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Sheer Mag’s dizzying rise initiated in 2014, when the Philadelphia band self-released the first of three 7-inches and started playing the Northeastern DIY circuit. Ironically, the music stood apart because it sounded so familiar. Indebted to ‘70s arena rock, power-pop, and proto-metal, Sheer Mag’s songs reminded a lot of us of the music we grew up with, but maybe couldn’t relate to because it was big, brash, and unapologetically macho. Sheer Mag reclaimed some of that energy without perpetuating the toxicity. On their debut album, Need to Feel Your Love (2017), the band surveyed their contemporary political landscape through the lens of history. Singer Tina Halladay transported herself back to the 1969 Stonewall Riots, denounced redlining practices that undermine the popular vote, and paid homage to White Rose activist Sophie Scholl. On paper, it’s a mouthful, but accompanied by guitarist/lyricist Matt Palmer, guitarist Kyle Seely, and bassist/producer Hart Seely, those songs became hook-laden rallying cries.
Two years later, Sheer Mag have returned with their sophomore album A Distant Call. They’re still writing about surviving our current hellscape, but this time around, the politics get extra-personal. The album verges on being a concept piece, and the protagonist resembles Halladay herself. The songs document a particularly alienating time in her life when she was laid off from a job. Broke and newly single, her father (with whom she had a fraught relationship) passed away, leaving her with more wounds than felt possible to heal.
“We’ve been waiting to write these songs since we started the band and we were able to take these experiences and build a story out of them,” Halladay says. Palmer adds: “We don’t want people to be bogged down by pretension or theory. You don’t need to have read Das Kapital to know that capitalism is terrible. A Distant Call makes an argument for socialism on an anecdotal level. We’re talking about how late capitalism alienates and commodifies whatever is in its path without using the term ‘late capitalism.’” Palmer and Halladay’s new approach to lyricism extended to the recording process, too. Once the Seely brothers had laid down the tracks, Halladay recorded vocals with producer Arthur Rizk (Power Trip, Code Orange) as opposed to on an 8-track, which was the band’s preferred method on previous releases.
A Distant Call opens with Halladay’s measured scream before “Steel Sharpens Steel” kicks in. It’s a prologue that foreshadows our protagonist’s journey from feeling down-and-out and destitute to self-actualization. “It’s a chain reaction/ When you turn the other cheek/ Remember if you’re looking for action/ And you’re feeling dull and weak,” Halladay snarls on the chorus, channeling Judas Priest over the boot-stomping rhythm section. The story really gets started on “Blood from a Stone,” when we learn that our protagonist’s SNAP application was declined, and she’s “living check-to-check.” It’s heavy power-pop so sleek it gleams. “We had some more soul and dance songs on the last record and we’ll probably return to that at some point,” Palmer says. “But on this record we wanted to focus on making straight-up rock music.”
That isn’t to say that A Distant Call doesn’t draw from a wide-range of influences within rock. The twinkling lap steel guitar on “Silver Line” sounds-off to Fleetwood Mac, showcasing a softer side to Sheer Mag. The lyrics find our protagonist in a desperate state, self-medicating with alcohol. When she recognizes her own predicament in the headlines, though, her depression eases off momentarily. “Well there’s a picket line down in West Virginia/ The bosses caved but wildcats continue/ Today my job said to not come back/ So now I’m striking for nothing with no contract,” Halladay sings. In the next song, the jangling “Hardly to Blame,” our protagonist is dumped by her partner. Heartbroken, she wanders the streets of Philadelphia, which has turned into “a puzzle” that she “can’t solve ‘cause it’s not true.” On “Cold Sword,” she snaps back to reality upon learning of her father’s death. Forced to reconcile with familial trauma, our protagonist asks: “How could I learn to love/ From somebody so abusive?” The question goes unanswered but the undeniably catchy chorus provides some form of catharsis.
