Members of the band stop by to discuss their latest record and what’s next.
Photo: Katy McElroy
Good morning!
We’re in for a treat today! Members of Winged Wheel—one of my fave discoveries of the last few years stop by to chat.
The pitch: An “experimental super-band” comprised of Whitney Johnson (Matchess, Circuit des Yeux), Cory Plump (Spray Paint, co-owner of the dream venue Tubby’s), Matthew J. Rolin (solo guitar wizard and half of the Powers/Rolin Duo), Steve Shelley (Sonic Youth), Lonnie Slack (Water Damage), and Fred Thomas (Idle Ray, Tyvek), Winged Wheel is a creatively and geographically scattered collective, with each player living in a different city and bringing their own unique element to the group’s interpersonal alchemy.
The first record (2022’s No Island) was a product of file trading, with each band member living in a different city and sending in their own part to be assembled later. The result: a record they describe as “accidentally really good” (my take: yes), with its high-voltage kosmische-meets-jam-band vibes. 2024’s Big Hotel was one of my sleeper picks for AOTY, with “Sleeptraining” easily one of my most-played tracks.
When I first heard a new record was inbound, I was excited. As each single rolled out, that excitement only grew. A few weeks ago, I mentioned that I was going to be obnoxious about it, but also wondered whether the record would live up to whatever bar I’d set in my head. Spoiler: it totally does. In last week’s Sound Advice column, I wrote “[where] intensity is still very much there, with layers of synths, walls of noise, and unfamiliar sounds. The band has mentioned trying to balance excitement and tension, and it shows. Things move a little slower here, and the hits come a little harder.”
I ended that piece by noting Desert So Green“is yet another evolution from a collective that has made that their stock-in-trade. It’s not always the easiest listen, but for those who make the effort, the payoff is enormous.”
Having listened to it a bunch since then, I’d only double down on that assessment.
I recently had a chance to chat with band members Fred Thomas and Matthew Rolin via email. In our wide-ranging discussion, we talked about the band’s origin story, the record, and what’s coming next. Our chat has only been lightly edited for grammar and flow.
KA—
Congrats on the new record! Can you walk us through the backstory of how this project came together?
Fred Thomas: It’s been a very unusual path! The easiest way to explain the band is as a series of unexpected outcomes. It started as a remote recording project when everyone was locked down heavy in 2020, and that unexpectedly resulted in a really interesting first album, 2022’s No Island. When shows started happening again, Cory asked Steve if he’d want to sit in with us. He said he’d be down, which was unexpected, and we all got together in person to record the jams and ideas that became 2024’s Big Hotel. I think after that recording session, none of us really expected to play live, but we quickly started touring and operating like a traditional band, even though we all live in different places and come together around the conceptual entity of Winged Wheel.
Big Hotel was the on-ramp for many people. What should they expect this time around?
FT: The only goal we had for making the new record was that it be completely different than the last. Where Big Hotel was cauterized together from hours of jams and searching, Desert So Green was collectively designed in the studio, with structure and composition playing a much larger role. It’s still the result of searching, but there’s a lot more group intention here.
Matthew Rolin: If Big Hotel was the on-ramp, then I would say Desert So Green is reaching a foreign, yet familiar, place. You’re not sure if you are close to the destination yet, but you’ve just stumbled across something that is interesting enough to stop and check out.
Desert So Green is described as an album that spends its duration struggling to balance a scale with excitement on one side and anxious tension on the other. Say more, please.
FT: Listening to the album, it might be difficult to pin down exactly how it makes you feel at any given moment. There are pretty parts, but they’re always a little bit shaky. There’s sections of peaceful drone, but fried undercurrents are always there, too. Nothing fully resolves, and it’s almost like the songs stubbornly don’t allow themselves to be just punky rippers or meditative zoners, or anything singular. Whatever dominant energy is present, its agitated foil is always nearby.
MR: That’s life (mine at least). As far as how it relates to the music, I take it as this ever-present undercurrent that gets under your skin. Even the prettiest songs on the album have some of what I’m talking about. Sometimes it’s drones, sometimes it’s sharp, unfamiliar noises, but they are always there to add to the song and maybe mess a little with expectations.
I can hear a few different artists that might’ve been an influence, and everyone here has an impressive CV. That said, were there any specific bands informing the sound?
FT: We’re all huge music listeners and absorbers, so specific influences would be next to impossible to list. That said, while we were making the record, we all noticed there were some accidental similarities to Slint’s Spiderland here and there. That wasn’t so much an intentional homage as something that showed up once the dust settled and was interesting to observe.
MR: Like what Fred said, we all listen to probably too much music, so it’s impossible to pin it even on a dozen bands/artists. That being said, this time I found our CAN-style approach to recording to be tightened up. For Big Hotel, we just hit record and let it rip. This time, various members contributed demos and ideas beforehand, so we had a skeleton to fill out while in the studio.
For anyone new to Winged Wheel, what’s the one thing you hope they walk away with?
FT: Each of our three records so far has had wildly different tonalities and sound worlds while remaining somewhat connected to a blurry type of grand vision. Desert So Green is the most restrained and layered Winged Wheel album yet, so it would be great if listeners could tune into some of the deeper waves and movement that happened in the recording this time around.
MR: I hope they can see how amazed we all are that this band even exists. We are all playing music that I don’t think anyone in the band would come up with alone. A true collaboration!
By the time people read this, you will be touring Europe. Besides Big Ears at the end of March, are there any plans for stateside shows?
FT: Things keep on coming up unexpectedly, so it’s very likely there will be more on the books soon. As of this moment, however, nothing is planned past Big Ears.
Last one, just for fun; I bump into you as you walk out of the record store. What records are you carrying?
FT: Each member of the band would be carrying a completely different selection, and it wouldn’t make even a shred of sense to anyone outside of the Winged Wheel bubble. There’d be some Cumbia records, some Bakersfield-style country, a Beatles rarities box set, some microtonal organ music, and probably a Velvet Underground bootleg as well.
MR: As someone who just moved several times in the last few years… I am carrying the money I just got from selling my entirely too large and too heavy record collection and walking straight to the chiropractor.
Listen:
Winged Wheel | Desert So Green (2026)
Right-click the record to listen via Bandcamp.
Desert so Green is out now via 12XU. You can grab your copy here.
What happens when a music critic, two poets, a Nashville transplant, and a former Migos labelmate all come together?
Photo courtesy of CPR
Good morning!
We’re in for a treat today; NYC-based Crisis Public relations stops by to talk about their new EP, how they got here, and what’s coming next.
The pitch: A self described “NYC-based firm consisting of a former Migos labelmate, a pseudonymous music critic, two sister-poets, and a Nashville-to-Brooklyn transplant” get together and make an EP that bends the definition of pop and all it’s variants. It might read like the set up to a hipster version of a dad joke, but is quite the opposite. Part experimental, part hyperpop, part screed against the hellscape we find ourselves in, Life Rights is quite a ride.
My on ramp to the band first came this past fall when I was turned on to their “Out the Window” single, which we had a chance to feature on playlist 316. This past week, they released an EP, Life Rights, which is fantastic.
Trying to define the band’s sound has proved tricky for me. I know my way around a keyboard, but with each track, my list of possible influences and reference points would shift. That makes for tough review writing, but an awesome listening experience, and I wondered if it was by design. This is after all a group that set out to challenge assumptions and the status quo.
We’re interested in persona, we’re interested in production, we’re interested in obscurity—all things that might scan as “less authentic.” But “Crisis Public Relations” and “Life Rights” are phrases that read as clinical, but the component words are all quite meaningful.
I recently had a chance to chat with the band via email. In our wide-ranging discussion, we talked about the band’s origin story, the record, and what’s coming next. Our chat has only been lightly edited for grammar and flow.
KA—
Congrats on the new record! Can you walk us through the backstory of how this project came together?
Three of us—Reggie, who sings and plays guitar, Isa, who sings and produces the songs, and Meg, who also sings, plays guitar and writes lyrics—moved into a house together during the COVID pandemic. We started jamming most Sundays, gradually inviting friends, including Meg’s sister Eleanor and John, who now plays bass, to join. In 2023, the project started really coming together, and then in 2024, we met Noah, who plays drums, through mutual friends.
On your website, you describe the band as “a new NYC-based firm consisting of a former Migos labelmate, a pseudonymous music critic, two sister-poets, and a Nashville-to-Brooklyn transplant.” Say more, please.
You forgot the food content creator, Noah! It does what it says on the tin. That’s all literally true. Isa was signed to a 360 record deal when they were 18 years old, Reggie is not who he says he is, Meg and Eleanor are sisters and published poets, and John was performing as a folk singer-songwriter in Nashville for several years before he moved back to the East Coast.
Photo courtesy of CPR
How is this EP different from previous outings, or to be more specific, work band members previously released?
This project has aspects of each of our styles, but it comes together into something new. For instance, this music is still really lyric-focused, but compared to, say, John’s solo music, it’s much freer from traditional narrative and song structures.
I can hear a few different artists that might’ve been an influence. Were there any specific bands that informed the sound on Life Rights?
Our inspirations are pretty varied; CPR is made up of a lot of members with different tastes. “You’ll Be Fine” was definitely influenced by the Jamaican diasporic sounds on labels like Trojan Records, and also the RnB-gone-reggae sounds of ‘90s and ‘00s radio. And the ending of the song breaks down into an almost Pinegrove like acoustic indie rock thing, which breaks down into pure ambient noise.
