A Chiming Back interview, finding its new home at Sweet Sweet Music Blog.
Karla Kane describes her songs as windows. Small ones, carefully made — you look through them and find yourself inside a world that is unmistakably hers: botanical, seasonal, slightly haunted, and shot through with an unexpected warmth. On Concerns of Wasp and Willow, the sixth album by Northern California’s The Corner Laughers, that world feels more fully realized than ever. Released on Big Stir Records on March 27, 2026, it is a record that begins in a small detail and pulls slowly outward — like a camera finding its frame.
The band — Kane (vocals, ukulele), Khoi Huynh (bass, piano, guitars), KC Bowman (guitars, keyboards) and Charlie Crabtree (drums) — have been crafting their literate, handcrafted folk pop together since the early 2000s. Concerns of Wasp and Willow arrives five years after their pandemic-era Temescal Telegraph, and finds them doing something quietly courageous: releasing something tender and precise into a world that seems to reward neither.
We spoke to Karla Kane about windows, details, and what it means to let a record go.
Your songs feel built from very small, precise details — both lyrically and in the instrumentation. Is it a way of writing, or a way of seeing the world?
I suppose songwriting is a reflection of a way of seeing the world — songs are like little windows. Often my songs seem to start from a small detail and then expand outward, like a camera pulling to a wider shot I guess. We definitely do try to put care into the details.
Listening to Concerns of Wasp and Willow while the world around me seems to be getting louder and cruder — I wonder, how does it feel to release something this tender and precise?
With so much going on in the world, and so many important issues, sometimes it feels a bit silly to even spend time on something like this, or to hope it reaches anyone. But on the other hand, in terms of a louder and cruder world, we’re proud to release something more gentle and thoughtful, too. It might not get much attention but we hope those it does reach will feel it is worthwhile.
The artwork has such a distinctive, immediately recognizable language — it feels like it inhabits the same world as the songs. Is that unity between music and image something you consciously pursue? Or is it more that you tend to draw people around you who feel the same things?
The artwork was created by our dear and brilliant friend Jennifer Rae Atkins, who is currently based in the Netherlands, and I’m so glad you see it as inhabiting the same world as the songs.
I called the songs windows earlier on and I think of the album cover as a visual window into the sonic world of the album, absolutely.
It is something we consciously pursue — I shared not only some of the songs themselves with Jennifer as she was working on the art but also some ideas and imagery that I felt were key.
And then she worked her magic to bring it all to visual life!
Your songs feel like glimpses into the way you see the world. And then you bring them to the rest of the band. How does it go from there?
Yes, whichever of us is the songwriter (me in most of the cases on this album, but there is also a song by Khoi written with our friend Helen Luker and one written by KC) has a demo with the music, lyrics and any production ideas.
Once it’s in the studio with the band, it is further refined and evolves into something more, with all of our fingerprints on it.
The first reviews are coming in. Do they still reach you — or does a record feel finished and separate from you by the time it’s out in the world?
They often do reach us. We’re very thankful for the folks who take time to review and share our work and to Big Stir Records for doing so much to build community! It doesn’t feel separate from us at this point — later on we will get some distance from it, perhaps, but for now I feel very closely connected to it.
As published on the Chiming Back blog on December 1st, 2025.
For this interview with Australian power-pop treasures Icecream Hands, all five members — Marcus, Smiley, Doug, Dave, and Charles — joined in, each taking on one question. The result is a warm, funny, thoughtful conversation about songwriting, survival in a shifting music industry, and the stories behind their latest album Giant Fox Pineapple Tree.
Listening to Giant Fox Pineapple Tree feels like stepping into a warm bath — absolutely wonderful. How challenging is it to stay true to that sound and never compromise on the quality of the songs, the very thing that keeps the bathwater at just the right temperature?
MARCUS: To be honest, it’s no challenge at all really, because the song is everything to us. As a band we are remarkably agreeable about what makes a great song, and with the good fortune to have such incredible songwriters as Charles and Doug, we always have a stack of solid material to choose from and work with. Having played together for so many years now, we just naturally work to our strengths as a band. It’s fair to say the songs always come first, and then we build the sound around them. The sounds and details of production are also very important of course, and we do put a lot of time and thought into that part of the process. But there’s not much point in doing that if the songs are second-rate — that would be like lukewarm bathwater.
