Sockhop Massacre - "Enhanced Interrogation Techniques" (self-released)
I guess this is a debut single?
Sockhop Massacre have built a reputation in their short lifetime as an off-the-walls live band. Their first official single "Enhanced Interrogation Techniques" transfers that chaos from the stage to a streaming service near you. Good recording adds a ton, creating a dimension of immediacy that sets the track apart from any of their demos (which are still worth checking out — the Parquet Courts cover is especially sick).
Imagine a concoction that mixes the rhythm sections of post-punk, some surf-rock-esque guitars, and lo-fi vocals. Got it? You probably came up with something similar to "Enhanced Interrogation Techniques." The band comes across like they're on a mission from God and if they falter for ever a moment, everything will fall to pieces. It's a seamless combination of danceability and noise.
Listen to "Enhanced Interrogation Techniques" below.
After putting out a pair of strange yet extremely rewarding EPs with Hallucitania, Griffin Energy Turtle Thiel has struck out on his own with an EP-length collaboration with Spelt Melk Collective's Ari Pentelovitch. His sonic palette remains firmly within the realm of what one might call folk punk, if you had to box it in. But, as with Hallucitania, Thiel's music overflows out of any possible attempt at containment.
Opener "Friends with Drugs" is a rollicking rock song that uses jaunty melodies to hide a deep well of agony. It's full of self-loathing and doubt, wondering if all the friendships in Thiel's life go beyond the transactional. His voice is still a glorious roar, making it an absolute pleasure to hear the lyrics get screamed directly into your ears. Thiel and Pentelovitch's guitars are bursting with vitality, particularly the prickly chorus riff. Plus, the song has one of the best lines in recent memory with "If I stopped texting first, would I ever leave my bed set?"
"Tylenol PM" and "Move to Florida" continue the drugged-up-and-depressed theme. The former is upbeat despite being about mixing pain meds and alcohol; it also features a self-described "whistling / do's" break in the middle. The latter is probably the first song I've ever heard that concludes a verse of existentialism and active suicidal ideation with a full-on ska breakdown. The sheer unexpectedness of it all is darkly humorous, which seems on-brand for Thiel, even if I feel a little guilty for laughing at the absurdity.
The EP concludes with "Garage Song," which is, well, a big dumb garage rock song. It's definitely something that would be a firestarter at a gig — what else are giant, fuzzed-out riffs for?
While Cardboard Box Songs doesn't have all the off-the-walls insanity of Hallucitania, Thiel has managed to condense his best sonic ideas and some of his best lyrics into a solid EP (even if it is longer than either of his band's releases). Listen or buy it below.
Opener "Friends with Drugs" is a rollicking rock song that uses jaunty melodies to hide a deep well of agony. It's full of self-loathing and doubt, wondering if all the friendships in Thiel's life go beyond the transactional. His voice is still a glorious roar, making it an absolute pleasure to hear the lyrics get screamed directly into your ears. Thiel and Pentelovitch's guitars are bursting with vitality, particularly the prickly chorus riff. Plus, the song has one of the best lines in recent memory with "If I stopped texting first, would I ever leave my bed set?"
"Tylenol PM" and "Move to Florida" continue the drugged-up-and-depressed theme. The former is upbeat despite being about mixing pain meds and alcohol; it also features a self-described "whistling / do's" break in the middle. The latter is probably the first song I've ever heard that concludes a verse of existentialism and active suicidal ideation with a full-on ska breakdown. The sheer unexpectedness of it all is darkly humorous, which seems on-brand for Thiel, even if I feel a little guilty for laughing at the absurdity.
The EP concludes with "Garage Song," which is, well, a big dumb garage rock song. It's definitely something that would be a firestarter at a gig — what else are giant, fuzzed-out riffs for?
While Cardboard Box Songs doesn't have all the off-the-walls insanity of Hallucitania, Thiel has managed to condense his best sonic ideas and some of his best lyrics into a solid EP (even if it is longer than either of his band's releases). Listen or buy it below.
