The Practical Power of Eureka California →

“This is more our speed,” says Jake Ward as he lifts a piece of Popeye’s chicken to his mouth. Cajun-tinged jazz is playing over the fast-food restaurant’s speakers, and there are two TVs—one in front of and one behind Ward and bandmate Marie Uhler—set to a low murmur. The first is on ESPN, which is airing a bowling competition; the second is tuned to CNN’s coverage of the Michigan Uber-driver murders. The family at the next table over is glued to that screen, except for the young daughter, who’s on the verge of a breakdown.

Uhler and Ward, who comprise the noisy garage-pop duo Eureka California, aren’t distracted. They just wrapped up a meeting with their label head, Mike Turner, and are in need of some serious sustenance. Among the topics discussed: upcoming tour dates; plans for the release of their third full-length album, Versus; and other, more far-off intangibles that need to be solidified. This is the calm before the Eureka California storm, which is fitting, given the dark clouds moving in overhead on Prince Avenue.

Up to this point, Eureka California has crafted the sort of high-energy, ramshackle power-pop that recalls Superchunk, Japandroids and Jonathan Richman. That’s not to say Versus, which the band will release Mar. 25 on Turner’s Happy Happy Birthday To Me Records, is a huge departure in terms of style or influences; they haven’t stopped writing straight-to-the-point rock songs with hooks and bite. They have, however, taken a big sonic step forward, which is even more distinct considering their two-person lineup and past recording approach.

“It was really just kind of super-sad DIY,” Ward jokes about the recording process for their first three records: the “Modern Times” 7-inch, Big Cats Can Swim and Crunch. Those were tracked primarily on Ward’s laptop with Pro Tools, using simple stage microphones. “When we did Big Cats, we didn’t even have mic stands,” Ward recalls, listing off Athens street names and the corresponding houses that served as recording locales for each release. “I remember we had to take down a curtain rod and crudely have the curtain rod hanging off the end of the couch.”

The experience was aggravating in a logistical sense, but it was all the more frustrating given the root of the problem: money. “Since we could only have two mics going at the same time and we only had so much input, we would have Marie play with headphones on to my amp so that my amp wasn’t really making any noise, and then we’d record all the drums. Then I would go through and record everything on top of that,” Ward says. “We didn’t really have a choice in doing that, because we didn’t have any money. We were super broke.” 

“By Crunch, we had bought a mic stand,” Uhler chimes in lightheartedly. “Still not enough to buy a new computer or anything,” she clarifies. 

“New microphones, even,” Ward adds.

Eureka California made the best with what they had, working multiple jobs at once to fund their endeavors. But good fortune was on its way. Over the summer of 2015, the band embarked on a UK tour booked by Turner, with plans during its final week to record a new album with Leeds producer MJ at his Suburban Home Studios. With a CV that includes credits on records by Leeds post-punks Eagulls and Welsh noise-pop band Joanna Gruesome, MJ’s involvement seemed ideal. Turner and MJ shared a mutual friend in HHBTM artist Jonathan Nash, who had played Eureka’s previous records for the Brit; likewise, Turner had played MJ’s records for the band. Both parties quickly became distant admirers.

With the songs well-rehearsed and road-tested by the tour’s end, the band managed to knock out recording in roughly three and a half days, mixing for just another one and a half. “It was really efficient,” says Uhler of the experience, noting how well the band’s personality matched with MJ’s. “With the wrong type of personality, there’s pressure,” she says. 

“He was just really professional and really efficient and knew what he was doing,” Ward adds. “I mean, compared to how we were doing it before, it was like night and day. I remember so many times when we were recording, we would talk to each other and be like, ‘This is so much easier.’”

Steering clear of substances also made the process a smoother one. “We’re pretty mild. We don’t really drink,” says Uhler. “I mean, we used to do that stuff. And I know some people just do that all the time, like it’s their vacation, but we treat [touring] more like we’re going to work.”

“Yeah, it’s more like a job,” agrees Ward, who’s stopped drinking altogether. 

Songs like “Everybody Had a Hard Year” and “Sober Sister” portray a newfound perspective, a look back on a life left behind. The former is a short acoustic number in which Ward reflects on personal hardships before making a final broad appeal, finishing the song with its titular line: “I grew a beard to hide my sins/ I spent all last year lonely and soaked in gin/ But I never thought to disappear/ Everybody had a hard year.”

The latter is a blistering track that could easily be passed off as a party anthem. Ward’s six-string is channeled through both guitar and bass amps as Uhler keeps the song from veering off course. The song’s breakneck pace easily buries Ward’s underlying concern, as he belts: “And it’s so sad that you never got the chance to see/ All of the beautiful things you could have seen in me/ Just before the start of the season/ I would drink them away for no apparent reason.” 

Indeed, much of the new record sounds like a jet-fueled lamentation of the stagnation one can feel working and aging in Athens. But rather than cloaking those fears and regrets in dismissive one-liners, Ward lays them out plainly. 

“I think with this record, more so than the other ones, I was really trying to write from an honest place and just be maybe more blunt than I had been in the past, or maybe more vulnerable on some songs,” he says. “I think, given Big Cats and then Crunch, the songs were always moving in that direction.”

The approach reveals a band more grounded than before—so much so that all involved are fixed in a state of firm realism. “Everything’s kind of moving forward in a natural progression in a way that’s really comfortable and really nice,” Turner says, taking a break from screen-printing T-shirts during his day off from Wuxtry. With many things coming together—a one-week, pre-release tour; slick posters for their release show; and filming underway for another music video—the pieces are in place for Eureka California’s biggest splash yet. 

“I try not to put any [pressure] on records in that way,” says Turner, though he says he’s pleased with the band’s progress. “I like the pace that it’s happening [at],” he adds, before parting to work on some press emails for the band.

As focused as Eureka California is on the lead-up to Versus, gears are also in motion for out-of-state shows in April, a tour with label mates Witching Waves in May and a return to the UK this fall. Now, it’s just a matter of covering all the bases. “It is harder, the older we get and the more jobs we have, to take off huge chunks of time,” says Uhler, as the nearby tables become a little less noisy and the two finish up their meal. 

Regardless of where they’ve been or where they’re going, Eureka California will always be a band to rally behind, a genuine pair of people who have never asked for much. “We’ve always, I think, tried to maintain that we’re the same exact people offstage as we are onstage,” says Ward. “It really is consistent.”

Blitzen Trapper's Deep Well of Sound →

Portland, OR group Blitzen Trapper has been creating rich, distinctly American music for more than 15 years. From the impassioned folk-rock of their lauded breakthrough and Sub Pop debut, Furr, to the experimental cross-section of country and hip hop on 2013’s VII, the five-piece has never shied away from pushing their vibrant stories and songs to the sonic extreme.

With their most recent release, October’s All Across This Land, the band returned to a more “classic” Blitzen Trapper sound, as main songwriter Eric Earley describes it—one best characterized as sometimes twangy, always high-energy rock and roll. The group had developed that sound over the course of three albums, but it wasn’t until their fourth full-length release, 2008’s Furr, that they gained widespread recognition. 

Interestingly, from there the group’s recorded output began to shift back and forth between that “classic” Blitzen Trapper sound and more exploratory forays. They veered into prog-tinged territory on Destroyer of the Void before releasing the rootsy American Goldwing, their last for Sub Pop. VII, the band’s unexpected melding of honky-tonk, soul and hip hop beats, followed two years later on Vagrant Records. 

“I’m sort of always writing songs and experimenting with sounds, so it just sort of happens naturally that a record gets made in a certain vein or sound or whatever,” says Earley after returning from a 14-date European tour. “I've never been extremely deliberate when writing songs as to what the genre or sound is—that happens more in the studio.” 

Whatever inspired Earley and his band’s return to form, channeling those classic rock and folk influences is how Blitzen Trapper truly excels as a unit. All Across This Land skillfully captures the essence of the group’s lauded live show, mining the raw energy of guitar heroes like Springsteen, Walsh and Dylan. On many of the record’s 10 songs, like the prime, poised “Nights Were Made for Love,” an ode to love, hard work and rock and roll, it sounds like Earley is surveying the band’s present by taking a long look at its past. 

As scenes from a rural Oregon upbringing play out over stately piano, harmonica and guitar noodling, one wonders how an audience outside the States might take to a band so representative of an unmistakably American form of music; after all, they did just complete their first string of cross-continental shows in nearly six years. 

“There’s still this exotic feeling I sense the people have when it comes to our music, like we're writing about some strange distant dream they've had, or some idea they have about America,” Earley says of Blitzen Trapper’s European reception. 

With that leg of touring now behind them, the band continues to travel the U.S. in support of All Across This Land, maintaining momentum by putting out a new EP, Mystery and Wonder, in January. The three-song release includes a live recording from Los Angeles radio station KCRW, the EP’s title track (a standout from Land) and a cover of “I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow,“ which was featured in an episode of FX’s TV series “Fargo”—fitting for an act that can capture such drama in the form of song.

