Rob Bonfiglio’s The Over Under has been out for a while now. I liked it immediately, but after listening to it for a few months, it has become one of those go-to records I return to when I need to recalibrate or reset. It’s the kind of album that reveals more of itself with time.
What makes it particularly striking is how personal it feels: Bonfiglio wrote, recorded and mixed the record largely on his own, following the songs that carried the most weight and trusting his instincts along the way. Months after its release, he remains remarkably close to the album and proud of how faithfully it captures what he wanted to say.
We spoke about the vulnerability of “Need You Know,” the sharper edge of “More Pure Than Gold,” the decision to make the record mostly by himself, and why connecting with listeners ultimately matters more than recognition.
How does The Over Under feel to you now that it has been out for a while and you’ve had some distance from making it?
I felt from the beginning that this record reached a lot deeper than my previous releases. I went into the recording process with maybe 20 or so tunes, and it became clear which ones carried the most gravity.
My recording and mixing process happened concurrently. I’d go on a hike or a drive and listen back to a day’s work to determine where to go next. It all added up to literally thousands of listens.
Even after completing the album, I can still listen through from beginning to end and feel a sense of cohesion. I can honestly say there are very few things I’d have done differently with this album. It still rings completely true to me. I’m really proud of the way it turned out.
“Need You Know” feels like the emotional heart of the album to me. It’s a beautiful, very vulnerable song. Do you remember where that song came from, and did you know while writing it that it could become such a special song on the record?
Thank you so much. “Vulnerable” is a great descriptive. My writing cycles happen in waves and usually bear five or six or more songs at a time. This came out of one of those batches. I don’t recall the initial inspiration beyond the riff that repeats throughout, which always had a Fleetwood Mac-ish vibe to me.
I do recall being satisfied with the simplicity of the form. The lyrics happened pretty quickly and seemed to really get to the point of how I was feeling.
“More Pure Than Gold” feels like the musical and lyrical opposite of “Need You Know” — it’s sharp, angry and quite political. What was your state of mind when you wrote that song? Was it something that came more from the heart, or more from the head?
Without expressly saying so, I think the sentiment of this song is pretty obvious. I like to think all good songs come from the heart, with the head to guide them along. Much of the lyrical content of this song came out in a free flow, and much still stands true, unfortunately.
You made The Over Under largely on your own, even though you have friends and family around you who are, to put it mildly, pop royalty and could probably have helped you make the record. What made you want to do this one by yourself?
I’m a textbook introvert. I really considered doing this album with a larger ensemble of players, but one thing led to another and I just ended up doing it all myself. It was easier to get from point A to point B quickly, and things just sort of snowballed from there. All creative decisions started and ended in my head.
That said, I did have a little help from my daughter Lola on “Blame This” and a great pedal steel player named Xandy Chelmis on “Fade Away.”
I’ve read some really nice reactions and reviews of The Over Under, and I’m sure you have too. Recognition must be nice, especially after putting so much of yourself into a record. Or is there something else that matters more to you when you look at how the album has been received?
I’m incredibly grateful for the kind words and genuine reactions to this record. Yes, recognition is important for sure, but maybe less so for the ego nudge and more for the acknowledgement of being able to share something that resonates on a human level.
Jason Mazzotta makes the kind of pop music that feels immediately familiar and subtly strange at the same time. Warm, melodic and carefully constructed, yet with something pleasantly weird — and occasionally slightly unsettling — lurking beneath the surface. On his new album Jason To Jason, his roots in the golden age of ’60s and ’70s pop are unmistakable, but those familiar sounds are bent into something distinctly his own.
Jason To Jason is far from an exercise in nostalgia. Mazzotta seems less interested in recreating the past than in seeing where it might lead him — into his own peculiar pop universe, where obscure songwriters become international hits, Shindig! magazine inspires a song, and The Monkees might still be looking for something trippy for Micky to sing in episode eleven.
We spoke with Mazzotta about making Jason To Jason, the accidental origin of its title, his love of classic pop production, Number Four in Norway, and making music for the future with its roots firmly planted in the past.
Jason To Jason feels like a very personal record. How did the album come about, and when did you realize you had the beginnings of an album rather than just a collection of songs?
At the start, I was living in California, and the first session happened while visiting family in Connecticut. It was just a few songs with Brian Marchese on drums at Scott Amore’s InnerSpace Soundlabs, and then overdubs at my place. I ended up moving back east, and Brian and I popped back over to Scott’s more frequently. Once there were five or six numbers taking shape, it felt like we were making an album. Some of the songs certainly have personal references, but I also have Brill Building tendencies and can get into a mindset where The Monkees are looking for a trippy song for Micky to sing in episode eleven.
There’s obviously something playful about the title Jason To Jason. What’s behind it? Was the title there from the beginning, or did it come to you once the album had taken shape?
The title entered the picture during mixing. My nephew, George, who was about two and a half at the time, is responsible. He’s fascinated by vinyl records and is a Bowie fan. One day he was riffing on Station To Station and made a rhyme that stuck. Up until then, there were a few contenders that didn’t feel right. Jason Mazzotta is Number Four in Norway was one. There was another idea involving a “sandwich,” but I can’t remember now.
The album has a very distinctive ’60s/’70s pop character — the melodies, harmonies, arrangements and production all feel like they come from that world. Is that sound something that comes naturally to you, or do you consciously go looking for it when you make a record?
I try to live in the present and like a lot of contemporary music, but I certainly love ’60s and ’70s record production. And there’s shorthand when recording with others when you can reference The Beatles, The Stones, The Temptations, The Kinks, Nilsson, ABBA, Elton, etc. Might be more subconscious that I lean this way? Not sure. But making music for the future that has roots in the past is a kind of poor man’s time travel.
Number Four in Norway immediately caught my attention. Is the story behind the song a real story, and is the songwriter at the centre of it actually you? Yes or no — and if it isn’t, why was this a story you wanted to tell anyway?
Yes, I’m the obscure songwriter at the center of the story. They say writing songs about songs is lazy, but how often do songs reference themselves as becoming international hits? However, I don’t advise listeners to track the logic.
