SATURDAY NOV 05, 2016
529 Presents:
Irrelevant Music & Chunklet Industries Present:
Greys
Shepherds (LP Release Show!)
DiCaprio | Glare | DJ Shrimp Puzzle
Greys
A punk band growing up is always a perilous proposition. A dicey gambit to be sure, but your Talking Heads, your Wires, your Sonic Youths and your Deerhunters were all scrappy young kids making sizeable rackets once upon a time. It was only after they decided to make poignantly observant, unexpectedly epochal rackets that they challenged and transcended the idea of what a punk band could be. This is precisely where we find Greys at the outset of their sophomore album, Outer Heaven.
The ten-song, 39-minute long player delivers on the promises the Toronto quartet made on 2015’s Repulsion EP, placing the band in more spacious environments and letting them build upon their noise rock foundation by incorporating new textures and dynamics to temper their trademark onslaught of discordance, which was already perfected on their debut record, 2014’s If Anything. Where their formative material saw them paying homage to their heroes, the new album sees Greys making a concentrated effort to realize their own sound. Whether that means employing tape drones, drum machines and synthesizers as noise-making tools on “Sorcerer,” or breaking into a three-part harmony adorned with sleigh bells in the middle of the hardcore intensity found on “In For A Penny,” these four young men prove that they are more than up for a challenge.
In a very literal way, singer/guitarist Shehzaad Jiwani has made it clear on this record that he wants his voice to be heard. Each song contains a sweet-and-sour earworm that brings his characteristically self-aware, often satirical lyrics to the forefront, and his serrated shout is almost entirely swapped for a more tuneful approach. Almost. Lyrically, his focus has sharpened, moving from inward to outward. This is best evident on first single “No Star,” wherein Jiwani addresses the aftermath of the shootings at Bataclan in Paris by declaring, “Don’t shoot/I’m not the enemy.”
“It’s difficult to feel like you have a voice in these situations when you’ve grown up in a predominantly white community and don’t identify with either side,” explains Jiwani. “On the one hand, some people are attacking anyone who looks remotely like you, but on the other hand, the people who are trying to defend you are also speaking on your behalf, taking away your voice. It’s like I had nowhere to turn because no one was listening to me, like I wasn’t able to speak for myself.”
Each song filters its subject matter through Jiwani’s wryly incisive perception of those topics, from a news story about a group of teens barbarically murdering their classmate on album opener “Cruelty,” to the advent of technological singularity on closer “My Life As A Cloud.” Elsewhere, on “Blown Out,” the frontman confronts his own mental health by painting it in the context of a relationship with a partner who doesn’t fully understand the unrelenting complexities of depression. The climax of the song sees him wailing, “I want you to see/There’s something wrong with me,” which would be a harrowing moment if it wasn’t the single catchiest song Greys have ever written.
With their intense live show documented admirably on their previous releases – and honed alongside bands like Death From Above 1979, Viet Cong, Speedy Ortiz, Cloud Nothings, Perfect Pussy and their Buzz Records brethren Dilly Dally – the four piece sought to explore their more atmospheric tendencies on Outer Heaven. Produced by longtime collaborator Mike Rocha at the hallowed Hotel 2 Tango studio in Montreal (Arcade Fire, Godspeed You! Black Emperor), the record displays unprecedented depth and range for Greys, calling to mind groups as disparate as Sonic Youth, Swell Maps and The Swirlies without ever losing sight of what defines the band – a distinct mixture of melody and dissonance, order and chaos, volume and substance.
A punk band growing up is always a perilous proposition. A dicey gambit to be sure, but your Talking Heads, your Wires, your Sonic Youths and your Deerhunters were all scrappy young kids making sizeable rackets once upon a time. It was only after they decided to make poignantly observant, unexpectedly epochal rackets that they challenged and transcended the idea of what a punk band could be. This is precisely where we find Greys at the outset of their sophomore album, Outer Heaven.
The ten-song, 39-minute long player delivers on the promises the Toronto quartet made on 2015’s Repulsion EP, placing the band in more spacious environments and letting them build upon their noise rock foundation by incorporating new textures and dynamics to temper their trademark onslaught of discordance, which was already perfected on their debut record, 2014’s If Anything. Where their formative material saw them paying homage to their heroes, the new album sees Greys making a concentrated effort to realize their own sound. Whether that means employing tape drones, drum machines and synthesizers as noise-making tools on “Sorcerer,” or breaking into a three-part harmony adorned with sleigh bells in the middle of the hardcore intensity found on “In For A Penny,” these four young men prove that they are more than up for a challenge.
