rock

Screaming in the Dark: How Rock Lyrics Tear Your Soul Open and Leave You Wanting More

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Rock and roll has always been a violent, all-consuming beast that claws at your insides and leaves you aching for more. But it’s not just the guitar riffs that keep you coming back; it’s the words. The lyrics, when they hit, can get under your skin, lodge in your brain, and make you feel like you’ve been struck by lightning—or a falling star, depending on how poetic you want to get. The best rock songs are often the ones that tear down the walls between the listener and the songwriter, making you feel as if you’re walking through the fires of their soul, even if they don’t want you there.

This kind of raw vulnerability, this open wound of expression, can’t be faked. And if it is, you know it. But when it’s authentic? When it comes from a place that is somehow both personal and universal? That’s when you hear it: the sound of someone throwing everything they have into their lyrics, turning something that might just be a scribbled note into an anthem for the disillusioned.

And that’s where songs like those from The Connells, The Counting Crows, R.E.M., and The Replacements come in. They’ve got it—whatever it is. And they know how to wield it like a sword, carving out spaces for us all to exist inside their verses. It’s not just about being clever or complex. It’s about being real. It’s about making you feel something.

So what makes these lyrics powerful? Let’s dive in and break it down.

The Connells – The Beauty of the Everyday Struggle

Let’s start with The Connells. They’re like that band you heard on the radio and never quite knew whether you were supposed to cry or just nod along to the rhythm. Their song “74-75” is a classic example of lyrics that don’t just tell a story—they pull you into the middle of it, making you feel like a participant rather than an observer.

The thing about “74-75” isn’t the narrative; it’s the way it captures a feeling, a sense of longing for a time that’s already passed, a time that exists only in memory. The line “I was the one who let you know
I was your “sorry ever after”/’74-’75” hits with the subtle melancholy of a songwriter who knows that the world they once envisioned didn’t quite turn out as expected. There’s no bitterness, no anger—just a quiet resignation. It’s not the anger of punk or the bombast of glam rock, but something more delicate: a personal and collective sadness.

This sense of fading away, of history marching on regardless of your desire to keep up, is where The Connells find their power. The lyrics don’t scream for attention. They don’t force you to accept them. Instead, they settle in, like the dust in an old attic that you haven’t bothered to clean. In a way, The Connells’ ability to articulate the passing of time, the things that slip away without us even realizing it, taps into a very human vulnerability: we can’t stop the inevitable, but we can remember, and sometimes that’s enough.

Counting Crows – The Beauty of Messy, Imperfect Souls

Counting Crows are often described as the quintessential ‘90s band, and while that might seem like a dismissive label to some, it’s hard to ignore how well they captured the emotional complexity of that era. The lyrics in songs like “Mr. Jones” or “A Long December” are imbued with a kind of longing that speaks to the frustrations of being stuck in your own head, lost in self-reflection, while also looking outward toward the world and wondering why it all feels so… empty.

There’s a rawness in Adam Duritz’s delivery, a sense of vulnerability that comes across as both introspective and confessional. In “A Long December,” Duritz sings, “And it’s been a long December, and there’s reason to believe / Maybe this year will be better than the last.” The power here isn’t just in the lines themselves but in the tone—the weariness in Duritz’s voice, the way it wavers, suggesting that this isn’t just about a bad month or a rough time. It’s about the constant cycle of hope and despair, the cyclical nature of life that repeats even though you don’t want it to. The power of Counting Crows’ lyrics lies in their ability to capture that very human struggle: the push-pull between wanting to believe things can get better and the awareness that life often doesn’t give you any guarantees.

But it’s not just about the sad, reflective moments. Counting Crows are also masters of finding beauty in the messiness of life. In “Mr. Jones,” Duritz sings about longing for fame and success, but in a way that’s almost self-deprecating, revealing the insecurity that so often accompanies dreams of grandeur. There’s something painfully human about the way he expresses these desires, especially when paired with the upbeat, almost celebratory musical backdrop. It’s as if Counting Crows are trying to convince themselves that they can rise above their own doubts, even if they don’t fully believe it. This contradiction—wanting something so badly while knowing it won’t solve your problems—is what makes their lyrics hit so hard.

R.E.M. – The Beauty of Ambiguity and Mystique

Now, R.E.M. is where things get interesting. They’re a band known for their obtuse, enigmatic lyrics—songs that you can never quite figure out, yet they speak to you as if they understand your deepest thoughts. “Losing My Religion” is the prime example of this. Michael Stipe’s lyrics are fragmented, filled with obscure references, and yet they carry an emotional weight that speaks to the very heart of human confusion and self-doubt.

“Losing My Religion,” for instance, is about more than just faith; it’s about the moment when you realize that the rules you’ve followed might not hold true anymore. The phrase “losing my religion” isn’t literal. It’s not about God or theology—it’s about that overwhelming sense of being on the verge of breaking, of seeing everything you thought was true start to unravel. Stipe’s voice doesn’t just sing these words; it resonates with the sorrow of understanding that, sometimes, there is no answer. The ambiguity is powerful because it reflects the messiness of our own lives: we’re all searching for meaning in a world that doesn’t provide any simple answers.

R.E.M.’s strength lies in their ability to articulate universal feelings—loss, confusion, longing—through highly ambiguous lyrics. You might not always know exactly what they’re talking about, but you know what it feels like. And that’s what makes their songs so potent. They create a space where the listener can impose their own experiences, their own meanings, into the lyrics, making each song feel personal.

The Replacements – The Beauty of Chaos and Rebellion

And then there are The Replacements. If R.E.M. is ambiguity, The Replacements are the messy, unpolished, chaotic force that says, “Here I am, take me or leave me. Either way, we don’t care.” There’s an undeniable power in their ability to capture the feeling of disillusionment with the world, but they do it with a defiance that borders on self-destructive. Their lyrics are often frantic, raw, and vulnerable as if the band is afraid that, if they don’t get it all out in one go, they might implode.

Take “Bastards of Young,” for example. It’s a call to arms for the disaffected youth, the ones who are always on the outside, looking in. The repeated refrain “We are the sons of no one / Bastards of young” rings with both anger and an almost celebratory tone—like a badge of honor worn by those who never quite fit into society’s neat little boxes. What’s powerful about this is that it isn’t just about rebellion for the sake of rebellion. It’s about a deep-seated sense of alienation, a recognition that the world may never accept you, and maybe that’s okay.

There’s a sense of desperation in these lyrics, a feeling that maybe the only way to survive is to burn everything down. But there’s also humor, even in the chaos, a reminder that life is messy, imperfect, and sometimes beautiful in its destruction.

The Power of Lyrics in Rock and Roll

The lyrics that make rock and roll so potent aren’t the ones that try to fit neatly into a box or explain everything away. They’re the ones that dive into the mess of human existence and say, “This is who I am, for better or worse.” It’s the raw vulnerability of The Connells’ reflections on time, the longing and self-doubt of Counting Crows, the cryptic mystery of R.E.M.’s disillusionment, and the raw, unvarnished chaos of The Replacements that make rock and roll lyrics so powerful. It’s not simply about the clever wordplay or the polished metaphors—it’s the truth, delivered with all the mess and pain that comes with it.

Rock and roll is about real emotions. And the best songs? They make you feel something, deep down—whether you want to or not. And we are all the better for it.

A YTAA Partial List of Album Favorites of 2024

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In 2024, the whole idea of picking a “favorite” album has become a weird, near-impossible task. The rise of streaming and electronic releases means thousands of songs and records are loaded onto streaming services. While the music industry continues a myopic focus on a handful of pre-selected artists, even if one is focused on a particular genre, thousands of records are still released annually. So, consider this essay part 1 of a process.

You can’t even hear every album released in a year, let alone listen to it enough to form an attachment. We’re swimming in so many options, flooded with algorithms, data-driven playlists, and music on demand, it’s like trying to spot a needle in a haystack of needles. Is it even possible to have a favorite anymore, or has music become like fast food – consumed and forgotten as quickly as you can hit “skip”?

The sheer volume of albums released across every genre is staggering. Every week feels like a new universe of sound waiting to be explored, each project just another entry in an endless scroll. And even if you could sit down and spend the time with each record, there’s no guarantee it would even stick—music’s lifespan has shrunk. It’s not about being obsessed with one album anymore; it’s about how quickly you can absorb the next wave of songs that everyone is talking about.