You’ve seen the music industry transform completely since the early days of the band. What’s the biggest change you’ve had to navigate — and successfully overcome — in recent years?
SMILEY: The biggest change has been the way music is consumed today. There was a time when you could realistically hope to make a living from record sales, and touring was mainly a way to promote your music — a way to get in front of people rather than your primary income stream. But with the arrival of music-sharing platforms and, ultimately, streaming services, the whole dynamic shifted.
Napster landed in 1999 and introduced the idea of getting music for free — or close to it — through MP3 peer-to-peer downloading. That changed consumer behaviour forever. What grew out of that is today’s streaming landscape. Services like Spotify offer little to no return to the artists whose music they rely on; that, and their unethical support of military AI, is why you won’t find Giant Fox Pineapple Tree on Spotify.
These days, if we want to keep making music, we need to sell out our shows and encourage our fans to buy vinyl, CDs, and digital downloads directly from us or through Bandcamp. We also now handle our own distribution, including international releases. The traditional record-store pathway has fallen back onto the artists themselves — it’s become a bit of a cottage industry.
That said, we’ve moved with the times, and the proof is in the pudding: our recent chart success, cracking the ARIA Top 40 Albums and the Top 10 Australian Albums charts. If I’m not mistaken, we were the only truly independent release in there. Sweet as!
“Now I hear the baby crying” in “Do Ya Feel It” is such a powerful line; it pulls you straight into the story. When you first write a line like that, do you immediately know it can carry the narrative, or does it not work that way?
DOUG: Thanks Patrick. Songs always arrive in different ways for me. It’s usually a melody or a chord pattern that comes along first, and I need to try to get a feeling or an idea into the music. I do tend to struggle to find lyrics that I think are good enough to carry a narrative.
I do tend to want to write words that sound good when they fall out of the mouth, and don’t worry too much about what they mean, as long as they can evoke a feeling.
Funnily enough, that particular line was the only real thing I had. It just kinda popped into my head and it felt good, but it kinda begged the question: “Whose baby is this anyway? And why is it crying?”
I often defer to Charles on these things and asked him if it was a dumb line — I didn’t really know what it meant — and he said, “No, it’s the best line in the song!” So it stayed, and I just had to imagine some kind of scenario in which it could make a little bit of sense.
At the end of the day the song is quite nonsensical really — it’s just about finding a bit of light in the struggle and knowing that better days can come.
Giant Fox Pineapple Tree has just been released and the first reactions are coming in. Do listeners still surprise you with the way they receive the songs — or do you surprise yourself when you revisit the record?
DAVE: You know that wide-eyed, joyous expression people get when you say “Here, try this” and they take their first mouthful of something absolutely delicious that you’ve spent a long time in the kitchen preparing? It’s a lot like that!
The reactions I’ve had from friends, fans, and countrymen have all been really positive and enthusiastically wide-eyed and joyous. One always hopes that everybody will enjoy the fruits of one’s labour, so the responses I’ve encountered to Giant Fox Pineapple Tree have been very satisfying indeed.
I can’t exactly say I’m “surprised” when I listen to this remarkable body of work, as I’ve known each of these songs since they were pups. And honestly, even the home demos sounded bloody fantastic to me! Having said that — Icecream Hands always keep the element of surprise up their sleeve. You just never know what’s coming next!!
I think “Don’t Let the Party Fade Out” has a touch of Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel’s “Make Me Smile” — and I mean that as a genuine compliment. Is that kind of comparison easy to accept, or does it get frustrating when journalists try to put you in a box or reference world-famous hits just to show off their own taste?
CHARLES: I love it when journalists talk about me! And you, Patrick, can show off all you want if you mention “Make Me Smile” and a song of ours in the same sentence. I love that Steve Harley song and the recording of it — as a kid that song had such an exciting “quick, drop everything and race to the radio and turn me up” quality about it. The intro, the pauses, the bup bup bup bup backing vocals, the guitar solo, the Dylanesque delivery — so I love the comparison. I think our recording is also exciting — the drumming, the chord progressions, the lyric, the piano and bass parts, the harmony vocals, and then the guitar stings at the very end. So, many thanks for the compliment; keep them coming, please.
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.
