WEDNESDAY APR 20, 2016
Tacocat
One of the weirdest things humans do is to classify half of all humans as niche. As though women’s shit isn’t real shit—as though menses and horses and being internet-harassed aren’t as interesting as beer-farts and monster trucks and doing the harassing. That’s why Tacocat is radical: not because a female-driven band is some baffling novelty, but because they’re a group making art about experiences in which gender is both foregrounded and neutralized. This isn’t lady stuff, it’s people stuff. It’s normal. It’s nothing and everything. It’s life.
The four actual best friends—Emily Nokes (vocals, tambourine), Eric Randall (guitar), Lelah Maupin (drums), and Bree McKenna (bass)—came together in their teens and early baby twenties and coalesced into a band eight years ago, and you can feel that they’ve built both their lives, and their sound, together. Hanging out with Tacocat and listening to Tacocat are remarkably similar experiences, like the best party you’ve ever been to, where, instead of jostling for social position, everyone just wants to eat candy and talk about Sassy Magazine, sci-fi, cultural dynamic shifts, and bad experiences with men.
Tacocat’s third studio album, Lost Time (an X-Files reference, doy), is their first with producer Erik Blood. “I would describe him generally as a beautiful wizard,” Nokes said, “who, in our opinion, took the album to the next level. Wizard level.” Blood’s sounds are wide and expansive, bringing a fullness to the band’s familiar sparkling snarl. The Tacocat of Lost Time are triumphantly youthful but also plainspoken and wise, as catchy as they are substantive. “Men Explain Things to Me” eviscerates male condescension with sarcastic surf guitar. On “The Internet,” they swat away trolls with an imperiousness so satisfying you want to transmogrify it into a sheetcake and devour it: “Your place is so low/Human mosquito.”
One of feminism’s biggest hurdles has always been that it isn’t allowed to be fun. Tacocat gives that notion precisely the credence that it deserves, ignoring it altogether and making fun, funny, unselfconscious pop songs about the shit they’re genuinely obsessing or groaning over: Plan B, night swimming, high school horse girls (“they know the different breeds of all their favorite steeds!”), the bridge-and-tunnel bros who turn their neighborhood into a toilet every weekend. And, eight years in, Tacocat have built something bigger than themselves. They’ve fostered a feminist punk scene in Seattle so fertile it’s going national and rendering the notion of the “girl band” even more laughable than it already was. There are no “girl bands” in Seattle anymore. There are just bands and everyone else. “Women,” Nokes jokes. “They’re just like us!”
–Lindy West
One of the weirdest things humans do is to classify half of all humans as niche. As though women’s shit isn’t real shit—as though menses and horses and being internet-harassed aren’t as interesting as beer-farts and monster trucks and doing the harassing. That’s why Tacocat is radical: not because a female-driven band is some baffling novelty, but because they’re a group making art about experiences in which gender is both foregrounded and neutralized. This isn’t lady stuff, it’s people stuff. It’s normal. It’s nothing and everything. It’s life.
The four actual best friends—Emily Nokes (vocals, tambourine), Eric Randall (guitar), Lelah Maupin (drums), and Bree McKenna (bass)—came together in their teens and early baby twenties and coalesced into a band eight years ago, and you can feel that they’ve built both their lives, and their sound, together. Hanging out with Tacocat and listening to Tacocat are remarkably similar experiences, like the best party you’ve ever been to, where, instead of jostling for social position, everyone just wants to eat candy and talk about Sassy Magazine, sci-fi, cultural dynamic shifts, and bad experiences with men.
Tacocat’s third studio album, Lost Time (an X-Files reference, doy), is their first with producer Erik Blood. “I would describe him generally as a beautiful wizard,” Nokes said, “who, in our opinion, took the album to the next level. Wizard level.” Blood’s sounds are wide and expansive, bringing a fullness to the band’s familiar sparkling snarl. The Tacocat of Lost Time are triumphantly youthful but also plainspoken and wise, as catchy as they are substantive. “Men Explain Things to Me” eviscerates male condescension with sarcastic surf guitar. On “The Internet,” they swat away trolls with an imperiousness so satisfying you want to transmogrify it into a sheetcake and devour it: “Your place is so low/Human mosquito.”
