Brooklyn-based project Helenor emboldens the sensations of grief on the new music video for “Bad2”, out today. Conceived by visual artist Indie DiMartino, you can watch the video for “Bad2” now premiering on the ugly hug.
Helenor is the creative DIY project of David DiAngelis, who, last month released his sophomore record, A public place, off ofMtn. Laurel Recording Co. After dropping everything and moving to New York as the pandemic let up, A public place is representative of this wandering – a buffer between where he’s been and where he’s going as the world seemingly blows by.
Opening A public place, “Bad2” grows from a mellow haze – an episode of brain fog reluctant to part as DiAngelis feels fated to grief’s plot. Though his life appears to be static, the song presses onward with a blend of grounded acoustic guitars and revitalizing synthesizers.
“This song is a soundtrack for pretending you have the ability to be present, so for the video we wanted it to feel like an erratic playback of memory,” DiAngelis says.
The music video consists of an impressive and sensory fulfilling array of filming techniques and artistic mediums, as DiMartino, the video’s creator, explains:
“The film for Bad2 exists as an erratic playback of a memory. To portray this feeling of messy dissociation, its process pulled from an array of experimental analog compositing practices and mediums. The project’s footage and titles were shot to 8mm film, with some shots relying on in camera mattes and rear projection. Just as well, some of these film scans were manually scrubbed through and reshot on an old LCD the width of a thumb. A quarter of the project’s runtime was physically printed and rescanned frame by frame. A technique was implemented to further distress these selected sequences by “hand-blooming” the highlights with paint and charcoal.”
Although these styles transition and blur, creating a feeling of disconnection between settings and sensations, the one thing that remains consistent through it all is DiAngelis’ presence, no matter how disorienting it may appear.
Helenor will be playing a Palestine Benefit Event along with Katy Kirby and Jules Olsen on May 21. You can stream A public place on all platforms as well as purchase it on vinyl or CD.
Today, Feller, the Chicago-based post-rock duo, share two new singles from their forthcoming debut EP, Universal Miracle Worker(due May 28 via Angel Tapes/Fire Talk). Both tracks are accompanied by a visualizer made by Brady Sheridan, and you can listen to “New Cotton” and “Air Mail Tablet” premiering on the ugly hug.
Feller is composed of drummer Ethan Toenjes (Sleepwalk, Old Coke) and guitarist/vocalist Pete Willson (Cafe Racer), whose concise, far-reaching and captivating sound has found a comfortable home in Chicago’s expansive DIY scene. Making no sacrifice to their individuality, though, Feller stands out in their unique disposition; heavy, eccentric, patient, volatile – and every which reactionary pleasure that they feel fits in the moment.
“Air Mail Tablet” and “New Cotton” showcase Feller as a rock n’ roll assemblage; embodying the most endearing parts of post-punk, post-rock and post-hardcore that still feels fresh in delivery and irresistible in nature. “Air Mail Tablet” is a fever dream, energized by an instrumental groove that floats between loose guitar layers, haunting vocal manipulations and Toenjes’ snug and propulsive drumming. “New Cotton” demonstrates the duo’s natural ability to shift and build around a centralized idea. As patterns melt and mold, showcasing the duo’s extensive knowledge of rock music structures – and lack thereof – the song always returns to its melodic, and often restorative, center.
Universal Miracle Worker will be available on limited edition orange cassettes via Fire Talk’s extension, Angel Tapes.
Debut album, I’m Green from Nashville based singer/songwriter, Mali Velasquez welcomes you into her inner world of grief, heartache, and shame. You’ll find your own sorrows conjured up alongside Velasquez’s, uncover some of the wisdom that lay beneath suffering, and leave with a sense of solidarity that is rare to find in a world that often feels so disconnected.
I first listened to this album last fall when I had just moved to Portland, Oregon, greeted by skies draped in a perpetual grey. As winter’s chill settled in, the poignant motifs woven through I’m Green became a comforting presence amidst the city’s collective sense of gloom. Now as spring emerges, and the city teems with blossoming trees and flowers, I resonate more with the transformative nature of this album, turning anguish into wisdom, and shame into acceptance.