Blitzen Trapper’s upcoming Athens performance should serve as a comfortable midpoint stop before they return home. The group played a string of shows with the Drive-By Truckers in 2014, and Earley has admitted that R.E.M. had a strong influence on his musicianship. 

“I visited [Athens] when I was just out of high school and hung around and got to know the South for a year or so living up in Chattanooga,” says Earley. “I think the mysterious rural vibes I got from those early R.E.M. recordings resonated because it was so similar to growing up in Oregon back in the ‘80s.”

Faux Ferocious Is a Hazy, Heavy Travelin' Band →

Hitting the road inspires romantic notions, especially in the realm of rock and roll. There’s the promise of playing before a fresh audience every night, as well as the adventure of constantly seeing and experiencing new things. And while touring does have its share of pitfalls, some bands have managed to make it their bread and butter, pushing onward through van breakdowns or gear thefts just to get to the next show and keep the spirit alive. 

Nashville garage-punk quartet Faux Ferocious is one such band, well known in underground circles for a high-energy live show and countless hours logged behind the wheel to deliver it. Yet the band spent just as much time in 2015 proving that it has the behind-the-scenes savvy to balance out its road-warrior reputation.

Ironically, after forming in Knoxville, TN, and releasing their own material for years—with the exception of a few releases on Los Angeles indie Mush Records—the group was approached by not one but two labels last year around the same time. They put out a self-titled album on cassette via Infinity Cat in August and another album, Blues Legends, on Burger Records in December. 

“The Infinity Cat tape was a survey of what we had done over a few years in multiple houses, and Blues Legends was more like an album in terms of cohesion and the time span over which it was recorded,” the band writes in an email. 

Though the group, consisting of singers and guitarists Jonathan Phillips and Terry Kane, bassist Dylan Palmer and drummer Reid Cummings, claims Blues Legends “was still recorded at several different houses and studios over several months,” there’s a clarity to the record that belies the band’s frenetically charged yet catchy punk tunes. 

Take “Beaumont 1979,” for example, an update on the self-titled album’s “Beaumont,” which was originally recorded on a seven-track cassette recorder in 2014. “We then had the pleasure of re-recording it in August 2015 at Nashville's Welcome to 1979 studio with some help and guidance from Rodney Crowell and Dan Knobler—hence the name. It was a good chance to use some synthesizers they had that we otherwise wouldn't have had access to, and it had been rearranged in the year or so we played it live,” writes the group. (Whichever member answered Flagpole’s questions insisted that quotes be attributed to the band.)

The synths add a new psychedelic layer to the song, meeting at the late-‘60s crossroads of proto-punk and hard rock. As hazy as that combination may sound, working with esteemed country songwriter Crowell seemed to actually inspire a cleaner mix this go-‘round. 

The Music City residency and slightly higher profile hasn’t prompted Faux Ferocious to settle down; in fact, they plan on staying just as busy this year, and they’ve managed to accrue enough of their own home recording equipment to achieve a satisfying level of fidelity. “We bought a quarter-inch reel-to-reel mixer combo and, while it also has only seven functioning tracks, we like having a certain weight to the decisions when mixing a song and the finality of it, as opposed to the infinitely editable world inside a computer program,” the band explains. 

With plenty of new material to record, the band’s current jaunt through the Southeast and Midwest will provide the band with the perfect chance to work out any existing kinks in front of a live audience before heading back home, where the prospect of putting new tunes to tape offers just as much opportunity for exploration as venturing around the country. 

Both aspects of music-making now firmly under their belt, one must wonder what new frontiers lie ahead for Faux Ferocious. “We hope to also transcend the physical plane and become beams of light,” the band writes. So, there is that.

Gláss' Aaron Burke Finds His Footing on Accent →

Local Greenville, SC transplant Aaron Burke is soft-spoken enough that you might miss his accent over the reverberating din of a music venue or the busy chatter of a coffee shop. But as his inflection sinks in, things start to make sense. Burke’s not from Greenville—not originally, anyway. He moved to the States from Scotland nearly four years ago, and that jolting relocation has served as consistent creative fodder for Gláss, the post-punk trio for which he writes, sings and plays guitar.

The concept of displacement and its associated feelings took central focus in Gláss’ music after the band settled on its core trio of Burke, drummer Sam Goldsmith and bassist Ary Davani. Burke began conceptualizing the “Foreign Bastard” archive, a series of three Gláss-related releases that would detail his move and its psychological aftermath. “It kind of made sense to write about it because that was a really big deal for me, moving here,“ he says. “It kind of messed with me for a long time, and it was really hard to kind of integrate myself into a new country.”

Burke’s struggle to adapt to a new homeland didn’t just seep into the songs’ subject matter; it impacted the band’s style, too. “The first few shows that we played, I was super uncomfortable with people hearing my voice,” Burke says. “Whenever we’d play shows, I’d just put so much reverb on my vocals. Even on the [Foreign Bastard] EP, I did, like, four vocal layers just because I wanted it to sound like that distant, foreign, disjointed kind of thing.”

As noisy and shrouded as the band’s first EP was, with its doomy guitars and moments of caterwauling crescendo, the band’s upcoming full-length, Accent, sounds as though Burke and the band have become much more comfortable with their surroundings. 

Though many noise elements remain, Accent’s strength lies in the tautness of its execution, each of Goldsmith’s drum rolls coordinating perfectly with Davani’s bass and Burke’s guitar. One might think everything was labored over tirelessly in the studio, take after take recorded until the members landed their parts perfectly. In truth, the band knocked out the album in just two days at Columbia, SC’s Jam Room Recording Studio, for the most part live, with overdubs for vocals and guitar on two or three songs.

The new material recalls austere UK stalwarts of the late ’70s and early ’80s like Joy Division and Bauhaus, making it tempting to tack polar descriptors onto the group’s work. Burke’s delivery is often removed and unaffected, warranting those chilly connotations, but the band’s seemingly effortless coordination and clinical execution could influence those labels just as much.

The singer admits those characterizations are applicable, and notes how changes in climate, like changes in geography, can influence how one feels and thinks. New songs “Glass(-accent)” and “Hotel/Motel” even carry lines about the cold: “And I’ll go where I’m not so cold/ And it’ll be the death of me”; “I’m not cold enough for you/ And I’ve lost most of my teeth/ I’m not cold enough for you/ And I can’t stand on my feet.” In those lyrics, Burke associates the climate of his former country with his personal identity. The drastic change has left him at a loss.

While those feelings are more abstract, the third and final installment in the Foreign Bastard series lays many truths bare. These Are the Reasons For All of My Wrongdoings These Past Few Years is Burke’s recent solo acoustic record that, by that platform’s nature, prompted him to be more honest with his writing. “I think it certainly shows the development of me becoming more comfortable with my voice, and singing and talking about feeling nostalgic and feeling out of place,” he says.

The band is set to celebrate the release of Accent with four Southeastern shows, including one in Greenville—where Goldsmith and Davani still reside—and one at the Caledonia Lounge this Saturday. With the new album behind them, Gláss has begun toying with experimental ideas involving space and repetition à la This Heat. As for his lyrical themes, Burke wants to veer away from the discomfort and self-loathing that characterizes much of the Foreign Bastard archive, opting instead for a more narrative approach. “I can write about that so easily, I feel like,” he jokes, loud and clear.

Industry Free Georgia? A Quietly Thriving Underground →

For years, public discourse has maintained that Georgia’s place in the national music landscape has been carved out by a few distinct scenes and styles: blues and soul singers from various corners of the state (James Brown and Little Richard); Athens’ college rock boom in the late 1970s and early-1980s; and Atlanta’s consistent flow of power-house hip-hop performers. The state certainly doesn’t lack major names, but very few artists have emerged from the rock-oriented underground in recent years to the acclaim of yesteryear’s Athenian exports. Granted, the last two decades have brought to light bands Deerhunter and the Black Lips in Atlanta; The Whigs in Athens; and a handful of great metal acts from Savannah. But what chance do independent artists have of receiving such a mention today, when the state’s reputation still precedes them? Furthermore, is it possible for the state to adequately spotlight and keep that attention on its underground artists with what industry resources are available?

For Georgians, deviating from the South’s majority-held socio-political confines isn’t unheard of; but much like those tying ideologies, evading outsiders’ preconceived notions of what Georgia music is—based on what Georgia music has been—still proves difficult.

“Atlanta is where the best bands play; Athens is responsible for R.E.M., the B-52’s and Widespread Panic; and Macon hasn’t had anything happen since the Allman Brothers,” says former Maconite Sean Pritchard, who has worked hard to make sure that something happens musically in the heart of Georgia, just an hour-and-a-half south of Atlanta. “All of these things are far from being the factors I would champion about Georgia’s music scene, but they’re unfortunately things I’ve often encountered over the years.”

The story of Pritchard’s initial involvement in his local music scene is a familiar DIY narrative: his community lacked a particular resource (in this case, an all-ages venue), so with the help of like-minded individuals he raised funds to provide that resource. “Like many smaller cities, places to play to all-ages audiences were limited,” Pritchard says. “So we started a collective that would ultimately be called Macon Venue Project,” which “was created with the intention of, in some way, stabilizing or improving upon the music scene that already existed in Middle Georgia.”

