find my friends – find my friends
find my friends mastermind Sebastian Kinsler hates when guitars sound like guitars. This is not a surprise when you consider his work with hometown heroes feeble little horse, who bend noisy pop music into all kinds of strange shapes, but this solo project’s self-titled May debut (released through NYC’s bloody knuckles) pushes the boundaries even further. The album’s eight tracks, which run for a grand total of sixteen minutes, draw as much from drum ‘n’ bass and hip-hop as they do from rock. Percussion chitters and fizzes with caffeinated energy (there’s literally a track called “150 bpm”), chipmunk vocal samples babble like children learning language, and a producer tag, a la Maybach Music or 808Melo, intones cheekily throughout. And let’s not forget those guitars. They whir like they’re being sucked through a pneumatic tube (the ecstatic, glitchy opener “U get me”), whine with the nasal waver of miniature bagpipes (the wounded “No tools, no help”), and boing like dancing Slinkies (the anthemic “Call”). The songs build and drop like festival bangers, but the vocals and lyrics are shy, oblique, often focusing on the murmured repetition of one or two cryptic phrases. find my friends is a one-person rave, something you can fit in your pocket and carry around, a little secret.
If you enjoyed find my friends, you might also enjoy: filthy/funny EP by FLOOR BABA, Centurion by The Petals
Jack Swing – Like Water
“Daydreams,” the stutter-stepping first single from Jack Swing’s January debut LP, Like Water, dropped all the way back in 2021, so the album has the feel of a long-time-coming-out party, a celebration made sweeter by the years of work that preceded its arrival. This is rock and roll in its purest and funkiest form. Frontman Isaiah Ross has a magnetic voice, a honeyed belt that soars over airtight arrangements built around syncopated guitars, agile bass, and high-horsepower drums. The wah-wah features prominently, especially on the power-pop opener “Mind” and the shred-heavy “Mind’s Eye,” and the mystical chimes that permeate “In the Cosmos (Interlude)” conjure images of Jack Black squatting at the front of a classroom, singing about his rent. True rawk stuff. The lyrics, though, are anything but macho boasts. Ross candidly addresses his fears and struggles—the album’s first line is “Take the thoughts from out of my mind / Can’t take these thoughts coming out of my mind”—but ultimately finds relief on the penultimate title track, a slow-rolling sway that surrenders itself to the ebb and flow of the universe. If music could wear sunglasses, Like Water would be rocking Wayfarers.
If you enjoyed Like Water, you might also enjoy: Razz Newtons by Razz Newtons, Day of the Symbolic Herald by Dan Koshute
prepare thyself – Void Jazz
void jazz (Reptilian Snack Records), the July debut from prepare thyself—a duo comprising guitarist/synthesist Andrew Kruske (Chameleon Treat) and percussionist Eli Weidman (Ames Harding & the Mirage, L.T. Creacher)—emerged from several attic-bound improvisation sessions. Kruske, who works primarily with mood and texture, presented a series of pointillist guitar motifs, and Weidman, a technical wizard, elucidated the grooves inherent. Even with some cutting, pasting, and layering applied after the fact, the album’s five pieces thrum with the creative energy of the live jam. There’s a cosmic bent here; Kruske’s synths conjure stars and planets and quarks, while Weidman’s infinitely orbiting drum pulses establish a sense of gravity. It’s Music of the Spheres by way of Warp Records, from the moody, ritualistic simmer of opener “atoms, nothing else,” to the heart-quickening, pre-liftoff pit-a-pat of “ghost particle,” to the contemplative crescendo of “orbital decay.” Closer “spirits of the prism” ventures the furthest afield, riding radiant drones and agile drum fills outward to the reaches where transmissions fizzle and die. The synths enact that death, and it’s a peaceful one. On, then, to the infinite quiet.