Opening track “Bobby” invites us into Velasquez’s world of loss and contemplation and ends with instrumentals that bleed seamlessly into the second track, “Shove”, as she delves into interpersonal turmoil driven by fuzzy guitar tones and a droning drumline. Velasquez’s swaying vocals capture the depth of feeling that she offers throughout the entirety of I’m Green.
This album never fails to engage and evoke with palpable pain throughout each song and Velasquez’s knack for creating vivid imagery inviting the listener into a fully fleshed out and deeply aware world. “Medicine”, is one of many stand out tracks that opens with subtle instrumentals, allowing the listener to connect to the demanding emotion expressed in Velasquez’s warbling voice. You’ll feel this depth in lyrical moment’s like “your mom seems so proud of you, well mine’s in the ground” on “Medicine” and “Did I bite a hole in your neck and then drain you dry?” on “Shove”.
I’m Green has a knack for evoking emotions that sometimes lay dormant in a way that fosters productive introspection. I was fortunate to catch her and her band live, opening for A. Savage at Mississippi Studios in Portland, OR earlier this month. They opened with Decider, a moving ode to living in the depths of hopelessness and despair, setting the tone for a particularly impactful live show. The band shared three new songs that surely won’t disappoint when released.
Discovering an artist who courageously invites you into the intricacies of their experience is a privilege – one of many qualities that have left me completely smitten with Velasquez’s work. With finely crafted indie folk compositions seamlessly harmonizing with Velasquez’s narrative, the album offers profound solace found in the shared experience of suffering and creative expression.
For me, I’m Green turned out to be more than just an album; it became an affecting exploration of life’s trials and uncovering one’s capacity for acceptance and compassion – building on reflections that are all at once brutal, tender, and empathic. It’s a rare gift to leave an album with a deeper sense of connection and greater understanding of the human experience and I’m Green gives the gift of deliverance and catharsis you won’t want to miss out on.
Every Friday, a staff member at the ugly hug curates a list of their five favorite new(ish) releases to share with us all. This week, our writer Cassidy put together a list of indie-folk heartthrobs, twangy love songs and bedroom pop spinners.
“Right Back to It” by Waxahatchee (feat. MJ Lenderman)
Ugh, I just love achy country twang songs. Waxahatchee, the project of Katie Crutchfield, has become one of my favorite artists over the past couple of years. Listening to her album Saint Cloud took my life in a new direction, and that direction was my return to loving country or country-adjacent music. She recently released her sixth solo, full-length project, Tigers Blood, which is where “Right Back to It” resides. This track features MJ Lenderman of the band Wednesday, whom we love here at The Ugly Hug. In the way of production, the bass line offers a swing-and-sway and allows for a haunting little banjo melody to peak its way through. As the title implies, this song is all about falling back into the arms of a past flame. The comfort that appears when you’re around someone who knows you so well, while also knowing all the reasons it never worked out. A vicious cycle.
“Leave” by Phoebe Go
Phoebe Go popped up on my radar back in October with her release “Something You Were Trying,” and then, serendipitously, she ended up opening for Briston Maroney on the first half of his U.S. tour at the end of 2023/early 2024, which I was in attendance for in Milwaukee, WI. Building up to her first album release, Marmalade, on May 17th she has been releasing absolutely stinger singles. I would say banger but everyone has given me some extreme heartburn while listening. “Leave” is the third single released in this circuit and holy smokes. The guitar work along with the easy-going drums make a perfect canvas for a devastating self-analysis of relationship insecurities. Asking the question, “Are you gonna leave me? / Tell me what’s it gonna be?” There is a little “huh” that adds an extra pang during the chorus, and I just love production treasures like that.
“Heart Shaped Locket” by Shallow Alcove
If this song came out in 2019/2020, I genuinely think it would have ruined my life. “Heart Shaped Locket,” offers a devastating narrative about growing up and leaving the comfort of home. The gorgeous harmonies created by the band of friends make the deep ache of letting go grow exponentially. I highly recommend listening to this one horizontally with a box of tissues nearby. Check out Shallow Alcove’s most recent release Keepsakes.
