SATURDAY FEB 25, 2017
Microwave
It may have only been two years since Atlanta’s Microwave released its debut record Stovall, but much has changed in that short amount of time. While the exuberance and joy of Stovall dealt with vocalist/guitarist Nathan Hardy’s wideeyed wonder at a world previously obscured by a strict religious upbringing and his time as a Mormon missionary – songs of innocence, if you will – Much Love details the aftermath once that awestruck amazement has been dampened by the harsh realities of life. These, then, are songs of experience, the sound of growing pains, with the emphasis very much on the pain, on the trials and tribulations that come after the euphoria of freedom. That’s not to say that first album was devoid of drama, because it was full of it, but the ten tracks that make up Much Love certainly traverse darker, more unstable territory by confronting the very existence and notion of life as Hardy once knew it. “Thematically,” says Hardy, “this record is about questioning things you’ve been taught your whole life about how the world is. I grew up really religious and at one point I found for myself that I didn’t identify with that anymore. And then I started to realize that other things, like the idea of love and monogamous relationships, were also in that same vein of stuff that I’d been taught when I was younger that were just what you’re supposed to do.” “All these things I’d been taught going to church six days a week or through watching Disney movies that reinforced the idea of finding someone and living happily ever after, I was beginning to understand weren’t universal truths after all.” He pauses. “And that, overall, made me realize there’s not an inherent meaning to life and I more or less had to build a new foundation for my life.” Given the heavy emotional, philosophical and existential weight behind these songs, it’s no surprise that the band – completed by guitarist/vocalist Wesley Swanson, bassist Tyler Hill and drummer Timothy ‘Tito’ Pittard – found themselves writing music to suit this shift of tone and perspective. The result is that tracks like “Roaches” and “Busy” glisten with a more jagged and acerbic edge, one that’s rough and unsteady but nonetheless still full of the melodic sensibilities that defined that first record. Elsewhere, “Lighterless” is a scuzzy, grungepop gem, “Vomit” is a restless, jittery ball of nerves and anxiety, while “Whimper” is sultry, sleazy and almost bluesy. Recorded and produced, like Stovall,by Travis Hill, Much Love is a more abrasive, rawer set of songs than its predecessor, more The Devil And God Are Raging Inside Me than Deja Entendu. Yes, Microwave are very much still recognizable as the same band, but at the same time these songs are a conscious evolution of their sound. “Musically,” Hardy explains, “we tried to branch out more and experiment with other sorts of tones and vibes for songs. So overall it was very much an experimental endeavor recording it. But we’ve also spent more time playing together and we’ve developed more of a personality – we realized we all like to make weird noises with our instruments and we hadn’t really incorporated that in the past. We’d fuck around during practice and make weird stuff, but it was only with this new stuff that we thought we should mess around and make noises until we find really cool ones and actually use those in the recordings.” It all makes for an intense and cohesive representation of life that encompasses both base human behavior and emotions – sex, drugs, alcohol, jealousy, promiscuity, to name a few – as well as those more existential and philosophical elements that lie just below the surface of those actions. It’s an album that wrestles with the meaninglessness of existence and which tries – sometimes successfully, sometimes futilely – to find meaning in that vacuum of insignificance and emptiness. In that sense, Much Love is very much a comingofage album, but it’s most definitely not of the saccharine, indie flick variety. And while this record is centered around a very specific and unique set of circumstances, these are universal songs that have a profound and powerful impact, regardless of your own personal situation.
It may have only been two years since Atlanta’s Microwave released its debut record Stovall, but much has changed in that short amount of time. While the exuberance and joy of Stovall dealt with vocalist/guitarist Nathan Hardy’s wideeyed wonder at a world previously obscured by a strict religious upbringing and his time as a Mormon missionary – songs of innocence, if you will – Much Love details the aftermath once that awestruck amazement has been dampened by the harsh realities of life. These, then, are songs of experience, the sound of growing pains, with the emphasis very much on the pain, on the trials and tribulations that come after the euphoria of freedom. That’s not to say that first album was devoid of drama, because it was full of it, but the ten tracks that make up Much Love certainly traverse darker, more unstable territory by confronting the very existence and notion of life as Hardy once knew it. “Thematically,” says Hardy, “this record is about questioning things you’ve been taught your whole life about how the world is. I grew up really religious and at one point I found for myself that I didn’t identify with that anymore. And then I started to realize that other things, like the idea of love and monogamous relationships, were also in that same vein of stuff that I’d been taught when I was younger that were just what you’re supposed to do.” “All these things I’d been taught going to church six days a week or through watching Disney movies that reinforced the idea of finding someone and living happily ever after, I was beginning to understand weren’t universal truths after all.” He pauses. “And that, overall, made