NYC is obviously a massive scene, but what’s your orbit like? What other bands are in it? How (relatively) close-knit are you all?
In our non-CPR lives, we all have various different scenes we travel in—Reggie writes a lot about all kinds of different scenes, and John works at a conservatory. Noah collabs with indie musicians. It’s TBD what the CPR scene is, but we loved performing with Sister, and Jude Johns recently, and we always make a point to see acts like Asher White and Grumpy.
For anyone new to CPR, what’s the one thing you hope they walk away with?
Sometimes, it feels like social media algorithms put pressure on musicians to manufacture “authenticity” to compete for attention, to grab people with the most intensity possible. So a lot of tears, a lot of “here’s a song about the time I saw my dad run over my dog.” Some people really make that work, to be clear. But we’re interested in persona, we’re interested in production, we’re interested in obscurity—all things that might scan as “less authentic.” But “Crisis Public Relations” and “Life Rights” are phrases that read as clinical, but the component words are all quite meaningful. Similarly, we hope that people see that these glossy songs were all made with care.
What’s next for the band? What’s 2026 look like? Back in the studio? On the road?
We’ve talked about doing a couple weekenders in other cities in the northeast, but mainly we want to be making a lot more music. We want to rent out a practice space and dial in the CPR sound. Noah played on the last two songs on the EP, “You’ll Be Fine” and “The Subletter.” Production is a huge part of our sound, so the next step is finding our groove in the room and working that into our records. In 2026, we’re also looking for someone who can reprogram a printer to print sheets of music so we can incorporate that into the show… so if that’s you, please message us.
Last one, just for fun; I bump into you as you walk out of the record store. What records are you carrying?
Reggie is probably carrying something from Mississippi Records. Isa bought 15 unfindable-online $1 records in the hopes of finding sample gold. John’s probably holding some sensitive folk record about, like, the light through the leaves or whatever. Meg’s holding the collected works of Eileen Myles. Noah’s carrying a world-class sandwich he personally made.
Listen:
Crisis Public Relations | Life Rights (2025)
Right-click the record to listen via Bandcamp.
Life Rights is out now. You can grab your copy here.
Thank you to CPR for their time, and thank you for being here.
The 3rd Annual On Repeat & Friends Best Records of 2025
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at our Top Albums of 2025
We’re back!
By almost any metric, 2025 wasn’t great. The universe didn’t send us its best. But if we’re talking about records—and we are—this was a banner year. For every stain on the landscape (Daniel Ek, the Velvet Sundown), there were countless counterpoints: music that doubled down on what we love, and artists unafraid to cover new ground.
I sometimes get asked if I ever worry that I’ll run out of records to write about. My answer is always a polite version of, “Are you kidding me?!” That might happen at some point, but the biggest hurdle in 2025 was finding enough time to cover all the records I wanted to. I thought for sure I’d have figured out how to do that by now. Nope. Maybe next year.
The list below represents what I consider the best the year had to offer. These were the records that consistently fed my ears and lit up my brain. For fans of semantics, we can swap in/out terms like “best,” “favorite,” etc.—dealer’s choice.
The ultimate barometer is this: if we were at a diner after a show and you channeled your inner Rob Gordon and asked me what records I’d recommend, these would be the ones I pitched.
For the past couple of years, Sam ColtSteve Goldberg and I have put together our annual favorites. There’s not a lot of overlap in taste, and that’s what keeps this so fun. I’m not blowing smoke when I say that I start looking forward to this group project in early fall.
When you’re done here, please head over to their pages and check out their takes!
Meet the co-conspirators
Sam Colt—Recovering copywriter and author of This Is A Newsletter!—a consistently hilarious, biting chronicle of modern life and its indignities.
Sam’s List:
Rosalia- Lux
Clipse- Let God Sort ‘em Out
Deftones- Private Music
Geese- Getting Killed
billy woods- GOLLIWOG
Nourished by Time- The Passionate Ones
Wednesday- Bleeds
Panda Bear-Sinister Grift
FKA twigs- EUSEXUA
Stereolab- Instant Holograms on Metal Film
Read his full breakdown- including honorable mentions-here.
Steve Goldberg—Writes Earworms and Songloops, weaving personal essays with the songs that lodge themselves in your brain.
Steve’s Picks:
(alphabetical order)
Yazz Ahmed – A Paradise in the Hold
Amadou & Mariam – L’amour à la folie
The Antlers – Blight
The Besnard Lakes – The Besnard Lakes Are the Ghost Nation
Anna Von Hausswolff – Iconoclasts
Henge – Journey to Voltus B
Walt McClements – On a Painted Ocean
Midlake – A Bridge Too Far
Vines – I’ll Be Here
Youth Lagoon – Rarely Do I Dream
Check out Steve’s thoughts on his picks—and those that just missed the cut— here.
As in Part 2, some of these we’ve talked about before, and I’ve included excerpts from previous reviews. I like yapping about records, but the goal is—and remains—finding you a new favorite or two.
Also: All are Gizmo-approved:
Let’s get to it!
Immersion-WTF
My love for Wire is no secret, and the same holds true for frontman Colin Newman’s solo work. This year, that circle expanded to include Immersion, his project with partner Malka Spigel (formerly of Minimal Compact). They actually gifted us two releases this year (plus a collaboration with / reworking of a single by Dummy). Nanocluster Vol. 3, with SUSS, was gorgeous. WTF?? takes the best parts from all of those disparate pieces and blends them into something incredible.
From my original review:
The record kicks off with “Defiance,” an instrumental that gets things off to a strong start with uptempo beats but refuses to plant its flag in either camp: not synth, not pop, not really anything but itself. Immersion—and Wire before them—thrive in these in-between zones, especially when they let the music do the talking. I tried to categorize their last record, Nanocluster Vol. 4, and failed spectacularly. I know better this time around.
“It’s a Long Way to Brooklyn” is a highlight, a track that doesn’t need words. But the whole thing opens up when they do. Spigel’s voice on “Timeline” is cool and almost detached, and Newman sidles in with a wry spoken-word counterpoint. Elsewhere, like on “Use It Don’t Lose It,” his trademark deadpan delivery turns a good track into a great one.
If this all sounds heavy, it is—and it isn’t. At least no more so than something like Talking Heads’ Life During Wartime was back in the day. David Byrne was singing about NYC’s Alphabet City, and Immersion is speaking on a much larger scale. Nevertheless.
WTF?? is an album about the constant, low-grade anxiety of modern life, and an era where current events have you saying “what the fuck?” several times before lunch.
Bob Mould- Here We Go Crazy
At my day job, one of my corollary duties is administering annual hearing exams and helping people find hearing protection that works for them. This is thanks to Bob Mould.
Husker Du’s New Day Rising hit me like a kick to the head and was never played at less than full volume. I liked it that way and loved his power trio, Sugar. To this day, it’s still the loudest show I’ve ever been to. I used to find that post-show ringing in my ears a weird badge of honor. When it was still there after day two, I started to worry. My hearing rebounded (sort of), which marked the point when I no longer cared how uncool I looked wearing earplugs at shows. But Mould hasn’t quieted down. He’s at his best when he’s at full throttle, and on his 15th solo record, he delivers.
The opener, “Here We Go Crazy,” reminds listeners of the best parts of Sugar. “Fur Mink Augurs” and “Sharp Little Pieces” are equally intense. The songs come at you relentlessly: blast furnace chords, merciless drumming, and sometimes hard-to-understand vocals (especially for those with hearing difficulties). When you listen closely, they often touch on challenging subjects—it would be easy for a sound like this to wear down even the strongest among us. Yet Mould consistently shows us a bit of light (heh).
Here We Go Crazy isn’t exhausting; it’s invigorating. It’s a breath of fresh air at a time when we need it more than ever. Play it loud; just remember to limit your exposure and keep in mind that the most effective hearing protection is the kind you’ll actually wear.
Hayley Williams– Ego Death at a Bachelorette Party
I know you’ve already seen a bazillion reviews of this record, so let me save us all some time by just saying: “same!” But before you go play it, I want to add that I love how this record was released. Last year, Cindy Lee’s Diamond Jubilee drew raves for not being streamable and for being available only on YouTube and a specific website. Williams followed suit (sort of) by releasing the tracks via her website—no tracklist, no problem.
This is her first outing as an independent artist, and if that’s not doing things on your own terms (while raising a middle finger to those who got rich off your talent for decades), well, I don’t know what is. Williams—and, to an extent, Paramore—have always shapeshifted stylistically, but here that impulse is taken to another level, with wonderful results. Still, in my opinion, she truly shines when she leans all the way into old-school pop, like “Good Ol’ Days.”
Do the kids still refer to songs as “bops”? Because this is a bop—and a perfect example of her incredible talent.
Ryan Davis & The Roadhouse Band- New Threats from the Soul
Over the last few months, there’s been a trend in “bigger” publications to tout Americana as the latest new thing, as if it just popped out of the ether—as if Waxahatchee (or whoever) suddenly sparked a whole-ass genre. That’s obviously not true. What’s actually happening is that people are slowly discovering artists and bands who have been there, putting in the miles for years.
I can’t claim any sort of moral high ground or expertise here. As noted in my initial review, “until not too long ago I was a dues-paying member of the ‘anything but country’ club”—a broad brush that also treated folk and Americana as collateral damage. As usual, I’m late to the party, but I’m happy to be here now.
