Jade Hairpins "Get Me the Good Stuff"
On Get Me the Good Stuff, Jade Hairpins—Jonah Falco and Mike Haliechuk of Fucked Up—waste no time fulfilling their second album’s titular demand. From its harmony-drenched opening note to its baroque-anthemic conclusion, Get Me the Good Stuff is positively loaded with musical ideas, an absurdist buffet of sound and aesthetic that comes with one hell of a floorshow as the Hairpins stack those ideas higher and higher, almost daring them to crash to the floor. Instead, those elements—punksploitation, power pop, baggy, funk, and Italo disco are just some touchstones—are not only held aloft, they defy gravity and convention.
BAD MOVES "Wearing Out the Refrain"
When people sing together, is it necessarily cathartic? Is catharsis necessarily rejuvenating? And what if the aftermath of catharsis turns out to be the same old frustration? With their third full-length, Washington, D.C.’s Bad Moves have expanded their founding artistic identity — a candy-coated guitar-pop shell surrounding a bitter lyrical core — by refracting their ideas through a new set of musical forms that weaponize repetition. On the new Wearing Out the Refrain, recorded once again with producer Joe Reinhart (Hop Along, Algernon Cadwallader), Bad Moves propose that the flip side of the delirious harmony of the basement show singalong is the volatile, accusatory antiphony of a community divided by strain, shouting the same desperate hook back and forth at one another.
There is a pervasive perception that in power pop, hooks often come at the expense of lyrical sophistication, even intelligibility — that long vowels and crisp consonants are merely the empty frame on which to hang those euphoric bridges and serotonin-rush outros. But perhaps not since Chumbawamba has a group so effectively combined pop architecture with focused and hyper-detailed narratives (the band recalls “cleaning literal shit from a dive bar toilet” in “New Year’s Reprieve”) of class rage and communal despair. The group’s collective songwriting allows for a conceptual unity, in which an album about feeling caught in repetitive cycles expresses that theme not just lyrically — as in the recurring imagery of swirling riptides and drain-circling undertows — but sonically, intentionally beating a riff into the ground to make a point. The structure of the New Pornographers-esque “Let The Rats Inherit The Earth” is Sisyphean fatalism defined, stopping and starting over every time the music is about to reach a peak.
Bad Moves’ tag-team vocals, which forgo centering anyone one member, also let the traditionally confessional “I” become the “we” of a community, or generation. Witness the ambitious climate change metaphor of “Eviction Party,” which understands the union of sugary pop and genuine angst embodied by 1960s girl-group songcraft, and uses it to expand a personal story to planetary scale. “It’s my eviction, I’ll cry if I want to” Bad Moves shouts, channeling the dawning millennial midlife crisis. The personal may be political, but what if both feel weighed down and trapped in circular, inescapable ruts?
Bitter Calm "Eternity in the Lake of Fire"
Birmingham, AL is the third rainiest city in America, but unlike its counterparts in the Pacific Northwest, the rain in Birmingham is not a gentle mist that rolls in quietly over the mountain; the rain in Birmingham falls with an unrelenting ferocity, like it’s punishing the ground for having ever been dry— and then, as quickly as one would discard an unpleasant thought, it’s gone.
Bitter Calm is a band from Birmingham, AL. They make music that one would call “sad”, but much like the torrential rains that punctuate their lives, it’s a different kind of sad— less like a breakup at the dinner table and more like a breakup in the atmosphere. Deeply, loudly, profoundly sad.
That’s not to say their music isn’t enjoyable, because it is. Their performances easily invite the vulnerability they require by virtue of their commitment to something completely sincere. Singer/guitarist Michael Harp grimaces and broods his way through songs that are so evidently beautiful that they could easily mask the more unfortunate emotions beneath.
With support from violinist Meg Ford, bassist Alex Guin, and percussionist Chayse Porter— all Birmingham heavyweights in their own right— Harp eschews the uncomfortable trauma-dumping of his more whispery peers in favor of something darker, meaner, more “results oriented”.
In other words, Bitter Calm’s newest record is more about the destination than the journey— the destination being “hell” and the journey being “self-annihilation”. There is no relief to be found in the music itself save for the catharsis of accepting one’s own hopelessness. The relief comes from the fact that the songs were ever written, recorded, and performed in the first place. On the other side of this endless descent, descent, descent… something beautiful happened. Thank G–d it did.
Cathedral Ceilings "La La La… Whatever"
Dromedary Records is proud to present you with La La La…Whatever!, the band’s second album, due September 6th, courtesy of Ralphie, Nicky, and Tommy. It’s an album that presents a dozen hot, guitar driven rock numbers in quick succession, with the same intensity as their growing word-of-mouth live shows will attest.
But don’t mistake the band’s simplicity of style for lack of depth. Consider their first single, ‘My CEO,” which is a love song. “But not in the typical romantic partner sense,” says Ralphie. “This is a love song about money, and how it can cloud a person’s identity, trajectory, and moral standing. It’s about how people turn a blind eye to the evil wrongdoings of their bosses or the companies they work for, in order to pay rent, or pay back their student loans. I almost feel bad for these people who tackle the moral dilemma of working for Raytheon, Halliburton, or the Trump org. Almost. The three of us play on this song with a kill or be killed mindset. Rip them off, before they rip us off. The main riff was ripped off from Cheap Trick. Which they ripped off from The Move. Lie. Cheat. Steal. Smile. Repeat.”
Then there’s “Bill Berry,” a name that pays homage to the R.E.M. drummer, but more accurately serves as a tribute to that once-ubiquitous musical distribution system, the mixtape. “This song is kinda a period piece as people don’t make mixtapes anymore. But when I was younger, mixtapes were a massive part of the culture. It was a way to connect with people, and get turned on by a song you may have never heard before. (no internet, yo) This song is kinda a microcosm of a typical mixtape I would make. It’s upbeat with a great walking bass from Tommy. It’s got a couple of nice melodies with a soaring chorus. Bill Berry, being the drummer for REM, were a fixture on a lot of my mixtapes. I still have a milk crate in my basement full of tapes I made or traded in high school.”
And if you love those songs—and we’re sure you will—there are ten more equally fine, fiery rockers to be had. We’ll leave it up to you to choose which one will go on your mixtapes.