I first became aware of Jason To Jason through the review in Shindig! magazine, and then I heard May Song, where you sing about how much you like the magazine. What is it about Shindig! that resonates with you, and did you ever imagine you’d end up writing a song about loving a music magazine?
I’m a longtime Shindig! reader, but I remember seeing an issue for the first time at a train station. I couldn’t believe my luck that a magazine aligned so much with my taste and musical curiosity — it was almost like a mirage, seeing the cover on the rack. I just love their sensibility, the great features about acts that I love, and their commitment to spotlighting new or new-to-me music. I don’t know how unusual it is to write about a music magazine. Have you heard Robert Wyatt’s “Soup Song”? Now that’s subject matter to strive for.
There’s a glorious sense of excess running through Captain Easy’s Downfall, the new album by The Cowboys. Across 19 songs, the band brings together the extravagance of glam, the sharp melodic instincts of power pop and the restless experimentation of adventurous indie pop. It’s playful, unpredictable and occasionally chaotic, but beneath all that excess lies an impressive attention to melody, atmosphere and detail.
We spoke with The Cowboys’ Keith Harman about the band’s return, the creative process behind Captain Easy’s Downfall, embracing “too much,” and what might come next.
The Cowboys and Captain Easy’s Downfall
The Cowboys are a new band to me, so I’d love to start by going back a little. You’ve been doing this since 2013 — what has brought the band from where you started to where you are now with Captain Easy’s Downfall? And do you feel that you’re reaching a new audience with this record? I’m discovering The Cowboys through this album, and I’m wondering if you’re noticing that the record is opening the door to new listeners for you as well.
The chief element that has carried the band all these years is a combination of our friendship and my inability to stop writing songs. We never achieved any great success in our journey, so there is no demand or multi-album contract to fulfill. I wrote a large number of songs in a year or two and just asked the band if they felt it was time to get back together. They said yes, so we started working on a new album.
I wouldn’t say this new record has really opened any new doors or garnered many new listeners. I haven’t noticed that. But I think we are all very proud of this record and the work we were able to accomplish.
The creative process
When you started working on Captain Easy’s Downfall, was the excess itself part of the goal — 19 songs, all those layers, the unexpected turns and disruptions — or did it simply become a creative flow that kept giving you new ideas and you just kept following it? Or was it closer to the culmination of the sound the band has developed over the years?
It was definitely my goal to have an album of these more layered, technicolor songs. I didn’t expect the album to be 19 songs, and I didn’t anticipate Mark’s (guitarist, producer) long-gestating production being a part of the workflow. He kept adding and tinkering to great effect; he obsessed over the production.
As for the writing of the album, I was in a very good creative headspace at that time. I was tapping into a good flow and kept adding songs to the recording schedule. It was a nice experience.
Was there ever a moment when you thought, “Okay, this is too much,” or was “too much” actually the point?
There was definitely a point of “this is too much,” but that happens on almost every album. It was the point. There are moments on this record that can put me in a giggle fit. Just the music and arrangements, not even the lyrics.
When I listen to the album, I hear this kind of unique creative chaos — all these ideas, unexpected turns and disruptions — but at the same time, I hear an incredible amount of care underneath it. The sound, the atmosphere, the melodies and especially the lyrics all feel very deliberate. For me, that combination is actually what makes the album so exciting and ultimately such a great record. Was that something you were conscious of while making it — finding that balance between unique creative chaos and care? Or does the term “unique creative chaos” not resonate with you at all?
Unique creative chaos definitely resonates with me. It was always my goal to get there, but even on some of the wackier songs on this record (“Donzell’s Crystal Ball” or “Michelle Fleischmann,” for example), I followed my muse in regard to the writing and arrangement and never looked back.
Looking ahead
And finally, what does the rest of the year look like for The Cowboys? Are you hoping to take Captain Easy’s Downfall on the road, or are there already new ideas and projects taking shape?
We did a short tour of the American Midwest and East Coast in the summer of 2026 in support of Captain Easy’s Downfall, and it was a good time. I would like to do more touring next year, but it’s hard as the band is so spread out across different cities. I keep threatening a European tour, but it’s proven very difficult to make happen.
As for new recordings, it doesn’t seem likely that anything will happen anytime soon. I’ve got an album written that’s not very “Cowboys”-appropriate, and I’m trying to figure out what to do with it. The wish from the band seems to be not to recreate the creative approach of Captain Easy’s Downfall for whatever happens next. So it’s a mystery what happens next, even for me.
The Goods return this September with Goodbye Summertime, the follow-up to Don’t Spoil The Fun, one of my favorite albums of last year. Released by Dandy Boy Records, the new record builds on everything that made its predecessor so memorable: instantly gratifying guitar pop packed with irresistible melodies, but with an emotional depth that reveals itself the closer you listen. Much of that comes from Rob Good’s lyrics, which are remarkably honest, direct, and unafraid to be vulnerable.
Ahead of the album’s September release, I spoke with Rob Good about the emotions behind Goodbye Summertime, writing some of its most personal songs, and what lies ahead for The Goods.
Goodbye Summertime is such a melancholy album title to me. Was that the state of mind you were in when you wrote these songs, or is it more the atmosphere you wanted to convey?
It’s a melancholy album, really. It does have a lot to do with the state of mind I was in when writing it. A lot of the album is about change, and although change can be good it can also be painful, and you can mourn the loss of what you had to leave behind to get to a better place. But saying “goodbye” to something also means saying “hello” to something new, so it may be tinged with some sadness but there’s optimism in there too. To me, the title Goodbye Summertime captures those bittersweet feelings.
“Wing” is a song I keep coming back to, especially because of the lyrics and the line about asking someone to take you under their wing. It feels very vulnerable. Was that your intention when you wrote it?
“Wing” is definitely me at a vulnerable moment. The lyrics are very direct and honest. Sometimes in my writing I’m just trying to express a feeling that’s difficult to put into words, but in this case I was being more autobiographical. A lot of the songs on this record were written really quickly, in heightened emotional states, and then recorded right away. This is one of those songs. I don’t know about the intention because “Wing” just kind of spilled out – I think I needed to write it at that moment.
On parts of “Ginger Rose” you sing noticeably higher than usual. As a listener, that has a huge emotional impact on me—not just because it sounds beautiful. Were you deliberately trying to add an extra emotional dimension, or did the melody simply lead you there and require you to sing in that higher register?