That said, how do you not fall for a record that casually namechecks A Tribe Called Quest, Peg Bundy, and Betty Rubble before the first chorus even hits?
And then a line like this comes in and stops you cold:
“You can see the kingdom from the tailgate
If you stack a couple coolers, but you’re never gonna see it from the front of the line”
Maybe college football has cooked my brain, but damn, that’s my kind of wordsmithing. Again, we’re not even through the opening track here!
Speaking of which, these sound radio-friendly but are absolutely not built for the airwaves—the shortest track here clocks in at 5:55. That’s fine by me. Morgan Wallen and co. can have the chart space and radio spots. This is a record suited for back roads, sitting on the porch, or in your favorite bar on a cool summer evening.
With New Threats…, Davis and the Roadhouse Band tip their hat to Americana while bringing new energy. It’s not easy to sound brand-new and 100 years old at once, but they walk that tightrope well here (absolutely NOT derogatory). It’s music that understands the lay of the land, respects it, and is cool with adding its own take. It’s the sort of thing that will convert skeptical listeners like me sooner rather than later.
Nourished by Time- The Passionate Ones
When I was in high school, my girlfriend was very much into R&B, and I was very much… not. We landed at a kind of musical détente, where we’d swap who got to control the music based on a very blurry set of criteria that seemed to change with every trip. That said, there were a few “compromise” records that we both begrudgingly enjoyed.
The Passionate Ones reminds me of that same very narrow band of R&B from around 1988–92 that used to blast out of my tape deck. We spent a lot of that time dreaming, and on Marcus Brown’s latest, it feels like a love letter to the dreamers—the ones just trying to get by. It’s a bit of sonic reassurance that it’s okay to have your head in the clouds.
It might evoke memories of bands and days gone by, but it’s also really hard to pigeonhole. Sure, R&B fits, but so do experimental and dance. Brown takes us on a ride and isn’t afraid to go off on a tangent or two. And there are earworms, and…
…and in a world where slop like Velvet Sundown becomes a thing, it’s nice to know there are still some things Suno just ain’t going to be able to copy. In my totally objective, not-at-all-blurry rubric for what makes a great record, originality is part of the calculus. And in that category, The Passionate Ones is off the charts.
There are no compromises on this LP, but I’d like to think it would absolutely qualify as a compromise record.
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Have you ever been to Wendover, Nevada? If not, it’s a border town that’s a little worse for wear. Not quite a Temu-brand Vegas, but it’s close. It’s transient by nature, and melancholy and hard luck seem to be the only permanent residents.
In my head, this is the sort of place where Dan Bejar—aka Destroyer—would have a standing gig as a lounge singer. The songs are great, but the louche persona he’s built feels like a perfect fit. On 2011’s synth-pop masterpiece Kaputt, he talked about doing coke and all sorts of other midlife debauchery.
New iterations came via subsequent records like Poison Season and have reached their peak (or bottom?) with Dan’s Boogie. It feels like the end of the road for a guy with nothing left to lose—the sort of entertainer who still thinks “the act” has some life left in it, even if that means playing to a midday crowd of four or five disinterested truckers. The whole thing has a morning-after vibe, literally and figuratively, as if Bejar is in on the joke and no longer worries whether you’ll “get” his free association and poetry.
…and it’s fantastic.
Ultimately, places like Wendover are a great place to study the human condition—the wins, the losses, the beautiful, and the ugly. Sometimes they’re just a great place to get off the road and into some cheap food. Dan’s Boogie encompasses all of that. I honestly don’t know where Bejar goes from here, but I’m in no rush to get past this record.
Kathleen Edwards- Billionaire
One of the highlights of my week are our Monday discussions. Sure, I share a ton of picks with everyone, but I get WAY more in return. Occasionally, a record takes on a life of its own in the chat, and comments about it stretch over the course of a few weeks. This, of course, is a very loud signal that maybe, you know, you should check the record out? That happened with Billionaire, and man, am I glad I paid attention!
I originally noted
It didn’t take me long to get why people are so excited about this record. In fact, it took about 30 seconds of the opener “Save Your Soul.” I found myself nodding enthusiastically and saying, “Okay, then!” The line “Line your pockets with gold… Who’s gonna save your soul/When your money’s no good.” feels like a question a LOT of people should be asking themselves in 2025. And just in case Jason Isbell doesn’t already have enough fans here in the community, the solo on this track rips.
That was followed by “Say Goodbye, Tell No One,” one of those rare tracks whose gorgeous sound is a thin veneer over caustic lyrics. It’s incredible. I can almost guarantee someone’s going to use this to get through a bad breakup. They could do worse.
I also mentioned that if there was a weak link here, “I Need a Ride” was it. People told me to give it some time; maybe it would grow on me? Dear reader, that’s exactly what happened. And if Isbell wasn’t enough, towards the end, Shelby Lynne and Allison Moorer stop by to add some vocals.
Gelli Haha- Switcheroo
Where do I start with a record described by a fan as “…like Kate Bush meets Suburban Lawns, and it is pretty good!“? Switcheroo is what happens when an artist starts out making folk music, moves to LA, connects with a producer, and makes the pivot of a lifetime. Along the way, Angel Abaya ditched her legal name, adopted the Gelli Haha persona, and proceeded to make one of the most unhinged records of 2025.
Imagine your favorite dream pop band grabbing a copy of The B-52s’ Whammy! on the way to the launch pad, taking off, and crash-landing in an electroclash warehouse party in the coolest part of the galaxy.
Switcheroo is ecstatic. It’s aspirational and absurd in equal measure. It’s awesome. In other words, it’s perfect for this moment. Speaking with Abaya earlier this year, I asked how this project came to be. Her answer?
“Gelli Haha is a project born through curiosity. I wanted to create something that was fun and moved people physically and emotionally. Fun music to dance to, something mystical, and enchanting and silly.”
Mission accomplished.
In that same piece, I said,
Maybe it’s just me, but here’s something liberating about how this album refuses to care what you think. It’s not just theatrical—it’s maximalist identity performance with zero fucks given apologies. Gelli Haha isn’t aiming for relatability; she’s too busy being a pop gremlin, and tbh, that rules. The whole project feels like a rejection of our (collective) obsession with being “real,” that’s often ripping through the usual music discourse channels. Instead, she turns her persona into a playground—and lets you run wild with it.
Switcheroo is weird, hilarious, and absolutely unhinged—and it might be the most fun I’ve had with a record all year. Listening makes joy feel like a radical act- a rare treat in the current era. Once you’re in the Gelliverse, you may never want to leave. I certainly don’t.
Fust-Big Ugly
From November:
Fust is the latest to corner the market on the sort of storytelling Drive-By Truckers and Wussy have mastered. On Big Ugly, the band’s third album, they’ve hit critical mass. Real stories about real people, just tryin’ to get through the day. It’s the world of hard-working folks, hours under a vicious sun, and well-lit places. In this case, 24-hour gas stations out by the highway. It’s always strange to me, a child of suburbia, and a man that’s spent 49(ish) of his 50 years living above the Mason-Dixon line, to be so fascinated with the stories from the South. I don’t know what it is, but it’s always been a goldmine for storytelling. Even the nomenclature follows this pattern: Big Ugly is an area in West Virginia. And like the state, it’s an odd name for a beautiful thing — or in this case, specifically, a record from a North Carolina–based band.
“Spangled” kicks things off with a story of a repossessed hospital and helping a friend. And if that’s not a track for today, I’m not sure what is. It’s also a banger with no shortage of guitars, piano, and pedal steel. It’s purpose-built for rippin’ a heater and thinkin’ about things as you whiz down your nearest moonlit back road.
“Mountain Language” is another swaggering track with fuzzy riffs and lines like:
You can’t even find work at the Country Boy Selling gas station drugs To take care of your sister Dallas She’s a little, little older than us She’s a little older than us
This is a masterclass in telling the stories of the people who live in places Yankees rarely go, and of values we can all relate to. The record ends the same way it begins — with a story of collapse when Aaron Dowdy tells us on the way out that he’s blacking out from living.
Big Ugly is a mix of ballads and rockers, but truly shines on the latter. Dowdy isn’t afraid to paint an unvarnished picture of real life, but does so in a way that never feels condescending. The characters here feel like his people, not caricatures built for peddling records. This is a world progress often leaves behind, but like an abandoned school bus slowly being consumed by kudzu, there is grace and beauty in the decay.
I keep trying to find new things to say about this record, but my quiver of superlatives only holds so many arrows, ya know?
Preoccupations- Ill at Ease
Ill at Ease is certainly not something you’ll be blasting on your boat as you and the crew knock back tall boys. It’s icy in spots and apocalyptic in others. One song mentions centrifuges. Does Van Halen sing about centrifuges? Dear reader, they do not.
Oh, and it will sometimes make you want to dance (probably on land).
When Women broke up in 2012, the Flegel brothers went their separate (musical) ways. Patrick morphed into Cindy Lee, whose Diamond Jubilee record was on just about every AOTY there is last year. Matt and bandmate Mike Wallace went on to form the core of Viet Cong. That name was thankfully changed for a whole host of obvious reasons, and Preoccupations came to be.