Pritchard’s efforts have extended outside of his hometown, too. He teamed with Savannah-based band Triathalon, serving as the band’s de facto manager, booking shows and reaching out to labels on their behalf. Triathalon’s singer, Adam Intrator, acknowledges the huge influence Pritchard has had on the band, but he also hints at a deeper level of community—one that indeed extends across the state in much the same way. “If you’re a young musician and you’re in Georgia, you’re the luckiest person because you’re going to have a very fortunate time working up to something,” Intrator says. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but you’re going to have a more positive experience because people are willing to take you in and help you rather than try to put you down and ignore you.”

While this network of independent artists and their supporters, unified by similar passions and an idiosyncratic Southern hospitality, works to bolster scenes across Georgia, retaining artists in smaller, sleepier municipalities can be difficult. Even with a few select studios and labels boasting bigger name connections capable of lifting underground artists out of complete obscurity—like Chase Park Transduction in Athens or Graveface Records in Savannah—the allure of potential opportunity and a busier lifestyle draws many away.

“For so long, people have felt that they had to move away to a major U.S. city to be successful, so a lot of the talented people leave before even giving it a shot,” says Athens resident and music publicist Alyssa DeHayes. “You always have a ton of really good college-aged folks, and then right after college the bulk of them leave and don’t even give it a chance. Maybe they’ll come back when they’re a little older, but there aren’t a ton of job openings for people here that are super established,” says DeHayes, who also teaches promotion and publicity techniques for the music business at The University of Georgia’s School of Music Business. “I think it is the same way with a lot of ambitious young musicians. They move away to make it instead of giving it much of a chance, or when they stay to give it a chance, it was in more of a passive way.”

Musicians and professionals shirking the mainstream have found that the Peach State still has much to offer, though. “When you look at the Southeast, you primarily think of country/Americana, and there’s great resources for that in Nashville. But there is so much cool music happening in the Southeast and so, to me, it’s more interesting to be one of the only national publicists here [in Georgia] than be in a place where there are tons of industry people,” says DeHayes, who handles national publicity campaigns for bands at Riot Act Media. Riot Act’s publicists work remotely from all over the country: San Francisco, Portland, New York City. DeHayes is the company’s sole Southern publicist, and her decision to stay in Athens has been met with incredulity from other industry professionals during the course of her nearly seven-year PR career. “There’s so much exciting music happening and really thriving scenes, but there’s not as much music infrastructure, especially…for things that fall in the sort of indie-rock realm,” she says. And yet, by working where the number of musicians in need of her service outnumbers those able to provide it—she’s found success.

While some individuals set their sights on busier states, many musicians and professionals claim that the state’s pace of life is in fact an upside. “There’s something really magical about Georgia, in that it’s so slow of a lifestyle that you can really hone in and really focus on being a musician because the state allows you to,” says Intrator. Further, the state’s relatively low cost of living allows musicians to worry less about whether or not they might be able to make rent and pay bills on time. Less time devoted to an employer translates to more free time spent on writing and playing music. As Pritchard puts it, “For the most part, everywhere you go in Georgia outside of Atlanta is relatively inexpensive and even many parts of Atlanta have cheap rent. Whether it be rent on a practice space or a band house or money saved towards equipment or touring, it’s pretty easy for a band to operate in Georgia.”

While the concentration of industry resources in Georgia may not be as high as a major hub in the northeast or out west, it’s clear that individual music scenes across the state, at the very least, possess an atmosphere and means to get musicians started. The rest is up to the artist. And for D.I.Y. musicians, regardless of geography, determining one’s own direction is imperative. That resonates as much now as it did nearly twenty years ago for Elephant 6 mainstay John Fernandes. While major labels were scooping up grunge bands in the ’90s, Olivia Tremor Control managed to find success by staying true to itself. “We were more into 60’s psychedelic music and home-recording on a 4-track,” the Athenian says. “The fact that we were doing something unique at the time really helped us grow and forge our own path.” Playing what comes naturally and doing what you can on your own is essential, Fernandes insists. “Just keep working at it, and don’t get discouraged if you’re still working a day job. Just do music because you love it, and if people pay attention, that’s great. If not, don’t get too crushed by it.”

A current wave of bands from across the state—Mothers in Athens; Warehouse and Red Sea in Atlanta; and Arbor Labor Union, split between the two—are forging paths of their own, building identities and audiences by means available to them, and then utilizing outside resources, such as prominent indies Sub Pop and Bayonet, to spread their art even further. But only groups talented and fortunate enough to utilize both instate and national resources, it seems, reach audiences of the greatest potential size.

Of course, arguing whether or not artists within the state can match or eclipse the stature of artists who’ve preceded them requires confronting the industry’s fundamental rearrangement. “The over-saturation of music worldwide in 2015 is a very large and real problem, one that I have no advice on how to combat,” says Savannah’s Ryan Graveface, label head and store proprietor of aforementioned Savannah metal platform. For Graveface, he adds, “I’m not even sure what a larger scale is at this point.”

Juan de Fuca's Jack Cherry Finds Catharsis Through Song →

It’s difficult to sense change in oneself on a day-to-day basis. By their very nature, habits and routines propel us unquestioningly forward. Often work, socialization and the pursuit of other interests become cycles that are difficult to break free from and find purpose in. But among those daily patterns, there are specific events so unique one can’t help but feel altered in some way—newly defined, even.

For third-year UGA student Jack Cherry, one such defining moment took place towards the tail end of 2014, when a childhood friend took his own life. From their days growing up together in Decatur, Cherry’s friend was an avid, ambitious athlete who showed few outward signs of depression. His heartbreaking death came as a complete shock. 

“He was the happiest person ever,” Cherry says. “It still feels more like an accident. It just shook everything up that I knew.”

Cherry, who was playing in local rock outfit Uncle Dad at the time, was also recording GarageBand demos on his own under the moniker Juan de Fuca. His friend’s death inspired newfound feelings, and the music Cherry was compelled to create was vastly different from anything he had made before. “A lot of the music that I wrote about it, I think most of it is just being in the wake of something so tragic, and it’s very paralyzing,” he says.

Indeed, the difference between his 13-song Bed Room, released in June 2014, and Cavern Of, released last September—almost a year after his friend’s passing—is stark. The new album showcases a more introspective brand of lo-fi bedroom recording, running the gamut from ambient sound explosions to serene piano pieces to electro-folk ballads. In few words, it expresses love, loss and regret.

The record’s relatively short compositions, drenched in reverb, sonically and emotionally emulate the isolation of the titular cavern, which Cherry deemed the most fitting metaphor for his experience. While meditative and surprisingly mellow, Cavern Of also exhibits the kind of urgency that comes with an artist’s primary statement, as if Cherry had found new meaning for Juan de Fuca.

In many ways, one can sense Cherry’s paralysis throughout the album’s seven songs, but the cathartic process of making some sort of sense out of tragedy prompted him to reevaluate his life, both personally and musically. “It really made me reconstruct the way I was putting purpose into my life and purpose into what I’m doing with my life,” he says. 

With an expanded live band that includes members of the now-dissolved Uncle Dad, Cherry is in the process of making new music, attempting to bridge the gap between multiple worlds—the bedroom and the stage; times of joy and sorrow.

“I love playing music in live settings, and I love the thrill of entertaining and giving your all as a performance. That’s really fun, but in a lot of ways it’s really separate from that album, so it’s been really weird for me to try and figure out the in-between space,” says Cherry. 

Writing new material that’s not steeped in hardship has proven another tricky transition for Cherry. “That’s weird, too, moving on from such a tragic event and trying to write a song about a stressed-out college kid. I don’t feel like it’s dumb or feeble to write music that’s not about super heavy stuff, because that’s just unrealistic, but it is nonetheless weird,” he says. 

With a new recording under its belt, Cherry’s newest iteration of Juan de Fuca has made steady progress in combining these worlds. “It’s going to definitely be different, but I think the point of being this one integrated project is not being able to separate ‘real music’ from ‘entertaining music’—letting it just be one thing,” he says. “Whatever that means.”

The Year Athens Indie-Pop Got Complicated →

In July, Jesse Mangum released a chaotic new single through is MOEKE Records Summer Singles compilation series that defied classification. With its stylistic irreverence, "Topia Opera," from Group Stretching—a project that places New Wives and Mothers drummer Matthew Anderegg at the singing and songwriting fore—oscillates between the dysphoric aggression of post-punk and post-hardcore while incorporating swift time signature changes and angular, finger-tapped melodies.

Though those elements are typical of heavier, more mathematically inclined rock music, the thrilling amalgam seeped its way into several local indie rock and pop-minded projects in 2015—as tends to happen when Athens musicians split their gifts between a handful of bands.

Most notable among this group was Mothers, who took full shape this year, expanding from the solo endeavor of singer-songwriter Kristine Leschper into a full-band venture with Anderegg, New Wives guitarist Drew Kirby and bassist Patrick Morales. Leschper’s vignettes and plaintive vocals carry plenty of emotional heft on their own, but new arrangements and frameworks add a commensurate layer of depth to the music.