In a very literal way, singer/guitarist Shehzaad Jiwani has made it clear on this record that he wants his voice to be heard. Each song contains a sweet-and-sour earworm that brings his characteristically self-aware, often satirical lyrics to the forefront, and his serrated shout is almost entirely swapped for a more tuneful approach. Almost. Lyrically, his focus has sharpened, moving from inward to outward. This is best evident on first single “No Star,” wherein Jiwani addresses the aftermath of the shootings at Bataclan in Paris by declaring, “Don’t shoot/I’m not the enemy.”
“It’s difficult to feel like you have a voice in these situations when you’ve grown up in a predominantly white community and don’t identify with either side,” explains Jiwani. “On the one hand, some people are attacking anyone who looks remotely like you, but on the other hand, the people who are trying to defend you are also speaking on your behalf, taking away your voice. It’s like I had nowhere to turn because no one was listening to me, like I wasn’t able to speak for myself.”
Each song filters its subject matter through Jiwani’s wryly incisive perception of those topics, from a news story about a group of teens barbarically murdering their classmate on album opener “Cruelty,” to the advent of technological singularity on closer “My Life As A Cloud.” Elsewhere, on “Blown Out,” the frontman confronts his own mental health by painting it in the context of a relationship with a partner who doesn’t fully understand the unrelenting complexities of depression. The climax of the song sees him wailing, “I want you to see/There’s something wrong with me,” which would be a harrowing moment if it wasn’t the single catchiest song Greys have ever written.
With their intense live show documented admirably on their previous releases – and honed alongside bands like Death From Above 1979, Viet Cong, Speedy Ortiz, Cloud Nothings, Perfect Pussy and their Buzz Records brethren Dilly Dally – the four piece sought to explore their more atmospheric tendencies on Outer Heaven. Produced by longtime collaborator Mike Rocha at the hallowed Hotel 2 Tango studio in Montreal (Arcade Fire, Godspeed You! Black Emperor), the record displays unprecedented depth and range for Greys, calling to mind groups as disparate as Sonic Youth, Swell Maps and The Swirlies without ever losing sight of what defines the band – a distinct mixture of melody and dissonance, order and chaos, volume and substance.
Shepherds (LP Release Show!)
The healing hand and surgeon’s scalpel are intertwined on Shepherds’ new album Insignificant Whip. The art-rock masterpiece encases the band’s vulnerable wisdom in flighty melodies that burn with intimacy and fragility as singer/lyricists Jonathan Merenivitch and Adrian Benedykt Świtoń address everything from toxic masculinity and Catholic guilt to Youtube comments and Tupac Shakur. Since their 2011 EP Holy Stain, the band have received accolades for their taut analyses of social ills and the resulting strain on body and mind, but even the skeletal no-wave that defined their early sound was bound with, in the broadest sense of the word, soul. The band’s ability to confront their deepest insecurities and doubts is more than simple catharsis, it serves to illuminate deeper questions of existence and identity, and frame them in context of systemic oppression, discrimination, and isolation.
The minimalism which guided Shepherds’ earlier work has evolved into lush, expansive compositions thanks to founding bassist Peter Cauthorn, who helped flesh out the LP’s identity as a core contributor to the album’s instrumental textures. Vocalist and drummer Świtoń also took on a central role in the recording process, contributing his voice and songwriting talents to the the album’s pensive hue, while new additions Ryan York (drums), May Tabol (guitar, keyboards), and Vinny Restivo (bass) round out the live band. Moments on Insignificant Whip recall everything from Felt to Josef K, but Shepherds have a keen ability to write post-punk which is modern and prescient rather than a simple homage to a particular era of underground music. The martial rhythms still echo with the proletariat fever of their 2015 LP Exit Youth, but now the lyrics are delivered over thrilling saxophone melodies and deliberative chords, making them all the more haunting, thanks to production from Drew Vandenburg (Toro Y Moi, Mothers, Of Montreal).