Ill at Easeis the band’s fifth record, and arguably their most accessible. It’s a post-punk record, but it’s as pop as anything Psychedelic Furs or The Sound ever put out. On a more contemporary note, I kept drawing a line to The Helio Sequence. For absolutely no reason at all, the record’s “Andromeda” reminds me of “Keep Your Eyes Ahead.” While I’m at it, Flegel’s almost raspy vocals will evoke comparison to The Fur’s Richard Butler’s.
None of this is a liability. In fact, it’s all in the plus column for me. There has been some chatter that this record is too pat, too polished compared to their previous releases. I am not in that camp. Sure, there are a points where I miss that earlier volatility, but I like my post-punk dance-y, and this delivers for days. “Andromeda” and “Focus” have been battling it out for my fave track of the year, and several others make a good case for being shortlisted as well.
Get in, we’re listening to the soundtrack to the apocalypse.
A few more incredible records I’d recommend in a second:
Stereolab — Instant Holograms on Metal Film: The data goblins at Spotify tell me my most-played song in 2025 was “Ping Pong,” off the band’s 1994 record Mars Audiac Quintet. Such is the staying power Stereolab enjoys that, three decades on, I’m still playing the records—and so are a whole lot of other people. Will this one have the same longevity? It’s Stereolab! I wouldn’t be against it.
Sextile — Yes, Please: One of my “old man yells at cloud” complaints is that techno—er, EDM—er, dance music has started to over-index on glitches and bleeps and bloops. There’s nothing wrong with that (see Stereolab), but sometimes I want big bass, a little sweat, and some weapons-grade hedonism. The lyrics flit between existential and immediate, but if I’m honest? I’m here for the beats. And they never stop coming. Incredible record that takes you right back to those nights that didn’t even get started until 10:30 p.m. Listen again? Yes, please.
Andy Bell — Pinball Wanderer: This year, we got records from Erasure’s Andy Bell and the former Ride frontman of the same name. A real “Oh, we got both kinds. We got Country and Western” moment. This one is from the latter Andy and is a fantastic ride into space. The record’s cover of the Passions’ 1981 track “I’m in Love With a German Film Star” is worth the price of admission alone.
Avery Friedman — New Thing: Writing this record up last spring, I quipped: “I am convinced someone, somewhere, decided that any promo email had to include either ‘pedal steel’ or ‘indie folk’ in the description. It feels like a bit of PR Mad Libs or refrigerator-magnet poetry gone wrong…those two phrases are as ubiquitous as UPCs on the records they’re trying to move.”…which said PR rep then posted on social media. Lol. Oops. It was all taken in stride, and why not? I loved the record, and Friedman made it easy. On the title track, Friedman tells us: “It’s a little bit of a new thing / It’s a little hard to predict / And I can’t quite describe it / But it’s like a magnet flipped.” Honestly, I can’t think of a better way to sum up this record than that. This album fades in and out—sometimes it feels like the light of midday; other times like a fever dream or fuzzy memories struggling to make it out of the back of one’s mind. I closed that first review by stating, “It’s not PR spin when I tell you that’ll be a contender for a spot on my AOTY list.” And, well, here we are.
Die Spitz — Something to Consume: My elevator pitch for this Austin-based quartet has always been simple: Die Spitz is the Gen Z equivalent of L7. To be clear, that’s meant as high praise. They’re fast, loud, and have something to say—and exactly zero Fs to give. Ava Schrobilgen, Chloe De St. Aubin, Eleanor Livingston, and Kate Halter also happen to be talented musicians. Their 2023 record was centered around “Hair of Dog,” one of my favorite tracks of the year, and the EP quickly found its way onto my Best of 2023 list. It set the stage for Something to Consume. Almost a rough draft, if you will. That’s not to say this record has the edges sanded off—it absolutely doesn’t—but it’s clear the group has worked to evolve from those early beginnings.
And that’s a wrap! Any of your favorites on this list? What should be on here? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Sound off in the comments, and let me know!
It was premature, but it felt like a corner had turned. It has, but it also turns out that they’re hardy creatures. Someone’ll need to keep the cockroaches company post-nuclear apocalypse, I guess. Part of their insidiousness is the way they change form. We’ve all had a run-in with the “name 3 songs” dorks and the boomer who will regard your disregard for Dylan as a war crime. They’re easy to spot and fun to laugh at.
But once you leave them in the dust, you meet the final boss, the “there’s no good new music anymore” guy. Guys like this:
It’s just 3 “name three songs” guys in a trench goat. And kudos to Gabbie for calling it out.
Here’s the deal:
There’s nothing worth feeling overwhelmed. An unholy number of songs are released every day. It’s reasonable to think you don’t have enough time to check out everything being released (that’s where I come in!). It’s also totally okay to like stuff from your youth (see also: Kevin & New Order). It’s science. But to frame discovery as a sort of loser behavior is mind-boggling. That’s some next-level fixed mindset happening!
It also misses a crucial point; “new” can also really just mean “new to you.” Any doubts I had evaporated over the summer listening to records as part of The Best Record of ‘89 bracket challenge. These are obviously 36-year-old records, but I was hearing several of them for the first time. And take your favorite band: odds are good you found them in high school or college. Now imagine someone hearing them for the first time. Today. The truth? That’s probably happening somewhere in the world as you read this.
The best solution for folks like this is to offer them an off-ramp, and that‘s what this is. New doesn’t have to mean chronologically recent. It can just mean hearing it with fresh ears. Some people are too far gone to get it, but for others, there’s still hope.
The first step is to hand ‘em a copy of Technique.
The indie pop band stops by to talk about their latest record, what we should know about the Louisville scene, and what’s next.
Good morning!
We’re in for a treat today; Louisville’s Second Story Man stops by to talk about their latest record, how it came to be, and what’s coming next.
The pitch: A Louisville band forms in the late 90s, and over the course of the next few years, puts out several EPs and a long player. The next several years see another couple of LPs—and a comparison to Jawbreaker (!)—and more than a couple of lineup changes.
In a mark of incredible timing, the band started recording a new record in… 2020. COVID had other plans, and between that and real life, the record took five years to come to fruition. But all good things come to those who wait, and ‘Calico’ is proof positive.
With this record, we made a conscious effort to embrace simplicity, to not overthink, and to accept imperfections. The instruments were all recorded live with no punching in allowed.
~Carrie Neumayer
Having retroactively gone back through the band’s discography, I can say that this record is a delight. Any vestigial line to Jawbreaker has been erased, replaced by a (slightly) refined sound. The best groups evolve over time, and this is no exception. And it’s a sound that really can only come from the chemistry that comes from playing together for years. If you like punchy, well-built indie pop, Calico is for you. We’ve already seen a couple of tracks featured on the weekly playlists; now the entire record is available.
I recently had a chance to chat with the band via email. In our wide-ranging discussion, we talked about where the band has been and what’s coming next. Our chat has only been lightly edited for grammar and flow.
KA—
Congrats on the new record! For those that might not know, can you walk us through the backstory of how this project came together? Carrie: Thanks! We started writing these songs sometime around 2017/2018 and finally got into the studio to record them in March 2020 with our friend Anne Gauthier. Then the world shut down, and so did we! I ended up going back to school and made a career change, Jeremy became a father, Drew was raising a young child, we grieved some very significant losses, and we all just kind of focused on other aspects of our lives until last yea,r when we decided that the record was worthy of seeing the light of day. We are extremely grateful to our longtime friends at Noise Pollution Record,s who believed in it and offered to put it out.
A previous review described the band as “…a female fronted Jawbreaker, with angular-gang-vocals in the style of Sleater-Kinney and bittersweet noise a la Superchunk for good measure.” That’s a lot to unpack, but more than anything else: Is that an accurate take?
Carrie: I think most long-term relationships inherently have many deaths and rebirths. That’s certainly been true for Second Story Man. We’ve reinvented our sound many times, so I don’t think that description accurately captures our 27 years of creative partnership. We’ve always aimed to make something that is uniquely us. Also, Evan and I sing equally on this album, so “female-fronted” is only half true!
Photo courtesy of Noise Pollution Records
Doubling clicking on that, this is the first record in several years. How is Calico different from the earlier albums?
Carrie: I had a realization recently that before this record, I’d held onto a belief that if I wasn’t singing and playing guitar at the same time 100% of the time, then I wasn’t working hard enough. So silly! With this record, we made a conscious effort to embrace simplicity, to not overthink, and to accept imperfections. The instruments were all recorded live with no punching in allowed. In our past albums, we were much more maximalist (and neurotic!)
Louisville is a place a lot of people might not be familiar with. What should we know about the city? What’s the scene like there?
Carrie: All four of us were born and raised in Louisville. Our drummer Drew and I even went to first grade together! Louisville is not quite southern and not quite northern. It’s a small city/big town. It lives in the in-between. I think the Ohio River plays a big role in the collective unconscious and shows up a lot in the music that gets made here in ways that are difficult to put into words. The scene is both robust and fragmented— there are multiple scenes, many of which do not overlap. For example, the Black gospel music scene in Louisville is legendary. There’s a thriving intergenerational hardcore/punk scene that can draw like 800 people to some of its shows! Then there’s the ever-evolving indie/art rock scene that all of us grew up in. It has splintered out in a lot of directions over time but has always had a moody, dynamic, cerebral, psych/experimental sort of flavor (e.g. Slint, Rodan, Rachel’s, Shipping News, Evergreen, Parlour, Wombo, and a hundred others I could name here) or channeled that sensibility through more of a literary and folk/country lens (e.g. Will Oldham, Catherine Irwin, Ryan Davis and the Roadhouse Band, Grace Rogers, etc.) The older I get, the more deeply I appreciate what we’ve got here.