If you enjoyed Void Jazz, you might also enjoy: This Is The Grip by THAT LIKE THIS, Flower to the Mind by Watererer
Tony From Bowling – Appear
Rough beasts have been slouching up I-79 from West Virginia recently. Between the “doom pop” group Natural Rat and the clamorous quartet Tony From Bowling—whose debut LP, Appear, dropped on Pittsburgh’s Michi Tapes label in February—some of Morgantown’s gnarliest noisemakers have established a fuzzy beachhead on the northern side of the state border. Appear begins with Tony briefly hiding its (his?) monstrous hand; opener “One” starts with a passage of sighing jangle before turning the distortion knob to eleven, where it remains for good. Even with riffs lurching all over the place, the band displays a strong dynamic sense, employing fried acoustic guitars, floating harmonies, and woozy synth accents in service of a heavy weightlessness best exemplified by shifting mid-album epics “Disappear”—parts of which sound like a nursery rhyme meant to keep children awake—and “Reappear”—whose thick chime recalls dream-pop only if you define dreams as spaces in which you feel like you’re moving through gelatin. The surreal tone darkens as the album progresses. Second track “Pyramids” gestures playfully at surf music, then leads straight into a beer-thirsty voicemail that serves as the intro to “Bonehead,” but by the time late album cuts like “Pink” and “Hell Is Real” roll around, the band is practicing pure necromancy. That is until closer “Well,” a Dadaist country gallop, shit-kicks you out the door. Appear boasts serious chops, but doesn’t take itself too seriously.
If you enjoyed Appear, you might also enjoy: Innervate/Obliterate by M.E.L.T., Heatseeker by Blinder
Vireo – the great golden gloom
Suzanne Gomes and Chris Beaulieu, the artists behind Vireo, make music in the manner of restless children exploring an old country house. On their latest release, November’s the great golden gloom, they employ bowls of water, pie plates, cashboxes, ripped paper, and mason jars as backing instruments for their guitars, banjos, and toybox synths. They harmonize imperfectly but endearingly, and sing about things like guinea pigs (the twangy, tongue-twisting “popchop”) and stream exploration (the intricate scale-sparkle dart of “catching minnows”). The music comes across as protectively cozy though, rather than cutesy or kitschy, due to the lurking presence of life’s great scourge: money. Gomes puts it bluntly on the interlude “0.00”: “I have no money in my bank account…again.” The key to the album’s appeal lies in “0.00”s sound, which is downright radiant. Chronic broke-ness is positioned as a kind of freedom, a catalyst for creativity. On the pattering reverie “cloudgazers,” a car languishes unfixed in the shop, but Gomes and Beaulieu are out, unbothered, watching fireflies and cumuli. Parts of the album were even recorded, covertly, in the homes of Beaulieu’s dog-sitting clients. Vireo’s ethos results in a homespun, pre-logical beauty that reaches a point of ragged grandeur on the closing title track, whose percussion sounds like somebody beatboxing through a snorkel. All in a day’s play.
If you enjoyed The Great Golden Gloom, you might also enjoy: carried away by nymphs by nico day sister, tiki by Derek White
Zack Keim – Battery Lane
February’s Battery Lane (Super Sport Records), is Zack Keim’s second album post-Nox Boys, whom he fronted during his high school years. That band kicked up a garage-rock ruckus, but the solo Keim trades in retro sunshine, sounds that would complement a bell-bottomed ramble along a California coastline, maybe a sunset drive. Acoustic guitars and layered harmonies abound, and producers Animal Scream and Jake Hanner maximize their effect by creating an echoey, sky-high aural space. Keim wields his voice chameleonically, pitching it at a warm creak, like that of an old porch swing (the sunny trickle of opener “Canyon”), a plaintive wisp, (the rich, timpani-assisted title track), a hungover Sunday morning grumble (the cherry blossom chime of “Washington DC”), a raucous shout (the hard-driving “25 years”), and even a cheery primal scream (the escapist “Wash Away The Pain”). Around him, the songs bloom and crescendo with cinematic sweep; the waltzing “Colors” aims so widescreen that the Penguins decided to feature it in one of their recent jersey reveal videos. Battery Lane doesn’t reinvent any wheels, because sometimes it’s better to just let them spin. How else would that convertible carry you down that sepia-toned highway?
