Sub Pop Rock & Indie 262 Items

The world is filling up with trash. Humanity remains addicted to pollution. People are downing horse dewormer because some goober on television told them it cured Covid. The apocalypse is stupider than anyone could've predicted.Fortunately, the absurdities of modern life have always been prime subject matter for Seattle-based foursome Mudhoney, and the band take aim at all of them with typical barbed humor and muck-encrusted riffs on on 11th studio album, Plastic Eternity, which was recorded over nine days at Crackle & Pop! in Seattle with longtime producer Johnny Sangster. From taking on climate change from the perspective of the climate if the climate tried to play guitar like Jimi Hendrix ("Cry Me An Atmospheric River") to a driving rock and roll song about taking drugs meant for livestock ("Here Comes the Flood") to a classic punk attack on treating humans like livestock ("Human Stock Capital"), Plastic Eternity is a run through all the proto-genres of guitar rock with a keen eye on the inanities of the world in the 2020's. It also contains a genuine love song in closing track "Little Dogs," an ode to the simple joys of hanging out with tiny canines. Mudhoney (vocalist Mark Arm, guitarist Steve Turner, bassist Guy Maddison, and drummer Dan Peters) remain the ur underground group, their gnarly primordial punk stew and Arm's sharply funny lyrics as potent a combination as they've been since the band's formation in the late 1980s. When asked why they continue making records nearly four decades after forming, Arm's answer is simple. "We like

There are times in our life when we feel magic in the air. When new love arrives, or we find ourselves lost in a moment of creation with others who share our vision. A sense that: this is who I want to be. This is what I want to share. It's a fleeting feeling and one that Kyle Thomas, the singer-songwriter who records and performs as King Tuff, found himself longing for in the spring of 2020. But knowing he couldn't simply recreate this time in his life at will, Thomas-who hails from Brattleboro, Vermont-set out to write a love letter to those cherished moments of inspiration and to the small town that formed him. The one where he first nurtured his songwriting impulses, bouncing ideas off other like-minded artists. The kind of place where the changing of the seasons always delivered a sense of perspective and fresh artistic inspiration. Where he felt a deeper connection with nature and sense of community that had once been so close at hand. And so, Thomas seized upon his memories, creating what he calls "an album about love and nature and youth." The result is Smalltown Stardust, a spiritual, tender and ultimately joyous record that might come as a shock to those with only a passing knowledge of the artist's back catalog. On Smalltown Stardust, Thomas takes us on his journey to a place where past and present collide, where he can be a dreamer in love with all that he sees. References to his Brattleboro upbringing abound, but at the core of Smalltown Stardust is Thomas's desire to commune with nature on a spiritual level. Images of the natural world, from blizzards to green mountains to cloudy days, fill the songs. "I consider nature to be my religion," he explains, and Smalltown Stardust is nothing if not a spiritual exploration. While so much of Smalltown Stardust invokes idealized traces and places of Thomas's past, the album's recording process made his communal vision a reality. Thomas's Los Angeles home in 2020 formed a micro-scene of sorts, with housemates Meg Duffy (Hand Habits) and Sasami Ashworth recording their own heralded albums (2021's Fun House and 2022's Squeeze, respectively) at the same time A shared spirit dominated an era spent largely on the premises, with Thomas serving as engineer and contributor to both records, and Ashworth working as co-producer on Smalltown Stardust. Ashworth's contributions are vital to the album: she co-wrote a majority of the record and contributed vocals, arrangements, and instrumentation to each song. In the end, Smalltown Stardust is not merely a nostalgia trip. Thomas not only conjured a special time in his life, he found new inspiration, surrounded by collaborators and a sense of love and wonder for nature. If the first King Tuff record was content to merely state Thomas was no longer dead, Smalltown Stardust is a paean to what that life means.