For anyone new to Second Story Man, what’s the one thing you hope they walk away with?
Evan: Our record!
What’s next for the band? What do the next 6-9 months look like?
Carrie: Our plan is to take things one day at a time. We all work full-time, and Jeremy and Drew are parents, so finding time to do things the way we did when we were in our 20s isn’t possible! It sure would be fun to try to get out of town and play some shows. We’ll see!
Last one, just for fun; I bump into you as you walk out of the record store. What records are you carrying?
Carrie: The most recent records by current artists that I’ve enjoyed have been Grace Rogers’ “Mad Dogs”, Michael Beach’s “Big Black Plume” Idle Ray’s “Even in the Spring”, and S.G. Goodman’s “Planting by the Signs”
Jeremy: Some recent favorites have been Ghost Woman’s S/T album, Wand’s “1000 Days”, and Richard Swift’s “Walt Wolfman”
Drew: I’ve been listening to Tangerine Dream’s “Thief” soundtrack, the “K Pop Demonhunters” soundtrack, and covers by The Middle Age Dad Jam Band.
Volume 10 | October 2025: Sam & I throw the hoodies back on and share some perfect records for fall listening.
Good morning!
So nice, we’re doin’ it twice. Today Sam Colt and I are each sharing a few more of our favorite fall records…ones that might’ve been overlooked or deserve more time in the spotlight.
Welcome to the tenth installment of our (not so) new series! For those of you who may have missed previous editions, here’s a bit of context:
In this monthly series, Sam Colt and I will each share our picks for artists and/or titles that haven’t received their due. You’ll recognize Sam’s name from our On Repeat and Friends Best of Series, and also our Top 100 of all-time serieslast fall. These posts will adopt the latter’s format; I will make my case for my three picks and my reaction to Sam’s. Sam’s page will do the reverse.
In the inaugural post, we noted that successive editions would narrow things down slightly. Maybe a specific genre…maybe a specific era…maybe a specific…well, who knows!
Last month, I talked about the vibe shifts that coincide with the school year. Living in a college town puts all of those in sharper relief. Living in a place where you get all four seasons (sometimes in a day) cements it.
We’re in full swing here, with school having been in session long enough that high school playoffs have started. The UW Badgers football team hasn’t quite figured out that the regular season has started, but that’s… fine. Hockey’s here, and hoops start soon enough! (EDIT: Tonight, actually!)
It’s the most wonderful time of the year. It’s also the time of year when a certain set of records hits differently than they do in the dog days of summer or the preternaturally hopeful late spring. These are generally softer—or if not, at least have heavier themes. Sometimes a record just “feels like fall.” Or if your mind’s wired like mine, a record that was released in October with blue cover art forever imprints itself as an autumn record.
Whatever the reason, there are a lot of fall records. Enough so that Sam and I felt like we’d left some great picks on the table last month. The responses we got from all of you said the same. So we went back to the crates and grabbed a few more that fit the bill. Some of these will be familiar. Some might be ones that get overlooked by bigger releases in the artist’s catalog.
I am a devout heliophile. Summer is my time—even if I don’t like sweating. For me, fall starts strong: it’s still sunny, there’s all the new school year energy, etc. But just underneath that is the slight unease that comes with knowing temps in the teens and a monochromatic landscape are right around the corner.
Zooming out, I think on some level, the records here represent a sort of fight against the dying of the light. I don’t mean in some big-minded, overly literate way—I mean literally clinging to daylight for as long as Mother Nature’ll let me. Someday I will retire. My plan? Put a snowblower in the back of the truck. As soon as I get somewhere that people ask what it is, I’ll know I’m far enough south. That day’s not here yet, and I need to keep finding comfort in records.
Sam paints a picture of a guy who’s already got his sweaters out and is raring to go. Maybe this is his time to shine? I probably should’ve asked him when we were chatting about this month’s piece. Either way, all of his picks were new to me. Maybe a few of these will be to you as well? At any rate, we decided on a second round, and here we are.
When you’re done here, remember to check out Sam’s take at This Is a Newsletter!
After a long hiatus, Sugar is back. After a recent cryptic post on Instagram, they confirmed it by releasing a single and a few tour dates. I suppose a post on social media is how one builds hype in 2025. In 1992, it looked different. You might read about a record in a magazine. Maybe see something on 120 Minutes. And of course, word of mouth. In the fall of that year, I was swimming in all of those circles and constantly on the hunt for new sounds. When/where I first heard about this project has been lost to time, but the smart money says word of mouth. I knew Hüsker Dü—New Day Rising is still an all-timer for me—and I knew of Mould’s solo work. But a new band? That had my curiosity piqued.
There’s no need to bury the lede here: this record rips. Mould’s solo work to that point was good, but he’s in his element when the amps are set to “full throttle.” Writing about it previously, I noted:
Sugar feels like Hüsker Dü if you turn up the pop dial and down the screaming. It hits as hard as anything they put out, but it’s sunnier, more refined, and almost anthemic. Mould is on record as loving MBV’s Loveless and, upon hearing it, recognized the need to add more dimensions to his sound. Mission accomplished, but it never gets too complex. The album is track after track of pop rock that goes 100 mph. The only real pause you get is on “If I Can’t Change Your Mind,” a lovely respite and a highlight on the record. Copper Blue is a record that holds up a lot better than much of what came out in the fall of ’92. You can hear vestigial traces of it in hundreds of records that have come in the years since, including Mould’s more recent solo work.
For years, the answer to the question, “What’s the loudest concert you’ve ever been to?” was Sugar. And it wasn’t even close. Melvins took that title a few weeks ago, but this record is still one of the best in Mould’s discography—and a perfect one to rattle those last leaves off the trees in your yard.
Sam’s Pick and My Take: Elliott Smith – Self-Titled
Speaking of marketing: one of the things I miss are concert flyers posted on telephone poles. I know they still exist, but they seem like a much rarer commodity today. Growing up in Portland, one of our favorite things to do (besides going to the shows themselves) was to walk around NW Portland—this was before it had been rebranded as “The Pearl”—and find flyers. If it was for a show that had passed, we felt like they were fair game to take. If it was for an upcoming show, we only did if there was more than one on the post. I don’t know who was putting these up, but at least one guy was hella lazy and would put like 15 on each pole so he could clock out early. Whoever you are, thank you.
That’s all to say that I liked Heatmiser, and one of those flyers graced my bedroom walls for a good chunk of my teens. I feel lucky to say that I was able to see them play.
This record is very clearly not a Heatmiser record. Their louder, electric sound is replaced by a gentler acoustic one. That shift is even more acute if you decide that listening to them before this album is a good idea. Ask me how I know this.
So, about the record: the TL;DR is that it’s a much more spare affair than much of what the band put out. But this softer sound also gave Smith’s voice room to stand in front of the music, rather than having to shout over it. The themes are darker, and there’s no shortage of brooding. Smith met a tragic end, and it’s easy—I think—to slip into a Talmudic parsing of lyrics, looking for clues or cries for help. Mostly, I think he was just looking to be taken seriously as a songwriter and made a record that reflected where his head was at at this point.
Bar trivia: Alphabet Town is in the same part of town I mentioned above, and when he sings “I’ll show you around this alphabet town,” I wonder if he was imagining those same pole-lined streets my friends and I were cruising up and down looking for Heatmiser fliers. The streets all go in alphabetical order, and at least four Simpsons characters got their names from them (Matt Groening is also a PDX native). I’ve also literally never heard it referred to as such until recently. If you happen to look up the list or find yourself in the Rose City, just know that “Couch” rhymes with “Pooch.”
Rebecca Gates joins him on “St. Ides Heaven.” Gates was one half of The Spinanes, a band that belongs on any list of underrated early-’90s bands from the NW.
Yo La Tengo – Painful
If you’ve been with us for any length of time, you’ve seen me spill some words about this band. The joke is that they’re one of your favorite bands’ favorite bands. Well, that applies to music writers, too. Heck, this isn’t even the first time this series that this record has come up.
Writing about it previously, I noted:
That steadiness is reflected in the record itself. Previous YLT records had a bad habit of bouncing between walls of fuzz and something akin to folk rock. Appealing yet inconsistent. Ira Kaplan’s vocals could verge into a bratty/sneering style. He hasn’t lost his edge, but they’ve evolved into a more—if not congenial—then conversational style.
One of YLT’s hallmarks is that any song feels like it could be remade in a dozen different ways. Much of Painful continues that tradition—see the two wildly different versions of “Big Day Coming” as Exhibit A—but it also feels fully fleshed out. The record turned 30 earlier this year, but it’s the one I repeatedly return to. I can’t say the same for many of the records released around the same time.
The first lyrics we hear are “Let’s be undecided,” but Painful is a decisive statement record from a band fully formed. One hitting its stride and never looking back.
If you’re getting the idea that it’s an important record to me, trust your gut. What it’s not, though, is a summer record. Not that YLT is a band you play while out on the lake, but even relatively speaking, some tracks pair better with October. And it doesn’t hurt that this record came out in October. I’d make an “Autumn Sweater” joke here, but that’d be too on the nose.
