NYC duo Gardenia dropped their debut album May 26th, and in eight songs they really show off what they can do. It’s just bass, vocals, and drums (with a few other tidbits here and there), but Knowing You Know Nothing proves that’s all these two need. They met working together at a local studio and started the band in 2018, and vocalist/bassist Ry Zakin’s fuzzy bass manages to float effortlessly between rhythm and melody while drummer Tamir Malik’s skillful beats set the tone for each tune as the band shows off its range. No two songs are quite alike, but they all have one thing in common: “We’re pissed, and you should be too,” the duo says is the message of the album
The first track and lead single “Hall Pass” is a grungey tune that will also appeal to fans of pop. It ramps up from a simple bassline and soft vocals about astrology into a wildly catchy chorus. This is one of those tracks that anyone can (and will) bop their head to.
“Hall Pass” is followed by “Daydream Nightmare”, which gives us a taste of something a little more unhinged and angry as Zakin’s words loop behind him and he screams his own backup vocals. And the lyrics are clever, too: “You tell me ‘chase my dreams’ like I don’t die in all of them.”
The focus track, “Believe Me (or don’t)”, actually starts off with the quietest little riff. What these two are amazing at is getting from point A to point B, because before you know it you’re nodding along to a sludgy chorus that invokes something 90s and furious. This is one where Zakin’s voice (and the echoes of it that whisper in the background) really shines. It’s a very simple song, with a simple chorus and a simple subject matter—but the duo clearly knows how to make simplicity work. Of the track, Zakin says, “There’s a ton of songs out there about cheating, but I noticed that most of them took the stance of being cheated on, and I thought it would be interesting to write about it from the instigator’s perspective.”
The next song is my personal favorite, “Mattress Actress”. This one doesn’t start slow; we get right into a fun, quick bass riff over some weird, cool synthy pick slide thing, and then a grunt—yes, a grunt!—that takes us into a deep, dirty rock track where Malik’s drums dazzle and Zakin’s voice manages to be some fantastic combination of 90s punk and 70s classic rock that does everything you’d need a guitar to do melody-wise. This track’s got clever, amusing lyrics and it’s just an absolute jam, if you ask me.
“I Hope Ur Crying” is slow and heavy, and there’s something hopeful in it: the transition from the speaker’s sadness into powerful, righteous anger reads more like an invocation than a depression. And in contrast, the next song, “Black Perfume,” sounds like when you are walking down a street in Manhattan late at night. Moody, almost a little jazzy, this one proves that just bass and drums can still be melodic and crisp, with a fantastic bass solo in the middle, and a little Mission Impossible-esque riff cutting through the verses.
“Maybe I’m Just Being Paranoid” starts out creepy, a little psychedelic. A little more experimental than the other tracks on this album, this one starts with a whisper (“You’re paranoid / relentless…” over and over and over), but then later we get a droning distorted bridge and a skillful solo backed by alienesque synths, and the last few bars, a few strums of a phaser-y bass between some of Malik’s awesome drum solos, bring us out with bang.
Finally, “All the Ugly Things” is edgy, urban, and definitely pissed: “Wouldn’t you be angry too?” It goes from zero to a hundred between the verses and chorus. Malik has another chance to show off his drumming chops and he takes it, soloing some delicious fills as the last quarter of the song plays out lyricless.
With this debut, Gardenia has flaunted their range and skill. Two heads are better than one—but for them, it might be better than three, or four, or five too. They do a lot with very little, here, proving that simplicity and savvy (and some awesome rhythms) are enough to put together a solid, compelling, refreshing album.
Knowing You Know Nothing is out now via all major streamers. You can keep up with their happenings on Instagram and catch Gardenia at their album release show June 10th at Alphaville in NYC.
“One tricky thing about turning big traumas directly into songs is that it compartmentalizes the memory and takes you away from the horror of it, and into a round of mix notes, but that’s Hollywood, baby,” expains Eva Lawitts, multi-instrumentalist and vocalist of project Stimmerman, as she describes the band’s latest album Undertaking. At times reminiscent of Elliott Smith, other times seeming to nod toward Chicago—often times both within the same phrase—we here at Full Time Aesthetic have been keeping close tabs on this release since they unraveled upon us their nervous breakdown single “House Party” back in February (see our thoughts here).