Take “No Crying In Baseball,” recorded after the band’s sessions for its forthcoming full-length, When You Walk a Long Distance You are Tired, and released earlier this year as a single. As soon as Leschper lets loose the titular mantra, the song descends into start-stop mania with coordinated instrumentation. When a perceived closing figure arrives, the band finishes with one more flurry of chiming, rapidly strummed guitars, and a hi-hat-and-snare-heavy drum part that fits in as many notes as possible in just nine seconds.

The arrival in Athens of Clemson, SC transplant Cole Morris, whose duo Art Contest shares many of the same principles as this crop, seems like perfect timing, too. With an emphasis on frenetic melodies, rapid meter shifts and untethered song structures, Morris’ work with Art Contest makes for a near-perfect pairing with Anderegg’s Group Stretching. Despite all the evident technical savvy, Morris says he is influenced and guided more by a principle that transcends style or acumen: the emotional impact and connection that comes from music.

“The associations people derive from certain songs, sounds, noises [and] movements are absolutely fascinating to me,” Morris says. “I think about that a lot when I write and play—the emotions and associations tied to how sounds are made and played. I try to use it as a means to express what I'm seeing, hearing and feeling around and inside of me.”

In Athens music, the technical and emotional made their intense mixture well known in 2015. With more bands pushing the boundaries of structure and exploring similarly unique, purposeful approaches, guitar-based music experienced a revitalization unseen in recent years. By mining these new territories, local musicians proved there’s still much to be created in the realm of rock and roll.

Basement is Back, But Emo's Always Been There →

The music media has run the emo revival into the ground. Think piece after think piece has chronicled the genre’s return to prominence, heralding a new wave of artists as saviors of the maligned, guylined branch of punk that spawned My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy just a decade ago. With progenitors American Football returning to the touring circuit after the re-release of their only album, and bands like Title Fight, The World is a Beautiful Place & I am No Longer Afraid to Die and Waxahatchee releasing standout albums this year—and dismantling emo stereotypes in the process—the genre has resurfaced as a force to be reckoned with.

But did emo ever really disappear? “It's a buzzword. People just want traffic to their sites,” says Alex Henery, guitarist for English post-hardcore band Basement, which recently experienced a rebirth of its own.

Formed in the English town of Ipswich in 2008, Basement released two albums before going on indefinite hiatus in 2012 to allow members to pursue other professional lives. After hinting at a return on social media in early 2014, the band surprise-released a three-song EP, Further Sky, last summer via New England label Run For Cover Records—home to a slew of new emo bands, including Modern Baseball, Tigers Jaw and Pity Sex, among others. 

Now in the midst of a U.S. jaunt supporting Warped Tour mainstays The Story So Far and with a new full-length album in the works, Henery sees Basement’s return as an opportunity to share the stage with friends and have some fun. “It felt amazing to be playing shows again, and that people were still interested in seeing us,” he says from the road. 

What Henery doesn’t mention is that during the group’s U.S. tour last summer—its first in two years—Basement sold out nearly every venue it played, including two shows with Brand New, another high-profile band that also recently came out of hibernation. 

Along with the appropriate timing, Henery cites personal and professional satisfaction as the impetus for creating new music. “We all had reached a great point of feeling comfortable with our careers,” he says. “There was never a point where we felt it was right to do it; we just did what we wanted naturally.”

Basement’s members continued writing music during their time off from the band, convening over Christmas 2013 for a few low-key jam sessions. Enough of a spark still existed to begin working on new material, which they continued to develop from afar, sharing ideas through email. Henery flew back to England for some writing sessions, and most of the songs were then fleshed out and completed in the studio.

“Promise Everything,” the first single released from Basement’s forthcoming album of the same name, finds the group balancing aggressive guitars with poignant melodies; singer Andrew Fisher’s vocals carry the song confidently through catchy choruses and a yowling coda. Henery says the emphasis this time was on maintaining punk bravado while crafting standout melodies, as evidenced by the band’s 2014 EP, which included two new songs and a cover of Britpop band Suede’s “Animal Nitrate.” The fusion of styles, more successful in song than on paper, positions Basement to take punk, pop and, yes, emo into more exciting territories in 2016.

Emo has traveled a long, hard road in recovering its tainted name, past the commodification of Hot Topic and through countless after-school “TRL” countdowns. But with the proliferation of like-minded artists making big musical statements today, the genre has returned to its honest roots. Perhaps most importantly, those responsible for salvaging it seem to pay the label no mind.

“I don't think there is a revival, I just think [the] press realized there are a lot of people writing great music, and a lot more people who care about hearing it,” says Henery.

Menos el Oso Gets the 10th-Anniversary Treatment →

It’s interesting looking back on the albums that informed a generation’s musical upbringing 10 years after their release. Some manage to hold up nicely, while the decennial reveals other records’ faults. Several standout records of the mid-aughts have recently reached this milestone, prompting re-examination from fans and critics, including Interpol’s bleak post-punk revival, Turn On the Bright Lights; The Postal Service’s emotive, cross-country electro-pop debut, Give Up; and Minus the Bear’s Menos el Oso, which found the band refining its math-y, finger-tapped guitar stylings and leaning towards a more straightforward, serious indie rock sound.

Things have changed a lot since 2005, as they tend to do, but as more of these essential listens reach their respective anniversaries, deluxe reissues and celebratory tours have become commonplace. Done right, these re-visitations play less on nostalgia than on the genuine connection a band has with its audience, and Menos el Oso is a fine example.

The Seattle five-piece has recently posted captured fragments of the 10th-anniversary experience on its Facebook page, including old photos taken during a tour of Spain, one of the band’s first international excursions following the release of its initial material—a debut album, Highly Refined Pirates, and two EPs.

Bassist Cory Murchy says that string of shows abroad had a large influence on the writing of Menos el Oso. “It was completely inspiring for all of us. We had such a great time with the people we were with. It colored the record quite a bit,” says Murchy. 

Indeed, traces of the Spanish tour peek through on the record in darkly romantic ways, as guitarist Jake Snider sings about “staring at the ocean crashing on all the rocks below” and “midnight on a beach on the Mediterranean”—on “Drilling” and “Pachuca Sunrise,” respectively. The time abroad supplied Snider’s lyrics with scenic observations and individual perspective, but a clear maturation seemed to be taking place, too; he was no longer fixated on boozy getaways, but rather on someone a continent away with whom he wanted to share these experiences.

Appropriately, around that time, Minus the Bear’s sound began to strike a chord with larger audiences. Menos el Oso found the band fine-tuning its two-guitar interplay, each melodic line more pointed than before. Samples and electronics also took a more prominent place in the album’s compositions, and the drums sounded more deliberate. 

“It was definitely a record that opened our fanbase up to that many more people. It galvanized the fact that we were a band, and we weren't going anywhere,” says Murchy. “People were showing up to the shows. It was a good thing.”

Minus the Bear has released new material consistently since then, including a Menos el Osoremix album, three full-lengths, two records of re-worked acoustic material and a collection of B-sides and rarities. Plans are in the works to enter the studio next year to record an album with new drummer Kiefer Matthias, who joined the band earlier this year after longtime member Erin Tate took his leave. “We're all super excited about the process,” says Murchy. “We're all just gelling really well.”

And while the band is already preparing for its next move, for now, it’s time to focus on 2005. “We've been rehearsing for this tour now for a couple weeks,” says Murchy, who’s en route to the band’s Seattle practice space. "It's been fun to kind of roll up the sleeves and figure out what it was that we were doing and replicate that again,” he says of the Menostracks, many of which the band rarely plays live anymore. 

When Minus the Bear takes the Georgia Theatre stage, they’ll return to that dog-eared page, its words and melodies, and the band’s many fans, calling them back once more.

Exploring New Sounds from Local Labels →

Every once in a while, the stars align for a hardworking Athens band, and a big-time record label makes them an offer they can’t refuse. But many artists choose to take matters into their own hands, spawning informal imprints to issue physical copies of their and friends’ music. Likewise, a handful of scene supporters are currently operating professional homespun labels whose reach continues to grow. While this list is certainly not comprehensive, we’ve rounded up a few of the Athens labels responsible for bringing our favorite music to your ears.

Loud Baby Sounds

Helmed by Little Gold frontman and former Brooklynite Christian DeRoeck, Loud Baby Sounds was created as a means for DeRoeck to issue his own music. After issuing his band’s debut, Weird Freedom, and albums by fellow New York bands Ancient Sky and Radical Dads, DeRoeck packed it up and moved to Athens in 2012. Since then, the LBS roster has grown to include an assortment of like-minded groups, including local punks Deep State and, most recently, Jo RB Jones. The label released that band’s self-titled debut, a seven-song indie-pop affair, on cassette in August.

Releases from Saline, Blunt Bangs and Linda are in the works, and Deep State’s full-length debut, NICE, will soon make it onto cassette, with vinyl expected to arrive in 2016. NICE’s rapid rhythms and thematic grappling with mid-20s anxiety is bolstered by a strong melodic current, proving that one can still party in the face of anguish and absurdity. On Sunday, Oct. 25, DeRoeck will host this year’s installment of Loud Baby Fest, an all-day DIY showcase of his label’s talent.