me realize there’s not an inherent meaning to life and I more or less had to build a new foundation for my life.” Given the heavy emotional, philosophical and existential weight behind these songs, it’s no surprise that the band – completed by guitarist/vocalist Wesley Swanson, bassist Tyler Hill and drummer Timothy ‘Tito’ Pittard – found themselves writing music to suit this shift of tone and perspective. The result is that tracks like “Roaches” and “Busy” glisten with a more jagged and acerbic edge, one that’s rough and unsteady but nonetheless still full of the melodic sensibilities that defined that first record. Elsewhere, “Lighterless” is a scuzzy, grungepop gem, “Vomit” is a restless, jittery ball of nerves and anxiety, while “Whimper” is sultry, sleazy and almost bluesy. Recorded and produced, like Stovall,by Travis Hill, Much Love is a more abrasive, rawer set of songs than its predecessor, more The Devil And God Are Raging Inside Me than Deja Entendu. Yes, Microwave are very much still recognizable as the same band, but at the same time these songs are a conscious evolution of their sound. “Musically,” Hardy explains, “we tried to branch out more and experiment with other sorts of tones and vibes for songs. So overall it was very much an experimental endeavor recording it. But we’ve also spent more time playing together and we’ve developed more of a personality – we realized we all like to make weird noises with our instruments and we hadn’t really incorporated that in the past. We’d fuck around during practice and make weird stuff, but it was only with this new stuff that we thought we should mess around and make noises until we find really cool ones and actually use those in the recordings.” It all makes for an intense and cohesive representation of life that encompasses both base human behavior and emotions – sex, drugs, alcohol, jealousy, promiscuity, to name a few – as well as those more existential and philosophical elements that lie just below the surface of those actions. It’s an album that wrestles with the meaninglessness of existence and which tries – sometimes successfully, sometimes futilely – to find meaning in that vacuum of insignificance and emptiness. In that sense, Much Love is very much a comingofage album, but it’s most definitely not of the saccharine, indie flick variety. And while this record is centered around a very specific and unique set of circumstances, these are universal songs that have a profound and powerful impact, regardless of your own personal situation.
Blis
"Emo music has a knack for synonymy. Twinkly guitars, lyrics of heartbreak and friendships lost, the sing-shout choruses that invite audience participation; the DIY-scene is saturated in the same ideas and trends that feel overused and commonplace for a fifth of the acts who annually play FEST. It takes a distinct band to craft an exciting record that builds off of insecurities and anxiety in a way that feels relatable, exciting and explosive. And that’s truly what Atlanta’s Blis. has shown us on their debut LP, No One Loves You. Mixing emo with elements of shoegaze, indie rock, pop punk, and post-hardcore, Blis. has created a soundscape of the exciting bits of rock music without sticking to one subgenre too dearly. They’ve broadened their scope since debuting onto the scene with the fantastic four-track EP Starting Fires In My Parents House, crafting a balanced debut album that stands as an impressive feat and influenced by acts as Pedro the Lion and Nine Inch Nails. This isn’t so much an awesome emo album for 2017 as much it is an amazing Blis. record With the amount of silence Blis. has given between No One Loves You and Starting Fires In My Parents House, time was surely taken wisely. Structurally, every song on No One Loves You carries the weight of a number of styles that blend together effortlessly, although on paper, they shouldn’t. But somehow, vocalist Aaron Gossett fits perfectly just above the record’s hefty guitar work, grimy basslines and, at times, desolate atmospheres. Along with drummer Jimi Ingman, bassist Luke Jones and guitarist Josiah Smith, the group has completely managed to harness their instrumental ideas to the fullest. Take “Old Man,” the third single from No One Loves You. The song begins with a barrage of noise that feels grandiose, locked in a room full of echoing guitars and vocal “woos” in the background, flirting with the idea of shoegaze. Then “Old Man” tones down for Aaron Gossett’s softly sung vocals, “I was a servant and you were a king / I don’t deserve it, what you did to me.” The mood drops from its noisy ambience into a slow-churning, introspective performance from Blis., slightly reminding its listeners of older records by The Deftones, or a more grunge-influenced wave of emo. “Stale Smoke,” one of the album’s other singles, sees Gossett’s vocals gradually rise over heavily textured instrumentals and melodies, before eventually exploding into a chorus of see-saw of guitars and rhythmic grooves. The song is perhaps the most exciting on the record, pacing a build up of anticipation to get to its payoff, then never losing the listener’s attention when it arrives. It’s the meticulous planning of tension and release that gives No One Loves You such a balanced atmosphere of melancholy an