If you enjoyed Battery Lane, you might also enjoy: Compressor//Sustainer by Essential Machine, C8ke by Coke Belda
40 winks – Love Is A Dog From Hell
forty winks’ May debut, a five-song EP called Love Is a Dog From Hell (Crafted Sounds), hits like a brightly-colored improvised explosive device, one filled with jump rope chant hooks, glitchy static bursts, magenta-hued drones, and fretboard workouts befitting a Guitar Center showoff session. These pieces of musical shrapnel collide jaggedly and unexpectedly, resulting in impressive amounts of variation both between and within tracks. While the bleary opening lament “liadfh” and the rapturous sound tunnel “faith” recall skull-rattling Creation Records shoegaze, the irrepressible “commie bf” and the coolly dismissive “noise” sound like turn-of-the-century radio anthems, albeit ones backed by mutant distortion squalls. On those latter tracks, bassist/vocalist Cilia Catello’s melodies glide and finger-wag, but Kyuhwan “Q” Hwang’s guitars rumble and divebomb and make zippy video game noises. The instruments express the internal chaos implied by the lyrics, which come in choppy fragments of abandon (“Flip a tire / Fist fight / Summer sorry / Train tracks / Midnight / Shoplift lip gloss / Fuck it / Alright,” from “commie bf”) and heartsickness (“Secrets say don’t start / Ripping me apart / Crush on me / Be my honey,” from “spurs,” which is half wobbly brood and half computer crash screamo). The EP is messy, surprising, and a dog’s hell of a lot of fun.
If you enjoyed Love Is A Dog From Hell, you might also enjoy: Split 007 by Gina Gory and Tony Bontana, Scrum Force on Ice: Live at Gooski’s by Scrum Force
Black Moth Super Rainbow – Soft New Magic Dream
Pittsburgh’s favorite robo-freaks resurfaced in June with their eighth studio album, Soft New Magic Dream (Rad Cult), and they sound downright smitten this time around. The group’s signature brand of dust-coated, acid-fried synth psychedelia retains its queasy edge, but it’s tempered here by an extra dose of gooey sweetness; you could imagine Tobacco and company recording with melting heart-shaped candies stuck to their eyes. The music possesses a weariness—the fizzling “Open the Fucking Fantasy” and the swishy “Tastebud” both power down at points before sputtering back to life—but it’s the languor of a summer liedown after a long day spent hiking, as opposed to the exhaustion induced by burnout. You get the sense that there’s a love-bot to thank for this newfound contentment. Several songs sound like actual slow jams, from the trailing smolder of the instrumentals down to the vocoder-treated lyrics, which promise, “I’m never gonna go” (the burbling “Demon’s Glue”), and “They don’t see you like I do” (the lysergic wedding dance “Unknown Potion”). It’s like Keith Sweat emerged from the Altered States flotation tank. This is BMSR’s spin on romance, though, so you also get freaky gems like, “The sunburn that you gave me with your eyes / Is nothing I would wanna heal,” from the head-bobbing bird chorus of “The Eyes in Season.” What’s a little peeling when you’re in love, right?
If you enjoyed Soft New Magic Dream, you might also enjoy: Balloonerism by Mac Miller, More Music From a Dream I Forgot by Dragon Warrior
The Gotobeds – Masterclass
It’s a brash move to name your album Masterclass, but what are the Gotobeds if not brash? In May, they dropped their first release in six years (on the 12XU label, after two prior releases on Sub Pop), and immediately reminded everyone why they’re one of Pittsburgh’s most beloved bands. Even with a new lineup, the group’s brand of confrontational scuzz remains as rousing as ever. The sound here is downright filthy. Guitars churn like chunky peanut butter on the ripping “Goes Away,” squall away on the nasty, brutish, and short “Non-Fucking Fiction,” and loop-the-loop like broken amusement park rides on the epic closer “Mirror Writing,” and the drums hit like bareknuckle punches. The Gotobeds make gutter music with the aim of protecting the gutter at all costs, from tasteless critics (targeted on the tension wire pogo “Fante,” which draws inspiration from the overlooked LA author), from entitled dudes (lambasted on the gnarly “Hey John!”), and even from those who hope to shed their own gutter-ness (the writhing opener “Starz,” which promises, “If you reach for the stars / I’ll never see you again”). The Gotobeds don’t need your approval, but with an album like Masterclass, they’re bound to get it anyway.