When I’m writing, I just try to follow the melody where it wants to go. I don’t think I necessarily set out to write a song where I sang in falsetto, but as I was feeling my way through the chords it just seemed to take me there. I can remember around the time of writing “Ginger Rose” I was obsessed with several songs that featured a falsetto vocal – “Here There and Everywhere” is an obvious touchstone, but also “Tell Me Have You Seen Her” by the Chi-Lites and “How Deep Is Your Love” by the Bee Gees – so that influence must have crept in. I do love a falsetto vocal, and it was fun to explore that part of my voice.
“Waiting” feels quite different from the rest of the album. It’s just you and your guitar, I assume. Because it’s so brief, it feels more like a short story than a full novel—to use a slightly clumsy comparison. What made it such an important piece of the album as a whole?
I like that comparison! “Waiting” was just a song-fragment that was rattling around in my head, and that seemed to be all that it wanted to be. I think it’s okay for songs to be short. Sometimes you just have a snippet of a melody and it somehow feels complete – like if it were any longer it would somehow lose something. Tony Molina is obviously the master of this. I also love Pink Flag by Wire and of course “Your Majesty” at the end of Abbey Road. Not that I was explicitly thinking about any of that when I wrote “Waiting,” but I’ve just always found that short songs can be really impactful and beautiful. As far as its importance on the record, over the course of an album I feel like the little moments are just as important as the big swings, and “Waiting” is just one of those little moments.
When is Goodbye Summertime being released, and what do the next few months look like for The Goods?
Goodbye Summertime comes out on September 16, and our record release show is on September 11 at Little Hill in El Cerrito, CA. Then, starting September 24 we’re heading out for a European tour with Joel Cusumano. We’re currently looking at visiting Germany, Spain, France, Belgium, and the UK, and maybe a couple other places too.
When old heroes release a new album, it’s often unfair to compare the new work with what they created in their glory days. But because they’re heroes, you accept a new standard of quality—just as you do with autumn when thinking of spring. None of this applies to Mobtown: Splitsville’s new album sounds as fresh and exciting as their releases from the turn of the millennium. Maybe Cold Open isn’t the perfect opener, but after that, it’s nine straight hits—flawless, brilliantly executed, and perfectly produced power pop, with Perry Hall and I Hate Going to Hutzler’s as two random highlights that I was singing along to after just a couple of listens, coloring my day in bright tones. In all this excitement, I’m tempted to say it won’t get any hotter this year—but maybe it goes even further, and I’m ready to label it a Modern Power Pop Classic right now.
Trademark Issues is a long-distance band composed of Gary Hornseth and Mitch Armbruster. Despite their successful collaboration, they’ve only spoken directly twice. However, they’ve been creating great music together for quite some time. Their fifth album, Change This Face, kicks off with the aptly titled and irresistibly catchy track “Welcome To Album Five,” which is sure to be the funniest opening song you’ll hear this week. The album features eleven clever pop songs that draw comparisons to The Posies and evoke the pleasantly rattling style of The Front Bottoms. As they continue to evolve, their music only gets better. It’s time for a more comprehensive introduction.
Could you share the journey of bringing this record to life? How did all the pieces come together to create the final product?
We’re a long-distance band in every way, living in Minnesota and North Carolina, 1,200 miles apart. We met at an arts event in Boston in 2019 and started collaborating through messaging and file sharing. This led to our first album in 2020, and we’ve since released one album a year, always on the anniversary of the first one — the last Friday in July. We’ve only spoken directly twice — once when we met and once as guests on a podcast.
“Change This Face” came together much like our other albums. Most of our songs start as unfinished fragments that one of us has lying around. Some are recent, while others are many years old. We send these fragments to each other, and the receiver turns the idea into a full song. Sometimes it resembles the original intention, and sometimes it takes off in an entirely new direction. Then we work together on the final steps — trading backing vocals, guitar accents, edits, or mixing suggestions. Sometimes one of us gets stuck trying to come up with a solo or a bass track and just throws it over to the other guy to try.
It’s an unusual way of collaborating, but it always results in something neither of us would have come up with on our own. It’s a 1+1=3 thing.
The decision to seek opinions on your new songs is intriguing. When did you realize that external perspectives could contribute to your creative process?
We suppose every artist at every level has misgivings about sharing their work. We sure do. Our song “Absolute Green” on our new LP is about that — the hesitation, self-doubt, and vulnerability that comes with hitting “send” to ship .wav files and artwork off to the distributor.
But five albums in, we’re so grateful for how supportive and constructive people are out there. The benefits of inviting opinions far outweigh the occasional sting.
Success can take on different meanings as time goes on. When envisioning success for this new record, what does that picture look like now?
For us, every new release feels a little like a ticket to an unknown play. We can never predict what will happen with it, but every time something cool and unexpected seems to pop up.
Our songs have ended up in independent films, we’ve had a song profiled on a talk show on the third largest radio network in Spain, we hear our songs backing social media videos internationally, we sell a few CDs and shirts to people we’ve never met, we get a few nice reviews, and we make new connections and friends around the world. And we get asked by cool people like you to do fun things like this!
Success in terms of big sales and large streaming figures will probably never be our thing, and that’s OK. We like being our version of a band and all the colorful stuff that comes with it. And we like to think that we’re growing and refining our sound with every album.
Lyrics often carry profound meaning. Are there particular lines you hope listeners will always remember from your songs? If so, what’s the significance?
We both write a lot for our day jobs and enjoy the challenge of using words in this different way. We’ve always loved lyricists who delight in wordplay and wit — like Neil Hannon, Paul Heaton, Andy Partridge, Kirsty MacColl, Stephin Merritt, both of the They Might Be Giants guys, the Lucksmiths guys, and many others.
If we write a line that makes someone stop in their tracks for a second, or one that elicits a wry smile, that’s a win in our book. It’s genuinely one of the most rewarding things when someone tells us a lyric has connected with them in some way. It reminds us to tell the same to others.
Among the compliments you’ve received, is there one that remains etched in your memory? If so, what made it particularly unforgettable?