Much of the record exists in the moments of early 2020, following the death of Lawitts’s close friend and the onset of a global pandemic that shutdown their world on a number of levels for a multitude of reasons. The unassuming album opener “Growing Under” employs delicate fragility, exposing acoustic tones and a vulnerable vocal, common on this record, but largely absent on prior releases, that closely follows the melodic rhythmic pathways ushered in by the herald of trumpeting horns. It’s a thread that returns and twists it’s head in warped and warbled ways through “Fast & Never,” which Lawitts explains is specifically about the hours she spent standing around on her phone, informing all of her mutual friends one after the other that their friend had just died.
“These topics seem heavy I guess, but they also feel like they’re impossibly far in the past,” Lawitts explains. “In 2020 and 2021 there was a lot of ambiguity, confusion, fear, blame, previously unfathomable loss etc. We can’t always say what it was all about.” Songs like “Hungry God,” are definitely a bit more ambiguous and far more frantic in nature, with angular guitars and uneasy panic in the saxophones.
Shapes and shadows are a common theme in the lyrics as noted by Dylan LaPointe (of Debbie Dopamine), who recently described the music as “dynamic, tender, punishing, chaotic, gorgeous, and full of motifs that tie each album together. Eva’s music hits that part of you that wants to scream, cry, laugh maniacally, and maybe eat some cured meats at 2 in the morning.” On tracks like “Promise U Will,” Stimmerman takes us indeed from menacing triumph to doom and back to the allure of familiar sorrow and the constant pivoting of restless emotion. It’s only at the end of this fitful sea of soul and spirit that Stimmerman cauterizes the distorted existential journey with strangely odd pop dissonant “Ruptured Lung” closer which feels like slightly sickened deep cut from a lost Muffs session.
Undertaking is a complete and total freefall from the weight of feeling; its ugly beauty lies in continually knocking you off balance every time you achieve even a modicum of emotional closure. The permanent pinballl ride is one we all take together, but the random course that chooses us is ultimately traveled alone.
Undertaking is out now and available via Bandcamp and all major streamers.
Rarely do a band name and record title both land so on point. But just in time for the hot New York City summer, the sun soaked beachy vibes of Brooklyn jangly surf rock quartet, Jelly Kelly are fully dialed in on their latest release. Led by Keith Kelly (guitar, vocals), the group is fleshed out by Dom Bodo (bass), Jared Apuzzo (drums) and Nicolas Dube (guitar), and together provide a warm fuzzy bedrock for cool crisp melodies to coast their way across the tracks. Bodo and Apuzzo are in perfect rhythmic lockstep on tracks like “Love Language” and “Warm Water” carving space for the guitars to slide in and out and the vocals to breathe and soar across the gaps.
This EP is much more than a surfy groove crossed with killer throwback 80s pop sense, and retro tones though it is also that. Coupled with a visually fun and stimulating music video illustrated and animated by Brendan Sullivan, “Vitamin D” juxtaposes concepts of confinement and space, drawing a murky line in the sand between imagination and reality between head boos. Questioning the truths of your existence in relation to that of those around is, however, much more palatable waist deep in the refreshing tide of Rockaway Beach. That is simply the atmosphere in which this newest EP achieves maximum gravitas; waves, shades, a cool drink, and 18 minutes alone with the inside of your head.
No longer the young indie darlings of the 2010’s, Beach Fossils have stood the test of time and emerged thirteen years after their debut album as stalwarts of the scene, perfecting their dream pop sound. Their newest LP Bunny shows frontman Dustin Payseur honing his craft to a fine point. According to Payseur, Bunny “represents strength through vulnerability.” He notes “when I wrote the first record, there were no choruses; it was instrumental guitar parts in between verses. This is the first record where I’ve consciously thought about writing a chorus.”
There is indeed a lot of growth on this record, not only in sound but in theme, with topics ranging from friendships moving on to becoming a father. Still, there is a lot of searching, or at least reflections on moments of feeling lost. Payseur might be grown up but he isn’t settled down, still hitting up house parties (“Dare Me”) and doing hungover morning bike rides (“Don’t Fade Away”).
Lead track “Sleeping On My Own” gets things started with the jangly guitar and a catchy vocal melody; by the time the song hits the chorus it feels suddenly expansive, like arms spread wide presenting the album. This gives way to the dreamy “Run To The Moon,” which chronicles Payseur’s feelings on the arrival of his daughter, and “having absolute freedom, the fear of losing it, but then tapping into myself in a way that felt more real.” There certainly seems to be a lot of happiness reflected in the pastoral music video as band members Tommy Davidson (guitars), Jack Doyle Smith (bass), and Anton Hochheim (drums) frolic in the fields.