Cloud Recordings

To say Elephant 6 mainstay John Fernandes keeps busy would be an understatement. Aside from his contributions to Circulatory System, The Olivia Tremor Control and a slew of other projects—as well as his tenure behind the counter at Wuxtry Records—the longtime Athenian runs Cloud Recordings, a psych-oriented label responsible for releasing much of the E6 collective’s output. The latest addition to the Cloud roster—which also includes oddball Macon troupe Cult of Riggonia, ethereal space-folk outfit Dream Boat and scene vet Derek Almstead’s Faster Circuits project—is fellow E6er AJ Griffin’s French Exit. His band’s debut, Jerk Store, released digitally by Cloud last week, finds the songwriter whimsically twisting the stylings of Elliott Smith and exploring spacey territories with an assortment of pianos and keyboards.

Fernandes hosts the Cloud Recordings Festival Nov. 4–7 at the Caledonia Lounge.

MOEKE Records

Local recording engineer and producer Jesse Mangum recently wrapped up his Summer Singles series, a season-long project in which he recorded, mixed and mastered each artist’s contribution in just five hours. Made available through his MOEKE label, the compilation’s 22 songs exemplify a vibrant cross-section of local talent; this summer’s venture concluded with recordings from Tongues, Group Stretching and Jones College Radio, among others.

Aside from two years’ worth of singles, MOEKE has also released EPs from Cottonmouth, Brothers and, most recently, Dream Culture. Conceptualized and primarily recorded by songwriter Evan Leima, the band’s second outing, Post Habitual, is a progressive take on psych-rock, akin to the blissed-out sounds of Tame Impala and Unknown Mortal Orchestra.

Arrowhawk Records

Arrowhawk, founded by Athens-based music publicist Alyssa DeHayes, deals in an eclectic mix of music from locals and outsiders alike. The label’s first vinyl release, for noise-punks Bambara’s Dreamviolence, served as an operational test of sorts. After breaking even within five months of receiving the LPs—thanks in large part to DeHayes’ diligence, as well as the band’s European tour stint supporting A Place to Bury Strangers—running a small label began to seem sustainable. With releases from Dream Boat, Pinecones and Richmond, VA’s White Laces garnering critical acclaim, Arrowhawk is now poised to release another Bambara album in early 2016. “An Ill Son,” the first taste from the forthcoming Swarm, is a noir-like burner showcasing the band’s signature sonic squall and singer Reid Bateh’s Swans-esque snarl.

Fall Break Records

Fall Break Records, founded by law student Taylor Josey in early 2014, began unintentionally. After a friend approached Josey in need of a fake label name through which to release his music, Josey decided to take his fascination with tapes and turn the enterprise into a reality, obtaining a business license application the next day. Representing “the antithesis of spring break culture,” FBR specializes primarily in heady, lo-fi pop. In its short existence, the label has cast a wide net; aside from releasing tapes for Athens artists Shehehe and Richard Gumby, FBR has issued albums from artists as far and wide as Milwaukee and Northern England. One of its most recent releases, Dead Neighbors’ self-titled album, touches on all the pleasure points of late-’80s and early-’90s alternative music: post-punk, jangle-pop and shoegaze in equal measure. The fact that the band’s debut was recorded, mixed and mastered in “a few bedrooms… over a few months” means it’s right at home at Fall Break.

Swervedriver Won't Slow Down →

More than 20 years have passed since the UK shoegaze boom, but the genre’s forebears have resurfaced in recent years, releasing new material and touring to promote anniversaries of career milestones. While My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive and Ride crafted a dream-pop blueprint for many modern groups, one equally influential band skirted the edge of the genre, looking to the desolate highways and gritty sounds of the American underground for inspiration. 

After a series of EPs, Swervedriver issued its debut album, Raise, in 1991 on legendary indie label Creation Records—once home to the Jesus and Mary Chain, Primal Scream and nearly every other important UK shoegaze band of the era.

From the beginning, Swervedriver seemed to inhabit a musical realm distinct from its contemporaries. While Adam Franklin and Jimmy Hartridge’s distorted guitars tested the limits of volume and space, they also displayed a deep admiration for rock and roll in its classic forms (think Chuck Berry or the Stooges). While Kevin Shields and Bilinda Butcher juxtaposed cryptic coos and romantic dreamscapes with dense, layered guitars, Swervedriver’s music paired roaring riffs and driving rhythms with the discernible desire to flee one’s troubles on the open road.

With I Wasn’t Born to Lose You, Swervedriver’s first album in more than 15 years, the band—comprised of original members Franklin and Hartridge, as well as steady collaborators Steve George and Mikey Jones—finds itself in a new comfort zone, one not far removed from its roots. “There’s an idea of going back to the source,” says Franklin, noting that even the band’s logo on the new album’s cover is virtually the same as on the cover of its debut.

The group’s latest batch of songs, which sound fresh while holding true to the Swervedriver styles of old, began forming in Franklin’s mind as early as 2012. The band had resumed touring at that point after a several-year hiatus, but this was the first indication of any new material. 

“'Deep Wound' was a demo I had knocking around,” says Franklin of the new album’s eighth track, which the band debuted on “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon” in 2012 ahead of a short North American tour. Soon after, the band released the tune as a 7-inch single before hitting the road in Australia to play Raise in its entirety, as well as an assortment of other songs. With new songs coming in “twos and threes,” it was evident that a full-length was in store. During a day off from the Raise tour in 2013, the band knocked out five of the album’s 10 tracks.

“Everyone was sort of falling back into their roles [in the studio],” Franklin says. “The actual recording was done really quickly.” 

Split between Birdland Studios in Melbourne, Australia, and Konk Studios in London, I Wasn’t Born to Lose You is the product of a band confident in its new material and able to precisely execute it thanks to a fairly consistent touring schedule. Despite the band’s history of shake-ups—among them the departure of early drummer Graham Bonnar, who famously walked off to get a sandwich during the band’s first North American tour and didn’t return, and a series of label misfortunes (three moves in two years)—the record showcases a band comfortable with its place in rock history.

Album opener “Autodidact” exhibits the same sense of yearning Franklin displayed on Raise, but this time around, the overall tone is one of ease; instead of longing for an escape, he’s content to daydream about the future while making strides to alter course. Franklin’s biggest dissatisfactions are revealed alongside a resolve to move on, as in “Red Queen Arms Race,” where he sings, “I’m not satisfied with my position and my place.” Delivered over stoner-rock riffage, Franklin concludes, “They make us pariahs amongst our peers/ Open your ears/ Mobilize.”

The group is set to play the 40 Watt on Sept. 16; fans can expect to hear the gamut of Swervedriver sounds. Since the initial leg of North American touring earlier this spring, Franklin says, the band has played every song off the new album, as well as “some deeper cuts.” 

Despite all the adversity faced throughout a 20-plus-year career, Swervedriver still manages to drive forward, pulling in fans with the new album who are less familiar with their older material. “That was one of the things we’ve noticed over the past two years,” says Franklin.

It’s not surprising, considering that Swervedriver’s career path has been as distinct as its hard-rocking approach to shoegaze. The band’s is a legacy of determination, and it’s by that virtue Franklin and company can return after so many years and craft an album as compelling and as relevant as their best-known works.

As DIY Venues Shutter, House-Show Culture Moves Downtown →

Living in Athens demands that one operate on the seasonal cycle of a college town. Residents know the drill well: At the end of spring, the city loses a majority of its inhabitants. Tens of thousands of people disperse, finding work in bigger cities or heading back home to regroup. Though some students stick around in the summer, the months of May to July are sleepy and peaceful, with little traffic and plenty of elbow room at your favorite bar. Come August, school is back in session, bringing with it a fresh crop of excited young newcomers.

Likewise, the houses and unconventional DIY venues in Athens that serve as underground music hotspots turn over with the students and residents who sign their leases each fall. Historically, these spaces have served as incubators for blossoming local musicians, low-stakes entry points for bands to test out fresh material and find their path. With each graduating class, the torch is passed to new folks willing to let their living spaces become wrecks for the sake of art. 

Some believe it’s a small price to pay, both for the benefit of the scene and the renown a top-notch house-show venue attracts. In the past couple years, a few of Athens’ DIY venues have been unable to contain the growing communities they fostered, leaving their hosts wondering what to do next. 

Just off Milledge Avenue, New Wives guitarist Drew Kirby’s concert series evolved from a near once-a-month house show into a curated mini-festival at what was then New Earth Music Hall. Freeklife, a play on “Greek life,” was a way for Kirby and his friends to foster community and showcase their art.

“It was called ‘Freeklife’ from the get-go, which was a concept we had initially visualized as a sort of college arts society, where we would have performances and showings and get-togethers, but almost immediately it took on a pretty heavy party vibe,” says Kirby of the series, which emphasized graphic design, screen printing and “guerilla promotion.”