Our favorite compliment is when someone we know is impressed by one of our songs without knowing it’s us and says with surprise, “Wait. This is you?” Family, in particular, can be tough to impress, so tricking them into a compliment can be the best way. :>)
And we love being compared to bands we love. We got a Posies comparison the other day, which will keep us going for the next month.
Studio moments often hold a touch of magic. Could you recount an instance that stands out as the most enchanting during your creative process?
We remind each other to embrace our constraints. You can’t really get more DIY than we are. We record separately in our homes (many of our vocals are recorded in parked cars; we like the sound). Our gear is simple and inexpensive. We’re neither virtuoso players nor especially adept producers. We only communicate through messaging and shared files. So, it helps to be open to welcoming the opportunities that constraints can create.
We love it when a mistake leads to something cool. For example, when we’ve accidentally nudged a harmony track during mixing and it threw it a few milliseconds off, it opened up a new sound for the better. Or when the gain on a vocal track was accidentally way too high and we liked the sound, so we kept it.
We care a lot about our final results and getting them to be the best they can be, but over the course of five albums, we’ve grown pretty comfortable with who we are.
Where do you see yourself situated within the broader landscape of the music industry? How do you perceive your unique role and contribution?
We’re glad and grateful to be a small particle in the big music universe. The wonderful reviewer Janglepophub recently described our records as “gloriously catchy and perfectly obtuse.” If that’s even a little bit true, and if some people enjoy what we do along the way, it’s about the best contribution we could hope to make.
The Junior League has just dropped a new EP, Nattering Nabobs, and their latest full-length album, Our Broadcast Day, is set for release on October 4. Joe Adragna has evolved his sound to be “more Gram, less The Knack,” offering a delightful treat for fans of twangy power pop and roots pop.
You released an EP and will release an entire album in October; did the inspiration just keep coming?
I had 15 or 16 songs going. I didn’t want to make the full-length album too long. In the past, I feel like my records have often been two or three songs too long. Sometimes, those extra songs aren’t quite as strong as the others and should have been left off. In this case, I wanted to keep the full length as concise as possible—although it’s still 10 songs!
How did you decide which song went on the album and which went on the EP?
I felt like “Skinny Tie” and “Nattering Nabobs” fit together musically but didn’t blend as well with the other songs on the full-length album, which is called Our Broadcast Day. I had a song I wrote late in the sessions for this called “Kinda Lost” that I liked and that would have fit on Our Broadcast Day. It was a toss-up between that one and “Two Ways To Go” as to what would be on the EP. In the end, I felt like “Two Ways To Go” fit the record better all around and served as a good opening track.
Your sound evolved, didn’t it? More Gram, less The Knack?
Hahaha, yeah—there are still tambourines and jangle elements, but this record is a bit more laid-back than parts of Bridge and Tunnel, or certainly Adventureland. It has more in common with Fall Back, maybe—but I think this is a much better record. Hopefully, I’m getting a little better at this!
“Skinny Tie” will immediately catch the eye of every power pop lover. What’s the story?
Well, I think it’s a funny song. I wrote it with every power pop cliché I could think of! Hahaha. It was inspired by some very “passionate” arguments I had seen or heard online about what is (or isn’t) power pop. I can see how those terms might make people feel boxed in if they let it.
Both releases are so solid. You knew you had a truckload of good songs when you started recording? Thank you for saying that. I felt strong enough about the songs to release both the EP and the full-length. To be honest, though, I never know what I think of anything until it’s all over. I tried to be more selective this time—as I mentioned earlier, I’ve had one or two too many songs on some of my records. I might like a song, but it might not be the best song, if that makes sense. I think these are just right, he said hopefully!
A Talk with Jeb Barry on the Release of The Typicals: The 1980s-90s Power Pop Band’s Final Recording, Released 32 Years After It Was Recorded, Lost, and Then Discovered.
Could you share the journey of bringing this record to life? How did all the pieces come together to create the final product?
The Typicals formed around 1986 as a four-piece band centered around Jeb Barry and Michael O’Neill’s songwriting. They wrote all their songs separately and then brought them to the band to arrange. “I never told anyone what to play when we learned a new song I wrote; we let them create their own parts. Mike did the same,” Barry explains.
Due to musicians moving on to other careers, by 1990, we were a three-piece with a new drummer. Our songs had gotten harder and less powerpop. We decided to record live at CBGBs on DAT tape for a future live album release of all new songs. Unfortunately, the sound engineer only recorded one channel, so it was a waste, although it was fun to play there (we had previously focused on the Boston area for shows).
Since I had a fairly expensive DAT tape, we booked an hour with a local studio where we recorded our first two self-releases (Popscreams and The Poverty Sessions). We recorded it live in one shot, except for one song we did four times but kept the first take.
We ended it all right in the middle of talking to DGC (David Geffen Company), who loved our stuff. But the band was entering their 30s, and the music business at the time was not a great place to be. People thought I was crazy to walk away. LOL
How did DGC get interested?
Before this, we had met and talked to a few major record companies and sent out dozens of copies of our album, but nothing came of it. In 1991, I saw that DGC was a new subsidiary that had signed a band I knew through college radio, Nirvana, for a million-dollar advance. I decided to stop sending out albums and tapes and created a small promo pack of articles and reviews of the band.
Cindy Peters from Gary Gersh’s A&R office at DGC called my house later. She told me to send her a tape of three songs and instructed me to put a special code on the bottom right of the envelope, or else it would be thrown away. I did that, and she called a week or so later, saying they loved it but thought we sounded like a band they had recently released, Nirvana. I had recently gotten the Nirvana CD and didn’t see the comparison, but she pointed out similarities like soft verses and hard choruses. She requested more songs, so I sent some new and some old, including rockers and acoustic ones.
She called again, saying the new songs reminded her of The Posies and requested more. This happened a few more times before I decided I didn’t want to travel around the country in a crappy van playing low-level shows for little money and walked away. I did not return the next few phone calls from Cindy.
Was there a particular moment or experience that struck you, signaling that you were onto something special with this project?
Probably the first time we played as a three-piece. I (Jeb) had to play bass on Mike’s song (except for “This Lonely One,” where I played bass on my own song) and vice versa. It made the songs simpler yet more intense compared to our older material.