Four years after Chopper, Kiwi Jr. return with Blowin’ Up, an album that finds the Toronto band moving forward without losing the restless charm that made them so appealing in the first place. Their familiar mix of jangly guitars, scrappy garage pop and sharp-edged rock is still there, but this time the songs feel more open, confident and lived-in.
That change didn’t happen overnight. After years of moving quickly from one record to the next, Kiwi Jr. allowed themselves time to stop, write, discard ideas and eventually rediscover what excited them about making music together. The result is a record shaped by ten years as a band, but also by the willingness to try something different without overthinking it.
Ahead of the August 14 release of Blowin’ Up, we spoke with singer and guitarist Jeremy Gaudet about that four-year gap, getting the band tight before heading to Detroit to record, the evolution of his songwriting, putting Kiwi Jr. themselves on an album cover for the first time, and why sometimes the best way forward is simply to trust what works.
When I saw Kiwi Jr. on the Chopper tour at EKKO in Utrecht, and now looking at the artwork and presentation around Blowin’ Up, I get the feeling that the band is entering a new chapter. Even the choice to feature the band itself on the cover feels like a different statement. Is that something you recognize yourselves, and does it reflect a change in how you see Kiwi Jr. as a band?
It’s been 4 years since our last album and ya some things have changed. With every new album we try to put a slightly different flavor forward. Cooler Returns had a particular garage rock fidelity, Chopper introduced the moog, Blowin’ Up I think provides a freshness and open-air quality that the band hasn’t explored that much in the past. For this album cover, I wanted the band to be photographed on the front cover because all of the great bands have at least one album where they are on the cover. It seemed liked the old school way to do it – photograph the artist for the cover and don’t think about it too much. We tried to approach the recording of the album the same way – get the band tight, hire a good engineer, and don’t over think it.
Listening to Blowin’ Up, it feels like Kiwi Jr. has taken the foundation you built with your previous albums and started exploring it with more confidence and a greater sense of adventure. I hear a change in sound and storytelling, but maybe that is just my impression. Do you recognize that, and if so, where do you think that change comes from?
We are older now and I think that comes across in certain ways. We took a few years between albums and I think we were wary of certain traps we maybe would have fallen into had we tried to make an album immediately after Chopper. We’ve been a band for ten years and we know what works and what doesn’t work. We know each other’s strengths and weaknesses and this allows us to steer the ship with greater confidence. There are some new things we’ve tried to do on this album, with time signatures, and bringing in an outside mixing engineer etc. But overall the process is sort of familiar to us now.
Four years is a long time. During that period, not only can a band change, but your view of the world, yourself, and your place in it can change as well. Has that period influenced the way you write songs? Are there different subjects or ideas that play a role on Blowin’ Up?
I try not to look too closely at my songwriting process and subjects with a lot of scrutiny because creativity is a delicate thing for me. There are times I will go months without writing anything, and other times it comes pouring out. I’m afraid if I start to analyze it, I’ll become too aware of it and fumble it. Like when you’re trying to fall asleep, you can’t think about how you are trying to fall asleep. It will never happen like that. And of course I have to follow what gets me excited and what I’m interested in, otherwise it becomes work.
Every album has its own story behind it. Can you take us back to the beginning of Blowin’ Up? When did you realize that you were creating a new Kiwi Jr. album, and what was the process like from the first ideas to the finished record?
We had been moving very quickly from Football Money through Chopper and I think we just needed to sit down and breath for a bit. Even though Chopper was finished in 2022, I didn’t start to write the songs that ended up on this album until 2024. There were two years of failed attempts and distractions. The first two songs were Blowin Up and World Like Polly. Once we had those two, we essentially were starting work on a new album. We rehearsed a lot and spent a long time getting the arrangements and songs together before going into the studio. Lots of phone recordings, for example. We went to Detroit record the album in March 2025. So the songwriting and arranging process took a complete year pretty much.
When the recordings are finished, Blowin’ Up is still a very personal project of the band. By the time it is released, other people already have expectations about it. Is that a thrilling transition, or does it simply feel like the natural end of the process?
It feels good to release something we’re proud of. As I said, it’s been two years since we started to write the songs. I get a bit of a thrill releasing it now because we’ve been sitting on the songs for so long. I hope people take notice and respond to it. We’re excited to play the songs live too.
With Blowin’ Up being released on August 14, what does the rest of the year look like for Kiwi Jr.?