Then there’s the issue of context. How do you even judge music anymore when the experience is so fragmented? You might be listening on headphones while juggling a dozen other things, or streaming on a platform that throws random playlists at you every day. Did you even listen to that album, or did it just buzz in the background while you were doomscrolling on Twitter? The very act of consuming music has become disjointed, superficial, almost disposable. And that’s not even to mention how every album is now fighting for attention in a hyper-competitive marketplace, where an artist’s moment of cultural relevance can be over before the album’s out of the top 50.

So yeah, picking a favorite in 2024? It’s almost like picking your favorite slice of sand. In a world where every track is a click away, music’s becoming more about the journey than the destination. It’s not about finding one album that speaks to you; it’s about surviving the endless flood of everything else.

And with that major caveat and due diligence, I still want to share some albums that did resonate with me. Sharing a list of your favorite albums from the year is a declaration of your personal battle with the noise, a way of saying, “This is what mattered to me in this overwhelming, chaotic universe of music.” It’s not about being a gatekeeper or playing curator; it’s about creating a map of your own emotional and sonic landscape. In a world where we’re buried under an avalanche of new releases, these lists are worthy lifelines. They cut through the static and say, “Here, this is what survived, what made the trip worth it.” Because music, like life, needs to be seen and shared. Sure, it’s idiosyncratic and deeply personal, but it is not worthless. It is like one side of an argument, this may mean something to some others who agree but it is still one perspective to be considered. Not truth. Make a case and perhaps other music listeners agree with you and some do not. This is why we prefer the term ‘favorites’ and not ‘Best of.’

So, here we go in no particular order:

Waxahatchee – Tigers Blood

Waxahatchee’s Tigers Blood is at the top of my favorites for the year. A record that feels like a masterclass in songwriting, crafting lyrics, and confessional yet accessible songs. Tigers Blood is an emotionally fierce, raw, and unapologetically beautiful record that feels like the sound of someone finding their own fire again, rising out of the ashes, and realizing they’ve got the guts to burn everything down in the process. Yet maybe what is needed is awareness not anger. From the moment the opening track hits, you know this isn’t some soft, introspective folk record—it’s an album of reckoning, self-discovery, and picking apart the ugly truths you’ve been avoiding from yourself. Katie Crutchfield doesn’t just sing on Tigers Blood—she exhales her soul into every line, every chord, every heartbreaking note that shines with authenticity as powerful as the slide of her compelling and unapologetic accent.

The album pulses with an energy that is somehow both tender and vicious, each track pulling you deeper into her world. Crutchfield’s voice is sharp (when she wants it to be) but vulnerable, cutting through the thick haze of instruments, notably acoustic and electric guitars, piano, and steady drums with a rawness that feels earned, not forced. There’s this magnificent tension between the fragility of the lyrics and the power in the music itself—a constant push-pull between moments of delicate reflection and damn catchy hook-laden catharsis. It’s the sound of someone who has been through the fire and come out the other side not unscathed, but stronger and more alive.

Songs like “3 Sisters”, “Crowbar”, “Bored” and “Right Back to It” (featuring MJ Lenderman) carry this weight of yearning and anger, but with such a beautiful clarity that you can’t help but feel every emotion bubbling up and spilling over. There’s no hiding behind metaphors here—Crutchfield is direct, honest, and relentless. She sings about heartbreak, self-doubt, and the aftermath of it all, but somehow there’s a catharsis in it all, a feeling of release.

Tiger’s Blood is an album of quiet explosions—each song a declaration, a confession, and a battle all rolled into one. The build is worthwhile, the entire time. It’s one of those records that grabs you by the throat, makes you confront your own demons, and leaves you standing on the other side, a little bruised but more whole for it.

Nada Surf – Moon Mirror

Nada Surf’s Moon Mirror is the kind of record that saunters up to you and says ‘Hi There!’ It is an album that wraps itself around your heart before you even know what hit you. It’s a masterclass in rock and roll architecture, sophisticated wordplay, and emotional subtlety, the kind of album that doesn’t need to shout to get your attention, but instead pulls you in with its perfect rock and roll musicianship and depth. This is a band that has spent decades honing their craft, and on Moon Mirror, they capture that perfect balance between indie rock, melancholic pop, and the kind of songwriting that feels true, like it’s been tested by time, pain, and triumph.

From the opening track, it’s clear that Nada Surf isn’t interested in playing the same game everyone else is. There’s a maturity to these songs, a knowing, a sense that they’ve weathered the storm and are now walking through the wreckage with open eyes. The guitars shimmer with an effortless grace, and the drums pulse with a steady, comforting rhythm, like the beat of your own heart when you’ve found peace after the chaos. But it’s Matthew Caws’ voice that really carries the weight here—his delivery is just so damn soothing, yet tinged with enough ache to make you feel every word.

Moon Mirror is full of songs that feel like they’ve been plucked from some kind of twilight zone, the space between dreams and waking. Tracks like “Second Skin”, “In Front of Me Now” and “Losing” are perfect examples of Nada Surf’s ability to create this expansive, emotional atmosphere. It’s not just about big hooks or electrifying guitar solos; it’s about crafting a moment that resonates, a feeling that sticks with you. These are songs that speak to the quiet, fleeting moments of life—the ones that linger in your memory long after they’ve passed — ensconced in the shimmer of power pop.

This isn’t just an album; it’s a world unto itself, and if you let it, Moon Mirror will pull you in and never let go. In an era of disposable music, this is a record that demands your full attention, and damn if it doesn’t make every second of it feel worth it.

The Umbrellas – Fairweather Friend

The Umbrellas’ Fairweather Friend is the sound of youth burned into a perfect snapshot—like the morning sun casting long shadows over an endless summer, yet tinged with the inevitable nostalgia that follows every great moment. There’s an aching sweetness to this album, a bittersweetness that’s as infectious as it is melancholic. The guitars jangle like they’ve been plucked from an old indie rock treasure chest, the kind of sound that drips with influences but never feels like a rip-off. They know their history, but they’re not here to mimic it—they’re here to breathe new life into it, to put their own mark on a genre that’s so often stuck in its own past.

From the first song, you know you’re in for something special. The Umbrellas take the jangly guitar pop we all know and love and mix it with a sense of unpretentious joy. There’s an immediacy in the way the songs unfold, a rush of energy that carries through every riff and melody. But beneath the surface is something deeper—a sense of longing, of impermanence, of trying to make sense of fleeting moments that always seem to slip away just as you’re getting a grip on them.

The band isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel, but they do something far more valuable: they remind you of the feeling that first made you fall in love with music in the first place. Songs like “Three Cheers!”, “Games” and “Goodbye” are drenched in that pure pop perfection, mixing upbeat tempos with lyrics that reflect the uncertainty of relationships, youth, and the fragility of it all. The energy is unmistakable, but it’s also undercut with that quiet sense of resignation that makes Fairweather Friend hit all the harder. The Umbrellas don’t need to be loud, they just need to be honest, and in doing so, they’ve crafted one of the year’s most memorable records.

Jr. Juggernaut – Another Big Explosion

Jr. Juggernault’s Another Big Explosion is the kind of record that punches you in the gut and makes you grateful for the bruises. It’s raw, ferocious, and doesn’t give a damn about rules or your delicate sensibilities. This isn’t about slick production or polished hooks—it’s about chaos, energy, and soul-scorching urgency. The guitars are jagged, the drums are a goddamn wrecking ball, and Juggernault’s vocals howl like a man/men possessed. The is a great guitar record. And we sure could use more of those. Every track feels like it’s on the verge of completely falling apart, but that’s the magic. This is music that doesn’t ask for your attention; it demands it. And you give it.

Palm Ghosts – Facades

Palm Ghosts’ Facades is a glorious, hypnotic propulsive attack of an album that makes you feel both like you’re drifting through a dream and stumbling through the wreckage of something you can’t quite recall. This album, a combination of EPs is a declaration. It’s like the band took everything that was ever great about post-punk, new wave, and shoegaze and smashed it all together, yet somehow came out sounding fresh, urgent, and dangerously alive. The shimmering guitars and languid basslines swirl in and out, creating this thick, intoxicating atmosphere that makes you want to dive deeper into the murk but also leaves you gasping for air.

The vocals are equal parts ethereal and gritty—softly crooning, yet laden with desperation. They balance somewhere between hope and despair, almost like the singer is talking you down from the edge of a nervous breakdown. And just when you think you’ve pinned the band down, Facades hits you with a groove that’s suddenly danceable, only to drag you back into darker waters. It’s a record that doesn’t do anything easy, and that’s what makes it remarkable. Palm Ghosts know their sound isn’t for everyone (even thought it really should be), but damn if they don’t craft an atmosphere so immersive you feel it in your bones. This isn’t just music—it’s an experience.

