Some bands spend years trying to find the right chemistry. For Softjaw, it seems to have happened almost instantly. When songwriters Dustin and Tanner joined forces, they discovered a shared love of melody, hooks and all the little details that turn a good pop song into a great one.
Their new album, Love Can’t Kill You, is packed with the kind of effortlessly catchy, beautifully crafted songs that remind you why power pop is such an irresistible genre in the first place. There are plenty of familiar influences, but Softjaw never sound like they’re simply looking backwards. Instead, they’ve found their own way of making those timeless ingredients sound fresh and exciting.
In fact, Love Can’t Kill You is one of those albums that will help define 2026 as a great year for power pop. We caught up with Dustin and Tanner to talk about songwriting chemistry, the art of making a great song even better, avoiding the nostalgia trap and the joys and frustrations of recording an album themselves.
When did you realise that Softjaw could write genuinely great pop songs? Was there a particular song that made you think you were onto something?
Dustin: I had a couple songs knockin around before I met Tanner. One of them was “Don’t Go Walking Out”. I was definitely leaning in a more power pop direction but didn’t have anyone to hash them out with. Once Tanner came along we both started writing and things just seem to click right away. It’s a rarity to find your musical counterpoint so effortlessly.
Tanner: I met Dustin…that’s about it lol. I’ve kind of always been in a collaboration when it comes to music so when we met and shared influences I got a pretty good idea of what Dustin was going for and that got me super excited to start working that influence into my own songs for the band. The influence is mutual i believe and the combo of our approach seems to be workin out.
With two songwriters in the band, how does a Softjaw song usually come together? Do you bring in finished ideas, or do songs take shape together?
Dustin: It’s happened a few different ways but typically one of us has a song pretty much figured out. Then we all get in a room and give it a spit shine. I think we will attempt to be more collaborative for the next record.
Tanner: Usually Dustin writes an amazing song that breaks my brain and then i try and match it but never really get it, wherever it lands seems to be close tho and we go from there. my favorite times are when we show each other a song and we get telepathic and it falls right out. Thats straight up magic.
How do you make a good song even better? What do you tend to change between the first idea and the finished recording?
Dustin: For me personally it’s the little hidden gems you can sneak in. A special chord, a witty lyric, an unexpected key change, a change in time signature. The trick is doing it without people noticing. Don’t be flashy!
Tanner: I honestly have no clue. refer to Dustin on that one lol. I usually pour out my guts and call it pollok.
Your influences are clear, but Softjaw never feels like an exercise in nostalgia. How do you find your own voice while drawing on music you love?
Dustin: We have a pretty wide collective palette I think. We also try to steer clear of anything being too on the nose. If it’s a carbon copy we might as well be a cover band. The hope is to add some originality. That’s how music evolves.
Tanner: I think you gotta feeeeeel it maaaaaan. I was just trying to rip off the “deface the music” record by utopia… WHERE DOES THE WORLD GO TO HIDE?!
You recorded Love Can’t Kill You yourselves. Did that freedom make it easier to get the songs exactly where you wanted them, or harder to know when to stop?
Dustin: The recording process wasn’t too painful. I tried to mix it and drove myself insane. We eventually brought in Wyatt Blair for mixing. I was able to take a deep breath and see the finish line once he started sending mixes in. He’s got the magic!
Tanner: I don’t have too much experience in a studio so i gotta give it to Dustin on this one. its best to trust the person behind the wheel.
Twenty years and twelve albums into their journey, Smug Brothers show no signs of slowing down. Their latest release, Pinhole To Vortex, delivers another irresistible mix of crunchy guitars, jangling melodies, offbeat lyrics and infectious hooks. Recorded over several years at their own Fork Rock Studios, the album captures a band that continues to explore new ideas without losing its distinctive identity. We caught up with Kyle Melton to talk about the making of the record, the enduring appeal of guitar-driven indie rock, the bands keeping the scene alive and the satisfaction of releasing new music after two decades.
Pinhole To Vortex is your 12th album, and Smug Brothers have been making music for twenty years now. Looking back, how has the band’s sound evolved over that time, and what still defines a Smug Brothers record for you?
KM: Well, I think there are always the core elements we’re interested in: big hooks, slightly obtuse lyrics, and mix of crunchy and jangly guitars, and songs that have a way of sticking with the listener. In the early days, it was much more haphazard and scattershot. We tried a lot of ideas, and a lot of times we went with the initial spark of an idea rather than spending a little more time hashing it out and polishing it. These days, we have a bit more opportunity to flesh out ideas at our home studio, Fork Rock Studios, and add layers to the recordings that we didn’t in the early days. That said, we still try to stay as close to the spark of the idea as we can without working an idea into boredom for ourselves. As far as what makes a Smug Brothers record: it has to have some good hooks, there has to be a little weirdness in there, and some kind of throughline and flow for the listener from beginning to end. We want each album to be a complete and unique listen.
How did Pinhole To Vortex come about? Where did the songs and ideas for this album originate, and how did they develop into the finished record? Did you have a particular direction in mind, or did the album take shape as you went along?
KM: We started tracking for this album in summer 2024 and continued tracking until early 2026, but there were only a handful of tracking sessions with drummer Don Thrasher and I to get songs together. Some of the material was older, but I was writing a lot of new stuff as we went along, and slowly a coherent album emerged. There were 3 songs that ended up as digital B-sides, and several more that are still just in the pot for the future. It wasn’t until the very last recording session in fall 2026 that I knew what the last few songs needed to be to really tie the album together. That’s kinda the process of listening to what we have and figuring out what pieces complete the puzzle, so to speak.
Smug Brothers have been part of the independent guitar-pop and indie-rock world for a long time, and there’s a lively community of bands and listeners keeping that music alive. Do you feel part of a wider Power Pop or indie-pop scene? And are there contemporary bands you feel a particular connection with, or that you’re especially excited about?
KM: Oh yeah, there are a ton of great bands and fans in the guitar-centric indie rock world, and we’re thrilled to be a part of it in our own way. We’ve been good friends with The Laughing Chimes [Slumberland Records] for a few years now, typically doing a weekend of shows in Columbus and Athens once a year. They’re great and we’re looking forward to where they go in their adventures. We just played with Ex Pilots out of Pittsburgh a few weeks ago; Lavender Jets out of Cleveland are really great. And we’re big fans of Kiwi Jr., Sharp Pins, and Good Flying Birds. Lots of great music happening these days.
Has the response to Pinhole To Vortex surprised you in any way? Have the reviews, online coverage and word of mouth brought new listeners your way, or changed how people discover and engage with Smug Brothers?
KM: Well, it was exciting for us to get coverage in MAGNET this year, which has always been an important resource for all of us. It seems people are tuning in slowly to this new one, but that’s alright. We did a much shorter lead-up to the new album; one month instead of three from announcement to release. But we were able to get out to different cities with the new album, which we’ve not really been able to do in the past, so that’s helped a bit. It keeps growing at a glacial pace, which suits us just fine.
Pinhole To Vortex is out now, and the songs are no longer really yours — they belong to the listeners. After twenty years and twelve albums, what does it feel like to release a new collection of songs into the world? Is there a particular track on this record you’re especially curious to hear people make their own?