The decision to seek opinions on your new songs is intriguing. When did you realize that external perspectives could contribute to your creative process?
I think that happens from the first time you play, especially performing original material. You seek input from others outside the band to gauge the impact of the material.
Success can take on different meanings as time goes on. When envisioning success for this new record, what does that picture look like now?
Our only goal when we recorded this was to give others an idea of how we sounded live as a three-piece and how the band was changing. This had nothing to do with the emerging grunge sound that was starting to become popular. As a three-piece, we needed to play the new songs more aggressively—and louder too.
Within this collection, do you feel that the best song you’ve ever written finds its home? If not, what distinguishes this record’s essence from your prior work?
As a songwriter (currently writing and performing under the name Pawn Shop Saints and doing Americana with some acoustic powerpop added in, e.g., the song “Diane”), I’m still trying to write that perfect song. That’s why I keep writing. But my favorite of this bunch is probably “This Lonely One.” It just stood out to me when I wrote it and when we recorded it.
As an artist, the act of baring your emotions to the world is profound. Does this vulnerability come naturally to you, or is it a constant journey of finding comfort?
Since all my songs are not written with any relation to me, I don’t really bare any emotions. All my songs are like films, where I create plots, scenarios, and characters to play out the song’s theme. Some people think I am writing about myself, or sometimes I’m writing about them, but I don’t do that. It’s all fantasy or fiction.
Imagine you could collaborate with three co-writers of your choice for new songs. Who would you select, and what qualities or dynamics draw you to them?
I have only co-written once, with Jason Isbell via Twitter (that’s another story). But in 1992, it would have been Tommy Keene, Marshall Crenshaw, U2, Elvis Costello, or Springsteen.
Today, it would still be Elvis, Springsteen, Isbell, and Steve Earle. I’d even include Taylor Swift since she writes very differently from me, and I love challenges.
Among the gigs you’ve performed, which one holds an indelible place in your memory and why does it stand out?
CBGB’s was cool, but probably our first show at The Rat in Boston or the frat party we played for hundreds of drunk college kids in the pouring rain. They had a big mud puddle they were jumping in right in front of the stage. It was cold and miserable, but fun.
Defining a song’s completion can be elusive. How do you determine when a composition has reached its final, ready-to-record form?
I guess it’s different for all songwriters, but like most, I just know when something isn’t working and needs to be changed. If it’s a song I think is good, I’ll work on it until it hits that comfort zone. Recording is a different beast. I may have a sound in my head I’m striving for in the studio, but sometimes it just doesn’t work. I’ve scrapped and rerecorded several songs in the studio. Luckily now, I can do that in my own home studio.
Striking a balance between experimental artistry and commercial appeal is a challenge. How do you navigate this dynamic within your music?
Since I don’t have any goals to be commercial and never have, I just do what I like. In 1992, that’s what we did. We didn’t try to sound like anyone, jump on the grunge train, or try to be hip or popular. We just had fun. It’s the same today.
Lyrics often carry profound meaning. Are there particular lines you hope listeners will always remember from your songs? If so, what’s the significance?
Every song could have a line that has meaning to somebody. I’m not sure any of them are profound, but listeners might catch a line or two that they feel speaks directly to them.
Can you recall the last instance when you felt the immediate certainty of having penned a hit song?
I feel I’ve written a lot of catchy songs that few people have heard. As for a hit, I’m not sure. I still think “This Lonely One” is a hit powerpop song. Since I don’t write in one genre and mix it up a lot, there could be hit country, pop, rock, Americana songs in my catalog. I’ve written thousands of songs—most are crap, but there are a handful I could perform every night. Usually, the simpler ones are the best for me, like “She Comes Along,” an unreleased Typicals song, which was always a crowd favorite and the first song of mine another band covered.
With the resurgence of cassettes, imagine curating your inaugural mixtape. Which five songs would be must-adds and why?
For The Typicals, they would be:
“She Comes Along”
“This Lonely One” (Mike’s guitar work/hook really makes the song)
“The Cold Shoulder” (another unreleased Typicals song, slower and groovier)
“I Could Be The One” (Mike’s song from the Popscreams album)
“The 4th Of July” (from The Poverty Sessions cassette)
I’d pick these all for the same reason: they are catchy. Mike, I’m sure, would pick different ones.
Performing music before an audience holds a unique allure. What aspects of this experience contribute to the excitement and enjoyment for you?
Just getting the interaction of the crowd, even if they are just listening. As a songwriter, it’s incredibly rewarding to have people actually listen to your songs, especially when doing a solo show. I did a solo show at the Bluebird in Nashville a few years ago, and there was no talking. Everyone just sat and actually listened.
While you can’t dictate how people interpret your music, are there specific elements you wish to highlight that set your songs apart?
For The Geffen Tapes, it was the hooks of the songs and the energy that we were trying to get across. Anything beyond that was a bonus. Today, it’s more about the lyrics and stories in the songs that I hope listeners pick up on.
If tasked with introducing your music through three songs, which ones would you choose and what story do they collectively convey to new listeners?
In 1992, it would have been “This Lonely One,” “Going Steady Still” (from Popscreams), and “This Lonely One” again since I think they are good, angst-tinged power rock songs.
In a hypothetical scenario where you could tour with two other bands, who would be your ideal companions and what synergies do you envision?
In 1992, it would have been Nirvana and U2 (my favorite band, and they’re Irish, so that’s a plus). I think The Typicals could have added a similar yet different sound to either band as a supporting group, which is actually what you want for a concert. Since we were all around the same age, that wouldn’t hurt either.
Studio moments often hold a touch of magic. Could you recount an instance that stands out as the most enchanting during your creative process?
For The Typicals, we never had much money, and there was no home recording then. If you wanted to record, you had to book time in a real studio, which wasn’t cheap. We recorded at Derek Studios in Dalton, Massachusetts, the only one around (another local, Arlo Guthrie, recorded there too). Since it was expensive, we learned to be well-rehearsed and record quickly. Our first album, Popscreams, was done live in the studio with vocal overdubs. We did it so fast that we had time to record four acoustic songs. The same was true for the second one, the EP The Poverty Sessions (named by Mike because the mixing took twice as long as the recording and was very costly). But the first time you listen to a final mix of your first recorded song and hold that album in your hands is unforgettable.