The Cure – Songs of A Lost World

Some returns are so welcome, and so anticipated that you cannot possibly measure up to the hype. And then there are those come-back records that remind you why you fell in love with the band in the first place. The Cure’s Songs of a Lost World is a revelation—a reminder that even in a world of endless streaming playlists, some bands can still shake you to your core with the kind of haunting melancholy that only they can conjure. It’s not just another nostalgia trip for the goth kids of the ‘80s; it’s something deeper, darker, and far more timeless. This record pulses with a yearning that hits like a gut punch. It’s a meditation on loss, on the passage of time, on the things that slip through your fingers and vanish into the ether.

Robert Smith’s voice is still as fragile and aching as ever, but now there’s a weariness, a quiet resignation that adds layers to every lyric. The guitars shimmer and wail in that unmistakable Cure way, but there’s an undercurrent of menace here—songs that start as sweet, glistening reflections of sorrow but unravel into something far more unsettling. The rhythms lurch and sway, dragging you through every emotional twist and turn. What makes Songs of a Lost World so vital is its refusal to rest on past laurels. It’s a record that doesn’t scream for attention but instead invites you in, all while leaving you with that delicious, bittersweet ache. It’s the Cure at their finest, and it’s still damn intoxicating.

Wussy – Cincinnati, Ohio

Wussy’s Cincinnati, Ohio is the kind of record you want to keep in your back pocket, the one you pull out at 2 a.m. when the world’s spinning just a little too fast and you need something to ground you. The album is rough around the edges, but that’s what makes it so damn beautiful. It’s that perfect mix of grit and heartache that’s become the secret weapon in the indie rock arsenal, and Wussy have honed it into something that sounds like both an escape and a homecoming.

From the opening track, you’re hit with a sound that’s immediately familiar and completely original. There’s a certain timelessness to it, a blend of alt-country, grunge, and that unmistakable Midwestern soul. It’s the sound of a band who’s spent years working through their demons and now, finally, have the scars to show for it.

The songwriting is what elevates Cincinnati, Ohio from good to great. Each track feels like it’s been lived in, like the band has been inside these stories, these struggles, for years. Whether it’s the punchy guitars or the way the vocals intertwine—especially the male-female harmonies—it all just clicks into place. Wussy doesn’t rely on bombast or big hooks; they know that sometimes, the most powerful moments come in the quiet, in the spaces between the noise.

This isn’t a record you just listen to; it’s a record you feel. It’s the sound of a band that’s found its voice and isn’t afraid to let it crack, shout, or whisper its way through every song. Wussy’s Cincinnati, Ohio is an honest, unpretentious masterpiece, and in 2024, that’s worth celebrating.

Tamar Berk – Good Times for a Change

Tamar Berk’s Good Times for a Change is one of those albums that hits in just the right way. Berk has released some of the finest indie rock records of the past few years. If there was any justice in the musical world, her talent would be recognized and celebrated by all. Yeah, that might read like hyperbole but go listen to Berk’s last few records and you will know it to be true. Good Times for a Change is indie rock at its finest—meaningful, emotionally vulnerable, and raw, yet unflinchingly melodic. Berk’s latest record is simply overflowing the brim with a kind of honesty that feels like a breath of fresh air in a world of hollow, algorithmic pop. From the opening chords, Berk grabs you and doesn’t let go. The guitars vibrate with just the right amount of fuzz, the drums crash with a sense of urgency, and Berk’s voice—oh, that voice—sounds like she’s been singing for years in dim-lit rooms full of cigarette smoke and spilled beer. It’s full of heartache, but there’s a joy in it, too, like finding solace in a song after the world’s been unkind.

The album’s title is perfect because this is an album about change—change in yourself, in the world, in relationships—and it hits that balance of hopefulness and disillusionment that so many fail at. Tracks like “Good Impression” and “Artful Dodger” are power pop rock confessionals, but they’re not angry—they’re just real. Berk doesn’t pretend to have all the answers, but she knows exactly how to channel confusion, frustration, and moments of fleeting joy into something visceral and unforgettable. There’s no grandiose pretension here, just songs that feel like they matter.

What’s so remarkable about Good Times for a Change is how effortlessly it sneaks under your skin. It’s the kind of record that becomes your companion through sleepless nights, the soundtrack to your own quiet rebellion. Tamar Berk doesn’t need to shout to make a statement—she’s already made it with every note. This is an album that sticks the landing.

American Werewolf Academy – Beyond Lost Days

American Werewolf Academy’s Beyond Lost Days is a record that howls at the moon and drags you right along with it. It’s messy, it’s urgent, it’s every bit the cathartic ride you didn’t know you needed. From the first crashing chords, you know this isn’t going to be some polished indie affair—it’s the raw energy of a band that’s living in the music, not just playing it. The guitars rip with an intensity that borders on unhinged, yet every track carries this feeling of control—like they’ve found a way to channel their chaos into something purposefully beautiful.

The vocals are an attack, somewhere between a howl of frustration and a cry for freedom. There’s a defiance in every word, and you can’t help but get swept up in it. The rhythm section pounds away, relentless, like it’s pushing against something bigger, something unknowable. And the lyrics? Well, they don’t come easy, but they’re worth deciphering. Beyond Lost Days is a record about searching, about finding meaning in a world that seems to run on autopilot.

What makes this album so gripping is its honesty. It’s not afraid to be ugly, but somehow, that’s where its beauty lies. American Werewolf Academy doesn’t just play rock music—they live it, and they make you feel every second. This is a record that demands attention, and damn if it doesn’t deserve it.

Jeremy Porter – Dynamite Alley

Jeremy Porter’s Dynamite Alley is the kind of album that grabs you by the collar and says, “Wake up!” It’s a swaggering, heart-on-sleeve dose of Americana-infused rock ‘n’ roll that doesn’t pretend to be anything it’s not—there’s no smoke and mirrors here, just straight-ahead songs about life, love, and the endless grind. It’s gritty, it’s raw, and it’s as real as the grease under your fingernails after a long day of work. Porter isn’t out to impress you with fancy tricks or studio wizardry. No, he’s here to kick your ass with songs that feel like they’ve been lived in, songs that make you remember what it’s like to feel alive.

The album opens with a bang, a combination of dirty guitar riffs and that unmistakable punk-meets-Americana energy. Porter’s voice—rough around the edges but smooth enough to catch your ear—sells every word with a sense of urgency. Tracks like “Big Spender” and “I Don’t Want to Break Your Heart” burst with an energy that’s impossible to ignore. It’s the kind of music you want to hear blaring from the jukebox in a smoky dive bar, the kind that makes you want to crack open a beer and sing along.

But don’t mistake this for self-indulgent country or down-on-your-luck rock and roll. There’s depth here. Dynamite Alley is about reckoning with your mistakes, growing up, and facing down the tough times. It’s not just a collection of songs—it’s an experience, one that you don’t just listen to, you live it. Jeremy Porter proves here that sometimes the simplest rock ‘n’ roll is the most enduring. This album is a hell of a ride.

Assistant – Certain Memories

Assistant’s Certain Memories is the kind of album that feels like a revelation, not because it’s flashy or groundbreaking, but because it’s honest in a way that most bands can’t even imagine. This is a record that grabs you by the heart and gives it a good shake. From the first track, you’re thrown into a landscape of wistful reflection and emotional complexity. The guitars shimmer like fading stars, the drums pulse like a heartbeat, and the vocals—oh man, the vocals—are a raw, aching reminder that music is about feeling, not just technique.

There’s a subtle tension in these songs, like the whole album is held together by the thin thread of memory. Assistant doesn’t need to throw a bunch of noise at you to make you feel something. Instead, they build these slow-burning, intricate soundscapes that stick with you long after the last note fades. Tracks like “My Phone Began to Ring” and “Overwhelming” reveal a band not interested in grand gestures, but in those quiet, fleeting moments that make up a life. This isn’t an album for the casual listener—this is the kind of record that demands your full attention, the kind you put on when you need to work through something when you need to connect with your own memories.