Now, after more parties, a summer series on the Georgia Theatre rooftop and a Slingshot Festival expo, the future of Freeklife is in limbo. Kirby, a recent UGA alumnus involved in musical projects of his own, says it’s hard to say what will happen moving forward. 

“When we started having shows, it was because we couldn’t really get booked for good shows downtown, and we didn’t have any real connection with the Athens scene,” he says. “We felt left out, but mostly I think we were just young and eager to make an impact. I think that’s probably true of a lot of house shows: [They give] younger or newer bands a chance to play for strangers in a kind of low-stakes, hospitable environment.”

Rowdy Dowdy, another local DIY venue with a bohemian flair, is also left in the lurch. One of the home’s proprietors, Durham Henderson—Durs, for short—echoes sentiments expressed by other hosts who come of age and find themselves in a precarious position. “I want to keep the same feeling alive, but everyone has graduated or moved away, so there is no house that could be held at the same level,” he says.

The so-called Dowdy Grounds, comprised of two separate houses within 50 yards of each other, helped foster the budding careers of locals like Wieuca, Chief Scout and Monsoon, as well as hosting a laundry list of touring Southeastern talent. The venue’s events grew progressively in scope and size, with the final party taking place this past Fourth of July, headlined by surprise guest New Madrid.

With Dowdy’s rising profile and continuously stellar lineups, to end now would be a shame, says Henderson, who is intent on continuing the concert series at a downtown venue. “I do realize this will take away the no-rules aspect, but what I want to remain strong is art, love and debauchery,” he says.

Indeed, while other up-and-coming Athens house-show venues are poised to fill the holes left by Dowdy, Freeklife and others this semester, established downtown clubs have begun to take decidedly DIY cues in how they approach booking and the live atmosphere.

The Globe began hosting “secret” Sunday shows in 2014 in its upstairs bar, which was previously reserved for special events. Scott Crossman, a Detroit transplant, came on board this spring, assisting David Chandler with booking. Crossman has since taken the reins.

“I am going for an ‘experimental’ niche, but that doesn't always mean each artist is improvising a noise set,” says Crossman. “It does usually mean that things get weird. But it also means I experiment with the bills.”

Crossman usually sets up shows based around similar genres, though he admits some of his favorite events he books are the “freak shows” that bring disparate styles together, with one cornerstone artist headlining the concert.

Although he’s a new resident, Crossman has already bolstered Athens’ DIY community. In addition to his work at The Globe and involvement in numerous music projects, he also has a hand in booking shows at Go Bar. “The Globe is really just an extension of Go Bar, but still a cross between that and the former Farm 255,” he says, expressing gratitude towards former Farm booker and house-show honcho Mercer West’s contributions to the Athens scene.

Changes are in store for the 40 Watt Club, too. The venue recently hired Thomas Valadez (Future Ape Tapes, Tom Visions) as house manager, where he is tasked with performing all the duties the position might suggest—keeping open lines of communication and ensuring that guests, talent and staff are happy—as well as doing some booking of his own.

The prolific local musician has booked shows and hosted residencies at Go Bar for three years, and he says he is ready to step into his new role, applying what he’s learned at the smaller venue to the legendary Washington Street spot. 

“The opportunity to manage came at a great time, where I feel ready to take what I've learned at Go Bar and just concentrate on making the place fun first, and then wrangle performers willing to follow suit,” Valadez says.

Valadez’s ties to the local DIY community have already proven beneficial to the club in the slower summer months. The 40 Watt's larger stage offers underground acts a great entry point to reach a wider audience; the hire has also allowed the venue to tap into Athens’ vibrant locals-only community.

“House shows and DIY spaces have helped keep alive some super creative acts, and kept music fun and approachable,” says Valadez. “I want to see some of these amazing bands coming through playing to 10 people have the opportunity to play in front of 100 people, and start from there. Athens has a great house show culture, and the goal is to make the party more and more inclusive of our surrounding community.”

Of course, in contrast with the typical DIY venue, these downtown clubs rely heavily on traffic and dollars to stay afloat. As facilities like The Globe carry more overhead than a bi-monthly neighborhood party abode, keeping these new series running will require constant support from townies, students and others.

“I'm hoping there will be some grants for endeavors like what we’re doing upstairs at The Globe, because it is hard to fund experimental music shows,” says Crossman. “Though the room’s usually full of eager listeners, most venues base their production costs on cover charges or bar sales, which can vary widely from night to night.”

But Valadez says Athens’ DIY renaissance reflects a profound economic shift.

“A really cool thing happened when all the money fell out of playing music: People were forced to either do it for a deeper reason than financial reward, or give it up and reassess priorities. I feel like this has been the reality for long enough that a lot of those forging along in denial have found other ways to channel that creativity, and those who stuck with it are finding ingenious ways to keep it alive.”

Oklahoma Punks Broncho Are In Love With the Georgia Theatre's Backstage Bathroom →

When a band reaches a certain level of exposure, there inevitably come crucial career decisions; for instance, whether or not to license music for movies or TV, sign to a major label or tour with a larger group that might not share the same ethos or audience. While fans of groups who make the leap may jump ship or cry “sellout,” there is a certain grace involved in crossing over without losing one’s creative self in the process.

Take garage-punk trio Broncho, which formed as a four-piece in Norman, OK, in 2010. Guitarist and vocalist Ryan Lindsey recorded a few preliminary demos before sending them to friends for feedback; soon after, the band’s lineup and first show were confirmed.

Broncho’s debut album, 2011’s Can’t Get Past the Lips, had all the touchstones of a DIY band with lofty aspirations. The album’s fuzzy, guitar-driven sound was lo-fi and scrappy, but Lindsey’s incredibly catchy songwriting hinted at the promise of a not-so-ramshackle future. Can’t Get Past the Lips garnered press for the band, prompted national touring and eventually saw a re-release on producer Kevin Augunas’ Fairfax Recordings label.

Broncho’s most recent release, 2014’s Just Enough Hip to Be Woman, marks the pivotal turning point where credo meets commercial payoff. Released via Canadian indie powerhouse Dine Alone Records—home to Sylvan Esso, Lucius and Fidlar, among others—the band’s sophomore album maintains the same emphasis on fuzzy, garage and punk-inspired guitars, but there’s a sleeker glam and new-wave polish to the record, which also packs a power-pop punch.

Just Enough Hip to Be Woman seamlessly straddles the line between Stooges scuzz and Cars gloss, with each song hovering around the three-minute mark. The album features quite a few standouts, including “Class Historian,” with its wordless “doot-doot-doot” refrain.

Following the record’s positive reception from critics and listeners, Lindsey says the band has reached the point where writing and touring is a full-time commitment. “We've been touring since January,” he says. “Staying on the road is cheaper, but it has helped that we've had some TV and film placements.”

Indeed, at least three of the band’s songs from its second release have been sync-licensed—most notably with HBO, for placement in the closing credits of an episode of “Girls” and an advertisement for their video-on-demand service, HBO Now. 

“All that being said,” says Lindsey, “I’m going to mow my friend’s lawn today.”

Does Broncho’s frontman need to make a little extra spending money before hopping back on the road, or is he simply helping out a friend in need? The band’s current tour includes a variety of gigs that could seem to support either answer. The group’s Georgia Theatre rooftop show comes amidst a string of small-club shows, large festival appearances—including Bonnaroo, Firefly and Forecastle—and international appearances.

“We've gotten a lot more comfortable on bigger stages, through opening up for bigger acts over the last year,” says Lindsey. “It's nice to reach that place, because it gives us more options [and] lets us do more. But I still love playing a tight, claustrophobic club.”

Regardless of whether Broncho has yet made the jump to the big-time, the group’s Athens show should at least offer them an opportunity to revel in their grimy roots. 

“We've had some fun nights in Athens, both involving the Georgia Theatre and the backstage bathroom. It’s a great hang in that bathroom,” says Lindsey. “I'm looking forward to further exploration on this next visit. But I could just end up in that bathroom all night.”

Kishi Bashi Will perform With a 21-Piece String Orchestra →

Athens-based violinist and songwriter Kaoru Ishibashi is no stranger to pushing the limits of pop music. Over the past few years, Ishibashi has augmented the touring bands of Norwegian artist Sondre Lerche and New York-based singer-songwriter Regina Spektor, as well as Athens’ own of Montreal. But he’s most known for his stunning work as Kishi Bashi; the project’s orchestral pop teeters between classical sophistication and Classic City revelry. 

Ishibashi’s 2012 solo debut, 151a, reached a huge audience after its songs were heard in commercials for Microsoft, Sony and others. His most recent album, 2014’s Lighght(pronounced “light”), charted at No. 52 on the Billboard 200.

While Ishibashi has established himself as a bold, boundary-testing musician—his ability to loop intricate vocal melodies with equally complex instrumental counterparts live puts many like-minded performers to shame—he’ll experiment with convention in a different manner at the Georgia Theatre on Apr. 28, where a 21-piece string orchestra will accompany him onstage.

“I love the Athens audience,” Ishibashi says from the road, where he is currently on tour with college-rock mainstays Guster. “They are very much like me. They're not pretentious, but they do have high standards.” 