Little Lizard - "Ghost Shows" (Guilt Ridden Pop Records)
The Twin Cities' foremost funk punk is back with another single from their now-delayed album EARTHLINGS. "Ghost Shows" is significantly darker musically than previous single "Take Me To Your Leader," but it still retains the duo's trademark humorous sensibilities.
Fitting the song's title, Little Lizard have created their version of Scooby Doo chase music. Lizz D.'s trumpet takes lead confidently and guides the song like a flashlight in a haunted house. The synths never rise above a low, slightly-haunting rumble. Lizz's melodies contrast with Daniel's shuddering bass — high vs. low, pitch vs. hum. The resulting song is spooky yet danceable. Arguably, that was the duo's goal with the track. So to that, I say "mission accomplished."
Watch the video for "Ghost Shows" below, directed by the band themselves.
Fitting the song's title, Little Lizard have created their version of Scooby Doo chase music. Lizz D.'s trumpet takes lead confidently and guides the song like a flashlight in a haunted house. The synths never rise above a low, slightly-haunting rumble. Lizz's melodies contrast with Daniel's shuddering bass — high vs. low, pitch vs. hum. The resulting song is spooky yet danceable. Arguably, that was the duo's goal with the track. So to that, I say "mission accomplished."
Watch the video for "Ghost Shows" below, directed by the band themselves.
Prairie Clamor - Spilling Light (Friendly Puppy Music)
Let it be said that there's no such thing as too much ambition. Prairie Clamor is the one-person recording project of Will Bjorndal and Spilling Light is his maximalist genre-defying opus.
According to the album's Bandcamp, Bjorndal played around 30 instruments across its nearly 80-minute duration, in addition to writing, recording, and engineering the whole thing. Each song is its own universe, absolutely untethered from what came before or what came after. Never before have I heard so many seemingly disparate sounds crammed into a single record.
There are songs that bridge the gap between folk and gec-like hyperpop. There's a metal song that is literally about zipper merges (called "Zipper Merge," shockingly). Not only that, but it segues into a beautiful second phase of harmonized vocals and plinking piano. There's a strange allure, even if the lyrics are "Inching through / to the zipper merge." Tiny moments like this pop up all over the record, where a song seems to be going one way only to zig-zag in the exact opposite. Pick any group of songs on the album and your head will likely be spinning after listening.
The prime synecdoche for Spilling Light is the run from "Elma" through "Plastic Chair." "Elma" evokes peak Ben Folds with meandering piano and an earnest vocal performance from Bjorndal. Subsequent track "Pop Music Savior" is the record's longest song and certainly its strangest. Guitars and synths layer on top of each other in an absurd musical cairn until it reaches its anthemic peak and almost infringes on the realm of chugging butt-rock. Suddenly, the bottom falls out. Bjorndal's voice is doused in effects and the track's second half is revealed to be some sort of PC Music remix of itself. In the search for the highest highs, Bjorndal causes an avalanche of sound, nearing a bizarre approximation of brostep and industrial. One can almost imagine a kid who inhaled a six pack of Red Bull and copious amounts of Fun Dip getting a hold on the stadium rock part of the song and absolutely blowing it to bits.
Without skipping a beat, "Peanut Butter" follows up the ludicrousness of the previous track with a gentle acoustic ode to, well, peanut butter. And by peanut butter, I mean a melancholy dissection of what it means to take from even the simplest things and the acceptance that one can't live life without a little consumption and pain. Spilling Light's foremost quartet of absurdity concludes with "Plastic Chair," which is ostensibly about sitting in a plastic chair. However, the chair represents the phenomenon of creation and the interconnectedness of matter. Or something like that. This time, Bjorndal's off-kilter musings are framed with a folky and spirited exhalation of mandolin and harmony.