Breaking the Balls of History is Quasi's tenth record, landing ten years after their last record, on February tenth. Three tens, which aligns with the thirty years they've played together. Sam Coomes and Janet Weiss have become Pacific Northwest icons, and Quasi has always felt so steadfast- their enduring friendship so generative, their energy infinite, each album more raucous and catchy and ferocious and funny than the last. But we were wrong to ever take Quasi for granted. For a while, they thought 2013's intricate Mole City might be their last record. They'd go out on a great one and move on. Then in August 2019 a car smashed into Janet's and broke both legs and her collarbone. Then a deadly virus collided with all of us, and no one knew when or if live music as we knew it-the touring, the communal crowds, the sonic church of the dark club-would ever happen again. And with the obliterated normal came an unexpected gift: uninterrupted time, hours every day, to make art. Quasi couldn't go on the road, so they got an idea: they would act as if they were on tour and play together every single day. Each afternoon, Sam and Janet bunkered down in their tiny practice space and channeled the bewilderment and absurdity of this alien new world into songs. Janet's strength returned and rose to athlete-level stamina. The incredible result of those sessions is Breaking the Balls of History, recorded in five days and produced by John Goodmanson at the legendary Robert Lang Studios in Shoreline, WA. Here are two artists at their prime, each a human library of musical knowledge and experience, entirely distinctive in their songcraft and sound. In Quasi-form, the band becomes alchemically even greater than the sum of its parts: Janet's galloping drums and Sam's punk-symphonic Rocksichord and their intertwining vocals make something gigantic, anthemic. In the thick of a cataclysmic social and political moment, they've crafted exquisitely melodic songs that glitter with rage and wild humor and intelligence, driven by a big bruised pounding heart. While it reflects the darkness of our time, Breaking the Balls of History surges with energy and pleasure and joy. "It felt so life-affirming. I can hear in the music how happy I am to be there and to be playing at that level again," Janet said. "I get to exist." Sam and Janet have lived through enough to understand that nothing is permanent, and that when your faith in humanity sinks, you turn to the life force of what you can rely on: the people you trust, the community that claims you, and what you can create. You can't control the time. But you can make a record of a time. And luckily for us, Quasi has again.

The Milk Teeth mini album compiles singer-songwriter Suki Waterhouse's various non-album singles onto a physical release for the first time. It includes the song "Good Looking," which, in mid-2022, exploded on Tik Tok and hit #1 on the global viral chart. Suki Waterhouse catalogues the most intimate, formative, and significant moments of her life through songs. You might recognize her name or her work as an actress and model, but you'll really get to know the multi-faceted artist through her music. Growing up in London, Suki gravitated towards music's magnetic pull. She listened to the likes of Alanis Morissette and caught Missy Elliott live as her first concert. Meanwhile, Oasis held a particularly special place in her heart. She initially teased out this facet of her creativity with a series of singles, generating nearly 20 million total streams independently. Nylon hailed her debut "Brutally" as "what a Lana Del Rey deep cut mixed with Joni Mitchell's 'Both Sides, Now' would sound like." In addition to raves from Garage by Vice and Lemonade Magazine, Dujor put it best, "Suki Waterhouse's music has swagger." Constantly consuming artists of all stripes, she listened to the likes of Sharon Van Etten, Valerie June, Garbage, Frazey Ford, Lou Doillon, and Lucinda Williams. In late 2020, she finally dove into making what would become her full-length debut album, I Can't Let Go [Sub Pop Records] with producer Brad Cook [Snail Mail, Waxahatchee]. Now, she introduces this chapter with "Moves" and "My Mind." Her first album for Sub Pop, I Can't Let Go, produced by Brad Cook (Bon Iver, War On Drugs, Snail Mail, Waxahatchee) and released in May of 2022, is a testament to her powers as a singer and songwriter. The Milk Teeth mini album rightly shines a spotlight on her pre-album material, giving these six songs their first physical release.