Indeed, after joining up with of Montreal, Ishibashi chose to carve out a home in Athens. Last year, Jittery Joe’s even released a special Kishi Bashi blend, Royal Daark, which paid  homage to the Seattle-born, Virginia-bred transplant. Ishibashi says Athens’ tight-knit musical community and openness to creative experimentation provide an ideal testing ground for a foray like the Georgia Theatre performance.

The one-off show, scheduled in between days supporting Guster, will feature advanced members of UGA’s orchestral program, as well as opener Chamber Chanchers, a local Middle Eastern music group led by Ishibashi’s touring drummer, Phillip Mayer. While the seated concert will place Ishibashi in a different setting than he’s grown accustomed to of late, he hopes the performance will bring a greater appreciation for a sound he has long enjoyed and employed.

“Although Athens is a great indie rock town, I'm hoping that this concert will inspire people to appreciate the rich, orchestral textures that this type of ensemble provides,” he says.

As Ishibashi’s live show continues to grow in scope, at times rivaling the theatrical exploits of Kevin Barnes’ troupe, one wonders what the stringed performance might mean for the virtuosic violinist’s next solo outing. He says he plans to set some time aside post-tour to start working on a new album, but he’s mum on specific details. 

While Lighght found Ishibashi dabbling with electronic, funk and disco elements—as witnessed on the peppy four-on-the-floor of “The Ballad of Mr. Steak”—that album’s closer, “In Fantasia,” featured an intricate string arrangement; was it perhaps a sign of things to come?

Of course, deviating from people’s expectations has become Ishibashi’s calling card. The upcoming orchestral show continues this trend and ups the ante even further. 

“This will be the next step,” he says. “I wanted to do it in Athens, because I have such strong support here from the community.”

Protomartyr is Detroit's Next Big Band (Whatever That Means) →

By most indie rock success standards, Detroit four-piece Protomartyr has made it. They’ve toured the U.S. extensively, logged gigs overseas and showcased tirelessly at SXSW. Their second studio album, last year’s Under Color of Official Right, released via Sub Pop subsidiary Hardly Art, garnered widespread acclaim from major music publications.

But frontman Joe Casey remains unconvinced. “Sadly, critical praise doesn’t pay the bills,” he says, adding that the members of the band, which adeptly blends post-punk austerity and garage-rock vigor, all still have day jobs.

Often heralded as a poster band for a city that’s fallen on tough times—following the past decade’s economic recession, Detroit’s population shrank to less than 700,000, nearly its lowest since the city’s automotive boom in the early 20th Century—Protomartyr’s music features certain traits outsiders might associate with Michigan’s fallen metropolis. The band’s blend of angular guitar lines, minimalist punk rhythms and Casey’s off-kilter lyrics and dry vocal delivery seem to suggest dimly lit streets and abandoned buildings like the freezing warehouse the band has used as a rehearsal space. 

Yet Protomartyr has managed to carve out an identity all its own—one of vibrancy and complexity, and one that continues to evolve. As they make their trek south, the quartet will be debuting new material from studio album No. 3, which the band finished recording in February and hopes to release in the fall. 

“We don't necessarily want to bore people with a bunch of new stuff [live], but that might be the plan,” Casey says. “If I could guess, I'd say the shows will be two-thirds old stuff, with a solid chunk of new songs jammed in the middle to allow people to go to the bar or take a nice, leisurely bathroom break.”

Casey’s sense of humor often peeks through the corners of Under Color of Official Right. “What the Wall Said” centers around a person, well, having a conversation with a wall, while lyrics of disassociated despair and longing ring out over a steady two-note bassline: “Not feeling great/ Twenty percent,” Casey sing-speaks.

On the following track, “Tarpeian Rock,” Casey reads off a laundry list of entities that, with varying degrees of seriousness, Casey would like to send over a cliff: “greedy bastards,” “internet personas,” “adults dressed as children,” even “alt-weekly types.”

These lyrical absurdities contrast with Casey’s indifferent vocal intonation and subdued onstage persona. One might surmise the juxtaposition stems from his daily life in Detroit, where he works the door at a comedy club and resides in his childhood home, left empty after his father passed away and his mother, who suffers from Alzheimer’s, moved out to the suburbs. 

In both personal and political ways, Protomartyr’s hometown informs its music. Under Color of Official Right was named after a legal term for a public official’s taking of assets; the theme is developed further on “Bad Advice,” a song addressed to former Detroit mayor Kwame Kilpatrick and other corrupt aides and bureaucrats.

While Casey’s lyrical themes, along with his penchant for dark humor and insistence that Protomartyr is a long way from “making it” paint a bleak picture of life as an independent musician in 2015, he says there have been signs of improvement. For instance, Casey admits, the band recently upgraded to a real-deal tour van.

The revelation comes with a deadpan afterword. “That’s got to be some measure of success, right?”

Are Local Punks Waitress Just Misunderstood? →

If you’re looking for a young punk band to fill the bleak, austere hole in your already darkened heart, Waitress is not the band for you. Sure, the local quartet takes its stylistic cues from some of the most talented rebels of the late ’80s and early ’90s—Fugazi, Drive Like Jehu and Jawbox, among others—but that’s where the similarities come to a screeching halt.

Blaring guitars are present, as are pummeling, math-y drums. The bass throbs at its lowest end, and the vocals occasionally reach a guttural crest. What Waitress adds to this tempered recipe, though, and what has made it the subject of some mild controversy, is a playful, subversive sense of humor.

Take the band’s genesis—an accidental butt-dial from Family and Friends drummer Ryan Houchens to singer and guitarist Brian McGhee that prompted a follow-up jam session—and you begin to get an idea of how seriously these guys take themselves. A few rehearsals with guitarist Scott Chalfant and bassist Kip Conway yielded enough workable material to book a show, even though some of the songs were still incomplete.

“'Peaked in High School' was the one that we pretty much wrote at practice without having any of those riffs from that song written beforehand. With the other ones, we composed them at practice but had at least some riffs and ideas in our heads,” says McGhee, confessing that three of the five songs from the then-unreleased Peaked in High School EP were written a week before that first show.

As Waitress played more, the group set plans to record, stepping into The Glow Recording Studio during early summer 2014 to track Peaked with engineer Jesse Mangum. Their fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants attitude proved to be essential during these sessions.

“The beauty of [the EP] was that we recorded everything live,” says McGhee with a lighthearted, laid-back drawl. Furthermore, a large portion of the lyrics were written on a discarded PBR case before entering the booth. “I don’t really write lyrics. Period,” McGhee says.

Yet those lyrics are what Waitress has been most scrutinized over. EP opener “Year of the Spider” is a collection of unconnected vignettes, most of which are ambiguous enough not to warrant further inspection, especially live, when they’re buried beneath a mix of guitar squall and cymbal crashes.

But McGhee has caught flack from some, including Flagpole, for one line in particular: “So what if I want to kiss black girls?” he deadpans, a thought that he says occurred to him after overhearing a group of guys talk about a female passerby. (“She’s pretty… for a black girl.”)

Though McGhee clarifies that, for him, skin color doesn’t dictate beauty, the irony in Waitress’ music has tended to get lost in translation, perhaps because of the seriousness the genre is known for, or because few have taken the time to try to understand its context.

McGhee adds that he has attempted to reach out to those offended to apologize and offer a frame of reference, but also that doing so usually does not generate a reply. “I like to think I’m a decent guy,” says McGhee.

Waitress’ show this Thursday at The World Famous serves as the CD release for Peaked in High School, which they released digitally Aug. 15, 2014. The show will be donation-based, and local post-hardcore trio Nurture and Philly punks Dirt Queen share the bill.

With Guarantees, Grand Vapids Cuts Through the Noise →

In a town as small as Athens, it's common for recognition to inflate a band's ego, even when it may not be fully deserved. It’s rare and refreshing to discover a band both modest and fully educated in its craft, technically proficient and musically compatible, with songs that are simultaneously thought-provoking and enjoyable.

Local rock quartet Grand Vapids’ principal songwriters, Austin Harris and McKendrick Bearden, met while studying music at Georgia’s LaGrange College, where they began writing songs for Grand Vapids’ precursor project, the folk-leaning indie rock trio Androcles and the Lion. Those songs, performed as part of a LaGrange senior recital, ended up becoming Androcles’ first EP, As Far As Blindness Could See, recorded at Chase Park Transduction with drummer Paul Stevens and engineer Drew Vandenberg.

Subsequent recording sessions for an Androcles full-length revealed that a new project had emerged. “We start recording these newer songs, and we’re kind of fleshing out the arrangements, and… we just kind of realize, ‘Oh, this is a different band. This isn’t the same thing. The songs are so different’,” says Bearden. 

With Stevens taking an active role in writing and arranging new material, and a suspicion that the trio had landed on something different, the group added Bearden’s childhood friend Chris Goggans on bass and changed the band name as recording wrapped. 

Recorded and mixed with Vandenberg at Chase Park, Grand Vapids’ debut album, Guarantees, is an incredibly candid look into each songwriter’s personal turmoil during the two-to-three-year span of the record’s creation: Romantic relationships folded; friends passed away and left confusion and grief in their place.