KM: Putting out a new album is always a buzz for me. Now that I’m handling all the recording and mixing, as well as doing the cover art with my own collages, it’s a new level of intense, sustained involvement for me with this album. But when it’s done and pressed and out to the world, it’s a great feeling that it’s alive, you know? I put so much of myself on the line and it’s great that there are people who are excited to hear it. I would really love to hear about people who are into tracks like “I’ve Seen Them Patch the Same Hole Trying to Get it Right” and “Drive Open in the Delicate Streams”. Those both have special meanings for me personally, so when other people can get into them, that makes me happy.
Sydney’s The Low Priorities have arrived with Dice, a debut album bursting with jangling guitars, infectious melodies and classic Power Pop energy. Drawing on decades of friendship and a shared love of guitar-driven pop, the band have turned what began as a modest EP project into a full-length record that’s already attracting attention well beyond Australia. We caught up with Dan Keary to talk about the making of Dice, the band’s musical influences, Sydney’s thriving guitar-pop scene and what might come next.
Dice is your debut album. How did The Low Priorities come together, and how did these songs develop into the record we’re hearing now?
We’re all old friends who have played with one another in different bands on and off over the years.
About a year and a half ago, we had the idea to start a band specifically to play songs with a power pop feel. We thought that if we recorded a few songs as a self-released EP, it might be a good calling card to get some live gigs here in Sydney. While we were making those recordings, Dave wrote another batch of songs so we’d have enough for a live set. We got excited enough about them that we thought we may as well record all the songs and release an album rather than an EP.
So the album was done before we’d actually played any live shows.
There’s a real sense on Dice that you’re drawing on a long tradition of melodic guitar pop while still making it sound like your own. What were the musical touchstones for the band when you were making the record, and how consciously were you thinking about finding your own sound?
You’re absolutely spot on in referring to a long tradition of melodic guitar pop.
We’ve been playing together in bands since the 1990s and have spent many years sharing our love of music and enthusing about hundreds of different artists and records. The common thread of what we love is guitar-based bands with memorable, melodic songs. While making the Dice album we really enjoyed drawing on these inspirations, sometimes several within the same song. We’d often find ourselves talking excitedly all at once about bands like The Who, Blondie, Elvis Costello, The Nerves, Guided By Voice, Badfinger…to name only a few!
We wanted to make a high energy, catchy record that was clearly inspired by these and other great bands, but which still had a sound that was a unique blend of our own voices and playing styles. We weren’t looking to reinvent the wheel, but hopefully to create something with its own identity within the guitar power pop tradition.
There’s clearly a strong guitar-pop and power-pop tradition in Australia, and Dice has already been mentioned alongside that history and the current Sydney scene. Do you feel part of a wider Australian guitar-pop community, and are there bands from that scene — past or present — that you feel particularly connected to?
Yes, we’re certainly fans of a lot of the bands that people would associate with classic Australian power pop, such as The Hoodoo Gurus, Sunnyboys, The Stems, The Someloves etc.
In terms of the current Sydney scene, there’s still plenty of great guitar pop artists and bands like Bryan Estepa, Hoolahan, The Pyramidiacs, and The On and Ons playing regularly and everyone knows each other either directly or indirectly.
We did an album launch gig in Sydney in August and have another Sydney gig in mid December. Next year we’ll be looking at playing some more shows with other like-minded bands both here in Sydney and hopefully down in Melbourne.
The album has been getting some really strong reactions since its release, including the description of Dice as an “exemplary” power-pop record. Has the response surprised you, and have you noticed it bringing new listeners, contacts or opportunities your way?
We’ve been really happy with the response so far. We were confident we’d made a really good record so were always hopeful it would be well received but, yes, we’ve been pleasantly surprised at the airplay and positive reviews its been getting both here in Australia and in the US and Europe.
We’ve made quite a few new connections in different countries and there’s also some opportunities for some overseas shows next year and hopefully we’ll be in a position to confirm these shortly.
Dice is out now, and the songs are no longer really yours — they belong to the listeners. What does it feel like to let your first album go into the world, and is there a particular song you’re especially curious to hear people make their own?
That’s a nice way to put it – that the songs now belong to the listeners. We’d like to think that’s the case because that’s how real music fans perceive the songs they love – as their songs – and hopefully there’s enough people out there who have formed or will form that attachment to our songs.
We wanted to make an album on which every song could stand up on its own and hopefully we achieved that, so that every song could potentially be someone’s favourite.
We’ve been promoting the title track “Dice” as the main track, as we think it best captures some of those classic power pop elements we love – jangle, melody, power etc – but equally, there may be sonic or lyrical elements of other songs that people can relate to.
As long as we know there’s people out there enjoying the album, we’ve achieved what we set out to do.
Gentle Hen’s Wink is an album of gentle, thoughtful but quietly provocative jangle pop. There’s an ease to these songs that disguises just how carefully they’re put together. Melodies that linger, small lyrical turns that open unexpected doors, and arrangements that reveal more with each listen. We talked to Henning Ohlenbusch about songwriting as a time capsule, trusting instinct, letting songs find their own meaning, and why music needs time to become a close friend.
Wink feels remarkably consistent — twelve songs that seem to belong together, with hardly any drop in quality. Were these songs written in a relatively concentrated period, or did you deliberately select songs from different periods that somehow fit together?
Thank you for saying so. Ever since I can remember I’ve been writing songs. I always have a few developing at a time. Eventually, I’ll step back and take stock and realize that I have enough to put together an album. That means that all of the groups of songs are written in the same chapter of my life so it only makes sense that there would be a common thread of some kind between them, a combination of my age, my surroundings, and the general mood of the world during that time. I think the same happens with the rest of the band. They develop their parts and play them in whatever voice they have in the current state of their existence. Each album is like a time capsule.
There’s a lot of craftsmanship in these songs, but they rarely sound labored over. How do craft and inspiration work together for you? Do you tend to start with an instinct and then refine it, or are you consciously constructing songs from the beginning?
Thank you! I like the way you put it, “start with an instinct and then refine it”. That is pretty accurate. I sit on the arm of the sofa everyday with my good old acoustic guitar and try to open myself up to some kind of inspiration by just letting my gut ride around the neck freely. The trick is to be ready to recognize the bit of music that speaks to you. Or sometimes it’s the same approach but with an emotion or idea, a snippet of words, a concept. Then it’s all about refining, which comes with just letting the song-in-process marinate in the background of my head at all times until more depth reveals itself.
I keep coming back to “One Joke,” partly because of the instrumentation, but especially that line, “One joke changed everything.” It suddenly opens up this whole story without explaining it. How does a line like that work for you — did the song grow out of that phrase, or did you discover the phrase while writing the song?
I believe the phrase appeared during the writing process after the first couple of verses already existed. But I’m not positive. It trickles out rhythmically with that descending almost sinister melody like a very clear statement, almost like the melody demanded those words. I had no choice.
“Parking Lot” feels almost like an emotional outburst at the end of the record. You’re not holding much back, and because of that it gives the album a lot of depth. Was it difficult to let the song get that emotionally direct, or was that exactly what it needed to be?