Technological agitation. Narcissism fatigue. A galaxy of isolation. These are the new norms keeping Weyes Blood (aka Natalie Mering) up at night and the themes at the heart of her latest release, And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow. The celestial-influenced folk album is her follow-up to the acclaimed Titanic Rising. (Pitchfork, NPR, and The Guardian admiringly named it one of 2019's best.) While Titanic Rising was an observation of doom to come, And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow is about being in the thick of it: a search for an escape hatch to liberate us from algorithms and ideological chaos. "We're in a fully functional shit show," Mering says. "My heart is a glow stick that's been cracked, lighting up my chest in an explosion of earnestness." And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow opens with the wistful, winsome "It's Not Just Me, It's Everybody," a song about the interconnectivity of all beings, despite the fraying of society around us. "I was asking a lot of questions while writing these songs. Hyper-isolation kept coming up," Mering says. "Our culture relies less and less on people. Something is off, and even though the feeling appears differently for each individual, it is universal." Other tracks follow in kind. The lullaby-like "Grapevine" chronicles the splintering of a human connection. The otherworldly dirge "God Turn Me into a Flower" serves as allegory about our collective hubris. "The Worst Is Done" is an ominous warning, set against a deceivingly breezy pop melody. "Chaos is natural. But so is negentropy, or the tendency for things to fall into order," she says. "These songs may not be manifestos or solutions, but I know they shed light on the meaning of our contemporary disillusionment."

Several things happened before a warm day when I met the four members of Frankie Cosmos in a Brooklyn studio to begin making their album. Greta Kline spent a few years living with her family and writing a mere 100 songs, turning her empathy anywhere from the navel to the moon, rendering it all warm, close and reflexively humorous. In music, everyone loves a teen sensation, but Kline has never been more fascinating than now, a decade into being one of the most prolific songwriters of her generation. She's lodged in my mind amongst authors, other observational alchemists like Rachel Cusk or Sheila Heti, but she's funnier, which is a charm endemic to musicians. Meanwhile Frankie Cosmos, a rare, dwindling democratic entity called a band, had been on pandemic hiatus with no idea if they'd continue. In the openness of that uncertainty they met up, planning to hang out and play music together for the first time in nearly 500 days. There, whittling down the multitude of music to work with, they created Inner World Peace, a collection of Greta's songs changed and sculpted by their time together. While Kline's musical taste at the time was leaning toward aughts indie rock she'd loved as a teenager, keyboardist Lauren Martin and drummer Luke Pyenson cite "droning, meditation, repetition, clarity and intentionality," as well as "'70s folk and pop" as a reference for how they approached their parts. Bassist/guitarist Alex Bailey says that at the time he referred to it as their "ambient" or "psych" album. Somewhere between those textural elements and Kline's penchant for concise pop, Inner World Peace finds its balance. The first order of business upon setting up camp in Brooklyn's Figure 8 studios was to project giant colorful slides the band had made for each track. Co-producing with Nate Mendelsohn, my Shitty Hits Recording partner, we aimed for FC's aesthetic idiosyncrasies to shine. The mood board for "Magnetic Personality" has a neon green and black checkerboard, a screen capture of the game Street Fighter with "K.O." in fat red letters, and a cover of Mad Magazine that says "Spy Vs. Spy! The Top Secret Files." On tracks like "F.O.O.F." (Freak Out On Friday), "Fragments" and "Aftershook," the group are at their most psychedelic and playful, interjecting fuzz solos, bits of percussion, and other sonically adventurous ear candy. An internal logic strengthens everything, and in their proggiest moments, Frankie Cosmos are simply a one-take band who don't miss. When on Inner World Peace they sound wildly, freshly different, it may just be that they're coming deeper into their own. Inner World Peace excels in passing on the emotions it holds. When in the towering "Empty Head" Kline sings of wanting to let thoughts slide away, her voice is buoyed on a bed of synths and harmonium as tranquility abounds. When her thoughts become hurried and full of desire, so does the band, and she leaps from word to word as if unable to contain them all. As a group, they carry it all deftly, and with constant regard for Kline's point of view. Says Greta, "To me, the album is about perception. It's about the question of "who am I?" and whether or not the answer matters. It's about quantum time, the possibilities of invisible worlds. The album is about finding myself floating in a new context. A teenager again, living with my parents. An adult, choosing to live with my family in an act of love. Time propelled us forward, aged us, and also froze. If you don't leave the house, who are you to the world? Can you take the person you discover there out with you?" - Katie Von Schleicher