European/UK tour in November. Some North American dates sprinkled all around. One day at a time!
With Sweet Tooth, Minneapolis songwriter Scott Gagner has delivered one of this summer’s most infectious pop albums. Across ten concise songs, he combines sunshine pop, power pop and psychedelia into a collection overflowing with irresistible melodies, rich harmonies and colorful arrangements. But beneath its candy-coated surface lies a clear message: choosing joy can be a powerful response to an increasingly troubled world.
We caught up with Scott to talk about the philosophy behind Sweet Tooth, the artists who inspired the album, how it came together in the studio, and whether, after releasing so many records, making a new album can still surprise him.
On Sweet Tooth, pleasure almost feels like an act of resistance. Do you think making joyful pop music in times like these can be an act of defiance?
Indeed. Any act of creation is an act of good. If that creation can spread a little joy, positivity, and hope — when all evidence points to the contrary — then you are doing a tiny part to redress the balance. People have been bombarded by more than enough misery these days — we certainly got our share in Minnesota this past January. It somehow felt like the most radical and generous thing I could do was make Sweet Tooth an uplifting, earworm-rich pop record.
You’ve said it would have been easy to make an album full of sad ballads. Why did you consciously choose not to? Was there a specific moment or event that inspired you to make a record filled with color, energy and hope?
Truth be told, I love writing sad ballads. Maybe it’s the Ron Sexsmith fan in me. But I wrote so many that they started piling up in one corner of the studio. After a few months, they started to smell funny. Meanwhile, in the opposite corner, a pile of bright, shiny, candy-coated pop songs started piling up. They smelled sweet and delicious. Then I wrote “Sugar Rush.” That song seemed to embody everything that the “pop pile” was going for. In fact, it declared itself so strongly, that I decided to change the title of the album from “Technicolor Eyes” (a phrase from leadoff track “Beyond the Blue”) to “Sweet Tooth.”
Listening to Sweet Tooth, I hear touches of sunshine pop, power pop and psychedelia. Were there specific artists or records that inspired you while writing and recording the album, or did those influences emerge naturally?
My daughter is a fellow Beatles freak like me, so that’s what we listen to in the car on the way to her swim practices. After witnessing an absolutely incendiary show in Minneapolis, I’ve been on an extended Guided by Voices kick. It certainly helps that they keep putting out incredible records every year. Other recent favorites include Mike Viola, Super Furry Animals (plus solo Gruff Rhys), Father John Misty, and Aimee Mann. For the more synth-based songs (“Purple Heart” and “Where Do We Go From Here”), I was influenced by some Norwegian Disco that my brother turned me on to (Todd Terje, Lindstrom), pre-1982 Devo, and Tubeway Army. I love the juxtaposition of live human drums with robotic synth arpeggios.
Can you walk me through the making of Sweet Tooth? How did you choose the musicians, the studio and the producer, and how much of the album’s sound was already mapped out before you started recording?
All the songs began in my home studio, often originating with a title phrase, and then brought to life while strumming my favorite nylon-string guitar. By the end of the initial writing day, I’ll have a pretty fleshed-out demo, including drums, bass, guitars, piano, synths, and vocals. That exact demo remains the basic foundation for what you hear on the final album, and I simply replace any instruments that need improving along the way. That way I can retain plenty of the initial inspiration and excitement of the demo. In the case of this album, I wanted to use my incredible rhythm section of Tim Zhorne (drums) and Sam Graber (bass) playing together. I also wanted to try a studio in Minneapolis called The Library. The owner/engineer, Matt Patrick, has created an incredible space — all the walls are lined with books for acoustic dampening. We replaced all the drum and bass tracks in one marathon day. I then took an additional studio day to replace some guitars that needed improving. Then I continued to polish at my home studio, overdubbing any final touches, and adding additional players, including Aaron McCabe on trumpet and Rachel Hunter on backing vocals.
You’ve released quite a few records over the years. Does putting out a new album still bring surprises, either in the reviews or in the reactions from listeners? Were there any responses to Sweet Tooth that really stayed with you?
I’ve been pleased with the reactions thus far. The word “irresistable” has popped up in a few reviews, which is what I was going for. After all the bad news that has swirled around us in recent years, it seems like people were ready for something upbeat, positive, and hopeful.
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.