One of the many great things about the guys in the band is that Brian, Max, and Ken, besides being nimble and creative musicians, are all very empathetic people. When I introduce a song like Parking Lot, they’ll instinctively know just what to play to elevate the feeling. Brian’s rumbling drums during the verses are almost heartbeats, Max’s subtle bass slides by like trucks on the highway, and Ken’s lingering open guitar chords hang in the air like low clouds in a night sky. It didn’t have to be the final song on the record but it does seem like the right place doesn’t it?
On the Bandcamp page you specifically ask people to give the album three focused listens in a row, “the way you used to listen to albums.” Why is that important to you — and what do you hope somebody starts hearing on the second or third listen that they might miss on the first?
I have a fear that today when we have an endless array of distractions cascading in front of our faces, music is starting to become disposable. Why listen to a particular album again when there are another twenty thousand knocking on your door? I find that the real magic of music is how it can weave its way into your core. But that doesn’t happen if you don’t spend time with it. When I’m discovering something new, I make it a point of listening multiple times in a row, close listens and background listens. You might fall in love with a song at first sight but the connection is way more valuable and intense after it has really become a part of you. Songs are like people, you might like them when you first meet them, but they don’t become real friends until you spend lots of time with them. Better to have a circle of close friends than an army of acquaintances.
Max Kinghorn-Mills onWish Road South, finding power in understatement, making music as a trio and turning the everyday into songs.
There’s a beautiful contradiction at the heart of Hollow Hand’s new album, Wish Road South. Its melodies feel gentle and restrained, yet beneath them is something much bigger: songs that quietly open up and stay with you. There are words with meaning, observations that become stories, and moments that make the ordinary feel anything but ordinary.
We spoke with Max Kinghorn-Mills about making the record, letting Hollow Hand become a collective endeavour, the seemingly disconnected images of “Heavy Metal T-Shirt”, and what happens when an album finally leaves your hands and heads out on the road.
There is something almost contradictory about the songs onWish Road South: the melodies are often beautifully restrained and intimate, yet so many of them seem to contain a huge anthem trying to get out. I sometimes hear something in them that reminds me of the emotional lift of “The Whole of the Moon”. How do you manage to keep those melodies so small when they seem to have such enormous potential?
I don’t really have any plans when I’m writing, other than to follow what feels most inspiring. I suppose generally speaking I prefer ‘small’ music to anthem bands. The only exceptions are really in the world of heavy metal; I love being in the audience when everyone sings Metallica solos. I think less is generally more. I think I felt I had a fairly understated personality early on as a kid, whether I wanted that or not.
How didWish Road Southactually come together? Did the songs already feel like they belonged together when you started, or did the album gradually reveal itself as a record while you were making it?
Every time I make an album things feel different. This time I had many songs to choose from, I made demos for them, whittled them down, dropped a song if it wasn’t exciting me enough. That’s just the way things are, most people will tell you the same. It wasn’t until we started recording as a trio that we realised where the path was taking us. On other records I’ve sat and worked away on tracks for much longer, so I’d say Wish Road South was a much more dynamic experience.
You’ve described this as a different way of making an album, with Oliver Newton and Leo Clarke involved from the beginning and the three of you recording together as a band. What changed for you when Hollow Hand became more of a collective process rather than something you largely built yourself?
I started this band by myself in my basement flat at university. I spent 2 years hidden away ignoring phone calls, siphoning my dad’s record collection, discovering obscurities and recording demos. I’m a pretty solitary person most of the time; life just works better that way for me. I collaborated with 2 close friends on the album Star Chamber, but the others were very much on my own clock. Wish Road South is the result of a tight-knit trio who’ve spent a few years on the road together touring & backing other artists. Being in a band is hard, I just try to work out what I can do with the situation at hand, it’s always changing.
“Heavy Metal T-Shirt” has such an intriguing lyric, moving through seemingly disconnected images, memories and observations. There is something almost mysterious about the way the different pieces come together. What drew you to write the song in that way, and what do you feel holds it all together?
I never think about how I should write the song, it either happens or it doesn’t. I think if you’re being honest with yourself as a writer then the best songs will surface. When I was younger I used to focus on books I was reading, films, take other people’s much grander ideas and reinterpret them. More recently (and with this album), I’ve been much more interested in the day to day, the observations that you might call mundane. I was watching Kenneth Branagh with Judi Dench last night and he mentioned that “the ordinary is always the extraordinary”. I agree!
The album is out now, which means that for the first time these songs are no longer just yours. Other people are listening to them, interpreting them and forming opinions about them. Does that change the way you hearWish Road Southyourself, now that it has left your hands?
I’m pleased to have the album out there. In some ways it’s a relief but people forget that the next step is playing this music out in front of an audience, that’s very important & the decisions you made previously will stay with you for years. Many times I’ve found myself preparing to play an album live & finding it difficult to reinterpret the music. Just because a song worked well on a recording doesn’t mean it’ll be exciting on a stage, sometimes these can be very different crafts. Wish Road South is the first time where I’ve been able to really ‘road test’ some of the music (on various tours) leading up to the studio time. We’re leaving to tour the album for the first time in a couple of weeks, I’m in the studio today planning the set list and I’m really excited to get out!
There’s a particular kind of record that only gets made once a band has stopped worrying about what it’s supposed to prove — and that’s the record THE MORNING LINE has made with STARS, out September 18th on Big Stir Records. Twenty-one tracks, twenty-plus years, and a back catalog stretched between a 2007 debut and a 2017 follow-up that a lot of fans never got the chance to connect. Rather than just slap a “greatest hits” sticker on the whole thing and call it a day, the band went back in and remixed the songs they cared about most, added two genuinely new ones (“90s Pickup” and “This Lens”), and rounded it out with the single “Anhedonia” — ending up with something that’s less a victory lap than a re-introduction.
I sat down with Stephen Smith, by his own modest insistence more melody writer than lyricist, to talk about what happens when you go back and remix twenty years of your own songs, what it’s like discovering your old lyrics are “not half-bad,” and why a two-decade-old band still bothers showing up.
A “best of” record usually gets made when a band’s looking backward out of necessity — end of a chapter, lineup change, anniversary. What was the actual trigger for STARS? Was there a specific moment where someone said “we should do this now”?
Gambling debt? No, I wouldn’t say there was necessity here, so much as desire. We wanted to hear the songs at their best, hence the remixing, and we wanted to have a document that collected a lot of disparate material in one place. In terms of sound, every single thing we’ve done has been recorded and mixed by Peter Craft, who also happens to play drums on most of the songs. His studio has evolved over the twenty-plus years he’s been recording, and he thought he could make the songs sound better. So that’s a part of it. Additionally, in some ways, I think of the band as two bands, not so much sonically as temporally. We put out our first record in 2007 and the next in 2017. So it seemed to me we had some fans of the 2007 record who may have been unfamiliar with our more recent material, and fans of the recent material who could be unfamiliar with the 2007 record. It made sense to have a single document to represent us, that the future (should there be one) can build on. It is a summing up, with improvements.
I credit my wife with the album including the new songs “90s Pickup” and “This Lens.” The record was originally envisioned as a purely retrospective collection. She said that we had to put a couple new songs on it to make it more compelling. Poets do this occasionally, releasing books containing “New and Collected” work. I’m glad we included the new ones because I really like them (obviously), and it does add variety.
