Bone. That’s really all it was. She does fantastic work and I was just happy that she was into the project. I just wanted the Namma looking cute and throw some “traditional rock’n’roll” images in there too. The Satanic scene came out at the end which I thought looked great.

CBC (Canada’s publicly subsidized broadcaster) has a podcast about a woman escaping NXIVM which is terrifying and insane. I think cult leaders are really just fulfilling a deeply complicated sexual fantasy.

AF: What music do you have on rotation right now? Any new tunes we should check out?

BM: I’m gonna check out the new IDLES. Jonathan Richman is great. U.S. Girls, the new Ezra Furman is great. Oh and I started listening to a bunch of The Coup after watching Sorry To Bother You.

AF: You’ll be doing a U.S. Tour this fall to support the album. What do you want an audience member to take away from a Billy Moon show? Is there a specific feeling or message you try to convey in a live setting?

BM: Just come to the show with a bunch of money and spend it all on merch! I really hope people will feel happy and confident with themselves after seeing it, I hope that it can be inspiring to others. A little glimmer of happiness in a dark confusing world.

Billy Moon’s debut LP Punk Songs will be released September 14th via Old Flame Records.