Where do you see yourself situated within the broader landscape of the music industry? How do you perceive your unique role and contribution?
We came close to something with DGC, but essentially we were a local original band that only did originals (all other local bands were cover bands) and put out our own music. One reason we did an album ourselves was because all the local ‘experts’ said it couldn’t be done and that you needed a record company. But since we had no management or money for promotions or tours, we were pretty restricted to being a Massachusetts band. But we showed a lot of bands that you could put out your own DIY records.
Envision recruiting three singers to provide harmony vocals on your next record. Who would you invite, and what qualities do they possess that resonate with you?
In 1992, it would have to be:
Susanna Hoffs—she has a one-in-a-million voice.
Robin Zander—he still has a powerful voice.
Scott Miller of Game Theory—he has a unique and standout voice.
With the record completed and the music released, do you believe the pinnacle of enjoyment has been reached, or is this just the beginning of an exciting phase?
Since it’s been 32 years after the recording, we don’t expect much at all. It’s hard to stand out in today’s mass-produced music world, but maybe someone will hear it, like it, and promote it to the right person to reach a larger audience. But if not, that’s okay. I really don’t expect to hear us on SiriusXM anytime soon or hear from a label looking to press the songs. We do have some more unreleased Typicals songs, mostly Tascam 4-track recordings, that will see the light of day in the next few months, and maybe some live show songs. It all depends on the quality of the cassette tapes. If they are lo-fi, that’s fine since we love that type of sound.
Looking ahead to the next couple of months, what exciting plans or projects are on the horizon for you?
The homemade album with the songs “She Comes Along,” “Cold Shoulder,” and “Oh Janine” from 1988 should see a digital release by Christmas. Plus, I may record another Pawn Shop Saints album or do a compilation of all the powerpopish songs the Saints have recorded—all for fun!
Can you take us through the creative journey of bringing this album to life? What were the key milestones, challenges, and breakthroughs you experienced along the way?
As described above, the show at CBGBs was a letdown on the recording side, but the live tape came out pretty well. The original DAT tape disappeared, and all I had was a cassette tape I recently found while cleaning out old Typicals cassettes. It’s not the best sound compared to the original tape, but after 32 years, it’s not bad. I tried remastering it, but it actually didn’t need anything, which is a kudos to the recording engineer, Greg Steele. I finally decided to put it out on the internet for free, especially since I don’t have the funds to press a record or CD. But maybe someday.
How would you describe the evolution of your sound in this new album compared to your previous works? Were there intentional shifts in style or themes?
Harder and rougher—not as pretty. Maybe our influence from The Clash or Dinosaur Jr. (who lived less than an hour from us in Massachusetts) was coming through, but who knows? I think we all just wanted a more powerful style, especially as a three-piece.
With this fresh collection of songs, how do you envision connecting with both your existing fanbase and new listeners? Are there specific emotions or messages you hope they’ll resonate with?
Since we’re releasing them 32 years later, most, if not all, of our fanbase is gone. So, we are starting from scratch three decades later. But these songs haven’t been heard outside of DGC, so maybe someone will randomly hear them, like them, and the sound. Or they might get lost in the modern music era.
Back then, if I hadn’t walked away from the business, I’m not sure what would have happened. Perhaps nothing. We might have stayed a regional act making no money and working crappy jobs.
Albums often involve collaboration with various musicians and producers. Could you shed light on how these collaborations contributed to shaping the album’s identity?
Greg Steele (who passed in 2023) usually just produced and left the engineering to others, as was done with our prior albums. This time, for the live recording, he did the engineering so we could get the best sound with no overdubs or fixes. It was all recorded directly to a DAT tape. The results didn’t need to be mastered or changed in any way. There were no other musicians—just myself, Mike, and Sean playing the same set we did at CBGBs a couple of weeks earlier.
In the digital age, visual elements are intertwined with music. How did you approach the album’s visual aesthetics, such as album art and accompanying visuals? How do they complement the sonic experience you’ve crafted?
I have an art degree but still appreciate the DIY look of many of the 1980s-1990s self-releases. Most of our posters and flyers were hand-drawn, and even our first album cover was hand-drawn since we couldn’t afford text paste-ups. For the cover, we went for a simple, time-period-appropriate look: a photo of us outside CBGBs and nothing else. If I had to design an entire album jacket, I’d keep with that theme.
If The Posies are one of your favorite bands, I’m sure you’ll love New York’s Yours & Mine. They’re that good! After releasing an EP in 2017, they’re back with this hit that sounds both fresh and mature. It’s my summer 2024 album! And luckily, there’s plenty of summer left to enjoy it!
Greg talks about how ‘The Shadow You Cast’ came about.
You can find ‘Pushing up Daisies’ showcased on the Best Power Pop of 2024 Spotify Playlist.
Could you share the journey of bringing this record to life? How did all the pieces come together to create the final product?
This record has been a long time in the making. I wrote the majority of these songs between 2014 and 2018. I went through some ups and downs with a significant other during that time (which ultimately ended in breaking up and ending an engagement). Looking back, it’s all water under the bridge, but those songs serve as a well-documented timestamp in my life. I usually write my songs on acoustic guitar. If it sounds good on acoustic, it usually translates nicely to electric and full band arrangements.
As far as crafting the arrangements with the band and recording them, to make a long story short, life sometimes gets in the way (for better or for worse). Just trying to get by financially was probably one of the biggest factors (2018-2021). When you work a 40+ hour week, there’s just not a lot of time left to make music. Then came the pandemic, which pushed a huge pause button in everyone’s life. It really impacted the band because we all moved out of NYC. Kris (bass) moved to North Carolina, Dan (drums) moved to Rockland County, NY, across the Hudson River, and I moved way upstate. Lastly, my family welcomed two amazing children into our lives in 2021 and 2023. All that is to say, there has been a lot going on, and I’ve found pockets of time here and there to slowly chip away at writing and recording this record. We tracked the rhythm section (drums and bass) in 2018, and I soon began tracking the guitars and vocals. The more I tracked, the more frustrated I became with my own takes and sound. It really started to weigh on me… What I envisioned in my mind’s ear was not what I was hearing in the recordings. So I took a break from recording for a while, and that’s when life got busy. I’m thankful that Kris and Dan were supportive of me taking my time. Every now and then, they just gave me a gentle nudge to keep going.