Remixing old songs is a strange kind of time travel — you’re not just cleaning them up, you’re making new decisions inside old material. Was there a song where the remix changed how you personally feel about it?
This is something only a band member would probably notice, but the song “The Minutes” just seems more vibrant, more alive, than the previous version. It sounds like what I wanted it to be, but we weren’t able to do at the time. So the sound alone has taken me from, “that’s a good song,” to “goddamn, I love that one!” One of the more dramatic remixes is a song called “All Mine.” On our 2017 album, Smoke, we were delighted to have Paul Kolderie mix that song. He’s an all-time great, and he took some structural liberties with the song. We liked them, don’t get me wrong, but the remix revisits the original structure, makes it a bit longer, adds a chorus. So to me it becomes a bit of a new song.
Stephen, your lyrics get called literate and emotive — what’s a line from one of the older songs on STARS that still catches you off guard when you sing it now, for reasons you didn’t intend back when you wrote it?
Geez, Patrick, that’s going to require some thought. Well, let me start by saying I think of myself as more of a melody writer than a lyric writer, but going through this anthology assembly process has made me listen to the songs and think, “you know, some of these lyrics aren’t half-bad.”
This is not perfectly responsive to your question but, to again invoke the song “All Mine” that I just mentioned (which is not my favorite song, really!), it has a line in it, “we pay the cash and watch the gridded land pass by.” I always liked that line, because of the clarity with which I thought watching “gridded land pass by” captured the experience of flying in a plane. Today, however, the part of the line that delights me is the rhythm or cadence of it. So less the image it provides than the feel.
Is there a song on here that means something different to you now than it did when you wrote it — where age or distance changed what it’s actually about?
When I wrote “Spellbound,” I left a lot of space for what it was “about.” Mental illness? Self-harm? And listening to it today, I think, “Oh, maybe that’s just about growing up.” And it struck me as a theme in a lot of these songs. Getting comfortable in the world as an adult. Getting “credit in the straight world,” as Young Marble Giants sang. Yes, I’m an old man now, but I still have never felt like I know how to be a “grown-up.”
If a version of THE MORNING LINE from 2007 heard STARS, what do you think would surprise them most — not about the songs, but about the band that made them?
Well, I think an answer many people would probably give is “you’re still doing it?” But that doesn’t surprise me. We all love music and making music, and we are all close friends. If you love something, you do it, and who better to do it with than friends?
I think what would surprise them is that there are still a few people – not a lot – who care about what we’re doing. That there are at least a few ears that want to hear what we are up to. And I think they would be grateful. I know we are today.
STARS is out September 18, 2026 on Big Stir Records.
2026 keeps looking more and more like the year of the Power Pop resurrection, Bandcamp is writing about it, Shindig! Magazine is writing about it, and I can’t help myself, I need to list the Power Pop albums I have been listening to the first nine months of the year.
A few of these reviews started life over on Chiming Back, back when that was still where I kept my notes on this stuff. That blog is done, but the records aren’t, so those write-ups found a new home here instead.
So no, this isn’t a ranking, and it’s not trying to be definitive or comprehensive. It’s a batch of albums I genuinely can’t stop playing, offered up for no better reason than that I love this genre and these are the records currently proving why. More than twenty of them now, as it turns out, once I actually sat down and counted.
Make of that what you will. Here they are.
Lex Bauman: The Dangerous Game
The punch line of Sweet Sweet Music Blog is “Let’s Put the Power Back in Pop.” And if you don’t know what that means, please listen to Lex Bauman’s new album, The Dangerous Game. Better yet: put on the classic debut albums of The Beat and The Romantics, and then The Dangerous Game.
It will take you as high as a Power Pop kite can go.
It took me to a height where, as a 56-year-old, I honestly thought “While We’re Still Young” was about me.
Music City: Welcome to Music City
After one listen, “Pretty Feelings” already feels like a song that’s always existed. Not just because the melody slips into place so effortlessly, or because its themes are timeless, but because it carries itself like a hit, in the same way Adam Schmitt, Matthew Sweet, Fountains of Wayne, or Teenage Fanclub made hits in the ’90s. Instantly familiar. Effortlessly melodic. Impossible to resist.
Music City’s immaculate pop sound, strong enough to invite comparisons to The Lemon Twigs or Mod Lang, yet clearly its own, has therefore, perhaps conveniently, been described as part of what Shindig! Magazine calls the revival of the Third Wave of Power Pop. It’s a helpful tag, but Conor Lumsden’s songwriting reaches beyond neat categorization. The Irish-London songwriter draws as much from the shimmering brilliance of ’90s power pop as from its ’70s architects, The Raspberries, Big Star, and the rest of that sacred lineage.
And then something quietly remarkable happens: “Pretty Feelings,” which at first feels like the song, becomes just one great track among eleven others. Welcome to Music City doesn’t lean on one obvious single. It thrills because of its consistency, because of its depth of craft.
If we don’t collectively catch on, this record has all the ingredients of a future cult classic, the kind whispered about in the same breath as Phonograph or 12 in a Room.
Mod Lang: Borrowed Time
Mod Lang are a four-piece out of Detroit who channel the melodic rush of The Raspberries, the aching jangle of Big Star, and the John Lennon side of The Beatles, and somehow make it feel like it belongs firmly in the here and now. There’s nothing self-consciously innovative about what they do. Instead, they chase something far more elusive: the perfect pop song. Not as an exercise in nostalgia, not as museum rock, but as a living, breathing pursuit.
This is retro without kitsch. No wink, no quotation marks, just heart, hooks, and a belief that chiming guitars and skybound choruses still matter.
“What I Can’t Have” and “In Advance,” the opening one-two punch of Borrowed Time, take things to another level entirely. The confidence. The momentum. The sheer exhilaration. These songs don’t just sparkle, they surge. Long live Mod Lang.
The Goods: Goodbye Summertime
Goodbye Summertime is the follow-up to Don’t Spoil The Fun, one of my favorite records of last year, and it builds on everything that made that album so good: instantly gratifying guitar pop with melodies that grab you right away, but an emotional depth that only opens up the closer you listen.
Rob Good’s lyrics are the heart of it, direct, honest, unafraid to sit in vulnerability. The title captures a very specific kind of bittersweetness: change that hurts a little even when it’s leading somewhere better. “Wing” is the rawest moment on the record, written fast and recorded just as fast, in the middle of feeling it. “Ginger Rose” pushes Good into an unexpected falsetto that adds a whole other emotional layer, and “Waiting,” just voice and guitar, proves that a song doesn’t need length to leave a mark. Sometimes the small moments carry as much weight as the big ones.
Bleu: Sargeant Pepper Grinder
On Sargeant Pepper Grinder, Bleu turns grief into something bright, melodic and deeply human. It’s both a tribute to friends who are no longer here and a celebration of the people, memories and small moments that remain, wrapped in the kind of irresistible melodies and harmonies that have always defined his songwriting.
What makes the record so striking is how openly it sits with two conflicting feelings at once, genuine sorrow and real joy, side by side, refusing to cancel each other out. Bleu produced and mixed it himself, obsessing over every detail, and it shows: this is a record built as a lasting, tangible tribute, and it never once slides into sad-sack territory.