What makes Certain Memories so powerful is its emotional restraint. It’s a meditation on loss, time, and those little moments you can never quite forget. It’s the sound of a band that isn’t trying to impress you—they’re just trying to make you feel the pain and the hurt that we surround ourselves with and try not to drown in it. And in that, Assistant has succeeded in a way most albums can’t touch.

mxmtoon – Liminal Space

mxmtoon’s Liminal Space is a haunting record, the kind of album that creeps up on you with its delicate, almost fragile beauty, yet has a resonance that lingers long after the final track fades. The thing about this album is that it doesn’t scream for attention—it whispers and invites you into its world. You can almost hear the vulnerability in every note, the raw honesty in every lyric, as if mxmtoon is letting you peek behind the curtain of her mind, one soft melody at a time. It’s both an exploration of the self and an attempt to make sense of the chaos surrounding us.

There’s a certain melancholy that pervades Liminal Space, but it’s not the kind that crushes you. Instead, it’s the kind of melancholy that comforts you, that makes you feel like you’re not alone in your own internal mess. The production is minimal but powerful—simple arrangements that leave plenty of space for her voice to shine through. mxmtoon doesn’t need to rely on fancy effects or flashy instrumentation; her voice is a raw, unfiltered force that captures every bit of the longing, the doubt, and the quiet hope that infuses these songs with a whisper.

Tracks like “dramatic escape” and “passenger side” feel like whispered confessions, full of wonder and insecurity, like she’s trying to make sense of this strange, liminal phase she’s in. The whole album is a journey through a transitional space, where you’re not quite sure who you are or where you’re going, but you know that, somehow, the act of going through it matters.

Liminal Space isn’t just an album; it’s an invitation to sit with your feelings, to lean into the uncertainty. And in a world that moves too fast, that’s something we could all use more of.

Some favorite re-releases

Re-releases—yeah, they’re a cash grab for labels, but every so often, one comes along that makes you realize why we ever needed the song file, the vinyl, cassettes, or CDs in the first place. These aren’t just remasters; they’re time capsules that blast you into the past, forcing you to reckon with that pure, unfiltered emotional chaos you felt the first time you heard a record that changed your life. Take a great album, throw in unreleased tracks, remixes, liner notes, and a couple of live performances, and you’re not just hearing it again—you’re hearing more of it, from angles you never thought about before.

Think about it: Exile on Main St. with its dusty bonus cuts, or an album like Electric Ladyland, which becomes a new experience every time you dive into the bonus material. Those “special editions” that seem like a cash grab end up being roadmaps to understanding an album’s true genius. They’re not just nostalgia—they’re revelations, shedding light on the songs you thought you knew and making you hear them in a way that makes them feel like they never left.

Yeah, re-releases can be a racket. But when they’re done right, they turn a record you’ve played a thousand times into something new, something worth loving all over again. And sometimes, that’s exactly what you need. For me, there were a few very special re-releases in 2024 that I want to talk about.

The English Beat – Special Beat Service

The re-release of Special Beat Service is one of those glorious moments where nostalgia and revelation collide. The English Beat’s 1982 album has always been an overlooked gem in the ska-pop universe, and this expanded edition digs deep into the soul of a record that deserved more attention back then—and deserves even more now. Sure, it’s easy to dismiss them as part of the second wave of ska, lumping them in with the whole “Two-Tone” movement, but Special Beat Service is far more than just catchy hooks and horn sections. It’s a perfect snapshot of a band that could juggle upbeat, infectious rhythms with political edge and heartfelt sincerity, all without ever sounding too serious or smug.

The bonus tracks here are the real treat: unreleased demos, live cuts, and extended mixes that shed light on the studio experimentation that went into making this album tick. You hear the rawness, the groove, the soul in these outtakes, and you realize how much was left on the cutting room floor. But even the main tracks still feel fresh, urgent, and timeless. The mix of ska, punk, and new wave is an infectious cocktail of joy, and this re-release proves that the English Beat wasn’t just another band—they were a moment and that deserves to be remembered.

The Tragically Hip – Up To Here

The Tragically Hip’s Up To Here re-release is a full celebration of the raw, unfiltered power this band unleashed on an unsuspecting world in 1989. Let’s not kid ourselves—Up To Here isn’t just a debut album; it’s a statement. It’s one of those records that captures the spirit of a time and place but also transcends it with something deeply, hauntingly human. The Hip were never just another alt-rock band—they were Canada’s answer to what it means to feel rock ‘n’ roll in your bones.

The re-release pulls you back into the band’s early magic, with live tracks, demos, and studio outtakes that show how raw the whole thing really was. Sure, the band eventually became Canada’s band, but here, on Up To Here, you can hear them just on the cusp, still hungry, still working out who they were. Gord Downie’s voice is pure fire—gritty, passionate, and more alive than a lot of the bands that were hyped up in the same era. The way he intertwines cryptic storytelling with rock swagger is unmatched.

What makes this re-release so glorious is how it reminds you that Up To Here isn’t just nostalgia; it’s essential. The Hip’s spirit is still alive, and this record proves they were always ahead of the curve.

Thanks for reading!

Alright, if you’ve stuck with me this long, I owe you a drink—or at least a fist bump. I know I’ve thrown a lot of words your way, maybe too many, but that’s the thing with music: it demands the kind of attention that doesn’t always come easy. So, if you’ve waded through all this, through the ranting and the raving, through the digressions and the moments of pure, unbridled nonsense, I salute you. We’re all just trying to make sense of the chaos, and hell, sometimes it takes a little longer to get there. Thanks for hanging in. More thoughts on favorite albums and songs from this year are coming your way soon.

Echoes of a Quiet Rebel: Remembering Slim Dunlap, The Heartbeat of The Replacements

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Slim Dunlap portrait courtesy of Songs for Slim. Tony Nelson | 2013

In alternative rock, few figures have had the understated yet deeply impactful legacy Slim Dunlap left behind. As a guitarist for The Replacements after Bob Stinson, Slim didn’t just play music—he shaped it in a way that resonates to this day, even though he remained a somewhat enigmatic figure throughout his life. On the surface, Slim Dunlap might not have been the flashiest or the most publicly celebrated member of the band, but the impact he had on the Minneapolis scene, indie rock, and countless fans around the world is undeniable.

Born on August 14, 1951, in Plainview, Minnesota, Robert “Slim” Dunlap was far from an obvious choice to become a member of one of the most influential bands in American rock history (Yup, I am prepared to die on that hill). But when he was recruited by The Replacements in 1987 to replace founding guitarist Bob Stinson, the band had already passed through several distinct phases. At that point, the group had moved beyond their punk rock origins, beginning to experiment with more expansive sounds and complex emotional undercurrents. They were on the cusp of achieving something bigger, and Slim Dunlap was a missing piece they needed.

The Replacements and the Arrival of Slim Dunlap

Before Dunlap’s arrival, The Replacements were known for their chaotic, often self-destructive live shows and their raw, raucous recordings. Their earlier albums like Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash (1981) and Hootenanny (1983) captured the brash spirit of the early 80s indie scene—songs that were loud, fast, and fueled by youthful defiance. Yet, as the band matured, their sound began to evolve, influenced by a more nuanced approach to songwriting that incorporated elements of rock, folk, country, and pop.

By the time they were recording Pleased to Meet Me (1987), The Replacements were at a crossroads. Bob Stinson, the band’s original guitarist, had been dismissed due to his erratic behavior and substance abuse issues in a far less kind way than he deserved and the band required a stable, skilled guitarist to match their new, evolving direction. That’s when Slim Dunlap entered the picture.

Slim was a seasoned musician with experience in various bands around Minneapolis, most notably playing with Curtiss A, the Rythmaires, Thumbs Up, and offshoot project called Spooks. Dunlap often played with groups as an uncredited journeyman guitar player. He wasn’t a flashy virtuoso but a guitarist who understood how to serve the song. His style was one that was inherently rock ‘n’ roll but was also imbued with a level of restraint that made him an ideal fit for the band’s new sound.

Dunlap’s arrival marked the beginning of a new era for The Replacements. While Pleased to Meet Me was the only Replacements record recorded as a trio of Paul Westerberg, Tommy Stinson, and Chris Mars. Dunlap joined the band shortly after the recording was completed. Although he did not play on PTMM, on tour Slim’s guitar playing shone through in songs like “Alex Chilton,” a tribute to the legendary Big Star frontman, and “Can’t Hardly Wait,” where his melodic sensibility perfectly complemented Paul Westerberg’s aching, almost fragile vocals. What was remarkable about Dunlap was that he didn’t try to outshine anyone; rather, he played in service of the song, knowing exactly when to add a tasteful lick or when to let the space breathe. In doing so, he became an indispensable part of the band’s musical journey.