It wasn’t until my wife and I moved to upstate NY in 2021 that I had the opportunity to build my own small recording studio. That’s when I finally had the time and space to reopen the sessions and begin to find the sound I was looking for. It took a few more years before I finally felt good about everything. I sent the sessions over to our bassist, Kris, who then mixed the record over the course of a month or two, then it was off to mastering… and here we are!
Success can take on different meanings as time goes on. When envisioning success for this new record, what does that picture look like now?
I’ve been in bands since I was 14, and my framing of “success” has changed significantly over the years. During my 20s, “success” became a numbers game. How many people bought/streamed our record? How many people came to our shows? How many reviews did we get? Those ‘number’ metrics can really consume you in a negative way. When I started Yours & Mine in 2015, I reframed “success” entirely. I’m lucky that I can make music independently with people that I love. If my only metric for “success” is that we can write, play, record, and distribute music, that’s all I can really ask for. Everything else is icing on the cake. You put your music out into the world and hope that it resonates with people. That’s a simplified answer; of course, there’s an effort put into networking and spreading the word via gigs, conversations, and social media. But at the end of the day, the success is in the music itself.
As an artist, the act of baring your emotions to the world is profound. Does this vulnerability come naturally to you, or is it a constant journey of finding comfort?
It really is a vulnerable process to write and release music. Oftentimes when I write, the lyrics come last. Melody and chords are crafted simultaneously, and I use mumbles as tentative lyrics. But once a particular lyric or phrase stands out, then I’m able to frame what the song will be about. My songs are not always autobiographical. Sometimes a story will emerge with fictional characters. “Wedding Vow” is perhaps the most vulnerable I’ve ever been. Many years ago, I was in a relationship, and we got engaged. As we were planning the wedding, we also happened to be growing apart. Our goals and future seemed to not align. Without going into detail here, we broke up and ended the engagement. I wrote that song while we were still together, and I remember thinking… There’s no way I can ever let this song see the light of day if we stay together. It turns out my instincts were correct, and maybe the songwriting process was a form of therapy for me to see it through and address some of those uncomfortable realizations! I think the sister song to “Wedding Vow” is “The Here & The Now,” which is my version of hoping it could work out (written around the same time). Even in that song, you can sense my uncertainty and doubt.
Defining a song’s completion can be elusive. How do you determine when a composition has reached its final, ready-to-record form?
I think that songs actually blossom in the recording studio! Usually, I think a song is ready once I have lyrics, melody, chords, and we’ve rehearsed the most basic arrangement of it as a band. We’re a trio, so that’s quite simple. Once those basic pieces are recorded (rhythm guitar, bass, drums, voice), that’s when you add the layers of more guitars, harmonies, and percussion. Next to the songwriting itself, I think the arrangement and exploration of layers in the studio is my favorite part of what we do. All that being said, I think when you press playback and listen to what you have recorded and you’re not yearning for anything else, that’s when it’s complete.
Lyrics often carry profound meaning. Are there particular lines you hope listeners will always remember from your songs? If so, what’s the significance?
I have a few favorite lyrics, for sure! Almost all of these songs have the common thread of uncertainty in a relationship and working through it (or out of it). It’s funny because these songs don’t have the same lyrical impact for me now (as someone who has moved on and is happily married with two children), but maybe someone is going through tough times in a relationship (or has before) and these lyrics resonate with them. I particularly like the wordplay in these:
I’m Not Ready to Go: “It’s the time of night that some call day depending who you see It’s about the time I made my way sleep”
Wedding Vow: “Maybe your words are wasted on a wedding vow Maybe those days are numbered for you anyhow You find the loosest lips upon a sinking ship You wanna tell her, but you don’t know how Maybe your words are wasted on a wedding vow”
Shadow: “Tell me what you’ve seen With your eyes of green Is it love, or is it jealousy that’s blind?”
Can you recall the last instance when you felt the immediate certainty of having penned a hit song?
It’s usually the songs that come quickly. I wrote “I’m Not Ready to Go” and “Wedding Vow” in an hour or less! The good ones just come off the top of your head (at least for me, personally).
In a hypothetical scenario where you could tour with two other bands, who would be your ideal companions and what synergies do you envision?
I’m a huge fan of PONY and Extra Arms. I absolutely love how both these bands blend pop, rock, and alternative (each in their own unique way). Both bands are also insanely good at creating hooks and catchy melodies. I haven’t met or interacted with either of them, but I’d love to be ‘band friends’ someday.
With the record completed and the music released, do you believe the pinnacle of enjoyment has been reached, or is this just the beginning of an exciting phase?
For me personally, the record is the timestamp. It’s the most accurate reflection of that collection of songs, so in a way, yes. Once the record is released, it feels like you’ve let it go (almost like a bird leaving the nest for the first time). I have many more songs in the vault, so now I’m already thinking about our next batch of tunes (which will probably come in the form of multiple EPs because consuming bite-sized music collections seems to be preferred in this day and age of streaming). Since the three of us live so far apart, we don’t have the opportunity to play live very often. We do have a string of shows lined up at the end of September that I’m very excited about!
Billy Summer introduced himself to me by saying, “I think I’m Power Pop all the way through, but the metal and the soft rock keep me hostage.” On “Metal Detector,” the debut album of his band Florida, he proves himself right. Although the influence of metal is more evident in the album’s title than in its sound, I would categorize both the music and the artwork as “uber cool.” And as we all know, Power Pop is the coolest.
You can find ‘Away From The City’ showcased on the Best Power Pop of 2024 Spotify Playlist.
Could you share the journey of bringing this record to life? How did all the pieces come together to create the final product?