Rob Bonfiglio: The Over Under
The Over Under is the kind of album that keeps revealing itself the longer you sit with it. I liked it immediately, but months in, it’s become one of those records I return to when I need to reset. Bonfiglio wrote, recorded and mixed nearly all of it himself, whittling down a batch of some twenty songs to the ones that carried real weight, and the closeness of that process is audible everywhere. “Need You Know” is the emotional core, quietly vulnerable and built around a riff with a Fleetwood Mac-ish pull; “More Pure Than Gold” is its sharper, angrier counterpart, more political and more urgent. Both come from the same instinct: write what actually needs saying, and trust the songs to find their own shape.
A View of Earth From the Moon: Rolled Over Like A Wave
A View of Earth From the Moon is Jonathan Fickes’ band, and ever since 2017 I’ve been endlessly returning to Closer to a Ghost. “One Thousand Miles Apart” and “Distance Runner” still find their way onto nearly every playlist I make. Despite the long gap between releases, Rolled Over Like A Wave delivers exactly what you hope for from a follow-up: razor-sharp yet instantly accessible Power Pop songs filled with vivid reflections on the past, on why those memories can still matter in the present, and sometimes the other way around.
But this is far from a purely melancholic or nostalgic record. “Every For Free” and “Looking Straight Ahead” sound like the voice of someone fighting for change, or simply trying to scrape together fifty bucks. The urgency that drives opener “Emerson and Henry David Thoreau” never fades. These are not songs casually tossed together. They are stories that clearly needed to be told.
Albums like this are what keep Power Pop alive, fresh, and relevant. And if I end up being the only person who prefers Rolled Over Like A Wave over the latest records by The Lemon Twigs or Uni Boys, I’ll gladly stand by that. Power Pop doesn’t need more ’70s soft-rock nostalgia to stay relevant. It needs conviction, edge, and a sense of purpose. Rolled Over Like A Wave has all three.
Mopar Stars: Official Researchers Of The NJ Devil
Mopar Stars are built to hit. The songs hit hard and the hooks stick fast, but underneath all that noise sits a genuinely sharp eye for the small contradictions of everyday life, good days next to bad ones, a little optimism curdling into bitterness, just getting by next to wanting more. Where the band’s earliest demos were buried in cassette murk, Official Researchers Of The NJ Devil opens the sound up: bigger, clearer, unpretentious, but still every bit as physical.
Songwriter N-A-O built these tracks to be immediately memorable and let the rest of the band find their own parts around them, and you can hear that trust paying off. This sounds like a band that came up through Hüsker Dü punk and carries that same Replacements-style restlessness, never forgetting how satisfying it is to hit hard. No surprise the first pressing sold out fast.
Stephen Egerton: I Think You’re Overthinking This
The title alone is good advice, and the record follows through on it. Ten songs from the Descendents/ALL guitarist that never once strain for effect. This is craftsmanship with personality, not craftsmanship for its own sake. The flow from one track to the next feels effortless, melodies stick without announcing themselves, and every so often a chorus lands with exactly the punch you didn’t know you were waiting for. Sometimes that’s all you actually need.
The Legal Matters: Lost at Sea
Lost at Sea is The Legal Matters’ fourth album. Keith Klingensmith, Andy Reed, and Chris Richards had already refined their signature sound on 2016’s Conrad. That was the record where I fell for their harmonies, and I haven’t fallen out of love since. Those voices intertwine so naturally, serving songs that carry a distinctly ’70s sensibility, where everything revolves around melody, craft, and the quiet grandeur of the composition itself. No excess. Just the song.
That devotion to the beauty of the song isn’t lost on Lost at Sea. But when you hear the bite, almost the venom, in the guitar on “Everybody Knows,” you immediately sense that something has shifted. There’s an urgency here that wasn’t as pronounced before. The world is boiling, after all, and perhaps a pure L’art pour l’art, a song for the sake of the song, approach no longer feels sufficient.
At least, that’s how it sounds to me.
And strangely, that evolution feels beautiful. Without abandoning their core values, those luminous harmonies, that reverence for melody, The Legal Matters push themselves into different territory. Maybe even more relevant territory. For days like these.
Jesus Christ Taxi Driver: Taxi the Rich
When I first heard “Have It,” the opening track from Taxi the Rich, I couldn’t share it with the Power Pop community on Facebook fast enough. It sounded like a song that could just as easily have come from The Knack as from XTC. Others picked up on echoes of Sloan’s infectious energy and the quirky brilliance of Panorama-era The Cars.
That same creative tension runs through the album’s remaining ten tracks. Along the way, Jesus Christ Taxi Driver also taps into the sharp-edged indie funk sensibilities of bands like Yard Act and Hot Chip, creating a sound that feels both familiar and refreshingly contemporary. It’s a remarkable balancing act, a band that seems to hold the future of Power Pop in their hands, even as they insist on calling themselves a blues band. Or a violent rock band. Don’t let them fool you.
Local Drags: Cool If We Split?
“Hell is in the doorway, blocking light,” sings Lanny Durbin on the highly punchy, melodic “Highbeams,” one of the standout tracks on Cool If We Split?, the new release by Local Drags on the excellent Rotterdam label Stardumb Records. Durbin masters the classic mix of dark lyrics with catchy melodies and sparkling guitars, delivering a power pop masterclass that not only stands out today for its quality, but would have triumphed just as proudly in the 90s, one of the genre’s heyday periods, thanks to its shared sense of urgency and vibe with the most beloved bands of that era.
If you’re a fan of bands like The Shazam and Splitsville, to name just two examples, you’ll recognize that same level of quality when listening to Cool If We Split?. I get the sense that Local Drags is flying under the radar, which is remarkable, because the catalog Durbin is building is outstanding, and Cool If We Split? is a new high point.
Daniel Romano’s Outfit: Preservers Of The Pearl
Like Sloan, Daniel Romano’s Outfit might just be the best band in the world right now, and Preservers Of The Pearl makes that case without breaking a sweat. This is a band completely in tune with itself, forged through countless live performances into something tight, instinctive, and utterly alive. Power Pop songs the way Power Pop songs should sound: to the point, energetic, dangerous, and catchy as hell.
Hurry: Zoned Out
Hurry’s Zoned Out carries that scruffy, hooky warmth that made Nada Surf so easy to love, but the Teenage Fanclub blood runs even closer to the surface, and not just because Gerard Love himself shows up on “Moving After You.” Ten songs in, nothing here is rushed or overworked, just guitars that jangle exactly as much as they need to and melodies that land without straining for it. It’s the kind of record that sounds effortless because the effort went into knowing what to leave out. A quietly excellent addition to the year’s Power Pop pile.
The Greenberry Woods: It’s All Good, Sugar…
Just under a year after Mobtown by Splitsville, the Huseman brothers return with It’s All Good, Sugar…, the latest album from their other band, The Greenberry Woods. It’s an equally pleasant surprise, because twelve good songs in a row is something worth stopping to appreciate, in a world where thirty-second snippets are apparently enough to make a hit.
Not here.