One could also make the argument that And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out fits here, but it’s a brooding record—more fitting for short days and long nights when you’re hunkered in. Painful still has jolts of energy in it, much like those random 70-degree days when you’ve already pulled out your sweatshirts and hard pants. My copy might not leave the shelf a lot in July, but in October or November? That’s a different story.
Sam’s Pick and My Take: Alex Turner – Submarine (EP) & boygenius – S/T (EP)
Most of what I know about Arctic Monkeys actually comes from Sam, who included their 2006 record Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not in our Top 100 series. Likewise, frontman Alex Turner didn’t know much about the film he was asked to score—director Richard Ayoade didn’t let him see any of the film until after the songs had been composed. He delivered a lovely (to my ear) EP of five(-ish) tracks. I say that as a snippet of “Stuck on the Puzzle” kicks the record off. Speaking of which, the full version is a highlight here, and is as close as we’re gonna get to a conventional pop song. It’s also the fastest song on the record—again, it’s all relative; by fast, I really just mean that there are some drums on it. The pace is lilting, and maybe that’s why it feels right for fall. Its slower pace and gentle sounds are fitting for this time of year.
On that Arctic Monkeys record, Sam noted that the first words we hear from Turner are: “Anticipation has a habit to set you up for disappointment.” Maybe. But not in this case. I always anticipate Sam’s picks, as they usually involve something I’ve never heard before. I had no idea what I was in for, but this was anything but disappointing.
If these words have reached you, I’m fairly sure you’re familiar with boygenius, and 2023’s cleverly titled record… the record. It was seemingly everywhere, and few AOTY lists left it off. Objectively, it was solid. Subjectively, it wasn’t my speed. I was a fan of Bridgers (both solo and with Better Oblivion Community Center), but I dunno… it just never really landed with me. Maybe a case of anticipation setting me up for disappointment.
Nevertheless…
“Bite the Hand” kicks things off with Lucy Daucus starting before being joined by Bridgers and Julien Baker, and the harmonies are incredible. The record might not’ve been my thing, but that’s a me problem. Their talent—and the way they play off one another—isn’t in question. And if it is, that last bit of this track should be Defense Exhibit A.
Sometimes fall can be subtly jarring. I know that’s an oxymoron, but I’m thinking about those times when you walk outside and the air is a lot sharper than you bargained for—and you realize another whole season has passed. “Stay Down” caught me in a similar fashion—I was listening and thinking that Julien Baker is really underrated, and that this was a pretty song… and then I started listening to the lyrics:
I look at you and you look at a screen I’m in the back seat of my body I’m just steerin’ my life in a video game Similar acts and a different name
Damn.
I suppose this is where I should talk more about the record and the level of talent it takes to pull off making dark lyrics sound pretty. Or delve into production or some other liner-notes-style details. Mostly, what I thought as I listened was: okay, I’m on board now. I didn’t get the fervor around the record. Now I do. I get it.
The Fall – Extricate
John Peel once described The Fall as “always different, always the same,” and it’s easy to see how that could be construed as reductive—but The Fall were one of his favorite bands, and I’ve always interpreted that line the same way you might describe Guided By Voices. If you’re not a fan, everything sounds kind of the same. If you’re listening with open ears, there’s a ton of variation in style and sound. Robert Pollard is the only constant for GBV, and Mark E. Smith for The Fall. Both bands can be described as “prolific,” with dozens of records apiece.
The Fall’s discography can be broken up into seasons: the early years, the Brix years, etc. “Brix” refers to Brix Smith, a member of the band and Mark’s one-time wife.
Extricate is the first record of the post-Brix era (both in the band and in Mark’s life), and in many ways, it feels like a divorce record. If you overlay the five stages of grief onto the tracklisting, you can kinda imagine him going through it as he wrote. He’s at turns distraught, sanguine, and as cynical as ever—mostly the latter. The names might’ve changed, but the sentiment hasn’t. Always different, always the same.
Musically, the sound is way different, with things like keyboards and (I think?) a violin. There are horns, too. It’s almost as if Smith is trying to distract himself from the absence Brix (and her guitar) left behind.
“Bill Is Dead” is gorgeous and feels almost like an elegy for a relationship that’s imploded. We’ve hit the Acceptance stage early, and it’s the looking back you do while walking through the ashes of something that didn’t quite make it to forever. Then you remember who you’re listening to and imagine it being sarcastic, and well… Oops. Still rad, though. Still one of my all-time favorites from a band that put out countless tracks.
Other points on the curve include Anger (“Black Monk Theme Pt. 1” and “Sing, Harpy!”). It’s a wild ride all around—and one I think more people should take. Most “best of” lists usually slot this one in around mid-pack to upper-third, with Hex Induction Hour or This Nation’s Saving Grace taking the top spot. But Extricate is one of my faves and belongs right up there with the best of ’em.
Sam’s Pick and My Take: Real Estate – Atlas
Once again, Sam has batted 1.000 regarding records I haven’t heard. Honestly, I’m not sure I’d even heard of Real Estate. That said, this is nice (again, not derogatory). It feels of a piece with bands like The Shins—the type of record you hear on a day when you’ve got wool socks on, have scraped your windshield, and half the heat in the car is coming from the travel mug between your seats.
I can easily see myself playing this one quite a bit in the coming weeks.
That’s a wrap! What are your thoughts on these records? Do you own any of them? Share your thoughts in the comments! Rants, raves, and spicy takes are all welcome. And if you have any ideas on future themes, please share those as well! Don’t forget to check out Sam’s thoughts over at This Is a Newsletter!
We’re in for a treat today; Gelli Haha stops by to talk about her latest record Switcheroo, how it came to be, and what’s coming next.
There’s a particular kind of pop record that doesn’t wait to be invited in—it knocks down your door and dares you to keep up. Switcheroo, the debut LP from Gelli Haha (aka Angel Abaya), doesn’t waste time being performatively cool. It’s too busy being genius. Equal parts sugar rush, fever dream, and circus act, this kind of album turns overthinking into a punchline and escapism into high art.
Gelli Haha (pronounced “jelly”) has built a chaotic wonderland, aka the “Gelliverse,” where the synths are steady, beats alternate between hiccup-y and booming, and every note feels hand-drawn in crayon and glitter glue (and slightly outside the lines). Imagine your favorite dream pop band grabbing a copy of The B-52s’ Whammy! on the way to the launch pad, taking off, and crash-landing in an electroclash warehouse party in the coolest part of the galaxy.
That said, Switcheroo isn’t just wacky for wackiness’ sake. There’s a wry intelligence to it all, a real structure hiding beneath the glitz. Tracks like “Tiramisu” make you laugh…and then realize you’ve been singing along. “Spit” will remind you of all those hot, sweaty nights at the club back in the day. “Bounce House” is purpose-built for the pop charts. Seriously, why is this not climbing the Hot 100 already?! Even the deliberately juvenile “Piss Artist” glows with confidence and (per Bandcamp) revels in tequila-fueled storytelling about an infamous party moment (involving a jar — don’t ask, just dance). Fair enough! Another artist might’ve buried it as a skit. Gelli Haha put it right in the middle of the album. Meanwhile, tracks like “Dynamite” chug along at just the right pace/BPM.
The record saves the best for last. “Pluto is not a planet; it’s a restaurant” (this writer’s favorite track on the record) takes all of the above and puts it in a blender, pouring out grandiose synths, pulsing beats, and a cathedral sound that will make you feel like you’re floating untethered in space.
Maybe it’s just me, but here’s something liberating about how this album refuses to care what you think. It’s not just theatrical—it’s maximalist identity performance with zero fucks given apologies. Gelli Haha isn’t aiming for relatability; she’s too busy being a pop gremlin, and tbh, that rules. The whole project feels like a rejection of our (collective) obsession with being “real,” that’s often ripping through the usual music discourse channels. Instead, she turns her persona into a playground—and lets you run wild with it.
Switcheroo is weird, hilarious, and absolutely unhinged—and it might be the most fun I’ve had with a record all year. Listening makes joy feel like a radical act- a rare treat in the current era. Once you’re in the Gelliverse, you may never want to leave. I certainly don’t.
I recently had a chance to chat with her via email. In our wide-ranging discussion, we talked about how the concept for Switcheroo came to pass, what she hopes listeners will take away from it, and what’s coming next. Our chat has only been lightly edited for grammar and flow.
KA—
For those that might not know, can you walk us through the backstory of how this project came together?
Gelli Haha is a project born out of curiosity. I wanted to create something that was fun and moved people physically and emotionally—fun music to dance to, something mystical and enchanting, and silly. A couple of years ago, I started working with Sean Guerin of De Lux, wrote dozens of demos, and then created a live performance art world to accompany the project.
On Bandcamp, a supporter described the records as “…like Kate Bush meets Suburban Lawns, and it is pretty good!” Is that an accurate take?
It’s subjective, but I like those artists. Kate Bush was a top influence for the project. I’ve not listened to Suburban Lawns much, though. There’s more of an experimental, electronic flavor to the record as well that goes beyond these artists.
Switcheroo has been described as an “exercise in letting go, an inside joke turned theatrical spectacle.” Say more please.
In order to make the record, I had to let go of some old tendencies of mine. I can be a bit of a perfectionist and want people to take me seriously. This record sounds very free because I had to become very free to make it. We wanted the project to feel like something everyone is in on, like the audience is involved somehow. And it’s all just really goofy. When we perform, we have mini trampolines and dolphin balloons and boxing matches and snakes in a can.