If you enjoyed Masterclass, you might also enjoy: XD by sorry face, Angel of Death by Criminal Manhunter
André Costello – Rocky Mountain Low
Scene veteran André Costello (André Costello and the Cool Minors, Forestry Division) released his first official solo record, Rocky Mountain Low, in August, and it sounds utterly gorgeous. Supported both production-wise and instrumentally by Anthony LaMarca—a member of master sonic sculptors the War on Drugs—Costello crafted the album over six painstaking years, and the result is a collection of nine songs in which every guitar and vocal note, every snare hit, every swirl of keyboard finds its place. Each time a passage requires a twinkling acoustic fill, a piano surge, an organ swoop, a metronomic drum flourish, it’s right there in the mix, waiting to give you a little hug. The music, a breezy sierra meadow kind of Americana, evokes 70s standouts like Jackson Brown, John Denver, Eagles, and Neil Young, from the guitar buzz shuffle of “Background Actor” to the unhurried rocking chair groove of “Pinin’” to the lonesome strum of “Broken Board.” Little flourishes, though, like the trippy guitar tweaks featured on songs like “Can We Hang” and “So In Love With You,” place us squarely in the present day. Timeless stuff, right on time.
If you enjoyed Rocky Mountain Low, you might also enjoy: All Within Reach by Woodland Creatures, St. Clair by mégane
Dizzier – Rot, Dead Car
A string of muted demos released over the past few years made it clear that Jake Urbano, Dizzier’s founder/guitarist/co-vocalist, has songwriting chops and a penchant for elusive, dusky melancholy. Dizzier’s expansion into a quintet, though, has given Urbano’s compositions the room they need to breathe, sharpen, and deepen, often to miraculous effect. The group released its debut LP, Rot, Dead Car (YEAH! TAPES), in April, and it’s one of the best things to come out of the city in a while. Opener “kudzu” encapsulates the album’s strengths: the ringing twang, the half-lidded melodies, the interplay between Urbano and co-vocalist Tupelo Donovan—whose first sung line, the word “Higher,” slow and drawn out, curls like a breeze on the back of the neck—and the build to a raw, raging crescendo. The snap from dreamy glimmer to crushing angst never loses its bracing effect, be it the anthemic distortion storm that blows through the misty, cowpoking suite of “dig for worms” and “it’s raining,” the grinding dirge that roars to life halfway through “a dead bee”s slowcore float, or the fever dream coda that caps waltzing possession tale “rosemary.” Impressive stuff, and from home recording, no less. The sound may be immense now, but the spirit remains DIY ‘til the car rots and dies
If you enjoyed Rot, Dead Car, you might also enjoy: Salvation Sound EP by King Blue Heron, In Transit by Mila Moon
Farade – Before Death, We Blossom
I don’t know if Farade ever leaves the studio. He’s dropped four releases this year alone (by my count), with another set for December 31st. The hip-hop artist’s boldest statement was April’s Before Death, We Blossom, a thirty-track album whose use of skits, abundance of styles, and page-filling roster of producers and guests give it the feel of a throwback mixtape, the type of work on which caution is tossed to the wind in favor of experimentation, collaboration, and plain old fun. You’d think that only so many words could be said at a time without a sense of staleness creeping in, but Farade’s rhymes flow effortlessly, with unforced wit and oddball sensibility. Add in the distinct personalities contained within the feature list, which reads like a rundown of underrated Pittsburgh wordsmiths and singers (BrothaMans, PNa$ty, MarcTheBull, New Zephland, BBGuns, Saiko Kastelliano, SoulfulTone, Lando Ash, to name a few), and the unconventional instrumental choices, and you’ve got something fresh, something truly alive. It moves unbridled between moody free association (opener “How Do I Start?”), rage-ready electronic thump (“Honest,” “Going Down”), laid-back glide (“Backyard,” “Carpet,” “Shimmy”), and wavy, textured psychedelia (“BLUE,” “YELLOW,” “Medusa”). Who says less is always more?
If you enjoyed Before Death, We Blossom, you might also enjoy: Clocks&Mirrors by AARIE, a Work in Progress by Nardo Says