What you get instead is craftsmanship, melody, and a healthy dose of mischief. Pop music has thrived on that combination for as long as it has existed, and The Greenberry Woods make it sound as fresh as ever. It’s All Good, Sugar… could just as easily have been released in the 1990s, and within the world of Power Pop, that happens to be one of the highest compliments imaginable.
Timeless is another. It applies here too.
The Greenberry Woods sound like masters of melodic songwriting, effortless hooks, and the kind of album that reminds you why you fell in love with Power Pop in the first place.
Salieri & The Turnspit Dogs: The Katzenklavier
Corey Landis has built something genuinely singular here. Experiment and melody in a long-distance relationship that works. Wayne Coyne and Mark Oliver Everett are fair reference points, as much as the young Elton John is, but this is its own world, one where the jester holds up a mirror and makes you question what you thought you understood. A tour de force, an artistic and intelligent statement, overwhelming in its beauty and urgency.
Cut Worms: Transmitter
Transmitter is Max Clarke’s fourth full-length album as Cut Worms, produced by Jeff Tweedy of Wilco. I’ve been a fan for a while now, and the reason is simple: Clarke sounds like Paul McCartney paying tribute to Buddy Holly. In my world, that’s about as high as the bar goes. Vulnerability and bravado intertwined so naturally it feels inevitable, like they were never meant to be separated in the first place.
The Well Wishers: Expected Outcomes
“I like a lot of different kinds of music, but the songs I love most are usually torn apart by a guitar after about two and a half minutes.” That used to be my answer whenever someone asked what I was into. I’m not sure it’s still entirely true, and I’m not sure it happens on every track of Expected Outcomes.
What I do know is that the guitars take center stage throughout all eleven songs. The tone, the playing, the power chords, the seemingly endless stream of punchy melodies. It’s absolutely fantastic.
So if someone asks me today what I listen to, my answer would probably be: “I like a lot of different kinds of music, but the songs I love most are usually torn apart by a guitar after about two and a half minutes. And right now, I’m listening to Expected Outcomes by The Well Wishers a lot.”
The Jimmy C: Pretending To Be A Person
Fifteen songs, and Jamie Coghill goes absolutely all over the place with them, country-tinged one minute, seventies rock swagger the next, a stretch of quirky sixties pop, a detour into something almost proto-metal, and none of it apologizes for the whiplash. Diversity wins out over stylistic consistency at every turn, and it should be a mess, but it isn’t, because the one rule that never bends is that the song is king. Whatever genre Coghill is trying on, the hook always comes first. Criminally under-known, and a genuinely fun record to get lost in.
The Maureens: Don’t Give Up
The Dutch live music scene overflows with cover bands, while the airwaves are dominated by party pop sung by fresh-faced young artists celebrating little more than a night at the local pub. The Maureens are the antithesis of all of that. No trend-chasing, no pub anthems, no calculated appeal to radio formats, just classic songcraft, chiming guitars, and melodies rooted in the golden age of guitar pop.
Don’t Give Up contains thirteen tracks, one meticulously crafted gem after another. Handmade, thoughtful, deeply human. No grand statements, just sincere and personal stories told with warmth and precision, melodies that linger long after the album ends. It’s earned them a home on Spain’s Meritorio Records, which makes perfect sense: few places in Europe have championed Power Pop as consistently or as passionately as Spain.
There’s something bittersweet about that for Dutch music fans. The Netherlands has produced brilliant guitar-pop bands, Johan, Daryll-Ann, Moss, and now The Maureens, yet so much of it remains hidden in plain sight. Thankfully, I found them. I hope more listeners will too.
The Creepy Jingles: Against All Opps
Six tracks, no wasted motion, and a title that doubles as a mission statement. Against All Opps comes from a band that clearly couldn’t care less about trending. “You Don’t Trend” says as much right out of the gate, and instead the record spends its short runtime chasing hooks that stick on the first pass. Titles like “Throw Me in Some Rice” and “Funhouse Mirror” hint at a band with a sense of humor that never gets in the way of the songcraft. It’s a small, slightly odd, thoroughly likeable record, hidden in the sweet sweet melodic jangle jungle where it belongs.
Kiwi Jr.: Blowin’ Up
Four years after Chopper, Kiwi Jr. return with Blowin’ Up, and the Toronto band’s restless jangle-and-garage charm hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s just more open, more confident, more lived-in than before. That didn’t happen by accident. After years of moving from record to record without much of a break, the band finally let themselves stop, write, throw things away, and figure out what still excited them about playing together. Ten years in, they know each other’s strengths well enough to steer with more confidence and take a few real risks with arrangements and time signatures, without ever overthinking the process. Putting themselves on the cover for the first time feels like the right, old-school way to mark that shift.
You wanted the best. You got the best. The coolest band in the world. The Nerves.
Fifty years on, The Nerves somehow still sound urgent, sharp and impossibly cool. The Los Angeles trio of Jack Lee, Peter Case and Paul Collins left behind only a small body of officially released music during their original lifetime, but their influence and reputation have only grown with the years.
Now a new release from Third Man Records opens the archives and tells a much bigger story: 29 songs drawn from across the band’s brief but extraordinary existence, assembled from studio recordings, living-room tapes and live performances.
We spoke with Paul Collins about digging through 50-year-old tapes, the small miracles that made the collection possible, working with Third Man Records, and why new generations continue to discover The Nerves.
This is an incredible overview of The Nerves: 29 songs bringing together recordings from different periods of the band. What can we expect from this collection? Are there recordings or versions on it that you’re particularly excited for people to hear?
Yes I’m very excited for people to hear this record. It has the best recordings of the songs that we were working on from the time period of 1974 to 1977. All of these songs would have been a part of a Nerves album had we been lucky enough to make one.
They are all recorded versions either in studios or in living rooms but mixed properly, except for the songs that were recorded Live at The Starwood. The sound quality is just fantastic because we were able to find the source tapes to practically every single song on this record so it’s it’s really the very best of The Nerves.
How did the idea for this particular release come about? Who first had the idea to bring all this material together, and when did Third Man Records become involved?
Well it came about when we realized that it was the 50th anniversary of The Nerves and Jack Lee’s daughter Cynthia was managing his estate after he passed away and she really wanted to do something to commemorate her father’s Legacy.
I do believe that Jack had asked his daughter if she could try to get Third Man Records to put this record out for the 50th anniversary. He knew about the label and about Jack White. Cynthia was really very instrumental in speaking to them and when they heard that there was the possibility of making the record they asked if both Peter Case and myself would be involved and of course we said yes, at which point they said we’d like to hear what you guys want to do. When they heard the material they agreed to put it out and then it just snowballed from there.
They did an absolutely incredible job mastering all the the songs and organizing the archival material and they put together an absolutely stellar package. A double album on red swirl vinyl and it couldn’t be any better for a 50th anniversary release for this band.
It must have been an enormous job to put this collection together. How much searching and digging was involved in finding the original recordings, and were there any discoveries during the process that surprised you?
Yes there were a lot of Small Miracles involved with getting all these tapes for the record. Some of them were in storage bins in Redding, California there were some in Los Angeles there were some here in New York. We would find these boxes of tapes, some of them were marked some of them were unmarked. They have been sitting around for 50 years so we didn’t know whether the tapes would be completely corroded or if they would be usable. When we transferred them we were sitting on the edge of our seats not knowing, and finally when the transfers came back it was amazing the music was in pristine condition and it was just fantastic!