Their second single “Dare Me” is as Payseur says “about conflict, friendship and the intoxication of new love. Willing to let yourself be stupid, vulnerable, pissed off and forgiving” Those emotions are certainly all mixed up into the song: “you said if you’d get yourself together you’d be alright / but nothing feels better than wasting time / I’ll be your / contender / if we can live forever / caught in this / landslide / are we’re gonna be running till the end of our lives?“
Other highlights include “Anything is Anything” (which gave me a sense memory of listening to Blur’s “She’s So High” although that’s maybe just me), “Seconds,” a track that follows their old classic formula of verses interspersed with instrumentals, with gorgeous vocal harmonies, and “Numb,” a bass forward track with swirling guitars that evoke a summer night.
Payseur recorded and produced the album himself, with mixing from Lars Stalfors, and the mix is perfectly attuned to what Beach Fossils fans expect—guitar-focused dream-pop with a solid underpinning, layered over with Payseur’s strong yet lilting voice. Overall Bunny is an album of a band doing what they do best while not resting on their laurels.
Bunny is out now on Bayonet Records (the independent label Payseur co-founded in 2014).
Bully’s 2020 release Sugaregg was raucous; wild; raw. But their brand new fourth studio album Lucky For You, released June 2nd on Sub Pop, is a little mellower; subtler. The band’s mastermind, Alicia Bognanno, still has a lot to say, though—maybe more than she ever has before.
There’s a lot of 90s grunge influence in Bully’s previous album, but this one seems to be a marriage between that and a more 2010s pop sound. The instrumental behind the first track, “All I Do,” is almost Best Coast-y, ethereal and upbeat in a way that you’re almost shocked to hear Bognanno’s (awesome) raspy vocals cut into the indie pop twang. It works, though—not too much dirt nor too clean, it’s a uniquely wonderful concoction.
“Days Move Slow,” the album’s lead single, is a tribute to Bognanno’s dog, Mezzi, who passed away shortly before this song was written. “I was a stranger to the level of love I now know exists because of Mezzi,” Bognanno said when the single was released in March, “Love you forever; I’m lucky for you.” It’s almost universal, that feeling (my friend’s beloved snake, Lemon, just passed the other day), but still impossibly personal. This track takes that cleaner pop vibe up a notch, still garbled and loud but something more melodic and soft about it, some “oohs” in the beginning that remind me of indie pop Canadians Alvvays. Bognanno doesn’t scream here, but you can hear her emotion and you can hear her grief even over that inexplicably upbeat rhythm.
You know when you are thinking too fast, but it’s all about the same thing? The days do move slow, and Bognanno seems stuck in her grief, unable to stop reflecting on it but for fleeting moments: “Sometimes when I zone out at night / I’ll forget you’re outta sight / like living before you were gone.” I know Bognanno’s voice always has that scratch to it, but this time it feels like someone who’s just finished crying. And those definitive chants in the verse (to me they call to mind Courtney Barnett’s “Pedestrian at Best”) almost sound like she’s angry at herself for wallowing in her grief, like if she was a little stronger she could make it go away: “Something’s gotta change, I know!”
My personal favorite track is “Hard to Love.” It’s teasing us, really: it builds and builds, and we expect a big, loud, grungey chorus like in Sugaregg’s “Let You” (among others), but we’re met with silence instead. Which makes it so much more satisfying when that release finally comes: “Hard to Love!” Bognanno belts in that signature rasp. She goes against instinct here, that first chorus even just a little too short, a little too little, so that it keeps us wanting more. It’s impressive, breaking the rules in the way only a master of her craft (with a decade and four albums of practice) can do it. This one’s pretty self-deprecating, too, like Bognanno’s still mad at herself for being the way that she is. But aren’t we all, at ourselves? “I can’t trust anyone,” she sings, “No matter how far they’d run / I’ll find a way to make you lie.”