Smash cut to Kiwi Jr.'s third album, Chopper, overseen by trusted pilot Dan Boeckner (Wolf Parade, Handsome Furs) on storied Sub Pop Records. Turning nocturnal with necks mock turtle, our Local Kiwi Jr. takes neon flight off the digital cliff - like The Monkees starring in Blade Runner; like Michael Mann directs Encino Man. Ten songs with synth shimmer, zen gongs with yard strimmer. The signs along the highway read "less BAR, More Noir AHEAD." Ah, those late summer, Joe Strummer, Home on the Range Rover Blues. There's a melancholy to all forms of flight, and the view out the Chopper is as hazy as it gets: mission-oriented, both stealth and self-realized. This album is decidedly (yet almost secretly) anti-patio-sunscreen-Beach Boys bachelor cruise sing-a-long. Sure, these songs let a little light through the blinds, but they sting insomnia, corrupt mayors, Kennedy Curses, sex tapes, and deer rifles. Chopper is the bird's eye view of the big event - a real nighttime character of oil stain, film grain, search light, night flight. It is muscular and fragile; loud yet quiet: both an observer and somehow the observed spectacle itself. What was slack in the slacker phase, got tauter, with lacquer glaze. Slick gloss, rightened wrongs; murdered boss, promoted pawns. With Boeckner transmitting high-voltage shocks upon every reach for a familiar instrument, Kiwi Jr. expands the palette with string machine song, synthesizered oblong, and Dentyne Classic Menthol vocals from area soprano Dorothea Paas (US Girls, Badge Epoch Ensemble) like the missing piece all along. Kiwi Jr. brings the Chopper to a new space, demilitarizing the technology just like flasks, aviators, and cargo shorts. Graceful in the air above, but when the Chopper lands, there's chaos on the ground. Kiwi Jr. shout, "Look Out!" When it gets close, it'll blow the hat right off of your head. Hold onto your hats, Babies. Kiwi Jr. is Jeremy Gaudet vocals and guitar, Brian Murphy guitar, Mike Walker bass, Brohan Moore drums, and everybody played a little bit of keyboard.

Initial vinyl pressing on Blue Curacao Transparent Vinyl! As you can probably glean from the title, Bret McKenzie-whom you know from such modern musical treasures as comedy duo Flight of the Conchords, the Muppets movie reboots and other ace kid-film soundtracks, Lord of the Rings fan blogs, guest songs for The Simpsons, cycling around the streets in his native New Zealand, and more- has a new solo record coming out filled with songs that ARE NOT Comedy Songs! There. Doesn't that feel better? Sometimes it helps just to get it out in the open. So, yeah, Bret's a ridiculously funny dude, and you might even call him one of the best comedy songwriters in the biz. (In Bret's own words, there are fewer than a dozen people in the world writing comedy songs today, but who's counting?) He's had smash hits, he's won major awards, he's the better-dressed part of his duo...he's got a good thing going! So, what gives with this whole "songs without jokes" solo stuff, man? The Conchords landed McKenzie and Jemaine Clement a hit HBO TV show, a BBC Radio series, chart-topping records, world tours, a Best Comedy Album Grammy, and a 2018 "reunion" special. McKenzie transitioned to Hollywood, writing songs for 2011's The Muppets (winning a Best Original Song Oscar for "Man or Muppet"), 2014's Muppets Most Wanted, and films in the Pirates! and Dora canons. While he enjoyed and excelled at the work, he wondered where his songs might go if set free of all that plot-bound specificity. And so, while in Los Angeles a few years back, recording movie music with a crack assemblage of legendary session musicians, McKenzie started playing around with a tune or two he had written simply as songs-songs without any external direction, songs without plot-pushing concerns, songs without jokes. The results reveal McKenzie's talents on multiple instruments (he's a veteran of several non-comedy bands in New Zealand back in the day, most notably the reggae-based fusion group The Black Seeds), and his affinity for wry, literate artists like Harry Nilsson, Steely Dan, Randy Newman and Dire Straits. Written mostly during the quieter moments of 2019, with his life split between work in Los Angeles and his family in Wellington, the songs of Songs focus on themes of escape, the perpetual search for peace, and navigating a life being pulled in multiple directions at once. There are also simple meditations on driving through a city, and the weather. McKenzie was inspired by the path icons like Newman and Nilsson had paved, where a silly or playful number could be sandwiched directly between a song about heartbreak or an earnest redemption and a scathing satire or character commentary. He threw a bit of everything into the mix, recording ideas on his phone at home in New Zealand after the kids had gone to sleep. Back in LA, he fine-tuned the songs with his longtime producer and collaborator, Mickey Petralia, and longtime film collaborator Chris Caswell created charts for that same ensemble of session players with whom they'd recorded so many pieces for film. The majority of songs were then recorded at United Studio in Los Angeles in just a few takes. While the album may be free of traditional punch lines, it doesn't lack a sense of humor. It showcases a new stage of McKenzie's career, to be sure, but one that isn't so far removed from his past work and true artistic self. Like Jim Henson before him, who made a career of blending the silly with the sincere and the playful with the profound, McKenzie also aims to connect rainbows to the ridiculous.