Throughout Insignificant Whip, the introspective nature of Shepherds is amplified by a holistic understanding of what it means to be human. The anxieties of adulthood, the teenage desires deferred, and the crushing weight of evil in the world are forged into vulnerable psalms. It’s precisely in these tear-stained moments that the album surpasses the encroaching anxiety as Shepherds invite the listener into a community which tempers the surrounding darkness and pushes back against oppression with resolute empathy.
The healing hand and surgeon’s scalpel are intertwined on Shepherds’ new album Insignificant Whip. The art-rock masterpiece encases the band’s vulnerable wisdom in flighty melodies that burn with intimacy and fragility as singer/lyricists Jonathan Merenivitch and Adrian Benedykt Świtoń address everything from toxic masculinity and Catholic guilt to Youtube comments and Tupac Shakur. Since their 2011 EP Holy Stain, the band have received accolades for their taut analyses of social ills and the resulting strain on body and mind, but even the skeletal no-wave that defined their early sound was bound with, in the broadest sense of the word, soul. The band’s ability to confront their deepest insecurities and doubts is more than simple catharsis, it serves to illuminate deeper questions of existence and identity, and frame them in context of systemic oppression, discrimination, and isolation.
The minimalism which guided Shepherds’ earlier work has evolved into lush, expansive compositions thanks to founding bassist Peter Cauthorn, who helped flesh out the LP’s identity as a core contributor to the album’s instrumental textures. Vocalist and drummer Świtoń also took on a central role in the recording process, contributing his voice and songwriting talents to the the album’s pensive hue, while new additions Ryan York (drums), May Tabol (guitar, keyboards), and Vinny Restivo (bass) round out the live band. Moments on Insignificant Whip recall everything from Felt to Josef K, but Shepherds have a keen ability to write post-punk which is modern and prescient rather than a simple homage to a particular era of underground music. The martial rhythms still echo with the proletariat fever of their 2015 LP Exit Youth, but now the lyrics are delivered over thrilling saxophone melodies and deliberative chords, making them all the more haunting, thanks to production from Drew Vandenburg (Toro Y Moi, Mothers, Of Montreal).
Throughout Insignificant Whip, the introspective nature of Shepherds is amplified by a holistic understanding of what it means to be human. The anxieties of adulthood, the teenage desires deferred, and the crushing weight of evil in the world are forged into vulnerable psalms. It’s precisely in these tear-stained moments that the album surpasses the encroaching anxiety as Shepherds invite the listener into a community which tempers the surrounding darkness and pushes back against oppression with resolute empathy.
DiCaprio
"Atlanta post-punk trio DiCaprio called their debut album I Went to the Mall Yesterday and I Got Sick. Released in 2017, it contained the kind of moody tension and loquaciousness that some compared to the music of Parquet Courts. They were the kind of deadpan songs about living in a society where the people who make your coffee know your first name but your neighbours are suspicious of you." -Noisey
"Atlanta post-punk trio DiCaprio called their debut album I Went to the Mall Yesterday and I Got Sick. Released in 2017, it contained the kind of moody tension and loquaciousness that some compared to the music of Parquet Courts. They were the kind of deadpan songs about living in a society where the people who make your coffee know your first name but your neighbours are suspicious of you." -Noisey
Glare
"On their debut single, Atlanta trio Glare stick to post-punk orthodoxy while twisting their penchant for the morose into a three-minute slab of ferocity. The thunderous track invokes the smog-covered alleys and dingy clubs of late ’70s London, but the band focuses the energy of “Cult of Culture” by deconstructing modern pop sensibilities and embracing latent punk aggression. Vocalist and guitarist Rachel Pagillo delivers each line with all the confidence of Siouxsie Sioux. She cleverly toys with dynamics, swaggering over a pounding bassline with a vibrancy occasionally lost in the band’s guitar-laden live performances." – Immersive Atlanta
"On their debut single, Atlanta trio Glare stick to post-punk orthodoxy while twisting their penchant for the morose into a three-minute slab of ferocity. The thunderous track invokes the smog-covered alleys and dingy clubs of late ’70s London, but the band focuses the energy of “Cult of Culture” by deconstructing modern pop sensibilities and embracing latent punk aggression. Vocalist and guitarist Rachel Pagillo delivers each line with all the confidence of Siouxsie Sioux. She cleverly toys with dynamics, swaggering over a pounding bassline with a vibrancy occasionally lost in the band’s guitar-laden live performances." – Immersive Atlanta