If anything, Spilling Light is a testament to commitment. It was written over the course of eight months and recorded in 3-4 months of dedicated time. Bjorndal is earnest in his wholehearted embrace of every musical whim whirring through his head. The experience of the album is similar to what I imagine riding a massive Hot Wheels track for nearly an hour-and-a-half would be like. Spilling Light is unorthodox, though not in a pretentious way. These songs don't end up in the strange places they do out of Bjorndal's desire to be "seen" as experimental. He is an ardent explorer, shining a light all around a massive cave in the hopes of finding gems embedded in the rock. It takes time to reveal the treasure buried inside, but it's found nonetheless.
Listen to and buy Spilling Light below or stream it on the service of your choice. Watch Prairie Clamor's music videos here; they were created in collaboration with Bjorndal's brother Peter, who also contributed to "Pop Music Savior" and "Luxury of the Wave."
According to the album's Bandcamp, Bjorndal played around 30 instruments across its nearly 80-minute duration, in addition to writing, recording, and engineering the whole thing. Each song is its own universe, absolutely untethered from what came before or what came after. Never before have I heard so many seemingly disparate sounds crammed into a single record.
There are songs that bridge the gap between folk and gec-like hyperpop. There's a metal song that is literally about zipper merges (called "Zipper Merge," shockingly). Not only that, but it segues into a beautiful second phase of harmonized vocals and plinking piano. There's a strange allure, even if the lyrics are "Inching through / to the zipper merge." Tiny moments like this pop up all over the record, where a song seems to be going one way only to zig-zag in the exact opposite. Pick any group of songs on the album and your head will likely be spinning after listening.
The prime synecdoche for Spilling Light is the run from "Elma" through "Plastic Chair." "Elma" evokes peak Ben Folds with meandering piano and an earnest vocal performance from Bjorndal. Subsequent track "Pop Music Savior" is the record's longest song and certainly its strangest. Guitars and synths layer on top of each other in an absurd musical cairn until it reaches its anthemic peak and almost infringes on the realm of chugging butt-rock. Suddenly, the bottom falls out. Bjorndal's voice is doused in effects and the track's second half is revealed to be some sort of PC Music remix of itself. In the search for the highest highs, Bjorndal causes an avalanche of sound, nearing a bizarre approximation of brostep and industrial. One can almost imagine a kid who inhaled a six pack of Red Bull and copious amounts of Fun Dip getting a hold on the stadium rock part of the song and absolutely blowing it to bits.
Without skipping a beat, "Peanut Butter" follows up the ludicrousness of the previous track with a gentle acoustic ode to, well, peanut butter. And by peanut butter, I mean a melancholy dissection of what it means to take from even the simplest things and the acceptance that one can't live life without a little consumption and pain. Spilling Light's foremost quartet of absurdity concludes with "Plastic Chair," which is ostensibly about sitting in a plastic chair. However, the chair represents the phenomenon of creation and the interconnectedness of matter. Or something like that. This time, Bjorndal's off-kilter musings are framed with a folky and spirited exhalation of mandolin and harmony.
If anything, Spilling Light is a testament to commitment. It was written over the course of eight months and recorded in 3-4 months of dedicated time. Bjorndal is earnest in his wholehearted embrace of every musical whim whirring through his head. The experience of the album is similar to what I imagine riding a massive Hot Wheels track for nearly an hour-and-a-half would be like. Spilling Light is unorthodox, though not in a pretentious way. These songs don't end up in the strange places they do out of Bjorndal's desire to be "seen" as experimental. He is an ardent explorer, shining a light all around a massive cave in the hopes of finding gems embedded in the rock. It takes time to reveal the treasure buried inside, but it's found nonetheless.
Listen to and buy Spilling Light below or stream it on the service of your choice. Watch Prairie Clamor's music videos here; they were created in collaboration with Bjorndal's brother Peter, who also contributed to "Pop Music Savior" and "Luxury of the Wave."
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