Stella makes her Sub Pop debut with the mesmerizing Up and Away, an old-school pop paean to the pangs and raptures of love. From the Greek folk-inflected get-go, we're swept up in Stella's world - and it's quite the captivating place to be. The singer-songwriter joined forces with artist and producer Tom Calvert (aka Redinho), and it was a match made in Athens; the results are heavenly. Tom caught one of Stella's gigs on a visit to the city. He reached out, they started hanging out, and the pair soon clicked creatively. Both mention chemistry when asked about their collaboration and it's clear, from what we hear, they had it in spades. The meld is seamless. Stella's songs have always riffed on American and Greek mid-century pop but Up and Away doubles down on the vintage aesthetic. Tom says he styled the record "as if it was a rare gem from the '60s found in a box of records in Athens," and Stella notes she was ready for a more "deeply Greek touch - it felt comfortable and right, smoothly fusing with the pop." The bouzouki appears on a full five tracks played by Christos Skondras who, she says, "was brilliant at improvising," while Sofia Labropoulou on the kanun "brought an insane amount of dreaminess to the last two songs. Having these amazing musicians play for Up and Away - I couldn't be more grateful." While not exclusively a confessional artist, Stella is always intimate - when she sings, it's personal. She writes "about things I feel passion for. Stories about me, about others, about all that's there in love and war." Stella was "in a very emotional state at the time, which came through in the lyrics and vocals." And it's true, her honeyed voice - layered in those unmistakable harmonies of hers - thrillingly runs the gamut from tender to terse, by turns bracing and smitten, aching and forlorn. But it's the lyrics that feel key. Across her output, Stella has proven herself a strong storyteller, and Up and Away is no exception (the guise of the medieval bard she assumes on the cover is telling). Past releases have been studded with gem-like vignettes - a diverse array of stories set tightly together to form non-linear narratives unified by emotion. Her latest feels singular in that it seems to trace a longer-form tale across songs, with each track escalating the record's erotic arc. By the end of the album, Up and Away's core concerns are clear: the conflicting and conflicted emotions inherent in love, that live on in ways we can't always understand or control. Love is like this record: when it's over, you still feel it for time to come.

The roots of Naima Bock's music are far reaching. Born in Glastonbury to a Brazilian father and a Greek mother, Naima spent her early childhood in Brazil before eventually returning to England and various homes in South-East London. This heritage combines with more recent pursuits in Naima's music. From the Brazilian standards that the family listened to while driving to the beach, to the European folk traditions she tapped into on her own, and the pursuits that interest her today - studies in archaeology, work as a gardener, and walking the world's great trails - Naima's music draws from family, the earth and music handed down through generations. Naima's debut album Giant Palm is undoubtedly infused with the Brazilian music of her youth and regular family visits. She found inspiration in "the percussion, the melodies, chords - and particularly the poetic juxtaposition of tragedy and beauty held within the lyrics." By the age of 15 Naima was embedded in the music scene of South-East London, eventually forming Goat Girl with school friends and touring the world. After six years playing bass in Goat Girl, Naima left the band to try something new. She set up a gardening company and started a degree at University College London in archeology because, as she jokes, "I liked being near the ground." During this time she wrote music, played guitar, learned violin, worked with ever-shifting South-London collective Broadside Hacks, and met producer and arranger Joel Burton through Memorials of Distinction label head Josh Cohen. Joel's burgeoning interest in Western classical music, global folk music, experience in large scale arrangement and orchestration informed the collaborative process that eventually culminated in Giant Palm. Recorded with the help of over 30 musicians (including Josh Cohen on synth/electronics) by Dan Carey of Speedy Wunderground at his studio space in Streatham, South-East London, and engineered by Syd Kemp, the songs on Giant Palm represent a snapshot of a specific feeling, of brief moments in Naima's life that make up a larger whole. The expansive yet delicate arrangements highlight Naima's love for the collectivist values of traditional folk music, in which songs belong to everyone, and singing can take on countless forms without the need to exactly replicate something. "All the other representations that I'd had of singing felt so unattainable" she recalls. Giant Palm finds Naima bucking these expectations to let her unique voice and sense of communal creativity flourish.