One of feminism’s biggest hurdles has always been that it isn’t allowed to be fun. Tacocat gives that notion precisely the credence that it deserves, ignoring it altogether and making fun, funny, unselfconscious pop songs about the shit they’re genuinely obsessing or groaning over: Plan B, night swimming, high school horse girls (“they know the different breeds of all their favorite steeds!”), the bridge-and-tunnel bros who turn their neighborhood into a toilet every weekend. And, eight years in, Tacocat have built something bigger than themselves. They’ve fostered a feminist punk scene in Seattle so fertile it’s going national and rendering the notion of the “girl band” even more laughable than it already was. There are no “girl bands” in Seattle anymore. There are just bands and everyone else. “Women,” Nokes jokes. “They’re just like us!”
–Lindy West
Boyfriends
Wet Nurse
Wet Nurse is one of those bands that isn't just fun to watch every time they play a show, but they also reliably bring rad bands to town to play those shows with them, further enriching Orlando's music scene in true punk tradition by making sure we know they're not just cool but their friends' bands and tour friends are worth checking out, too. Their story begins in 2010 when sisters Nina and Susana Chaplin lamented to a coworker how badly they needed a drummer. The coworker played roller derby with Vanessa Brewster, and that kicked things off when the band gelled after just one jam. As a three-piece, they recorded 2012's Daily Whatever (released on Astro Girl), and OW criticBao Le-Huu proclaimed, "Daily Whatever bursts with lively garage-punk nuggets that sparkle with vim, bounce and tons of pop instinct."
In 2013, they added second guitarist Baile Yeager at guitarist Nina's prompting. As Brewster tells it, "On the first record, Nina played single guitar tracks with leads overdubbed. But as we kept playing out, she wanted a bigger sound and mentioned the second guitarist. Baile had been practicing with their other band, Tit Sweat, at the house Nina and Susana shared, and Sus brought up liking her style and possibly joining forces. One of her first shows with us, she busted her knee on a wet floor and needed to get rushed to the E.R., so I'm glad we didn't scare her off and she stuck around!"
As a four-piece, Wet Nurse headed out to South By Southwest for their Lolipop/Burger Records showcase in 2014, where our SXSW critic Nick McGregor chased them around town to experience what he dubs their"straight-up girl-power ragers" for the first time as a Texas resident. Later that year, Wet Nurse played the Fest in Gainesville, repping Orlando hard andcatching the eye of trendy blog BrooklynVgan, which likened them to Vivian Girls and called them a band to watch. With visibility higher and higher, Wet Nurse is nearing the end of the recording process for their as-of-yet untitled new LP. Next comes touring and they say even a music video (!!), so it's safe to say that unlike their furiously flippant stage persona, Wet Nurse seems pretty serious about an awesome-packed future.
Wet Nurse is one of those bands that isn't just fun to watch every time they play a show, but they also reliably bring rad bands to town to play those shows with them, further enriching Orlando's music scene in true punk tradition by making sure we know they're not just cool but their friends' bands and tour friends are worth checking out, too. Their story begins in 2010 when sisters Nina and Susana Chaplin lamented to a coworker how badly they needed a drummer. The coworker played roller derby with Vanessa Brewster, and that kicked things off when the band gelled after just one jam. As a three-piece, they recorded 2012's Daily Whatever (released on Astro Girl), and OW criticBao Le-Huu proclaimed, "Daily Whatever bursts with lively garage-punk nuggets that sparkle with vim, bounce and tons of pop instinct."
In 2013, they added second guitarist Baile Yeager at guitarist Nina's prompting. As Brewster tells it, "On the first record, Nina played single guitar tracks with leads overdubbed. But as we kept playing out, she wanted a bigger sound and mentioned the second guitarist. Baile had been practicing with their other band, Tit Sweat, at the house Nina and Susana shared, and Sus brought up liking her style and possibly joining forces. One of her first shows with us, she busted her knee on a wet floor and needed to get rushed to the E.R., so I'm glad we didn't scare her off and she stuck around!"
As a four-piece, Wet Nurse headed out to South By Southwest for their Lolipop/Burger Records showcase in 2014, where our SXSW critic Nick McGregor chased them around town to experience what he dubs their"straight-up girl-power ragers" for the first time as a Texas resident. Later that year, Wet Nurse played the Fest in Gainesville, repping Orlando hard andcatching the eye of trendy blog BrooklynVgan, which likened them to Vivian Girls and called them a band to watch. With visibility higher and higher, Wet Nurse is nearing the end of the recording process for their as-of-yet untitled new LP. Next comes touring and they say even a music video (!!), so it's safe to say that unlike their furiously flippant stage persona, Wet Nurse seems pretty serious about an awesome-packed future.