“Chariot” by Babehoven
Babehoven has easily become a staple in my rotation after seeing them open for Slow Pulp back in November. “Chariot” is a part of their new project Water’s Here In You released last Friday. This song feels like a hug after a long day of doing something you didn’t enjoy. I often listen to it on my walk home from work and it just puts me at ease. The mellow guitars and laid-back bass lines offer a warm tenderness which is also reflected in the soothing lyrics, “This time, you’re moving through it, you’ve found a way out / And you’re gonna keep it close / This time you’re clean, between and you’ll be / Sparkling even through the chaos.” It’s like a hype song without the hype.
“Sadness As A Gift” by Adrianne Lenker
This one was hard to put words to. Adrianne Lenker has a pure talent for writing the most gut-wrenching songs while leaving enough space for the listener to apply their own experiences to them. “Sadness As A Gift” was the second single released in preparation for her new album Bright Future, which dropped back in March. Lenker takes us through a break-up in the span of this 4-minute and 19-second track, and while not going into too much detail, allows the listener inside of the relationship with her intense lyrics. Starting with, “You and I both know / There is nothing more to say,” in order to take us on this journey of acceptance and understanding. Rather than leaving in anger, she leaves with an appreciation for everything the relationship was.
Dallas based musician, actress and visual artist Tex Patrello is an anomaly in many ways. After the release of 2017’s short EP, yellow curse, her musical career has flourished in the celestial outers – but once you discover it, her artistry becomes impossible to look away from. Expanding our comprehension of what a bedroom musician can be, brandishing her own style of dysfunctional and twisted pop music, Patrello has always pushed the boundaries of what we consider capable by an individual.
Last week, Patrello finally released her highly anticipated debut full-length, Minotaur, off of Texas label, View No Country. After spending seven years in the making, Minotaur was conceived with the mindset of a musical, accumulating characters, thematic squirmings, suggestive imagery and the sheer magnitude of interpretations that make for a project of grand proportions. Overt patriotism, body objectification, attentive despondency – the world that Minotaur exudes feels obsessive, sinful, and sexy, yet utterly revitalizing at the same time. Patrello, who embodies herself throughout the album, encounters various characters that direct her decisions; Ricky the football player, Lou the matured suitor, and The Beast. Minotaur, as a whole, is a manipulation of reality, a mere delusion that Patrello has manufactured herself for the pure purpose of understanding where and what she is truly connected to.
With ten engaging songs, some creeping over the six minute mark, Minotaur is reluctant to let up. With a continual build of haunting avant-pop contusions, waltzing, hollowing lows and high spiritual frenzies that fluctuate with Patrello’s throbbing heart, Minotaur squeezes out as much expansive, and oftentimes charmingly offensive, production styles as possible. At its core, songs like “Panda Express”, “Wichita Falls” and “Anything Goes” still seamlessly flow with whimsy over shifting patterns and arcing instrumentation that Patrello bundled into the prog-like folk style of yellow curse. But beyond that, Minotaur is magnetic, clinging to new sounds of ravaging orchestrations, acrobatic vocals and electronic decays as Patrello’s posture wavers through song structures, molding from one idea into the next with such strategic thought and execution.
Breaking down her process, Patrello is patient when shaping melodies. “I find whatever makes me feel a high at that moment. I extract that, and I end up joining those extractions together.” As far as the individual songs go, she continues, “I tend to keep building upon them – making sure I love every corner and turn in it. I just didn’t want to have anything I didn’t love in this album.” In its full construction, “I would say that there is no song on this album that’s under 50 tracks. And there’s some, I think, that are 400 tracks.” She recalls, “it’s two different projects, because it wouldn’t even work if I had it in one. My computer wouldn’t work.”
