“[Scott Weiland] isn’t the easiest guy to emulate,” he says. “So I gotta imagine what he would be doing at this age. I’m not taking my shirt off, I’m not dying my hair orange.”
Now is the time to emit a powerful message, crystalline in presentation, though unapologetically mad and emotional in its aftermath. The devil has returned to remind the public of its devastation and brilliance: This is YHWH Nailgun.
I feel a deep, personal connection to this project as I have also been a twin for twenty years. While me being born was less influential on the evolution of psychedelic music, there’s still time.
Here, Aoba has managed to transcend the starkness of her previous work and transmit something much more primal, creating music that exists somewhere between the stratosphere and the pummeling ocean waves.
People Watching is an album of painfully average losers, addicts, and widows, and even if that focus occasionally constricts, it never becomes preachy.
The creative approach of play is at the heart of the album and shows that despite their professional resources, Horsegirl has never lost touch with the DIY spirit, phenomenal taste, and Chicago roots that makes them who they are.
“Butterfly” is a parody of pop. Sanitized to oblivion. It tries its darndest to be an earworm, another TikTok audio that will blow up like the rest, but alas.
Perhaps it was Tears for Fears’ reformation and resurgence in the twenty-first century that contributed to the lasting cultural impact of Songs From The Big Chair. This influence can be seen in countless covers by countless artists—from Weezer to Lorde, it seems every musician wants to rule the world.
As Addison frantically dances around a burning field during the song’s bridge, an ad-lib in the song comes in: “I know how to make the hard things look really easy.” Damn right.
A lengthy letter of regret, but more so a dedicated submission of acceptance. Acknowledging the months of love that no longer fill in the moments of now.
Cowards is a seemingly not-so-relaxed attempt at a concept album. In a crawl through horror, Squid gives each song moments of a creepy lullaby and a dash through the underworld.
While Galore was mostly a collection of nocturnal love songs, Choke Enough is made up of blinding declarations of feeling alive. “Is the endless still unbound?” Oklou asks on the opener. On Choke Enough, it is.
His sixth “surprise” song was one the crowd didn’t know, likely a recent release. It was clear that the nostalgia trip was over and we all wanted to go home.
I truly admire Greep for his ability to blend evocative storytelling with masterfully curated rhythms and beats. It’s what drew me to Paradise Rock Club this Friday night.