Musically, I’ve spent a lot of the past years playing in a 10-piece soul band on the weekends and the rest of the time writing gooey stuff to shop to TV and films. Both of those things bring me joy and satisfaction, but when the songs for this album started to come into my head, I knew I had to write them the way I was hearing them, which was two ripping guitars played spontaneously with some intersecting melody. The songs came out quickly and were recorded over two weekends. I ended up getting sick for a week after that, which allowed me some time to work on my lyrics, sequence the album, and play some solos. I purchased a 1994 green Flying V, which did most of the heavy lifting on this album. My experience playing with the big band, my love of soft rock and heavy metal, and my sense of the place I grew up in totally informed what came out on Metal Detector.
Was there a particular moment or experience that struck you, signaling that you were onto something special with this project?
Sometimes while writing, I’ll hit on songs, or pieces of songs, that just urge me to write them, without judgment, without worrying about what others might think later. A lot of this record was like that. It felt like there was a theme coming through. It was an easy route to vent some long-kept frustrations through music. And it was incredibly fun, easy, and liquid. It just rolled out.
The decision to seek opinions on your new songs is intriguing. When did you realize that external perspectives could contribute to your creative process?
It’s easy to live in a bubble if you don’t solicit feedback. One of my most reliable muses has been toiling away in obscurity far away from any epicenter of cool music or culture. There really is no one here to judge you, and if they do, you don’t care because their opinions don’t matter. I don’t know if I’ve ever relied on outside perspectives to guide what I do, as I don’t expect others to like it the way I do. But to not share it seems counterintuitive to creating it. Even though I made it for me, I still have hope that it resonates in some way with a listener. I used to go to breakfast with my friend J and talk about making art for art’s sake, but then why put it out at all?
Success can take on different meanings as time goes on. When envisioning success for this new record, what does that picture look like now?
My expectations with public response are pretty low, actually. As much as I believe that the spirits will allow me to make more music, I equally believe that I can’t predict that my music will find “success” in any conventional way. Mainly, the success I find is a clear head to write again. Songs seem to torment me until I give them a life. Then they leave me alone and I hardly think of them again. It’s weird.
As an artist, the act of baring your emotions to the world is profound. Does this vulnerability come naturally to you, or is it a constant journey of finding comfort?
It’s totally uncomfortable. I want to be that person who really loves their work so much and goes around reciting their own poetry to anyone that will listen. I definitely know those people. I’m not one. I do find that playing guitar is something I can comfortably share with others in a live setting. I feel very at ease with that. With lyrics, I know the higher concept that I want to convey but get easily muddled by an unquiet mind. I write more music than I have words for, and so many of the same themes recur. And it’s not always from the heart. Sometimes it’s just an act. As life can be.
Defining a song’s completion can be elusive. How do you determine when a composition has reached its final, ready-to-record form?
I’m an incompletist. There are two parts of a song consistently orbiting around my brain. And I’m guilty of calling it done when I should probably just be patient. Songs are journeys, and they end where they end. Some are short trips, some are fart rips. And sometimes they turn into better songs down the line. I love to record and we usually set it up and track stuff, listen back, and grow it from there.
Can you recall the last instance when you felt the immediate certainty of having penned a hit song?
I wrote a power ballad on this album that I thought would have been a hit in 1987. That felt great because I love the sound of 1987. Turns out it doesn’t totally translate in 2024, but when I was recording it, I could feel that it captured a higher concept than just the basic rock song that it was. It’s basic and simple, so it spoke right to me. I write and record a lot of different sounding songs, and they end up in one bucket or another. A good song can have more than one life, for sure.
With the resurgence of cassettes, imagine curating your inaugural mixtape. Which five songs would be must-adds and why?
If you condensed the current record into a ripping mixtape, you could do worse than this here.
Luxury Mane put out a cassette called Isn’t This Great, and I did a solo album on cassette called This Is Number One or something like that. I LOVE cassettes and miss my car with the cassette player so much. I’m into the idea if anyone out there wants to take this further. Here’s my pick for a ripper EP:
Decap
Lens Makes Ruin
Drifted
Sure Enough
Away from the City
Performing music before an audience holds a unique allure. What aspects of this experience contribute to the excitement and enjoyment for you?
When there are people who can share the energy with you, it’s just different. It’s spontaneous and interactive, and the excitement comes from living in the moment, and the enjoyment is all about sharing that moment with a bunch of people.
While you can’t dictate how people interpret your music, are there specific elements you wish to highlight that set your songs apart?
It’s the sounds I heard growing up in Florida. It’s heavy metal and soft rock influenced. I listen to a lot of ambient and synth music, but I play a lot of soul and older RnB with a band I’ve been in for a million years. I get a lot of ideas while I’m playing with them. The band has 10 players, so there’s a lot to listen to besides myself. I love the Budos Band and the Menahan Street Band. I don’t really write that way, so I’m not sure where I’m going with all that. But I wish I wrote like Phil Lynott, Elvis Costello, and Eddie Van Halen. I just write and write. Melodies will just invade my space. I’m not sure if because they invaded my headspace that they come out different than someone else’s. But maybe.
In a hypothetical scenario where you could tour with two other bands, who would be your ideal companions and what synergies do you envision?
White Reaper because they have the most ripping dual guitars, and Mötley Crüe because we each want our own bus.
How would you describe the evolution of your sound in this new album compared to your previous works? Were there intentional shifts in style or themes?
Definitely. This group of songs sits pretty far away from my previous work with Luxury Mane and even my solo stuff. Kyle, the drummer, and I had a band called The Semis some years ago that was similar to this. It almost feels like a continuation of that thread. And the song Decap off this album was a rework of a Semis song of the same name. I’ve always been a fan of harmony guitar solos, but this new record really brings that sound to the forefront without being hokey or ironic. Playing it live with Matt has been insanely rewarding. That guy is a monster on the guitar and just the coolest person, and he makes for a good sparring partner.
In the digital age, visual elements are intertwined with music. How did you approach the album’s visual aesthetics, such as album art and accompanying visuals? How do they complement the sonic experience you’ve crafted?
I started doing digital collage a couple of years ago and had every intention of making record covers out of those. But we have a friend, Mikey Thompson, who approached us about taking some shots for the band. They turned out really great in that they capture four poseurs in a muscle car that looks like they love rock ‘n’ roll, which is really what this album sounds like. He is a wizard with the camera, and he got some really nice shots using the natural light of evening in the warehouse district of St. Pete. It’s a vibe, so we ended up using that as the album cover.
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