While Pleased to Meet Me is often regarded as one of The Replacements’ finest works, it’s worth noting that Slim Dunlap’s role was a defining factor in the public’s response to the album in concert. The songs were more textured, with layers of subtlety and nuance that weren’t as clearly present. There were moments of vulnerability—emotional crescendos that wouldn’t have hit quite the same way without Dunlap’s guitar work, which ranged from jangly and bright to soulful and deeply expressive.

Slim Dunlap’s Sound: A Blend of Simplicity and Complexity

In the world of guitar heroes, Slim Dunlap was no virtuoso in the traditional sense. He wasn’t known for lengthy solos or technical wizardry. Instead, his genius lay in his ability to make every note count, to bring out the emotional heart of the song through a simple but powerful approach. Slim had an uncanny ability to play just enough—and sometimes, not even that much. His understated style was influenced by a variety of sources, including classic rock, blues, and country, yet he had a way of blending them into something uniquely his own. Dunlap could wring more emotion from a sustained note than many guitar players.

One of the key aspects of Slim Dunlap’s playing was his use of space. He never overplayed. Slim did not overstay his welcome, allowing the rhythm section to carry the groove while his guitar lines punctuated the songs with purpose. His tone was often clean, ringing with a sense of clarity that gave his solos and licks a kind of elegance. He could throw in a few tasteful notes that elevated a song, never showing off, but always making a statement.

On Don’t Tell a Soul (1989), Slim’s style continued to shine through, even as the band moved in a more mainstream direction. Tracks like “I’ll Be You” and “They’re Blind” featured his ability to craft memorable, singable guitar lines that stayed with you long after the song ended. While Paul Westerberg’s songwriting was front and center, it was Slim’s guitar that often made these tracks feel fully realized. His contributions, though not as heralded as Westerberg’s vocals, were essential in bridging the gap between raw rock ‘n’ roll and the polished pop moments that The Replacements were embracing.

The Legacy of Slim Dunlap

In the years that followed, The Replacements’ career would continue to fluctuate, and by the early ’90s, they were done as a band. Despite this, Slim Dunlap’s work with them would remain a defining moment in the band’s legacy, especially after their breakup. While Westerberg went on to enjoy a successful solo career, Slim remained a more low-key figure. He spent time playing with other musicians and working on his own projects, but it wasn’t until the release of The Old New Me (1993)—his debut solo album—that we truly saw him step into the spotlight on his own terms.

Sadly, Slim Dunlap’s career was cut short by health problems. In 2012, he suffered a debilitating severe stroke, which left him unable to speak or play guitar. It was a devastating blow to the music community, and to the many fans who had followed his career from his days with The Replacements. However, the outpouring of support from his peers, friends, and fans was a testament to the deep love and respect they held for him. His family, and the wider community, came together to raise funds for his care, and a tribute concert was held to honor his incredible influence.

In the years since his stroke, Slim Dunlap’s memory has lived on not just in the music he made, but in the countless tributes from those who were inspired by his work. Fans of The Replacements, in particular, remember him for the warmth and humanity he brought to the band, as well as his quietly brilliant contributions to some of the greatest records in indie rock history.

Slim Dunlap passed away on December 18, 2024, after years of battling health complications. His death marked the end of an era, but his impact on rock music, and on The Replacements in particular, remains indelible. Dunlap may not have been a household name, but his work lives on, proving that sometimes the most important artists are the ones who choose to remain in the background, letting their music do the talking.

In the words of Paul Westerberg, “Slim was the real deal—he was a good guy, a talented guy, and he was just a rock ‘n’ roll soul.” That’s Slim Dunlap: a humble, brilliant musician whose heart and soul poured through every note he played. His legacy will continue to live on through the music that shaped the sonic landscape. Thanks, Slim.

Holly Jolly Chaos: A Raucous Rebellion With a Dash of Cheer: The 14th Annual YTAA Indie Holiday

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In the coming weeks we celebrate the holidays in full indie music style — is that really a thing?  On Tuesday, December 17th we will be playing new, classic, and cover holiday songs on the show.  Another year has come and gone. Can anyone else believe that we have been doing this for at least fourteen years, sheesh time does pass fast!

Indie holiday music is like that stray cat you take in—scrappy, scruffy, full of attitude, but somehow comforting. It’s the sound of bells and lo-fi drum beats weaving through a haze of reverb and melancholy, like a cold winter’s night painted in pastel hues. Forget those sugar-coated carols, these songs are the unsung heroes of the season, cloaked in irony, aching for connection amidst the forced cheer. They’ve got that off-kilter honesty, a rawness that refuses to conform to the Hallmark image of Christmas. It’s a quiet rebellion, but hell, it’s also really kind of beautiful.

We know that there is a lot of stress during the holidays with all the planning, shopping, and whatever else we are told to do during the holiday season.  Well, we believe that any task goes better with music.  So, pour yourself the ‘Nog, eat a cookie or three and let us help you relax with some great indie holiday music.  If you have a suggestion for a cool holiday tune, let us know on drjytaa on the gmail!

Dr. J can’t wait to co-host the 14th Annual Indie Holiday Radio Show on WUDR Flyer Radio 99.5/98.1’s Your Tuesday Afternoon Alternative with our good friend and frequent guest on the program, Tom Gilliam, who always brings some interesting holiday music to the mix.  And as always, the talented Mrs Dr. J has made many a fine contribution to the show as well! You expect nothing less.

This year you have two chances to hear the indie holiday festivities!  The first broadcast is on Tuesday, December 17th from 3-6 PM. Listen on 99.5 FM in Dayton, Ohio, USA, or stream the broadcast at wudr.udayton.edu.  And if that was not enough we load the show into Mixcloud! You can listen on Wednesday at our Mixcloud page! We just can’t wait to play new and classic indie holiday songs for you.  Save us some of the ‘nog.

See you there and Happy Holidays!

Video of The Day: Librarians With Hickeys – Hello Operator

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Librarians with Hickeys — what a name. You hear it and you immediately start constructing the image in your head: a tangle of smudged glasses, bookish rebellion, a zine-spun ethos slashing through the overcast skies of suburban ennui. Their track “Hello Operator” is nothing short of a jangle pop-fueled call to arms for the underachiever, the bored teenager, the disillusioned adult trapped in a system that runs on decibels of monotonous corporate soul-sucking. But instead of screaming bloody murder or railing against the system, they just slap it in the face with a smirk and soaring ringing guitars. The song is the lead track from their excellent — and one of our favorites of 2024 — record, How To Make Friends By Telephone (out on Big Stir Records).

The song’s pulse is a sweet relentless stomp, feeling like the clock ticking down to something important, but what? Who knows. There’s this sense of the need for connection and the futility of that need, an operator on the other side who may or may not be listening, a technological abyss where human connections dissolve into nothing. The song sweeps forward, like an old jukebox with a bad needle sharing thoughts and desires from one jump thought to the next. And isn’t that just the way? We’re all dialing up, trying to make a connection with something—another person, a higher power, ourselves—and getting lost in the static.

The lyrics, always a strength of this band, are power-pop blissful clarity in the deeply felt reaching out: “Hello operator, can you tell me one more time, what do people say when they talk to you? Hello operator, I really hope you don’t mind. I would like to talk to you. Yes, I would like to talk to you. I think I would like to talk to you.” It’s not just a plea for communication, but a brutal statement about how we’re all caged in by our own methods of connection. Forget the pleasant humdrum of politeness versus the insanity of the world around us, this is the telephone line, frayed and half-spliced, where any answer you get is an accident.

The kicker is the sound. At times driving power-pop cascading, ringing, jangling, like a late-night jam session fueled by too many cans of cheap beer and a pile of too many bad ideas that we took to heart instead of ignoring them. Yet somehow, in this pop gem chaos, there’s a profound sense of liberation. The cry of “hello” is the message.

Static Dreams: Why College and Community Independent Radio Still Matters

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Let’s get something straight from the jump: independent radio—college stations, community stations, those hissing, crackling signals of barely legal wattage—are more than relics. They’re lifelines, and in a world drowning in curated blandness, they’re salvation that is desperately needed. Sure, you’ve got your algorithmic playlists and big-budget streaming platforms that can spit out the sonic equivalent of a hamburger combo meal, but let me ask you this: when’s the last time one of those songs on the apps and services truly blew your mind? When’s the last time a Spotify playlist made you feel something raw, something real, something alive?