“Kiln” and “Aubade,” written by Bearden and Harris, respectively, were spawned after the death of a LaGrange schoolmate, a songwriter the two admired for his artistic courage. “There are specific lyrics in there that deal with that, but at the same time it’s just kind of grappling with that loss and trying to find some solace in poetry or beauty of another nature that brings a kind of consolation,” says Harris.

“Maybe, in some ways… it’s influenced our decision to continue as a band,” Bearden says. “I’m sure it [made] its way into a lot of [the album] unknowingly.”

Anxious and reflective, Guarantees is an album of sheer beauty, featuring a dense wall of guitars and a chugging rhythm section. Its title track, the album’s final song, begins with the steady thump of a floor tom and a dirge-like chord progression on piano before the chime of a bell and a pleasantly strummed acoustic guitar signal a quick shift. 

As Bearden sings about the overwhelming, transformative aspects of love, certain phrases stick out: “You give me new form,” “You shape me all over” and, most distinctly, “You ask for nothing/ And I give you failure.”

As the album’s promotional campaign wraps, having garnered nods from Stereogum, Consequence of Sound and CMJ, among others, Grand Vapids modestly moves forward with an album release show at the Caledonia Lounge Friday. Humble and happy to be playing music together, the band has already managed to cut convincingly through the noise.

The Cassette Craze is in Full Swing, But Don't Call it a Comeback →

Long disregarded by the general public, thought to be an outdated medium for recording and listening to music, cassette tapes have gained a more watchful and interested audience in recent years. Influential independent labels like Captured Tracks, Drag City and Polyvinyl are now releasing their artists’ music on cassette alongside today’s other standards: digital download or stream, CD and vinyl. Joyful Noise Recordings even reissued Athens indie-pop outfit of Montreal’s discography on tape in 2011, limited to 500 hand-numbered copies, each in a screen-printed, custom-built wooden box.

More recently, the cassette has picked up often-surreal mainstream nods. Following its stellar performance at the box office and on the Billboard charts (a $330 million domestic gross, according to Box Office Mojo, and a No. 1 spot on the 200 chart), Disney subsidiary Hollywood Records announced that the Guardians of the Galaxy soundtrack would be released on tape. (The limited-edition release will be made available exclusively to independent retailers participating in Record Store Day through Dec. 31.)

In Athens, tape sales have been strong, no doubt a reflection of the musical community putting them out—a growing list of labels, including Southern Vision, Moeke and Cohosh, have released cassettes from bands like Pinecones, Nurture and Shade this year—and to the small but consistent consumer base frequenting Athens’ handful of record stores.

“Lots of locally released stuff is selling pretty consistently, and people from the Sidecar are picking up a lot of used cassettes of classic titles, as well,” says Wuxtry Records employee John Fernandes, whose own bands, Circulatory System and, soon, Old Smokey, boast cassette releases.

Rather than haphazardly attempt to place markers on a movement many are reluctant to say for sure is even occurring, it is more important to examine the process and benefit of putting music to tape, and how this highly involved labor reflects the ever-changing values of today’s music listener.

After all, it’s not like tapes disappeared. They’ve just been hiding out in thrift shops, gathering dust in parents’ garages and quietly occupying an ever-growing space in the local record store.

Why Tapes?

Cassettes have always had a home underground, among collectors and audiophiles with that DIY ethos that transcends the common cool, anchored instead in pragmatism, necessity and passion. Sonically, genres like noise, ambient, punk and acoustic music make the best fit for the medium, their thin, washed-out qualities affected little by reducing the sound to a roll of tape not 4 millimeters wide. (The Elephant 6 collective, with its fuzzed-out folk sounds, represents just one example of Athens' rich tape-trading history.)

For many musicians a self-reliant spirit is enough to inspire tape creation. But there are also specific advantages to recording and releasing on cassette that go beyond cutting out the man.

For starters, they are inexpensive to make. Overlooking the costs of recording and mastering, which can be completed in any number of different ways, with any number of different budgets, an artist or band can produce 100 professional tapes for about $84, a number that includes the actual tapes, Norelco boxes, paper inserts (or "J-cards") and labels, courtesy of National Audio Company. 

Compare that to $246 for a run of 100 CDs in jewel cases or $1,918 for 200 copies of vinyl from leading industry manufacturer Disc Makers (200 is the minimum order for vinyl), and it’s easy to see why bands on a budget might opt to put their faith in a four-inch piece of plastic. 

Athens musician Patrick Brick has been putting out music on tape for a few years, most recently releasing Dog Dreams, the latest album from his confessional bedroom-pop project, Futo, on his own fledgling label, Teen Sleuth. Brick attests to the medium’s affordability and ease of production. 

“It was more of just an availability type thing,” he says. “I could make my own CDs, but it just doesn’t look as good as a handmade cassette. I wanted physical merch without dealing with CDs. It was just the quickest, easiest DIY way to get my shit out there.”

Indeed, a well designed tape can differentiate a band from the pack at the merch table, but cassettes also allow a heightened level of personalization and an ability to connect artist to listener. 

"If you’re just doing single little tapes, I think it’s much better, artist-to-consumer," says Brick. "I used to write little notes in mine. You can’t write on a CD. CDs are the worst."

On top of being economical and intimate, there is another obvious reason for the renewed interest in tapes among a younger generation: nostalgia. 

In terms of music, fashion and other cultural signifiers, society has a knack for looking back to generations past and borrowing to create anew, a reclamation and reworking of trends, themselves likely inspired by other past innovators. Think of the post-punk revival of the early- and mid-aughts, heralded by Brooklyn’s vintage cool, or the influence of the ‘90s on today’s music and fashion.

“It’s kind of a fetishization thing—and I don’t mean that in a bad way, because I do the same thing. It’s just a cool physical medium,” says J.J. Posway, whose formerly Athens-based noise-pop trio, Scooterbabe, and ambient solo project, Aprotag, have released recordings on cassette via local labels Pizza Tomb and Posway's own Slouch Tapes, respectively. 

Posway’s sentiment rings true with many young people. Cassettes are a bridge of sorts between generations entrenched in physical media and millennials raised to stream and download, though the regard seems less for quality or creator and more for simplicity and availability. "Digital music is so easy to acquire," Posway says. "Tapes are an actual, exciting physical medium." 

Staying Power?

The question remains whether the cassette can transcend its niche status and, like vinyl several years ago, experience a full-blown revival. Tapes have an an undeniable appeal for many, but do its most fervent proponents have what it takes to compete for the attention of a consumer base so shifting in taste and preference? 

Bobby Power, of Atlanta experimental label Geographic North, believes so, echoing the argument that tapes never really went away. 

“They may be putting up a stronger fight for shelf space than, say, 10 years ago," he says, "but there’s always been a fervent cassette culture.”

Geographic North, spearheaded by Power (an occasional Flagpole contributor) and three friends, didn’t initially release its artists’ music on cassette, beginning instead with vinyl and turning to tapes later, when budgets only provided for small, quick runs.​ 

“As a label, tapes allow us to take more chances and release stuff we’re super excited about—but don’t have as much money to spend on as a 7-inch or 12-inch release,” says Power, whose label boasts releases from A Sunny Day In Glasgow and Deerhunter offshoot Lotus Plaza.

Like many labels, Geographic North posts music from its releases online, hoping it will encourage curious listeners to buy the physical product. "If anything, we probably cater to the needs of a non-tape-buying audience," Power says. "First and foremost, we just want this music we care about served up to the folks that would dig it, which is why we decided to put up each tape for free stream and download as soon as the tape is available."

This attitude reflects the wide array of formatting available to consumers, with cassettes representing just a tiny percentage of the music market. Even if their resurgence can be qualified as a "revival," it seems highly unlikely tape will once again become the preferred method of release on a larger scale.

So where, then, is the cassette’s place in today’s music economy, if digital streaming leads the race, vinyl has hit the mainstream and CDs occupy the nexus of “not very interesting” but “too convenient to forget”? 

Locally, tapes may be selling well, but Captured Tracks owner Mike Sniper says the numbers are “very low” for his company, which boasts a roster of indie powerhouses like DIIV, Wild Nothing and Beach Fossils. 

“On a bigger release, like Mac DeMarco, the cassette version will do about 3–4 percent of the sales, if even,” says Sniper.

In addition, there is a conspicuous practical barrier for many would-be buyers: Few people actually own the necessary equipment in 2014. “Listening has become relative to what is in our cars, our home stereo equipment, etc. Most newer vehicles don't even have tape players,” says Gabrielle Bischoff, whose family owns and operates The Pope On Prince, a thrift store located above the Daily Groceries Co-Op.

Still, that’s slowly but surely changing, Bischoff says: “Our cassette players and tape recorders seem to disappear just as soon as they arrive.” In one particular instance, a woman arrived with an old Nakamichi tape player, assuming it was worthless and thinking the store was a Catholic donation center. 

“The lady who brought it to us said it was her husband's, and he used it for some sort of psychology dictation. She wasn't disappointed when I offered her money for it,” Bischoff says. “I believe that it sold the following day.”