Spending seven years endlessly working through these configurations, flexing through instrumentations and concepts as well as learning to mix and master on her own, this magnitude of time and intensity is vital in the name of Patrello’s artistry. There are multitudes of shifts and changes, blending patience with needs, as personal tribulations sway her perception of reality. “I knew a story I wanted to tell, but I didn’t want to push anything. I wanted to write a musical, but have every song come naturally – as if I wanted to make a movie, but every scene happens to me before I put it in.”
Patrello’s world is strikingly unique and personal, pulling us in with cartoonish characters and tropes that only further intensify the situations. These characters are structured within convoluted juxtapositions that feel distressed within her own being as she experiences them in real time. “I feel like one of my biggest sources of inspiration comes from things that I have no interest in,” she confesses, something that feels oppositional to what we are often told – “write what you know”. “I don’t know anything about sports but I’ve written like 5 songs about football,” and yet, football becomes a symbol of power, sex and eventually hostility as Minotaur unfolds into its climax.
In the opening track we are introduced to the all-American football star’s son, Ricky. It starts with a white flash, an intense heat, as Patrello demands the car come to a stop, when Ricky first appears and this delusion begins. Changing out of his football pads, she sneaks a look at his perfect athletic body. “I crouch/ It’s some hunk in his backseat now/ He’s undressing/ He lifts his jersey/ It’s Ricky”, she croons, struck with instant infatuation. “Ricky is real in a way. He’s a bunch of different people that I’ve lived with these last seven years,” Patrello admits. He lives on a pedestal in her mind, being the only one who can satisfy her lust for perfection – perfect image, perfect smile, perfect body, perfect lover, perfect sex.
When writing Minotaur, Patrello was very intrigued by the Nelson Family, who, crossing decades, held a looming level of adoration in American culture throughout the 1950’s during their long running sitcom, The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. “They were the perfect family of the time,” Patrello says. “The show is literally just about their family,” consisting of Ozzie and Harriet, and their two sons David and Ricky. “The episodes aren’t very interesting. The stories they tell aren’t interesting at all,” but this TV family was meant to portray the very real Nelson family as the perfect, All-American, white picket fence – true patriots of the middle class mirage – that the American narrative forced at the time. But on the contrary, blending this level of perfectionism with real people who were very much not, brought out the inevitable, and quite public, destruction of what was reality to them.
As the most interactive character, Ricky holds a level of control over Patrello, whether he is aware of his powers or not. “I’m kind of using someone as my muse for [Ricky], but most of the time the person I’m writing about is apathetic or rude or uncaring. And so I think that in my head Ricky has a lot of highs and lows in this album.” As Ricky lives his life, strongly on his own terms, Patrello’s relationship to him always feels to be trailing behind in whatever capacity Ricky will allow. “My fluctuations are probably just responses to Ricky’s fluctuations. He’s sort of calling the shots on what I’m thinking and what I’m feeling.”
For as much as the album revolves around Ricky, the real focal point that drives the story is the way that Patrello interprets the distance of their relationship and her own autonomy. “I think in Ricky’s world, I’m not as much of a concern to him. So I think it’s more about my progression than his.” The song “Long Lost Pimp” trails a brief moment of liberation as Patrello tries to push Ricky away, seeking out the compassion of an older man named Lou. “Wichita Falls” feels like a holy communion as Patrello sees Ricky finally committing to her. “That trip to Wichita Falls, I think, is like a baptism for me in that lake. My yoke is being loosened. My sin is being drowned.” Songs like “Slick-Dick’s Baby” show violence in the same vein as sex and passion, as Patrello watches Ricky dominate his football game, becoming unwieldy and lascivious by her love for him. “Love me like you love America/ And when you choke that fucker, call me wife/ And when he’s out, my god, I love my life.” As her character’s direction feels fated from the beginning, “I think I’m just responding to Ricky most of the time,” Patrello admits.
“I would say that The Beast is the opposite of my relationship with Ricky”. To Patrello, The Beast, or for namesake, The Minotaur, can be a culmination of a lot of different things in her day to day surroundings – the things that she overlooks in the name of casualty and routine, though they always offer some supportive ground below her feet. “I feel like I was trying to have Texas speak through me a little bit. When I’m more connected to The Beast, I’m more connected to the Earth and I’m more low to the ground and present in this land – in Texas specifically.” Unlike the uncertainty that Ricky excretes, The Beast, and its many possible representations, feels comfortable in his presence and actions. “I feel as though I’m more a resident of my room than of any city, because I’m not out super often, but when I am, I feel very connected to Texas and this land surrounding me.”