Listening to the record, I can hear everything from Italodisco to the B-52s and back again. Are there any artists who had a particular influence on the sound here?
I’m a big fan of Björk, Animal Collective, of Montreal…and lots of obscure late 70s/early 80s records that Sean showed me. But I also grew up listening to pop radio and MTV, going to musicals, and being in a choir and orchestra, so there’s a lot of influence coming from everywhere.
What’s the songwriting process look like? What generally comes first, the music/beats or the lyrics?
I made about 45 demos, each a minute or so long. Sean and I picked which ones we liked the most and expanded upon them together. Vocals and lyrics followed suit. Sometimes, they came quickly, and other times, we had to search a little bit.
If you had to narrow it down, what’s one thing you hope someone will get out of listening to Switcheroo?
A laugh.
What’s next? Any shows? Touring? What’s the back half of 2025 look like?
We have some fun things in the works for later this year to be announced!
Last one, just for fun; I bump into you as you’re walking out of the record store. What records are you carrying?
Tom Tom Club by Tom Tom Club, Philharmony by Haruomi Hosono, and Oops!…I Did It Again by Britney Spears.
Listen:
Gelli Haha | Switcheroo (2025)
Click the record to listen on the platform of your choice.
The flood of great records continues! Today we’re taking a quick look at the latest from Superchunk, The Cavernous, and Case Oats (and more!)
Longtime readers may recall that I reviewed 100 new (to me) records last year. Because I’m a glutton for punishment love music, I’m doing it again this year. This is the latest in the series.
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at the latest from Superchunk, The Cavernous, Case Oats, and more!
Every year, I celebrate all the great music we’ve been gifted while worrying that next year will see the other shoe drop. I first did that in December 2020 and have been proven wrong every month since. Not only are there a ton of releases steadily coming out, but it also transcends genre or any other artificial guardrail we try and put up—
In other words, a ton of good stuff is coming out, and there’s something for everyone. It’s almost overwhelming— but in all the best ways. Below is another batch that caught my attention recently.
A lot of recent releases landed on my radar all at once, and I want to shine a light on them before too much more time passes. Not quite an 88 lines about 44 records kind of deal, but close. More of a clearing the decks, if you will.
Let’s get into it!
Superchunk – Sounds From the Key of Yikes
When I was a teenager, I was a holy terror behind the wheel. It was hammer down all the time from a kid who could barely see over the steering wheel. Tracks like Superchunk’s “Precision Auto” were the perfect soundtrack. Mac McCaughan had some shit to get off his chest, and I was there for it. Albums like ’93’s On the Mouth were the perfect record for where I was at the time.
Flash forward to 2025: I drive a wagon, and while I’m not quite at the stage where I call out every sign I pass, it’s close. Not being able to see very well doesn’t help.
Mac McCaughan, on the other hand, sees things perfectly. As he’s racked up the miles—er, years—his writing (and the band’s sound) has taken on a much more reflective tone. He’s still railing against a lot of the issues of the day, but there’s more perspective—the kind that can only be earned by the years (see also: Mould, Bob).
Talking about 2022’sWild Loneliness, I noted that “Wild Loneliness finds the band in a more contemplative place. Lead singer Mac McCaughan isn’t railing so much as he’s reflecting.”
On this release, he’s somewhere in the middle.
With Jon Wurster having left and Laura Ballance no longer touring with the band, Superchunk have a real Ship of Theseus thing starting to happen. Yes, I know Ballance still plays on the records themselves, but still.
Fear not; the tone has softened, but only a little, and the band continues the trajectory started with 2018’s What a Time to Be Alive. It’s overtly political, but not annoyingly so, and when things are couched in power-pop goodness, the medicine goes down easy.
Opener “Is It Making You Feel Something” starts the record off strong with all the fizzy pop and chunky power chords we’ve come to expect. Say what you will, but for my money, guitarist Jim Wilbur is this band’s secret sauce.
“Bruised Lung” keeps things moving right along, and so do the next couple of tracks. McCaughan is optimistic, but there’s lament creeping in—almost like he’s forcing a smile as resistance. Our generation is quite good at performative nonchalance, and when he sings:
I’m trying to care less I’m trying to care less Don’t make me remember What I can’t forget I’m trying to care less, yeah
I’m not sure if he’s being serious or sardonic. Is this a political rant about the current state of play, or an updated version of Driveway to Driveway?
If you like mid-discography Superchunk, you’ll find plenty here to dig. What you see is what you get; no one’s trying to make a concept record. If you’re all in on the early stuff, you might find the edges a little too sanded off, but odds are good you’ve thought that for a while now. It’s easy to get consumed by (waves hands all around), and while fully checking out isn’t an option, trying to care less is sage advice.
I don’t know that anyone will claim this as their new favorite record by the band, but it’s got a lot of what’s helped them make it to elder statesman status, and with just the right blend of angry and sanguine, it’s the right record for right now. (Bandcamp link)
Case Oats- Last Missouri Exit
I have this daydream that I’ll retire early from my job, hit the Midwest backroads, and restart my quest for the four calendar cafe. I did this a lot in my early 20s, coming close a couple of times, but never hit the jackpot. This time around, I’d find it- just as imagined; a clean, well-lit place, populated with locals sitting in the same spots their families have for generations. Where everyone knows your name (except for me, obvs), and the coffee is strong enough to stand a spoon up in. The menus are one-sided single laminate sheets, and the aroma of the freshly baked pie is seared into the slightly cracked vinyl booths. You can see over the diner counter back into the kitchen where a radio is perched up on a shelf (antenna pointed just so), and you’ll hear something like Case Oats’ “In a Bungalow” coming through the tinny speakers. It will be exactly what I’ve been looking for, and it will be fantastic.
I never really know what I’m looking for when it comes to alt-country or Americana. As both a fan ofsad dad bands and a music writer, saying I’m mostly looking for a vibe might not be the best approach, but that’s what happens. Albums in this lane either have that vibe (see above) or they don’t. Last Missouri Exit checks all the boxes. Casey Walker’s plaintive vocals feel authentic in a way that’s becoming increasingly rare. When she’s singing about life and lives lived, you feel it. Supporting her is a lot of talent, including Spencer Tweedy. It takes a lot of work to sound this unpolished, but they make light work of it.
Last Missouri Exit doesn’t stray too far from the plan here. Like those one-page menus, the tracks are simple and to the point (not derogatory). No one will describe this album as pushing boundaries—and it never tries to. This is a record that feels as lived-in as those booths. And it, too, is fantastic. (Bandcamp link)
The Cavernous – Please Hold
The (literal) pitch: It’s a lo-fi, trip-hop–leaning album accessible only by calling a North American toll-free number. The record blends ambient textures, eerie downtempo, and cryptic operator messages into something equal parts surreal and existential. Lead single “Guile” is streaming now.
Okay, so the idea that you would need to call a 1-800 number to hear a record seemed too clever by half… but also really intriguing. Sort of like taking Cindy Lee’s Geocities–only release to the next level.
In an era of hours-long hold times, sadistic phone trees, and AI chatbots, the idea of willfully calling a line to literally listen to a treatise on hold times seems like an incredible self-own. And it would be… except for one thing: the record is really good. Not even sure I can call it a record, but whatever it is, it kept me fully engaged. The lo-fi beats and loops felt comforting, like I was finally being let in on a joke, only to then be jolted back to reality by the “just a little too loud” spoken word updates that are on all the routine calls we suffer through. I have to assume those are there to ensure we don’t fall asleep, right?
There are downtempo beats and washed-out synths for days. Even the sounds like Microsoft’s hold music, which usually make me reflexively angry, only made me chuckle here.
“It started as a joke about hold music,” says frontman Rob McLaren. “Then it became a meditation on death.”
I’m not sure I can describe it any better than that. Want to experience it for yourself? Call 1-877-420-9159. It might be the only time you’ll be happy to be “on hold” for 45 minutes.
Mudhoney’s self-titled record takes on Robyn Hitchcock & The Egyptians’ Queen Elvis
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at Mudhoney’s self-titled release (#57) as it squares off again Queen Elvis by Robyn Hitchcock and The Egyptians (#72)
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d be occasionally writing some of these up.
I’ve started doing some quick hits of each matchup and posting them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably definitely be some typos.
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks are always appreciated.
KA—
On day 4, we covered Screaming Trees, and here we are less than a week later in the Emerald City. As a PDX native, this is not my favorite place. As a music fan, I’m willing to overlook some things.
The reality is that Mudhoney—or rather, Mark Arm — had a hand in a lot of the bands we all know and love. In the 80s and 90s, the overlap in personnel was common. Many people were in the same bands. You sometimes needed a scorecard to keep track at home. Arm was in more than a couple, including Green River, which gave way to Mudhoney, but also Mother Love Bone, Temple of the Dog, and more. Jeff Ament and Stone Gossard were there. I wonder what ever happened to them? I hope they’re still playing somewhere.
They went one way, and Arm went another. There was Mudhoney, and there was this record —a bar-burner of white-hot rock ‘n’ roll. There’s some psych here. Some punk. Some metal. It sounds like every opening band that ever played a sweaty club with low ceilings and a sound tech learning the ropes— and I 100% mean that in the best way possible,
“Flat Out F*cked” drops the hammer and never lets up. It’s an insistent piledriver that dares you not to sing along. “Get Into Yours” sounds like every song we’d hear from out on the street if we were late getting to a show. This is an admittedly clunky description, but one I hope both makes sense and is relatable. It’s also high praise. “Here Comes Sickness” has an infectious, scuzzy groove.