Bognanno really shows off the masterful control she has over her voice on this release. It’s not always throaty grunge; she can do whatever the hell she wants. That pop vibe sort of grows as you get deeper into the album, with the slow and melodic “A Wonderful Life” (which sports a harmonica! How cool is that?) and the thoughtful, soft “Change Your Mind.” There’s something deeply personal and sometimes shameful in these tunes that simply can’t be screeched: “After all it’s unattractive for me to burden you with shame.” “How Will I Know” is like that, too, and she’s stuck again, thinking too much—this time about her own choices: “Gotta get out of my head / find something else to do / ‘cause there’s no point obsessing over what I would have changed.”
“A Love Profound” is the most experimental of the tracks, with garbled lo-fi spoken-word, and an off, eerie break in the music. Even the title is a little strange and poetic, romantic (the genre and the era). “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, trying to find you in places I would never think to see,” she speaks in the beginning, and you wonder where it’s going. But Bognanno can put alt-pop vocals over anything and it’ll sound good. Her voice, her lyrics, her skill as a songwriter is just that honed.
Sophie Allison of Soccer Mommy joins in on “Lose You,” and talk about 90s inspo: just call them Nina and Louise, ‘cause this one instantly invoked Veruca Salt for me. The little squeal of feedback and the angry-but-righteous minor chords on the chorus—it’s 90s NEWstalgia, like 90s nostalgia but, y’know, new—not like all the rest, somehow. Maybe that’s what happens when you get two of the coolest names in modern indie rock to do a song together. And Bognanno still can’t stop thinking: “The shades of blue that remind me of you are everywhere.” It really does start to feel like we’re inside her head, and there’s a lot going on in there—I guess that’s where all these songs come from.
“Ms. America” seems tragic in its soft, elegant intimacy. And it is tragic, but this song is political, not intimate: “Ms. America’s been calling / she’s been waiting on the line / wondering how you could respect her and then take her back in time.” This track feels like mourning, like something else has been lost. Once again, Bognanno’s frozen in that despair: “It’s hard when tragedy falls / to watch the world keep moving on.” With the context of ‘America’, you can pick out any one of these lyrics and understand exactly what it means: “If you’re heading towards the dream / what’s another hit and run?” It’s quiet, almost desolate, with no drums—the speaker seems really alone. But she’s not ’cause we’re all feeling the same way, aren’t we?
And of course I positively love “All This Noise.” A full 180 from the track before it in terms of energy, but it’s just the angrier side of that coin. If “Ms. America” was lonely and sad, this one is down. right. FURIOUS. “Ms. America” feels defeated and hopeless, but “All This Noise” is ready to fight. And where “Ms. America” is all dreamy metaphors, this one is literal and bare: “There’s an AR-15 in your house. It’s got one job to do / it’s quickly kill as many things that you want it to!” This track is true punk rock, like the bread on the other side of this album’s sandwich as we swing back into messy, rageful 90s shit. When that chorus hits, I’m ready to bellow “I’m tired of waiting!” along with her from the rooftops. Can this be our anthem for the revolution?
What more can I say? Alicia Bognanno knows what she’s doing: from bright, delicate indie-pop to impassioned, dirty grunge, plus everything in between and also whatever the heck else she wants. Do yourself a favor and give Lucky For You a listen ASAP and catch Bully on their US tour right now.
Lucky For Youwas released on June 2nd via Sub Pop and is available on Bandcamp and on all major streamers.
Silver Volt can be described as “music I don’t understand made up of sounds I absolutely love.” Lyrically sparse and sonically dense, the math/post-rock duo made up of Alex Woods (guitar) and Scott Balles (drums) spent the dark days of the pandemic really digging into the layers and scoring the complex arrangements of their debut EP.
At times majestically meticulous, while other times raw, gnarly and gross, the band worked in the studio with producer Chris Gilroy, where they really refined their sound, filling the sonic spectrum with live-loops, drum triggers, vocals, and effects pedals. Lead single “Ice Cream Man” probably veers closest to pop sensibility with a dope vocal line and sounds like a rad 8-bit Nintendo short-out just before you beat the boss.
But it’s the pile-driving ripper “Hot Shave” with its berserk overblown guitar riffs catching each and every crack of the drum snare, and the drunken fuzz stagger of “Perky Pat” that really grabbed my ear. Woods and Gilroy share a unique musical language of strange sounds, odd blips, and metallic clinks, and having played together in the equally mathy Reindeer Castle project, this is truly a product of couple of sound masters at work in the elements of their craft. I may not understand it, and definitely can’t count out the time signatures, but this old punk gives it two thumbs and four devil horns up.
Silver Volt is out now and available via Bandcamp and all major streamers.