Since the band's inception in 1992, Built to Spill founder Doug Martsch intended his beloved band to be a collaborative project, an ever-evolving group of musicians making music and playing live together. "I wanted to switch the lineup for many reasons. Each time we finish a record I want the next one to sound totally different. It's fun to play with people who bring in new styles and ideas," says Martsch. "And it's nice to be in a band with people who aren't sick of me yet." Following several albums and EPs on Pacific Northwest independent labels, including the indie-rock classic, There's Nothing Wrong With Love, released on Sub Pop offshoot Up Records in 1994, Martsch signed with Warner Brothers from 1995 to 2016. He and his rotating cast of cohorts recorded six more great albums during that time - Perfect From Now On, Keep It Like a Secret, Ancient Melodies of the Future, You In Reverse, Untethered Moon, There Is No Enemy. There was also a live album, and a solo record, Now You Know. While the band's impeccable recorded catalog is the entry point, Built to Spill live is an essential force of its own: heavy, psychedelic, melodic, and visceral tunes blaring from amps that sound as if they're powered by Mack trucks. Now in 2022, Built to Spill returns with When the Wind Forgets Your Name, Martsch's unbelievably great new album (and his eighth full-length)... with a fresh new label. "I'm psyched: I've wanted to be on Sub Pop since I was a teenager. And I think I'm the first fifty year-old they've ever signed." (The rumors are true, we love quinquagenarians_) When the Wind Forgets Your Name continues expanding the Built to Spill universe in new and exciting ways. In 2018 Martsch's good fortune and keen intuition brought him together with Brazilian lo-fi punk artist and producer Le Almeida, and his long-time collaborator, Joao Casaes, both of the psychedelic jazz rock band, Orua. Martsch fell in love with their music the moment he heard it. So when he needed a new band for shows in Brazil, he asked them, and the partnership went so well Martsch, Almeida, and Casaes continued playing together throughout 2019, touring the US and Europe and ultimately recording the bass and drum tracks for When the Wind Forgets Your Name at Doug's rehearsal space in Boise. After Martsch tracked guitars and vocals, they group collaborated from afar to mix the album. What emerged is When the Wind Forgets Your Name, a complex and cohesive blend of the artists' distinct musical ideas. Alongside Built to Spill's poetic lyrics and themes, the experimentation and attention to detail produces an album full of unique, vivid, and timeless sounds, from guitar-driven rock odes to REM and Dinosaur Jr to bluesy '60s-style anthems to dub-reggae-inspired instrumentation. It may have taken us 30 years of obvious fandom and courtship, but on September 9, 2022, Sub Pop Records is unabashedly proud to finally release an excellent new album from Built to Spill: When the Wind Forgets Your Name. Sometimes persistence pays off.

Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy on its wearer's shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. "A lot of it did feel like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length," says vocalist Charlie Drinkwater. "I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest." Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single "House of York" followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to Sub Pop for their debut album. When Uppers arrived in the height of a global pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its "dystopian doublespeak," but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the personal and professional landmark of its release felt "both colossal and minuscule" dampened by the inability to share it live. "It was a real gratification and really cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental health" admits Drinkwater. "I wasn't prepared, and I hadn't necessarily expected it to reach as many people as it did." As such, My Other People maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using "Saintless" (the closing song from Uppers) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health. "Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would say, particularly well," he says. "There was a lot of things that had happened to myself and my family that were quite troubling moments.Despite that I do think the record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in." "It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful," agrees Bueth. "Brutality and frustration are only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening." This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to My Other People, a record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you're welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Limited Indies Loser Edition pressed on Yellow Vinyl. Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever return in 2022 with Endless Rooms, the Melbourne quintet's third album proper. Described by the band - comprised of Fran Keaney, Joe White, Marcel Tussie and brothers Tom Russo and Joe Russo - as them "Doing what we do best: chasing down songs in a room together", Endless Rooms stands as a testament to the collaborative spirit and live power of Rbcf. While initial ideas were traded online during long spells spent separated by lockdowns, the album was truly born during small windows of freedom in which the band would decamp to a mud-brick house in the bush around 2hrs north of Melbourne built by the extended Russo family in the 1970s. There, its 12 tracks took shape, informed to such an extent by the acoustics and ambience of the rambling lakeside house that they decided to record the album there. The house also features on the album cover. For the first time, the band self-produced the record (alongside engineer, collaborator and old friend, Matt Duffy), creating their most naturalistic and expansive document yet. The result is a collection of songs permeated by the spirit of the place; punctuated by field recordings of rain, fire, birds, and wind. "It's almost an anti-concept album," say the band. "The 'endless rooms' of the title reflects our love of creating worlds in our songs. We treat each of them as a bare room to be built up with infinite possibilities."

Nowadays, voice memos, videos, and pictures chronicle our lives in real-time. We trace where we've been and reveal where we're going. However, Suki Waterhouse catalogs the most intimate, formative, and significant moments of her life through songs. You might recognize her name or her work as singer, songwriter, actress but you'll really get to know the multi-faceted artist through her music. Memories of unrequited love, fits of longing, instances of anxiety, and unfiltered snapshots interlock like puzzle pieces into a mosaic of well-worn country, '90s-style alternative, and unassuming pop. She writes the kind of tunes meant to be grafted onto dusty old vinyl from your favorite vintage record store, yet perfect for a sun-soaked festival stage. Her first album for Sub Pop, I Can't Let Go, is a testament to her powers as a singer and songwriter. In Suki's words: "The album is called I Can't Let Go because for years it felt like I was wearing heavy moments on my sleeve and it just didn't make sense to do so anymore. There's so much that I've never spoken about. Writing music has always been where it felt safe to do so. Every song for the record was a necessity. In many ways, I've been observing my life as an outsider, even when I've been on the inside. It's like I was a visitor watching things happen." Growing up in London, Suki gravitated towards music's magnetic pull. She listened to the likes of Alanis Morissette and Fiona Apple, and Oasis held a special place in her heart. She initially teased out this facet of her creativity with a series of singles, generating nearly 20 million total streams independently. Nylon hailed her debut track, "Brutally," as "what a Lana Del Rey deep cut mixed with Joni Mitchell's 'Both Sides, Now' would sound like." In addition to raves from Garage, Vice and Lemonade Magazine, Dujor put it best: "Suki Waterhouse's music has swagger." Suki is constantly consuming artists of all stripes, and, in the lead-up to making I Can't Let Go, she was particularly drawn to the work of Sharon Van Etten, Valerie June, Garbage, Frazey Ford, Lou Doillon, and Lucinda Williams. After falling in love with Hiss Golden Messenger's Terms of Surrender, she reached out to its producer Brad Cook (Bon Iver, War On Drugs, Snail Mail, Waxahatchee) to help define the sound of I Can't Let Go. On I Can't Let Go, Suki not only catalogs her life up to this point, but she also fulfills a lifelong ambition. "When I've been stuck or feel out of touch with a sense of inner meaning and outer purpose, I've found both through searching my memories and finding those events buried in the shadowy areas of the psyche where they were ignored," she says. "So many times of change in my life have required return visits-especially at the transitions through to the next stages. The album is an exploration of those moments when there is nothing left to lose. What is left and can't be thrown away is the self."