“I tend to think of ‘Cold Sword’ as the fulcrum that the album pivots on. The protagonist recognizes that this is the only life she has, and in spite of the pain and suffering she experiences, she starts to want to make the most of it,” Palmer says. The bright melody of “Chopping Block” brings levity, as Halladay sings, “Between the parties there’s no light/ We need workers to unite/ We can decide to have another world/ But we’re gonna have to fight.” Our protagonist’s confidence blooms on “The Right Stuff” when she addresses anyone who might think her weight is concerning: “If you’re worried about my health/ Shut your mouth and keep it to yourself.” In recognizing that beauty standards are a capitalist ploy designed to keep women imprisoned, our protagonist starts down a road to self-acceptance, and maybe even love.
The conflicts our protagonist comes up against coalesce on “The Killer.” The system at-large has been the culprit all along, and she recognizes that rich politicians running the country have more control over her life than she does. They’re “shaking hands on the senate floor” and brandishing their hypocrisy like a weapon: “He’s got you right between the eyes/ Waving the flag for human rights.” It’s the penultimate track on the album, and it best exemplifies Sheer Mag’s growth from those nascent three EPs to now; the production is razor-sharp, and the gang vocal motifs are as playful as they are ferocious. There’s a glimmer of hope in the struggle, and Sheer Mag close the album with a message of resilience. “They wanna see us fall,” Hallday sings, “But I hear a distant call.” In the background, a faint whisper beckons from just outside the realm of possibility. “Keep on running,” it urges.
Bridget Battle’s last band might have been a high school choir, but the 21-year-old singer for Cincinnati’s Tweens is no goody two shoes. Look no further for proof than their forthcoming Self-Titled LP, the punk-tinged debut from the trash-pop trio—Battle on vocals and guitar, Peyton Copes on bass and Jerri Queen on drums—that showcases a melodic, driven and exceedingly catchy sound that’s anything but well behaved.
Tweens only formed in 2012, but has already made a name for themselves among fans—including The Breeders, who invited the band to open for them on a recent U.S. tour. The story goes that Kim Deal booked the band for one gig on the recommendation of Jim Blaze, owner of Cincinnati record shop Shake It Records, and was so impressed she brought on band to play select East Coast gigs and a full West Coast tour. Additionally, the band toured with the Black Lips, their partners in a party-centric attitude.
Despite the established friends, Tweens are very much their own band, bratty and precocious, sincere and genuine. The band’s name conjuresjust the right image: screaming hordes afflicted with Beatlemania, teenyboppers out for a good time, the underage, over-the-top punks in Ladies and Gentlemen: The Fabulous Stains. Think of cheery kids at their most excited, but juxtaposed with lyrics about bad boyfriends and unrelenting independency. Tweens are not a riot grrrl revisionist band, but they are a ferociously honest one.
The trio has come a long way from their early demos and previously released Live at the Mohawk EP. Tweens, is a collection of new, garage-influenced tracks—produced by Eli Janney—sprinkled with some of the band’s older, doo-wop influenced favorites. The first single, “Be Mean,” is a biting anthem, with Battle crooning, “I want you to be mean to me,” while “Forever” harkens back to a girl-gang sound, this time with driving bass. The band sites Bay Area punks The Donnas, The Trashwomen and the Bobbyteens as influences—and that bubblegum badass vibe is apparent throughout the full-length—but the sound Tweens are creating is truly their own. So rat your hair, slip on your leather jacket and hold on tight because Tweens may be young but they’re certainly not naïve, and with the release of this freshman LP, they’re breaking curfew and nobody’s safe.
Total Heat is led by Ross Wallace Chait, a drummer by trade, born and raised in Los Angeles. Through his 15+ years behind the kit, he’s toured and collaborated with Girlpool, Winter, Walter and Swell Maps’ Jowe Head among others. Trained as a jazz player, his songwriting reflects this deep rooted history as well as a lifelong reverence for underground rock and experimental noise music.
Total Heat was born in Chait’s former East Hollywood apartment with a field recorder, a Korg MS-20 and a fanatic obsession with Alice Coltrane and the Velvet Underground. Since then, the project has been groomed by the phenomenal talents of Joel Jensen Heath on bass, Yoel DeJesus on keys, Patrick Nolan on guitar, Tara Milch on flute, Joshua Sushman on saxophone and coproducer Greg Hartunian among others. Holding it down on lead vocals and drums, Chait leads Total Heat to a unique musical place where spiritual mantras, crazy freeform noise and pop songs mingle and mash.
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