In a lot of ways, Patrello utilizes the Greek origin story of the Minotaur, one of lust, conquer and betrayal, as a source of direction and relation for her own story. As it goes, Theseus is sent from Athens on a mission to slay the Minotaur that lives in the Labyrinth, but arrives wildly unprepared. Ariadne, the mistress of the Labyrinth, sees Theseus and quickly falls in love with him. Fearing that he will be killed in this fateful battle, Ariadne equips him with the tools he needs, but only on the premise that if he succeeds, he must marry her. “I’m connecting myself to Ariadne,” Patrello asserts, mirroring her own story with Ricky – falling helplessly in love until he, almost predictably, abandons her on a whim.
In the end, Patrello is filled with the guilt of neglecting, forfeiting, and having a hand at slaying The Beast – not until he is dead does it become clear the significance he has on her life. The second to last song “Pony Meat” plays as a memory, spent “reconnecting to a past life where I might have been Ariadne,” as she sings,” “Animal, you animal/ So sweet to me/ I didn’t know, how could/ I know/ Just what you mean?” There is desperation in her voice, each line more sobering than the next. Ricky is gone, The Beast is dead, the world she has built is crumbling and her true reality has succumbed to darkness. In its stillness, Patrello admits her realization – “it’s wanting what you can’t have. The Beast is what I’ve had, and it’s hard to see that comfort or beauty in him with how enthralled I am with Ricky.”
In her process of accumulating inspiration, choosing to write about things that she has no interest in, such as Ricky’s All-American football career, there was a distance between Patrello and Ricky from the beginning, where Ricky was always going to be more idolized than truly loved. “I think when writing [“Pony Meat”], the whole time I felt more connected to the Minotaur and that sort of like dirty or freaky side of me that I wouldn’t allow to be seen by Ricky,” Patrello admits, continuing, “I feel that I’m not putting something on as much anymore.” That is where the difference between Ricky and The Beast becomes gripping – in whose claws does Patrello feel most connected and grounded to be her true self.
“The Minotaur is a human body with a bull’s head, of course, and I think that that’s why I’m most connected to him,” she conveys. “I feel similarly, in a way, where I feel like I’m a pretty face on a beast’s body or the other way around.” This duality, half man/half beast perfectly interprets human nature – sinful, lustful, rabid, violent, egregious animals who can put on pants and a tie and call it civilized. Like the Nelson Family, blinded by the lights of Hollywood, the paparazzi and their own ego, their show acted as their own pair of pants and tie (for as silly as that sounds), creating a false and conflicting image of who they truly were, winding up to be their own tragedy.
As an album that grows out of a delusion, fluctuating between realities, worlds and personalities, the finale, “DeKalb” flourishes in its ability to be present. “Dekalb is when I’m really the most lucid, and not only do I feel the most lucid, I feel like that’s the first time I’m lucid in the whole album and the most connected to where I am,” Patrello reflects. “I guess I’m connected to where I am, and I feel like I’m less delusional about things – things like Ricky.” Patrello doesn’t shy away from how much her character has faltered trying to be something that she is not – its her own modern day Greek tragedy, one to be reiterated over and over again in time.
“The conclusion of the album is that I’m still petty,” she says with a slight laugh. “There’s like no lesson really learned, but I think I’m just kind of waking up a little bit in the end.” Although there are moments that feel full circle, there is no clean conclusion, leaving us listeners with some unease. But to its credit, that’s the point. “‘Dekalb” is very aware that I don’t feel like I’m in a resolved place in my real life,” Patrello states with full honesty, firm in the artistic choice she has made. “So with what’s happened in this album I wasn’t gonna end it in a perfect way.” Minotaur is a starting line, the culmination of events that Patrello felt were necessary to experience before real change, growth and sobering realization can begin. And who knows, maybe seven years down the line we will get her next chapter – in the way that only Patrello sees fit.