Enter the humble, often-overlooked world of independent radio. These stations don’t play by the rules and thank God for that. College and community DJs who aren’t bound by focus groups or corporate overlords telling them which ten songs to cycle endlessly. They’re the anarchists of the airwaves, throwing down pop punk at 3 a.m., jazz fusion at noon, and some spoken-word poetry over ambient noise just because they can. They’re the kid in the back of the record store who’ll tell you that the B-side of a 7” pressed in someone’s basement in 1984 will change your life—and they’re right. Forgive me if this sounds trite or self-serving, but we believe in the power of music to change your life.

This is radio as it was meant to be: unpolished, unpredictable, and unafraid to go weird. College radio, especially, is often powered by the most crucial demographic for musical discovery—students who don’t yet know the rules they’re breaking. These DJs are sometimes just learning what it means to piece together a playlist, to tell a story in 20-minute sets, to unearth that obscure track nobody else has heard of. It’s raw, and it’s beautiful because it’s real.

And let’s not forget the community stations—the hyper-local powerhouses keeping neighborhoods and subcultures alive. These aren’t just radio shows; they’re conversations. They’re where you tune in to hear the pulse of your city, the heartbeat of your neighbors. It’s where activists and artists collide, where voices ignored by the mainstream get a microphone. It’s radio as rebellion, as resistance, as a refuge from the overpowering heavy challenges we all face.

Here’s the thing the big media conglomerates and tech giants don’t want you to realize: not everything should be convenient. Finding great music—or a great anything—takes work. It takes passion. That’s what makes it matter. Independent radio doesn’t spoon-feed you the hits; it hands you a map, points vaguely in a direction, and says, “Go get lost.” And in that wandering, you discover magic. You stumble across a DJ spinning a 10-minute opus made by an area band or a live set from some local group that sounds like they’re playing from the edge of the world. And you want to go there so you can be part of it.

In an era where everything feels like it’s been prepackaged, sanitized, and optimized for maximum engagement, independent radio stands as a glorious middle finger to the machine. It’s messy, it’s chaotic, and it’s alive in ways that nothing else in the modern media landscape can touch even thought they try to say that experimentation came from them.

What’s more, independent radio matters because it’s often the training ground for the voices we’ll be listening to in 10, 20, or 30 years. Think about all the media icons who got their start in college radio. Two words: Howard Stern. Ever heard of Rick Rubin? He was just some punk kid spinning records at NYU before founding Def Jam. Or Ira Glass, who honed his storytelling chops on the airwaves before becoming public radio’s golden boy. The indie stations are incubators for talent because they’re places where experimentation isn’t just allowed—it’s expected.

And don’t let anyone tell you radio is dead. Sure, the format’s shifted, and the big commercial stations are shells of their former selves, but indie radio persists because it’s adaptable. College stations now stream online, bringing their wild, untamed ethos to a global audience. Community stations podcast their shows, extending their reach far beyond the low-powered transmitter on the roof.

But more than that, indie radio matters because it’s personal. It’s not just about the music—it’s about the human connection. There’s something deeply comforting about hearing another person on the other end of the signal, someone who isn’t trying to sell you something, someone who’s just as excited about this obscure Brazilian psych-rock track as you are now that you’ve heard it. It’s a reminder that music isn’t just content—it’s communion.

And yeah, maybe it’s a little romantic to wax poetic about this scrappy corner of the media world. Maybe it’s easier to dismiss it as nostalgia for a pre-streaming era. But dismissing indie radio is to dismiss the very soul of music, the thing that makes it matter in the first place. It’s the idea that art doesn’t have to be perfect, that it doesn’t have to be profitable, that it can just be.

So the next time you’re scrolling through an endless stream of playlists that all sound the same, do yourself a favor: tune in to the static. Find the frequency where some over-caffeinated college kid is ranting about a new band you’ve never heard of, or where a local DJ is spinning records in a tiny room plastered with band posters and graffiti. Listen with your whole heart, and remember what it feels like to discover.

Because independent radio isn’t just a medium—it’s a movement. And in a world that desperately wants you to settle for the lowest common denominator, it’s the one place still daring to reach higher.

Wussy: The Best Rock Band in America

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Wussy is one of those bands that everyone should know. They are an ongoing musical effort for over two decades with a deep catalog. The band’s lyrics — courtesy of Chuck Cleaver and Lisa Walker — are inescapable without being cloying or false, and the band’s observations are relatable, accurate, frighteningly honest, and perhaps more than a little sad. Yet, the dark lyrics hold a unique power to connect deeply with listeners, offering catharsis and shared understanding. They articulate complex emotions like heartbreak, grief, failure no matter what we do, the creeping realization of loss, or loneliness in ways that often resonate universally. We all have felt this way. We have all had to pick ourselves up and pack it up and continue.

This band does not ‘talk down’ or excuse the all too often unbearable. This shared complexity alongside relatability can provide solace, reminding us that struggles and loss are part of a broader human experience. Artists like Leonard Cohen, Nick Drake, XTC, and Wussy use poignant imagery and evocative language to turn personal pain into something captivatingly beautiful and communal. Research in psychology suggests that sad music, especially lyrics, can paradoxically uplift by helping listeners process emotions, offering empathy and a sense of emotional release.

Wussy’s music thrives on atmosphere and contrasts: jangly, distorted guitars and bending pedal steel coexist with heartfelt melodies, while lyrical introspection is paired with propulsive energy. The driving drums and bass arrangements further cement the band’s gravitational pull. This mix defines their aesthetic, often drawing comparisons to The Pixies, Sonic Youth, and Yo La Tengo for their dynamic range.

The band’s dual-vocal approach, featuring Chuck Cleaver and Lisa Walker, adds an emotionally layered dimension to their sound. Their harmonies weave between tenderness and grit, reflecting the tension and warmth present in their lyrics. Themes of heartache, resilience, and the mundane beauty of everyday life emerge vividly, often set against rich, guitar-driven arrangements. Wussy’s sonic identity also incorporates regional pride, as clearly evident in their references to Cincinnati and the Midwest. Critics frequently praise their ability to turn intimate, local stories into universal experiences. Their use of reverb-heavy production and jangling guitar textures evoke both nostalgic warmth and emotional depth, earning them cult status among fans and critics alike. This unique fusion of raw emotion, lyrical storytelling, and sonic experimentation cements Wussy as one of the most compelling voices in contemporary music. Their music is deeply personal yet profoundly accessible, it reminds us that we are not alone.

I consider Wussy an iconic band. Not because of a pose or prophetic statements. Their swirl and sway of instruments and voices are completely unique. No one sounds like them. Wussy, may be labeled an indie rock band from Cincinnati, Ohio, but that does not fully capture what they do. The band has returned with a highly anticipated album titled Cincinnati, Ohio (released on Friday, November 15, 2024) and we are all better for it. This record marks their first full-length album in six years and their first since the passing of guitarist and co-founder John Erhardt (who had been in The Ass Ponys with Cleaver) in 2020. Known for blending honest heartfelt storytelling with robust, guitar-driven sounds, Wussy’s latest work reflects a nuanced exploration of loss, resilience, and their enduring love for their hometown.

The new record, released through hometown label and actual record store, Shake It Records, features ten tracks, including the singles “The Great Divide,” “Sure as The Sun,” and “Inhaler.” The band’s characteristic mix of Americana, Post-Punk, lo-fi noise pop, and introspective lyrics remains central to their sound. Tracks like “The Great Divide” showcase their ability to layer droning, propulsive rhythms with deeply evocative storytelling, capturing the emotional intensity fans have come to expect from Wussy’s catalog. These songs signify a period of renewal and creativity after a period of reflection during their hiatus. Many fans are excited about the release of these songs having heard acoustic versions of several of them during live streams during the lockdown of the Covid Pandemic.

The album draws from personal experiences and the band’s shared history in Cincinnati, a city they frequently reference in their music and where they live. Themes of identity, community, and memory are woven throughout the record, with a tone that both mourns and celebrates. This duality underscores the resilience of a band that has endured significant changes while staying true to its artistic roots. The band members do not pretend or play false flag arguments about their ties to their hometown. The ties that bind here are part of the band’s identity.

Wussy also released two accompanying EPs, The Great Divide and Cellar Door, further showcasing their ability to experiment with sound and storytelling. This multi-release strategy highlights their dedication to producing layered and diverse music for their audience. And Wussy fans are happy for these releases.

The band is known — and rightly celebrated — for its DIY ethos and deeply collaborative nature. Since their formation in 2001, Wussy has been widely praised for their raw authenticity and ability to merge genres seamlessly. Cincinnati, Ohio continues this tradition while evolving their sound to address both personal and universal themes, making it a compelling addition to the discography.