The biggest surprise was when I found a cassette that I had transcribed for a release I did a number of years ago called The Best of The Archives In Another World. On that tape was a live session done in the very beginning of The Nerves on a realistic tape deck of me, Jack and Peter playing I Need Your Love and Paper Dolls and One Way Ticket. You can really hear the band as we were in the beginning, how we worked up all the songs. I was playing drumsticks on a phone book, Peter was on his Hoffner bass and Jack was playing his Rickenbacker. That’s how we worked up the songs. It really gives you a bird’s eye view of how the band formed way back in the beginning. Also a friend of the bands sister had recorded The Nerves at The Starwood. She has the tape recorder in her purse! She left the purse with the recorder in her closet and found it 50 years later!
And then there’s Third Man Records. How did the relationship with Third Man come about? And what does it feel like to see The Nerves’ music given this kind of new life by a label like Third Man?
Like I said Cynthia is really responsible for the initial conversations with Third Man Records. Once they agreed to do it both Peter and I and Cynthia spoke with their head of production Dave Buick in Detroit and Dave orchestrated everything at Third Man and with with their art Department headed up by Roe and the mastering which was done by gentleman called Warren. It’s all in-house at Third Man. Everybody knows what everybody’s doing and there was a lot of excitement about the project. There was a lot of tender loving care put into every aspect of the project. The mastering and the artwork, it was all done with the utmost of care.
After all these years the little band that could, is, and Third Man is taking us to a huge audience. A much bigger audience than we have ever been able to reach. There will be a whole new world out there that will get to hear The Nerves and that is very exciting and very satisfying!
It’s almost incredible that, after all these years, there is still so much interest in The Nerves based on such a relatively small number of released songs. Young generations keep discovering the band. How do you explain that The Nerves have always remained so genuinely cool?
To me personally I think the reason why The Nerves has endured all this time is because we spared absolutely no amount of time or energy in trying to be the absolute best we could be. We aspired to be as good as we could possibly be, and we would not give up until we thought we had achieved that.
I learned so much in that regard, by working with both Jack Lee and Peter Case, and what it takes to try to climb all the way to the top.
The Release Date for Best Collection is October 23, 2026
With Sell Their Souls, Jeremy Porter and The Tucos have made what may be their hardest-rocking record yet — but that doesn’t mean they’ve abandoned the hooks, twang and power-pop instincts that have always been part of Porter’s songwriting.
After close to four decades of making music, Porter still seems far more interested in what comes next than in settling comfortably into a particular sound. We caught up with him to talk about the heavier edge of Sell Their Souls, taking unexpected turns in the studio, the songs that proved hardest to crack, and why continuing to move forward remains essential.
Sell Their Souls has a particularly tough and swaggering sound to it. There’s a great mix of power pop, punk, rock and alt-country, but to my ears the balance feels a little heavier and rougher than on some of your earlier work. Was that something you consciously wanted to explore, or did the songs simply take you there?
Hey there – thanks for having me Patrick and thanks for those kind words! Yea this is probably the most “ROCK” album I’ve ever done. I’ve been into metal and hard rock since I was 9 years old, and my love for that stuff has only grown. We listened to a lot of metal and hard rock at my house during the pandemic, and I suppose it was bound to seep in a little deeper than it had before, but it wasn’t calculated.
I write constantly and it’s all over the place, as you sort of allude to, but the focus is on quality of song over genre of song. The feel or vibe – heaviness, twanginess, popiness, mellowness, whatever – that all comes into play when we’re deciding which songs to record, and especially when sequencing the record. That sequencing part is really important to me – that the album flows well from song-to-song and overall. This is when I start to think about things like “ok after these 2 heavy songs we need to take it down for the next track…” or “those two songs sound too similar to be next to each other…” stuff like that. So I guess, to answer your question, it wasn’t calculated, but it was something that’s always in play throughout the project.
Change the Rules really struck me as a tour de force. It moves through different tempos and moods, and the arrangement keeps opening up as the song progresses. How did that song develop, and did you know from the beginning that it was going to become something bigger and more elaborate?
Thanks! Yea that’s one of those harder-rocking songs that starts to get a little proggy, for us at least, and kind of sets this album apart from our previous work. It came together with that intro riff, that I think is sorta Drive-By Truckers-ish, then the hard-rock chunks in the verse, so none of that is a big departure for us, but I’m always looking to do something different, something we’ve never tried, and switching to 6/8 time for that middle section and especially hiring a real string section and composer to do that orchestration is WAY out of our wheelhouse. The idea for the strings came in the demoing stage, might have been Gabe that brought it up. So we did a primitive string arrangement with synthesizers on the demo, which was fun and helped us decide… is this cheezy? Does it rule? Do we care? Just one of those things to make the song stick out, get out of our lane and take new chances in the studio, and see what happens! I’m so glad you dig it!
The Real McCoy is my favorite song on the album. It seems to bring together so much of what I love about The Tucos, while your vocal feels particularly pure and direct. I also love the way the music seems to be all over the place while the relationship in the lyrics seems to be going in much the same direction. What does that song mean to you, and how did it come together?
It’s so fun for me to put out a record and hear what peoples’ favorite songs are. You’re the first one to even mention that song I think! I brought it in and we struggled with the arrangement and the feel of everything except the verse, which fell in very naturally. We had two big issues – it was too long, and the chorus wasn’t enough of a hook. Well, we cut a chorus out and replaced it with the bridge, so it was at a better length. Then at one point before we demoed it we were at The Loft, one of our favorite studios here in Michigan, working on something else and talking to Tim Patalan, the main guy there who’s been a big part of everything we’ve done, and I asked him about the chorus, told him we were struggling with it, and he just knew right off – “you gotta go full-STONES on it!” so we did exactly that, because Tim knows his shit, and it made the whole thing just work. It’s still the longest song on the record, and I get heart palpitations when songs approach 4 minutes, but I like how it turned out. Hope Jagger gets his ears on it!
You’ve been making records and playing in bands for more than three decades, and you’ve moved through punk, alt-country, power pop, solo work and The Tucos without ever seeming particularly interested in staying in one lane. At this point in your career, do you still feel like you’re searching for something, or have you reached a place where you’re simply comfortable being Jeremy Porter and letting the music take whatever shape it wants?
Closer to 4 decades bud! But yeah, that’s a loaded question, isn’t it? I’m always searching for something, always looking at what’s next, how I’m (or we’re) gonna make it different, better, fun, exciting… but I’m also always just me, so it’s gonna have some hooks and it’s gonna have some lyrics that hopefully mean something to or provoke a response from somebody, and it’s gonna be guitar heavy and we’re hopefully gonna get out of the song and off the stage before we wear out our welcome. I don’t think the lane shifts are that drastic, they’re all on the same highway anyhow, though it’s a fairly wide swath of heavy/distorted amps and spacious/acoustic guitars, and all points between, I guess.