Tex Patrello has a few shows in Texas that will be announced in the coming weeks. You can stream Minotaur on all platforms now and purchase a CD or tape of the album.
Every Wednesday, the ugly hug shares a playlist personally curated by an artist/band that we have been enjoying. This week we have a collection of songs put together by London-based artist, BEX.
Floating between the scenes of Asheville, North Carolina and London, England, Bex Vines has had a busy past few years of traveling and writing, bridging the gaps between these two communities. With an exciting blend of folky southern whims, alternative stunners and the dream-like antiquity of the London underground, BEX has created a source of grounding through her songwriting, expanding it to us listeners who are in search of that feeling as well.
This week, BEX has curated a list of songs that feel to only enhance our presence on a lazy and sunny afternoon. Ranging from folky slow burners, alt-pop hooks and ambient complexions, these songs bridge the gaps within our own surroundings as they become more clear in this springtime bliss.
Today, New Issue, the three-piece art-rock band from Anacortes, WA have shared a new single “Pottery”, along with an accompanying music video. Directed and shot by the band, you can watch the video for “Pottery” premiering here on the ugly hug.
A super group of sorts, members Nicholas Wilbur, Allyson Foster and Paul Frunzi have had a part in a handful of other PNW groups like Mount Eerie, Ever Ending Kicks, Hoop and the Stephen Steinbrink band over the years. Having released two LP’s and a handful of tapes under various names, (most notably under Hungry Cloud Darkening), the three piece have always been a source for growing creativity, blending their gentle manner with sweet rock n’ roll experiments into their own unique style.
Later this month, the band is returning with Diminished and Transmitting, their first full length album under the name New Issue. The name change is a relic in itself, as the band is constantly shapeshifting, finding method in expanding and collaboration as their tastes mold over time – each project marking a fresh approach to artistry and variety.
“Pottery” is spacious – breathing deeply within its short run time, as both Foster’s soft, hypnotic vocal phrasings and atmospheric synth tones build upon a feeling of loneliness and despondency. But living prominently in the song’s heart is a light bass melody and echoing drum beat that feels relatively conscious of the life within the track, making an effort to make its presence be heard and felt.
With the subtlety of camera work and a Twin Peaks-esque style of strobe lights, rabid use of slow motion and an eerie atmospheric setting, the music video for “Pottery” was shot late one night in the band’s “low-key-haunted” recording studio called the Unknown in Anacortes. As the band shares, “Nich and Allyson spotted the resident ghost between shots. Paul always misses it.”
In its stillness, as the camera pans over tattered paint tarps (borrowed from Anacortes/Whidbey Island artist and painter David Halland) and the harsh flickering blue glow of a TV screen, we finally land on Foster in a distant and brightly lit room, absentmindedly molding clay – unaware of who may be present in the room with her.
The single for “Pottery” will be released on all platforms this Friday, May 10 New Issue’s first full length album, Diminished and Transmitting will be out on Friday, May 17 off of Butte, Montana tape label, Anything Bagel.
Grief is a needle and thread that weaves its way through the seven tracks of Chicago-based singer-songwriter Hannah Frances’ third full length album, Keeper of the Shepherd. Soft and contemplative moments burn as solitary candles in the dark, while rising tides of emotion reverberate to carve out a lasting impression.
This is a record that buries itself into the subconscious mind. It’s like recalling a dream, only to discover deeper meaning upon closer examination. Keeper of the Shepherd reveals its truths slowly with patience and insight. Simply put — it contains multitudes.
Frances — a vocalist, guitarist, composer, poet and movement artist — draws upon a mélange of influences ranging from avant-folk to progressive rock and jazz. This is evident on the album’s opening track, “Bronwyn,” a song with a vocal melody that wraps around itself — an ouroboros with teeth of angular guitars and haunting strings.