You can explore the album further, and I recommend that you do so! Or better yet purchase it through Shake It Records or Bandcamp. For more insights into the band and their new music, check out their official site or the well-deserved recent press coverage.

YTAA Full Show is up!

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Doing local indie radio for 20 years is a labor of love, a commitment to the community, and a constant source of joy. At least, it sure has been for us at YTAA! Indie radio is a unique space where personality and passion shine through, where the constraints of commercial programming give way to creativity, spontaneity, and local voices. For two decades, the joy has been in connecting people through sound, amplifying voices that would otherwise go unheard, and showcasing music, stories, and topics that truly reflect the heart of music in times of darkness and light.

One of the most rewarding aspects of this journey has been building connections with listeners. Over the years, these listeners become more than just people tuning in—they become a family. Calls, emails, tweets, comments, posts, and even the occasional letter remind us that the work is meaningful and that there’s an audience who feels seen, heard, and represented by what’s being aired. In a world where media often feels homogenized and so darn artificial, we would like to believe that indie radio creates an unbreakable bond with its listeners by staying local, rooted, and real.

Another source of joy for us here at YTAA is discovering and promoting new, underrepresented music. The indie scene is full of gems that don’t always make it to mainstream playlists (for shame!), and introducing these sounds to an eager audience is incredibly fulfilling, heck – you might say it is the thing that keeps us coming back for more. The excitement of finding a new track or local artist and knowing that it will resonate with someone out there makes the work feel fresh, even after so many years.

The joy of indie radio also lies in the freedom to take risks, to be unconventional, and to experiment. Unlike larger stations tied to strict playlists or advertising pressures, an indie station, like WUDR, has the freedom to talk about niche issues, dive into deep conversations, and let shows develop organically. After 20 years, it’s clear that indie radio is more than just broadcasting; it’s about fostering a shared experience, celebrating local culture, and continuing a legacy of creativity and authenticity.

Video of The Day: Tamar Berk – That’s Not a Lie

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Tamar Berk’s latest song, “That’s Not a Lie,” from her recent excellent album Good Times for a Change, dives deep and explores the critical themes of honesty and vulnerability within relationships (and in an expansive canvas not simply romantic connections) and addresses a central question about how ready are we for the vulnerability that all relationships require. Consider how much are we willing to risk? Are we prepared for rejection? For appearing to be the fool — or foolish — in the face of striving to say what we feel directly and honestly.

The song is front and center on the uncomfortable truths people often face, exploring the complexity of admitting past mistakes and accepting one’s limits and flaws. Because we all have flaws even when we do not want to accept them. They stay with us, with every breath, every moment. Set against a rock and roll dynamic soundscape of driving electric guitar and drums, Berk’s emotive vocals convey and evoke both rawness, presence, and nostalgia, adding to the song’s emotional depth from the first note that she sings. This track carries an introspective tone, as Berk reflects on personal accountability, the challenges of openness, and the power of self-acceptance within partnerships.

The music video complements these themes by adopting a playful retro, almost interrogative visual style that feels present around us. It’s as though Berk is confronting herself, embodying the intense self-reflection that characterizes the song — she is doing the work. In her lyrics, she addresses a tension between the desire for honesty and the fear of vulnerability, a feeling that resonates across the album. Vulnerability is a recurring theme in her work reaching back to Starball, tying into her broader artistic exploration of personal growth and relationships. Berk wants to make music that means something and while this is not an after-school special kind of false sentimentality but a real discussion on the heart and the challenge of being gentle and risky with one’s heart. Precarity is a necessary condition of any connection.

We are fans of Berk’s earlier music and notice her brilliant mix of introspection and compelling indie-rock, dare we say ‘wall of sound.’ The song’s production style easily draws comparisons to ’90s rock influences, with a pitch pure effective blend of rock authenticity and modern polish. Ultimately, “That’s Not a Lie” stands out as a powerful statement within Berk’s ever-expanding and captivating discography, capturing her unique ability to weave personal narratives into relatable and engaging music​ that matters.

Transmissions Never Stopped

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In music certain bands emerge as pioneers, shapers of sound, catalyzing a moment in time that resonates beside them and long after. Influential bands become vanguards of a movement, keepers of a feeling that is always felt, something captivating and special. Brainiac, hailing from Dayton, Ohio, is one such band. Despite their brief existence in the 1990s, their sonic experimentation, genre-blurring compositions, and electrifying live performances continue to reverberate through the sweep of the music industry. Their music and their story equal parts exciting and tragic, leaving an indelible mark on subsequent generations of artists, fans, and music writers. In celebration of Justin Vellucci’s new book about the band and before posting a conversation we had about the book and the band, I wanted to take some time and consider the continuing relevance of Brainiac. It is worth exploring their innovative approach to music, their impact on subsequent genres, connection to the hometown that we share, and their enduring influence on contemporary music culture.

Brainiac’s journey began in the fertile underground music scene of Dayton, Ohio, in the late 1980s. Formed in 1992 by vocalist, guitarist, and keyboardist Tim Taylor, guitarist Michelle Bodine, bassist Juan Monasterio, and drummer Tyler Trent, Brainiac quickly gained attention for their unconventional blend of punk, new wave, rock, funk and electronic elements. Drawing inspiration from diverse influences such as Devo, Kraftwerk, Pere Ubu, The Breeders, Dayton’s Funk music legends, and Sonic Youth, Brainiac forged a distinctive sonic identity characterized by angular riffs, frenetic rhythms, and Taylor’s enigmatic vocals. Although Bodine left the band and was replaced by guitarist John Schmersal in 1993, her adventurous guitar style contributed significantly to the band’s early development.

Part of what makes Brainiac so unique is a fearless sonic deconstruction and reassembly. The courage to take songs apart and rebuild them in unexpected ways is a characteristic of everything the band ever created. At the heart of Brainiac’s music lies a spirit of willful experimentation and yearning for innovation. Their albums, including “Smack Bunny Baby” (1993), “Bonsai Superstar” (1994), “Hissing Prigs in Static Couture” (1996), showcase a complete and remarkable fearless willingness to push the boundaries of conventional rock music. Tracks like “Vincent Come On Down” and “Hot Seat Can’t Sit Down” bristle with manic energy, driven by Trent’s propulsive drumming and Monasterio’s solid bass, and across all of it is the sound of zigzagging jagged guitar lines. Keyboards and synth puncturing the rhythm taking the music in different directions. Meanwhile, Taylor’s lyrics, often oblique and surreal, add an additional layer of intrigue to Brainiac’s sonic tapestry. Sometimes bands write lyrics as if they are members of a secret club full of clues apropos of nothing and everything.

“Hissing Prigs in Static Couture,” the seminal album by Brainiac, stands as a testament to the band’s unparalleled creativity and sonic innovation. Released in 1996, it represents the apex of Brainiac’s artistic vision, encapsulating their unique blend of punk, new wave, and electronic influences. From the frenetic opener to the haunting closer “I am a Cracked Machine,” the album takes listeners on a wild, electrifying journey through a sonic landscape unlike any other.

At the heart of “Hissing Prigs in Static Couture” lies Brainiac’s fearless experimentation. Tracks like “Pussyfootin'” and “Strung” showcase the band’s ability to seamlessly meld abrasive guitars, pulsating synths, and infectious hooks, creating a sound that is simultaneously chaotic, melodic, and hypnotic. Meanwhile, Tim Taylor’s enigmatic vocals, veering from manic yelps to eerie whispers, add an extra layer of intrigue to the proceedings.

Decades after its release, “Hissing Prigs in Static Couture” remains a touchstone for fans of alternative and experimental music. Its influence can be heard in the work of countless artists, attesting to Brainiac’s enduring legacy as sonic pioneers. With its boundary-pushing compositions and electrifying energy, this album cements Brainiac’s status as one of the most innovative bands of the 1990s. Brainiac’s sonic adventurousness and take no prisoners approach laid the groundwork for numerous subsequent genres and musical movements. Their incorporation of electronic elements foreshadowed the rise of electronic rock and indie electronic music in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Bands like The Faint and LCD Soundsystem cite Brainiac as a formative influence, recognizing their pioneering role in bridging the gap between rock and electronic music.