Nearly every song off No One Loves You deals with the rejection of an omnipotent higher power. Gossett became a father this summer with his long-time girlfriend, whose family is heavily Christian, which explains the record’s constant tug-of-war between emotions, internal struggle and religion. On the album’s opener, “Dumb,” Gossett explains how he’s been dumbed down from television, magazines, “And an old Book that my parents forced on me / That built the separation of what’s right and being happy.” Later, on “Lost Boy,” Gossett struggles with the birth of his son and the relationship dynamic between himself and his girlfriend’s family: “I don’t want to lose him to your God / I don’t want to lose my little boy to your God.” This shout of frustration later blossoms into self-assurance: “No one loves you like I do / No God loves you like I do.” It’s evident on multiple songs that for Gossett, God’s existence continually casts a shadow over the singer’s self-worth, feeling unjustified and thrust into his life. As vulnerable as Gossett sounds on No One Loves You, the album remains incredibly engaging and concise. Songs like “Christian Girls” and “Home” depict his girlfriend’s upbringing as a devout follower, criticizing blind faith and manipulation, while on “Ugly” and “Lost Boy,” Gossett yearns for acceptance of both himself and his new family dynamic. The constant push-and-pull of lyricism and instrumentals on No One Loves You gives the album an enthralling atmosphere for the listener to dissect. Desolate vocal lows and moody structures play keenly alongside skyrocketing guitar work and emo/indie-rock noise. This debut album is an impressive feat of control through carefully crafted traction, anxiety and payoff. It’s obvious that Sargent House has found one of their brightest, most promising acts." -Mass Appeal
"Emo music has a knack for synonymy. Twinkly guitars, lyrics of heartbreak and friendships lost, the sing-shout choruses that invite audience participation; the DIY-scene is saturated in the same ideas and trends that feel overused and commonplace for a fifth of the acts who annually play FEST. It takes a distinct band to craft an exciting record that builds off of insecurities and anxiety in a way that feels relatable, exciting and explosive. And that’s truly what Atlanta’s Blis. has shown us on their debut LP, No One Loves You. Mixing emo with elements of shoegaze, indie rock, pop punk, and post-hardcore, Blis. has created a soundscape of the exciting bits of rock music without sticking to one subgenre too dearly. They’ve broadened their scope since debuting onto the scene with the fantastic four-track EP Starting Fires In My Parents House, crafting a balanced debut album that stands as an impressive feat and influenced by acts as Pedro the Lion and Nine Inch Nails. This isn’t so much an awesome emo album for 2017 as much it is an amazing Blis. record With the amount of silence Blis. has given between No One Loves You and Starting Fires In My Parents House, time was surely taken wisely. Structurally, every song on No One Loves You carries the weight of a number of styles that blend together effortlessly, although on paper, they shouldn’t. But somehow, vocalist Aaron Gossett fits perfectly just above the record’s hefty guitar work, grimy basslines and, at times, desolate atmospheres. Along with drummer Jimi Ingman, bassist Luke Jones and guitarist Josiah Smith, the group has completely managed to harness their instrumental ideas to the fullest. Take “Old Man,” the third single from No One Loves You. The song begins with a barrage of noise that feels grandiose, locked in a room full of echoing guitars and vocal “woos” in the background, flirting with the idea of shoegaze. Then “Old Man” tones down for Aaron Gossett’s softly sung vocals, “I was a servant and you were a king / I don’t deserve it, what you did to me.” The mood drops from its noisy ambience into a slow-churning, introspective performance from Blis., slightly reminding its listeners of older records by The Deftones, or a more grunge-influenced wave of emo. “Stale Smoke,” one of the album’s other singles, sees Gossett’s vocals gradually rise over heavily textured instrumentals and melodies, before eventually exploding into a chorus of see-saw of guitars and rhythmic grooves. The song is perhaps the most exciting on the record, pacing a build up of anticipation to get to its payoff, then never losing the listener’s attention when it arrives. It’s the meticulous planning of tension and release that gives No One Loves You such a balanced atmosphere of melancholy an
Nearly every song off No One Loves You deals with the rejection of an omnipotent higher power. Gossett became a father this summer with his long-time girlfriend, whose family is heavily Christian, which explains the record’s constant tug-of-war between emotions, internal struggle and religion. On the album’s opener, “Dumb,” Gossett explains how he’s been dumbed down from television, magazines, “And an old Book that my parents forced on me / That built the separation of what’s right and being happy.” Later, on “Lost Boy,” Gossett struggles with the birth of his son and the relationship dynamic between himself and his girlfriend’s family: “I don’t want to lose him to your God / I don’t want to lose my little boy to your God.” This shout of frustration later blossoms into self-assurance: “No one loves you like I do / No God loves you like I do.” It’s evident on multiple songs that for Gossett, God’s existence continually casts a shadow over the singer’s self-worth, feeling unjustified and thrust into his life. As vulnerable as Gossett sounds on No One Loves You, the album remains incredibly engaging and concise. Songs like “Christian Girls” and “Home” depict his girlfriend’s upbringing as a devout follower, criticizing blind faith and manipulation, while on “Ugly” and “Lost Boy,” Gossett yearns for acceptance of both himself and his new family dynamic. The constant push-and-pull of lyricism and instrumentals on No One Loves You gives the album an enthralling atmosphere for the listener to dissect. Desolate vocal lows and moody structures play keenly alongside skyrocketing guitar work and emo/indie-rock noise. This debut album is an impressive feat of control through carefully crafted traction, anxiety and payoff. It’s obvious that Sargent House has found one of their brightest, most promising acts." -Mass Appeal