With maybe the exception of “Come To Mind,” the whole record goes on like this. It’s a one-note recording, but it never gets old.
The guitars and Arm’s vocals are out front here, but to discount the rhythm section of Matt Lukin (yes, the same Lukin PJ named a song after) and Dan Peters would be a disservice. Someone had to keep things tethered to the Earth.
Some groups aspire to a higher calling. They write records they hope will change the world. This record isn’t trying to do anything of the sort.; it’s just trying to have a good time.
It’s trying to rock — and that’s exactly what it does.
Remember when you were a kid, and your parents would try to get you to taste new food? It’s got everything you like in it! they’d plead, while you sat there with your arms crossed. Just take a bite! You’ll see.
And it’s true that you likely would’ve liked whatever it was on the plate in front of you. But for whatever reason, that wasn’t the day. Maybe you’d eventually come around. Perhaps you never would.
A few years would go by, and instead of food and your parents, it would be your friends and an artist.
And yet
This record is great! They’d say. It’s got intelligent lyrics and wry humor! They’re on top of some of the sunniest, jangly music going! There’s a video on 120 Minutes! It’s got everything you like! The record would be Robyn Hitchcock & The Egyptians’ Queen Elvis….and I still wasn’t biting (heh).
Look, there is nothing wrong with this record. It’s objectively good! It’s generally regarded as one of the best in his extensive discography. It’s extremely British. It was quirky before that became a thing.
Lyrics like this from Devil’s Coachman are the sort of thing I would’ve pored over:
I remember everything as if it happened years ago Probably it did, so I remember it You are just your feelings. It might give you vertigo Falling off a high place and into it And I was into you
And yet.
“Madonna of the Wasps “is an excellent peek at the sort of thing 120 Minutes might expose you to. For many people, I suspect this was their on-ramp to Hitchcock, doubly so if you lived somewhere with cable but without a decent college radio station. Listening to the record ahead of this, I wondered if that’s how whoever nominated this first found him.
“Freeze” is a track I genuinely dig. It’s about as hard as things get on the album. There are bits of horns, too, which I always dig. No less than REM’s Peter Buck makes a balance here. Another thing I like.
And yet.
Bottom Line: Rooting for my Pacific Northwest homeland can make for strange bedfellows. Sometimes it even means rooting for a band from Seattle. Mudhoney it is.
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
The ways we discover and create music continue to evolve. Matthew Vanderkwaak’s new project is shining a light on both his own music and other emergent Canadian artists.
Photo: Samuel Landry
It’s 2025, and many of the guardrails and gatekeepers that used to decide what music we consumed are gone. We are no longer bound solely to whatever an A& R rep might decide we like. We can decide for ourselves.
That goes for artists as well. Most of us grew up with the narrative that discovery is either by sheer luck or after getting in the van and burning hard miles down the road. And even if you wanted to make a record, that might prove cost-prohibitive.
While some of that is still true, for the most part, the barriers to entry are lower than they’ve ever been. Today, it’s entirely possible to make a record using your phone and a few other software programs. You can do this without ever leaving your bedroom.
So that’s the good news; if you want to make a record, you can! The not-so-good side effect is that listeners must wade through more and more records before finding you.
Discovery might’ve changed forms, but it still matters.
Enter Matthew Joel Vanderkwaak. Matthew is from Atlantic Canada and is an artist himself. Taking a page from the likes of Fog Chaser, miter and olivia rafferty, he’s creating music in real time, using new pathways, and his readers get to hear it first.
Further, he’s committed to raising the profile of other artists and has a series where he spotlights emerging Canadian musicians, with an emphasis on Canadian folk and country music.
In 2025, algorithms and digital platforms are making a lot of noise. Artists/curators like Matthew Vanderkwaak provide a valuable signal, lighting the way for new listeners.
And with that, I’ll get out of the way and let Matthew share his work.
Enjoy!
KA—
I’m Matthew Joel, an artist from Atlantic Canada on a quest to encounter the spirit of Canadian folk and country music as it lives and breathes in our moment. I’m here today to share about my new project, The New Canadiana—a journalistic series about regular and mostly unknown Canadians who are writing, recording, and releasing music right now.
In the age of algorithmic curation and procedurally generated noise, I think folks are more hungry than ever to make meaningful connections with the human beings who make the music they love. This might be one of the major upshots of ai-generated media—it shows us how precious human-made art really is. More than ever I want to feel I know the people making the music I’m listening to, and more than ever, I’m learning that this kind of relationship requires an almost heroic act of focused attention. That attention, though, leads me into the spirit of art-making that inhabits human life and makes it special.
Last year, I finally finished grad studies and realized I wanted to start recording and releasing music again. It turned out that after 10+ years of desk work, academic writing, and listening to Carrie and Lowell on repeat, a lot had changed in the world of music marketing and promotion. Back in 2010, it was all about selling CD-Rs to my friends, posting on tumblr, and sending out mass emails hoping to strike gold in the blogosphere. I had never distributed music to streaming platforms before. If I did, would anyone hear it? How could I find a community of interested listeners?
Purveyors of music-biz best practice said that I should find out who else was making music like mine and do whatever they did. But who even were these people? Where could I find them? While asking these questions from within the horizons of social media and streaming platforms, I felt lost. The fact was that many of the people I knew making beautiful music had almost no traction on a place like Spotify. But at the same time, as I gathered more and more of this pressingly beautiful music together, I started to see common threads running through these different Canadian cities.
My conviction is that algorithms cannot be trusted to tell the stories of the human beings who make the art most precious to us. It takes human beings to make known what is truly human in our music. Of course, here at On Repeat Records, I’m preaching to the choir. This is how The New Canadiana was born—out of my attempts to practice attending in a more structured and public way to the beautiful human-made art that is all around me.
In this post, I’m distilling what I’ve learned from the year so far: three rules for attending to the music of a place. I’m especially happy to share about these principles, because what I’m seeing in these Canadian cities must be happening everywhere else too. I want to know how you are following rules like these and what you have discovered along the way.
1. Start with music made in the place where you are
In the effort to resist the algorithmic anonymization of music, I think each of us has a special vocation in the places we belong to. The first rule is to begin with the music made by people you know in places you know. Then, follow the threads. Trace the outlines of the scene that you are at the centre of by virtue of the fact that you are the one listening. You are the one who most of all can understand the meaning of the music that arises out of the situation that you also arise out of. And the rest of us need you to help us access to the art you are most equipped to hear.
The spirit of locality is very close to the spirit of music making. Human-made music belongs somewhere, and that place is not primarily an Instagram reel or Youtube video (which are only records of an event). Canada, which is ostensibly the subject of The New Canadiana, is, in truth, much too large a subject.
Instead, I have begun my quest with the actual Canadians I know whose music burns bright in my ears and heart. This first rule is about learning to trust that this feeling shows me the way forward. There’s no one else with my particular experience of this music made by these particular people. This means I have a task—something to attend to.
2. Have meaningful conversations with the music you love
The great threat to music distributed by streaming platforms is that it becomes a mere mechanism to evoke a mood or vibe without ever being allowed to become an end in itself. By contrast, I’m amazed at what I discover when I sit down with a friend and really ask them about their art. I might have assumed that the public nature of an interview would involve too much self-conscious reflexivity to invite meaningful reflection. On the contrary, I find that when I have a conversation that is on record, this imparts a focus and intensity that elevates my awareness of what we are trying to explore together.
As I prepare for interviews, I bring a structured mode of attention to the music that I rarely make time for. As I pay attention, I start to get curious: what makes this music work? What is it saying to me? How can I dialogue with its particular beauty? While conducting these interviews, I feel my conscience prick—why haven’t I asked my friends these questions before? They’ve made this beautiful art, and the meaning of its beauty is at risk of slipping by, unnoticed unless someone stops to recognize what has occurred.
3. Keep a public record of your discoveries
All it takes to dignify a work of art is attention, and the third rule is to give what you have understood in the art a public voice. Let us infiltrate online spaces designed to manipulate and monetize attention with the records of what we have discovered on the ground and in our bodies with other human beings.
Let us keep coming back to places like On Repeat Records to celebrate the beautiful music that has made itself known individually upon each of us as individuals. Keep a record of what you notice—snapshots of live music, reflections on concert experiences, evidence of physical media, listening journals, conversations shared between friends and fellow aspirants. The record of these experiences matters because only a human can access what is human in a work of art.
4. The New Canadiana
I’ve committed in 2025 to make my discoveries public in two ways:
I am interviewing one Canadian songwriter a month. The interviews are an almost anthropological effort to encounter the spirit of this moment in Canadian music. If you’re to new to the series, I encourage you tostart with the first one featuring Simon Bridgefoot.
I maintain a playlist that situates these Canadians’ music in the larger context of folk and country music in this country. The playlist privileges songs that have come out in the past five years. The playlist lives here:
It all started as a chance to work out where I can locate my own music, and what I’ve discovered instead is that there is a world to which I already belong. Give the interviews a read and the playlist a listen and let me know what you see in them.
How many of you are already applying principles like these in your own practices listening to music? What have been the results?
Kevin here again: Thank you to Matthew for sharing his work, and thank you for being here. Be sure to check out his project and the other fantastic interviews he’s already done!
Kevin Sent 
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