Despite their tragically short-lived career—cut short by Taylor’s untimely death in 1997—Brainiac’s legacy endures. Their influence can be heard in the work of contemporary artists across a range of genres, from experimental rock to synth-pop. Moreover, Brainiac’s DIY ethos and fierce independence continue to inspire aspiring musicians and bands, serving as a reminder of the transformative power of artistic vision and uncompromising creativity. DIY is more than a slogan in the hands of bands making music that invades the consciousness and the musical bloodstream of fans.

Brainiac remains a singular force in the history of alternative and indie music, their legacy burnished by their fearless experimentation, genre-defying compositions, and electrifying live performances. More than two decades after their dissolution, their music continues to captivate and inspire, reminding us of the enduring power of sonic innovation and artistic vision. The recent reunion shows demonstrate the continuing hunger of music fans for this music and artistic vision. As long as there are musicians willing to push the boundaries of creativity and challenge the seemingly impenetrable music status quo, Brainiac’s influence will endure, ensuring their place in the pantheon of musical revolutionaries for generations to come.

‘Every Moment’ Does Not Wait

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Yesterday, Nick Kizirnis joined Dr. J in the studio to discuss his latest record “Every Moment.” While Nick has been on the show before, it is still an exciting event for him to join us.

Nick Kizirnis, a name not unfamiliar to the echelons of the Dayton community rock and roll enthusiasts, has etched his mark in local music as a Dayton, Ohio-based musician, guitarist, and songwriter. With a career spanning several decades, Kizirnis has seamlessly blended his prowess as a guitarist with his innate talent for crafting compelling compositions, earning him a dedicated following and critical acclaim within the Dayton music community.

Born and raised in the vibrant musical landscape of Dayton, Ohio, Kizirnis was exposed to an array of musical genres from a young age. Inspired by the likes of Guided By Voices, Brainiac, and The Breeders, he embarked on his musical journey, honing his skills on the guitar and immersing himself in the rich tapestry of rock music across its many varied forms and styles.

Kizirnis’ musical odyssey gained momentum in the late 1980s when he co-founded the surf-rock band, The Mulchmen, alongside Greg Spence and Brian Hogarth. The Mulchmen quickly garnered attention for their infectious surf rock melodies, sweeping compositions, and electrifying live performances, establishing Kizirnis as a formidable force in the realm of rock music.

As a guitarist, Kizirnis’ virtuosity knows no bounds. His distinctive playing style, characterized by intricate riffs, blistering solos, and melodic phrasings, captivates audiences and fellow musicians alike, earning him admiration and respect within the music community. Whether unleashing thunderous power chords or delicately weaving nuanced melodies, Kizirnis’ guitar work serves as the sonic backbone of his musical endeavors, infusing each composition with depth, emotion, and vitality.

Beyond his prowess as a guitarist, Kizirnis’ songwriting prowess shines brightly, imbuing his music with poignant lyricism, infectious hooks, and irresistible charm. Drawing inspiration from personal experiences, introspection, and the human condition, his songs resonate on a deeply emotional level, offering listeners a glimpse into his innermost thoughts and feelings. From anthemic rockers to introspective ballads, Kizirnis’ songwriting versatility knows no bounds, showcasing his ability to craft timeless compositions that endure the test of time.

Throughout his illustrious career, Kizirnis has released a plethora of solo albums, each offering a unique sonic tapestry that reflects his artistic evolution and creative vision. From his debut solo effort, “Into the Loud” to atmospheric noir of “The Distance,” to the acoustic guitar and cello album “Quiet Signals” to the most recent release “Every Moment” Kizirnis’ discography serves as a testament to his unwavering commitment to his craft and his relentless pursuit of music that captivates the listener.

In addition to his solo endeavors, Kizirnis has collaborated with a diverse array of artists and musicians, further expanding his musical horizons and pushing the boundaries of his creativity. Whether lending his guitar prowess to recording sessions or sharing the stage with fellow luminaries, Kizirnis’ collaborative spirit and passion for music are evident in every endeavor he undertakes.

Beyond his contributions to the world of music, Kizirnis remains deeply rooted in his hometown of Dayton, Ohio, where he continues to inspire aspiring musicians and foster a vibrant musical community. Through his involvement in local music festivals, events, and educational initiatives, Kizirnis pays homage to his musical roots while paving the way for future generations of artists to thrive.

Nick Kizirnis stands as a testament to the enduring power of music to inspire, uplift, and unite. As a musician, guitarist, songwriter, and singer, he has left an indelible mark on the world of local rock music, captivating audiences with his unparalleled talent, boundless creativity, and unwavering passion. Whether shredding on stage, penning heartfelt lyrics, or mentoring aspiring musicians, Kizirnis’ dedication to his craft and his love for music shines brightly, illuminating the path for generations of musicians and music fans for years to come.

Nick is playing Blind Rage Records tomorrow, Thursday, May 2nd to celebrate the release of “Every Moment” which is out the next day, Friday, May 3rd everywhere you can get music.

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All images and pictures used with permission of the artist.

Traveling Lo-fi Locations: ‘Take A Trip’ Through Mythical Motors’ ‘Upside Down World'”

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In the space where Guided By Voices, Neutral Milk Hotel, and Pavement are the well recognized signposts of indie rock, bands often struggle to carve out a distinct identity, Mythical Motors’ latest offering, “Upside Down World,” emerges as a refreshing assured guitar driven lo-fi beauty. Their sound is a kaleidoscope of rock aesthetics, alternative swagger, garage rock grit, and melodic hooks that ensnare the listener in a whirlwind of sonic exploration. Released amidst a sea of all too predictable soundscapes, this album boldly ventures into uncharted territory, blending elements of psychedelic rock, folk, and dream pop to create a mesmerizing sonic journey. If fairness truly existed, this band would be a household name.

At the heart of Mythical Motors’ sonic identity is their penchant for brevity and spontaneity. Each song feels like a fleeting moment captured in time, with abrupt transitions and a sense of urgency that keeps the listener on their toes. The lo-fi production quality adds a layer of authenticity, as if the music is being transmitted directly from the garage where it was conceived.

From the opening track, “Take A Trip,” Mythical Motors invites listeners into a swirling and swaying universe where reality blurs and imagination reigns supreme. The passionate vocals soar over layers of equal parts jangling and fuzzy guitars next to driving bass and sparkle of intense percussion, setting the tone for the album’s sonic palate. Amidst the fuzz and distortion, there’s an undeniable pop sensibility that shines through in the form of catchy melodies and infectious hooks. Mythical Motors has a knack for crafting earworms that burrow their way into your subconscious, lingering long after the music has stopped. You will hum the tune long before you know the words.

Throughout “Upside Down World,” Mythical Motors demonstrate a remarkable ability to seamlessly weave together disparate musical influences without losing the Ramones-ian power pop finish. Tracks like “The Office of Royal Discovery” and “Grand January High” showcase the band’s penchant for crafting immediate atmospheric environment reminiscent of ’60s psychedelia, while songs like “Plastic Saturn,” “Upside Down World,” and “Book of Broken Man” incorporate early alternative melodies and harmonies as if Peter Buck played in early Guided By Voices.

One of the album’s standout moments comes in the form of “Court of The Beekeepers,” a fantastic song that showcases emotive vocals against a backdrop of synth blips, fuzz guitar and perfect backing vocals. Feels like ‘A Bell is a Cup… until its Struck’-era Wire. The song’s introspective lyrics explore themes of introspection and self-discovery, adding a layer of depth to the album’s gravity. And that last ten seconds of call and response will make you want to play the song over and over again.

Yet, for all its lo-fi allure, “Upside Down World” is not without its moments of raw energy and intensity. Tracks like “Elijah Stop Spinning” and “Stop The Sun” inject a dose of adrenaline into the album’s sonic tapestry, with driving rhythms and distorted guitars that propel the listener into a frenetic cascade of sound that feels like the listener should be spinning.

But perhaps the most remarkable aspect of “Upside Down World” is its ability to evoke a sense of nostalgia while still feeling decidedly contemporary. Drawing inspiration from the music of alternative past while embracing the present, Mythical Motors crafts a sound that feels both timeless and fresh, inviting listeners to lose themselves in its hypnotic melodies and evocative lyrics.

“Upside Down World” is more than just an album—it’s a transcendent experience that transports listeners to another realm entirely. With its near constant guitar attack, captivating vocals, and expansive sonic palette, Mythical Motors has crafted a musical odyssey that is sure to resonate with fans of indie rock and beyond. In a world where conformity runs the shop, Mythical Motors dares to defy expectations, offering up a sonic journey that is as daring as it is beautiful.

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