There’s a Whitman-esque quality to Frances’ lyrics on “Bronwyn” with its sing-song sense of rhythm and cadence. It evokes longing and loss as a timeless element of the human experience:
“Bronwyn, I lost the way home where I knew/ the ground smokes as it burns to hell/ release me from this sweltered land I stand/ holding to the shepherd’s hand/ the man praised and punished me too/ bronwyn I lost the song/ gone when I sang/ bronwyn, I lost the way home where I knew how to love you and/ be loved too.”
The album’s title track is where Frances’ vocals shine – soaring to magnificent heights on the chorus, while a driving and folksy waltzy guitar rhythm is paired with unearthly pedal steel. The song takes a hard left turn towards the end with an avant-garde breakdown that sounds like Syd Barrett era Pink Floyd meets John Coltrane.
“Woolgathering” is a song that’s like a paper origami boat gently meandering across deep dark and mysterious waters. There’s stark grief hidden behind Frances’ heartachingly beautiful vocals.
“Meet me where the heart beats/ where the shadows shade the heat/ love me wounded/ hold me where my edges soften/ give me time to free my lungs/ the ribs are loosening/ the life breathes in/ the life breathes in.”
She evokes the best of folk singer-songwriters such as Nick Drake or Connie Converse, with a subtlety and nuances in her vocals that grabs hold, bringing a bevy of emotions to the surface.
Meanwhile, “Floodplain” blends folk melodies with avant-garde string arrangements for a pairing that’s like Joan Baez with Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood as composer.
There’s a subtle dark humor at play here that draws on morbid imagery to exhume the corpse of a relationship. “The birch tree bark stripped bare/ the bones and the bodies decay there/ naked as the moss grows over in time/ as the loss goes through the dam to loosen you in my heart.”
“Husk” is a stark place — a meditation on death with only an acoustic guitar and Frances’ bittersweet melody on display at first. Vocal harmonies swirl around this once bare soundscape, growing the song into an apex complete with lush strings. It’s one of the highlights of Keeper of the Shepherd, and it’s easily one of Frances’ most soul stirring songs.
An example of perfect contrast is found with “Vacant Intimacies,” an anthemic folk song that transforms grief into emotional release. It’s almost a shame that this wasn’t the closing track, as it feels like a final chapter of the album’s emotional trajectory.
But with “Haunted Landscape, Echoing Cave,” Frances takes all of the musical elements that preceded it to close with a song that digs up the ruins and unflinchingly re-assembles the bones. “I laid down as the field burned/ quarry of origin stories born before me/ i listen for voices vanishing/ life in petrified wood.”
On Keeper of the Shepherd, Frances is an artist at her peak. This is an album of evocative imagery, themes with emotional depth, and musicality that’s unique and wondrous to behold. It’s a supernova — finding the pain and the beauty in death; with the hope to begin anew.
Last Friday, Brooklyn based labelHATETOQUITand the band Hiding Places teamed up to release a compilation titled Merciless Accelerating Rhythms: Artists United for a Free Palestine. All proceeds made from sales on Bandcamp and streaming royalties will be donated directly to Palestine Children’s Relief Fund (PCRF) and Palestine Legal.
The compilation features 55 contributions from artists across the U.S. and U.K., spanning genres from ambient electronic to jazz. Artists featured on the compilation include Mount Eerie, Little Wings, John Andrews & The Yawns, Magnolia Electric Company’s Jason Evans Groth, Mipso’ Libby Rodenbaugh, and more.
Cover art for the release was created by Rebecca Pempek, who has organized a print sale of the cover art and other pieces for release the same day on their site.
Based on anti-apartheid artist, leader and poet, June Jordan’s poem, “I Must Become A Menace to My Enemies,” dedicated by Jordan to Agostinho Neto, former President of The People’s Republic of Angola, the album’s title “Merciless Accelerating Rhythms” encapsulates a form of political organizing beyond “walking politely on the pavements,” and emphasizes “becom[ing] the action of [our] fate,” acting in a form of “retaliation.”