Id’ guess that most singer/songwriters and touring musicians aren’t particularly comfortable with their own self-image, in their own skin, or whatever. I’m not much different. Putting myself out there with lyrics, performances, writings, even social media posts – yea, I can’t say I’m comfortable with any of it, except probably the performance part, which, when going well, is where I am at the most peace. Or maybe “peace” isn’t the right word, because rock and roll isn’t supposed to be peaceful, but let’s say content. It’s a difficult line to tread these days, trying to get your stuff out there while presenting yourself the way you want. I’m so far from an expert at it.
You’ve said that Sell Their Souls is your favorite thing you’ve ever done — while also admitting that it’s probably too fresh to know where it will ultimately sit in your catalog. That made me wonder: after all these years of writing, recording and touring, what does a record have to do now to make you feel that you’ve moved forward? What are you hearing in Sell Their Souls that tells you you’re not simply repeating yourself?
Well, context is probably important here, because I’m not sure when or where I said that, but I think it was in the context of…the newest thing is SUPPOSED to be your favorite thing, and if it isn’t then you did something wrong, yea? But yes – these things have to have some time behind them before I and talk about them objectively. But I am proud of it, and I do think it’s good.
I think a lot of what we talked about above speaks to why this record isn’t just a repeat of previous albums, just like I don’t think Dynamite Alley was or Candy Coated Cannonball before that. I remember when we were making Don’t Worry…It’s Not Contagious, our bassist at the time Patty said he felt it was basically Above the Sweet Tea Line part 2 – not a big enough departure, not enough new ground. I don’t necessarily feel that way, but I did take it to heart and put more effort into working harder on doing new and different things from that point on. It started with songs like “Put You On Hold” and “Dead Ringer” from Candy Coated and remains with songs like “Real McCoy” and “Rosencrantz” and “Change the Rules” off the new one.
It’s important to me to keep moving. Existing in this rock and roll world is more or less my life, and doing it for so long now is – in itself – some level of success for me, but without moving forward – new ideas, new directions… it would just turn into work. I could probably make more money and get bigger accolades playing in a tribute band or doing covers gigs, but I’d just as soon wash dishes or work at Taco Bell at this point.
The Nits have been one of the most innovative Dutch pop bands since the late seventies. Innovative not because they have spent nearly five decades chasing novelty, but because they have never stopped reinventing themselves. What began as a sound with strong echoes of Kraftwerk moved through New Wave and Art Pop and has, by now, arrived somewhere in a landscape of ambient storytelling.
In terms of creativity and carefully directed spontaneity, I sometimes think of Talking Heads and David Byrne, only without the funk. There is a similar refusal to settle into a recognizable formula, a similar sense that every album should somehow create its own little world. I could also point to Joe Jackson and his restless drive to explore new musical territory, but comparisons ultimately miss the point. Because what makes Nits so interesting is precisely that they don’t really sound like anybody else.
And perhaps that is because they may be the most European pop band there is.
Their music doesn’t have its roots primarily in American blues, jazz or rock & roll. Its foundations lie just as much in the European avant-garde, classical and art music, and, inevitably, The Beatles and The Kinks are part of the equation too, as they are the inspiration for all good pop bands. But even more than in the music, their European identity reveals itself in the lyrics. Nits songs are populated by people going to a play in Helsinki, taking a train to Switzerland, living behind the Dutch dikes, or discovering that in the Netherlands every little boy is expected to join a football club, including the ones who would rather not.
Those are just a few of the subjects that appear on In the Dutch Mountains, the 1987 album that marked the band’s commercial peak, at least here in the Netherlands, and perhaps its artistic peak as well. Because as much as I love many of their songs, I don’t think they ever made a better one than the album’s title track. Not necessarily because it is their most ambitious or adventurous song, but because everything that makes Nits unique seems to come together in those few minutes: the melody, the melancholy, the strangeness, the humour, the unmistakably European imagery and that peculiar ability to turn something very ordinary into something almost mythical.
This blog isn’t meant to be a complete history of Nits. There are plenty of places to find one, and after almost fifty years there would be far too much ground to cover anyway. I mainly want to share my enthusiasm for a band that, I am convinced, could appeal to a much larger audience than the one that currently knows them.
And I want to do that through three of my favourite Nits albums.
They are not necessarily the three albums I would recommend as an introduction to the band. If you don’t know Nits at all and have become curious, there is the excellent compilation Nits Hits. Better still, there is Urk, their magnificent 1989 live album. Start there and you get something close to a map of the Nits universe as it existed at the end of their most celebrated decade.
But my own route leads somewhere else.
TENT is the 1979 debut, and on it you hear a very different Nits to how they sound today, a band much more inspired by Kraftwerk than by the Sex Pistols. A few years ago, Nits decided to revisit their earliest records and perform the first few albums live in their entirety. During rehearsals they made an amusing discovery: it had seemed like a great idea, until they realised that the songs were considerably more complicated to play than they remembered.
And perhaps that tells you something important about TENT. The New Wave you hear on the surface may sound angular, immediate and relatively simple, but underneath it is music that is surprisingly intricate and layered. Nits were already thinking like arrangers rather than simply like a New Wave band. In that sense, TENT belongs alongside the records by those more ambitious bands that, while the seventies were still coming to an end, were already busy inventing the sound of the eighties.
And then, then comes Ting.
Released in 1992, Ting feels like the moment when Nits decided to remove almost everything that wasn’t absolutely necessary. Even the title sounds like the record. Ting: the sound of a raindrop, perhaps, or a bicycle passing by, but above all the sound of a piano key being struck.
The piano on this album is extraordinarily clear. On a first listen, its sound may occasionally bring to mind Keith Jarrett’s The Köln Concert or Philip Glass’s solo piano music. I don’t mean that Ting resembles either of them musically in any straightforward sense. It is the physical quality of the piano that creates the association: the touch of the keys, the space around the notes, the way every tone seems to exist for a moment on its own before disappearing.
And that space is essential to Ting. Where other bands might have filled it, Nits use it as an instrument. Songs seem to emerge from silence and retreat into it again. Small sounds suddenly matter. A note, a voice, a piece of percussion, a pause: everything has weight precisely because there is so little competing for your attention.
It is a remarkably restrained record made by a band that, by then, had already proved how much it could do. Ting is interesting because Nits chose instead to show how much they could leave out.
dA dA dA, from 1994, is probably Nits’ most solid album. And by solid, I mean solid in the way Crowded House’s songs and albums are solid: always good, always distinctive, seemingly effortless and built to last. If you stretch that comparison a little further, then Whales of Tadoussac is the album’s Don’t Dream It’s Over. But the difference between those two titles already tells you how limited the shelf life of that comparison is. Crowded House may be a useful reference point for the craftsmanship, but Nits remain far too peculiar to stay inside it for long.
That becomes increasingly clear in the album’s second half, where the band’s more adventurous, artistic side gradually takes over. The songs become less straightforward, the atmosphere stranger, and the record starts moving into territory that could only really belong to Nits. It is also here that Day and the Night, my personal favourite, appears, tucked away in the second half of what I consider one of the high points of their entire oeuvre.
For those of you who have somehow remained unaware of Nits until now, I wish you a very happy journey of discovery. There is almost fifty years of wonderful, strange and unmistakably European music waiting for you.