On her second full-length record, Head of Roses, Jenn Wasner follows a winding thread of intuition into the unknown and into healing, led by gut feelings and the near-spiritual experience of visceral songwriting. The result is a combination of Wasner's ability to embrace new levels of vulnerability, honesty and openness, with the self-assuredness that comes with a decade-plus career as a songwriter, producer, multi-instrumentalist and prolific collaborator. Simply put, Head of Roses is a record about heartbreak, but from a dualistic perspective. It's about the experience of having one's heart broken and breaking someone else's heart at the same time. But beyond that, it's about having to reconcile the experience of one's own pain with the understanding that it's impossible to go through life without being the source of great pain for someone else. "Part of the journey for me has been learning to take responsibility for the parts of things that are mine, even when I'm in a lot of pain through some behavior or action of someone else. If I'm expecting to be forgiven for the things I've done and the choices I've made and the mistakes that I've made, it would be incredibly cowardly and hypocritical to not also do the work that's required to forgive others the pain they caused me." Showcasing the depth of Wasner's songwriting capabilities and the complexity of her vision, Head of Roses calls upon her singular ability to create a fully-formed sonic universe via genre-bending amalgamation of songs and her poetic and gut punch lyrics. It's the soundtrack of Wasner letting go - of control, of heartbreak, and of hiding who she is: "I think I've finally reached a point in my career where I feel comfortable enough with myself and what I do, that I'm able to relax into a certain simplicity or straight forwardness that I wasn't comfortable with before." Head of Roses puts Wasner's seismically powerful voice front and center. Those vocals help thread it all together -- it's a textured musicality, quilted together by intentionality and intuition. Wasner and producer Nick Sanborn (Sylvan Esso, Made of Oak) assembled Head of Roses in the same way you'd put together a mixtape, painstakingly and carefully melding disparate parts into a whole, transcending genre to weave a story of heartache and healing together. And in the same way a homemade, painstakingly-crafted mixtape plays out, with the maker's fingerprints left all over its songs - so goes Head of Roses. Carefully curated and culled from the depths of Wasner's heartbreak and healing, it's deeply, intensely personal. But just as we change ourselves by embracing the pain of loss and uncertainty, so too are the purpose of these songs changed through the act of creating them. Having succeeded in healing the person who made them, they now exist for those who find them in their own moments of need. Always in motion, the original spirit of creation has already flown from this place-but it's left behind a blueprint, a tool for you, to lean on, too.

Clear vinyl. Still sealed with hype stickers. Limited edition

Sub Pop is excitedly, finally repressing vinyl versions of three scorching '90s psychobilly classics by Reverend Horton Heat. All three have been out of print on vinyl since the mid-'90s, with original pressings going for considerable amounts at the ol' junk shop. 1993's The Full Custom Gospel Sounds of_ stepped things up a bit, with fuller production by fellow Texan Gibby Haynes of the Butthole Surfers. In addition to the hilarious "Bales of Cocaine," Full Custom_ features the furious "400 Bucks," the atmospheric creeper "The Devil's Chasing Me," and "Wiggle Stick." On seeing the video for the latter, Beavis declared, accurately, "Yes! This guy RULES!" while Butthead agreed, "Yeah_ this guy ROCKS! ROCKS!!"

Sub Pop is excitedly, finally repressing vinyl versions of three scorching '90s psychobilly classics by Reverend Horton Heat. All three have been out of print on vinyl since the mid-'90s, with original pressings going for considerable amounts at the ol' junk shop. The band's 1990 debut, Smoke 'em If You Got 'em, made quite the first impression with frantic stand-up bass, fiery guitar playing, and the Rev's wild howls stirring up a volatile cocktail of '50s rockabilly, punk energy, and sly humor. AllMusic said of the album "it's all sleaze, it's all wrong, and it's all so very, very right," while, on encountering the hit single "Psychobilly Freakout" Beavis and Butthead raved "This dude is weird!" "Yeah, yeah, he's like... our kind of people."

Sub Pop is excitedly, finally repressing vinyl versions of three scorching '90s psychobilly classics by Reverend Horton Heat. All three have been out of print on vinyl since the mid-'90s, with original pressings going for considerable amounts at the ol' junk shop. 1994's Liquor in the Front gets even more aggressive - heavy, even - sonically, with production by Ministry's Al Jourgensen and the high-velocity opening pairing of the high-velocity instrumental "Big Sky" and the blistering lament "Baddest of the Bad." The highest-selling of the Rev's first three albums, Liquor_ was originally co-released with Interscope Records, with the album hitting #18 on the Billboard Heatseekers chart and the single "One Time for Me" hitting #40 on the Modern Rock chart. In the words of AllMusic, "for sheer crank, nothing in his catalog can touch it."