“I plan to blossom bloody on an afternoon
surrounded by my comrades singing
terrible revenge in merciless
accelerating
rhythms”
We as Artists United for a Free Palestine see retaliation as a diversity of tactics; as mutual aid; as solidarity with the people of Palestine; as direct action, if necessary; as an immediate end to the Israeli Occupation Force and a Free Palestine, forever; as a liberated world. Our duty as artists has – and always will be – radical acts of care; the least we can do is send aid to those facing/fighting genocide in Palestine, and those organizing access to lawyers and legal support for those who need it.
Aunt Ant is three-piece Asheville, NC post-rock brainchild of members Lauren Hewer, Sean German, and Jonah Ileana. Today they’ve released a new song called “8theist,” with an accompanying music video, which you can watch below.
I had the opportunity to conduct a Q&A with Lauren about the dynamic song and its meaning; one of many full, vulnerable tracks on the Aunt Ant live setlist (which you can watch here), “8theist” features everything from soft moments with sparse notes to explosions of noise and incredible overdriven tone.
Audrey Keelin: Lauren I am just so pumped to be writing about you for an on-the-record account of your freaking artistry! I have so many questions for you and I’m honored I can ask about it.
Lauren Hewer: Hi, Audrey ヽ( ´ v` )ノ thanks for asking to do this! You’re awesome.
AK:Can you tell me about the birth of this song from the beginning until now?
LH: I forgot that I sent a demo of this song in for a compilation you made in 2021 until you reminded me, but I just listened to it and it’s wildly different from what I remembered! The song sounds a lot different now. The structure had already changed a lot by the time we started playing it with Jonah [our drummer] in 2022 and I think overall it has become heavier over time.
AK:What kind of song-making process do you enjoy the most/ what works best for you?
LH: I personally find the most exciting songwriting to be in moments where we have no expectation or parameters to create something. I think this is where the most honest and beautiful music comes from, but it can be a lengthy process to reel in that kind of energy to create a cohesive song structure.
AK:Why did you write “8theist”?
LH: 8theist was a poem I wrote a very long time ago. I don’t really remember writing it, but I think I was just reflecting on being a kid. It’s mostly about growing up in the South in an area with a large Baptist presence with English (and very atheist) parents.
AK:How did taking a break from releasing music and playing a bunch of local shows in Asheville prepare you to release music again?
LH: This feels like our first real release because it’s the first song we have recorded since the three of us started playing together a couple years ago. We have some old demos on different sites but they’ve mostly been iPhone recordings of ideas we’ve had before we really started playing live music as a band. We took a little break from playing shows mostly so I could finish school, but I was also feeling very overwhelmed by the state of the world and didn’t know how to show up in a live performance setting. It always feels good to play our songs for the first time after a break because they feel a lot more fresh and exciting to us that way.
AK: Live performance is complex. How have you been relating to it recently? What have you learned about live performance within the past few shows you’ve played?
LH: Right now I think I have the most fun performing live when we are playing new material. It’s always nice being able to play in a space where we can be really loud and not worry about neighbors and it’s also really cool to be exposed to new music through playing shows!
AK: Why did you write the first song you ever wrote? What moved you to start writing songs and making music?
The first song I wrote was called “Beach Party” and I wrote it with my friend Melina because we wanted a really good and relatable kids song about beach parties and having fun at the beach. But now music helps me say things I don’t know how to say otherwise.
AK:Tell me about the influences you drew from for this single. Why and how did you draw this influence from them?
LH: I think I was listening to a lot of Cursive at the time and they have this really harsh dissonant guitar tone that I love. Sean showed us this band called The Festival of Dead Deer around that time also that we all got really into. I’ve also always loved the band Tall Friend and how they write about childhood, so I’m sure that subconsciously had an influence on this song.
AK: Any local bands that have been inspiring you recently?
Run Over By a Horse + Studda Bubba have been inspiring me recently! Last summer we toured with Dish and have always been extremely inspired by them. We also love Tombstone Poetry and would highly recommend Pagan Rage, Nostalgianoid, Trust Blinks, Mary Metal, Convalescent, Basilica, Terrordome, Landon George, and ORRE when Audrey is in town. 🙂 There are so many!