Vinyl Tap Fall 2022

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2022

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cover photo by catherine henry

a letter from the desk of the editor Dear Vinyl Tap Readers, Regardless of what stage of life you might find yourself in, there is likely room for a little edginess. I am happy to assure you that we can provide. Our theme this semester is a sort of homage to the ‘90s, but I think that’s turned out to be a manifestation of a lot of deep emotion: nostalgia, anger, dissatisfaction, a desire to dig far underground and escape the chatter of the 21st century. For me, this issue was an opportunity to channel the psychological limbo that comes with being a senior: questions about the right path to tread, fear of losing the anchors to my reality when I leave college, and acceptance of the fact that it’s okay to be upset that the past four years didn’t go exactly as planned. We need to give ourselves some grace; recognizing and embracing these feelings is important.

However, this is also an issue about culture and community, just as Vinyl Tap has always been. It’s about empathy, release, and catharsis. It’s about soft smiles and power chords, telling stories and recollecting warm memories. We put on each other’s smudgy eyeliner and we dance like it’s the end of the world because we understand that we’ve all been through a lot; we can have fun and be angry at the same time. Like ragged hikers sharing a shelter in a storm, we gather together to reignite our creative minds. And to remember the ‘90s, of course. There is plenty of history here too. While we may not have lived through them, many of us grew up with lingering influences of the decade thanks to our parents, learned to love ‘90s music, or developed a respect for the underground art and music movements of the time. Within these pages, you will find a recollection of life on the road and the energy of a crowd, a contemplation on the emotional effects of “angry” music, and a reflection on the relatability of teen angst in TV shows. You will learn about the talents of the groundbreaking and underappreciated women in the grunge movement, explore the complex history of the Pixies, and you may even swear an oath against the chaos of modern technology and the anxieties that come with it. And don’t forget album reviews, haikus, art, and photos that we had a blast creating and curating. We’ve all worked very hard on this issue, and we’re proud to present it to you!

I’d like to give a huge shoutout to everyone who contributed to this project. This is the first issue I’ve been a part of as Editor-in-Chief, and it has been so rewarding seeing it come together.

This theme has been a ton of fun, and I hope you enjoy it! If you have taken the time to read this letter, I hope you take time to read through our issue as well. Search within yourself and find that part of you that’s longing to let go, get a little angsty, and immerse yourself in the past.

Yours in Flannel, Nathan Hall Editor-in-Chief

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CONTENTS

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ALBUM REVIEWS Asphalt Meadows Death Cab for Cutie

Born out of the isolation of the Covid-19 pandemic and reflection upon their 25 years as a band, Death Cab for Cutie’s 10th studio album, Asphalt Meadows, describes the hopelessness that arises as one grows older. Despite its crescendoing, upbeat melody, a feeling of numbness pervades the monotone vocals of the album’s lead single “Roman Candles.” It is almost an antithetical tunnel song– yes, the narrator is “learning to let go” as lead singer Ben Gibber croons, but not without some resistance to the change. Death Cab’s lyrics are, as always, incredibly poetic. The song begins, “Your kiss was a lonely prayer/When you slipped it into my mouth/I closed my eyes and held it in/And then I exhaled it out.”

It is hauntingly beautiful, evoking a similar melodic progression as seen in religious hymns. As such, our narrator tries to lose themself in the worship of another. “Asphalt Meadows” begs the question, how can you support someone when you yourself do not feel whole or worthy of their love? Asphalt Meadows is an introspective look at someone who is seeking validation from anyone but themself. As the album comes to a close, “I’ll never give up on you” is repeated twenty times like a mantra to both the narrator and listener. Perhaps meaning is not found by giving ourselves up for sacrifice, then, but by fighting to be better for those around us.

--Boowa Zarcone, ‘25 --Beatopia Beabadoobee

Beatopia is Beabadoobee’s sophomore album, following her album Fake it Flowers, which came out in 2020.

Beabadoobee’s 2017 track “Coffee” was famously sampled by Powfu for his song “death bed (coffee for

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your head).” This new album shows growth as she experimented with a new sound, revolving around Laus’ light, angelic voice paired with mostly strumming guitars and softer backings. There are a few songs that break this pattern by adding electric guitars with faster and heavier vocals. Within the album there is a consistent layering of electronic hyper pop rhythms. “the perfect pair” stands out for its fusion of quick, almost latin beats accompanied by strings.

This album was all about collaborating for Laus, because her first album was written in the isolation of her bedroom. Along with Matt Healy, she also collaborated with PinkPantheress, and Jacob Budgen, her guitarist, who aided her with most of her writing. While this album is a reference to Laus’ imaginary, childhood world, most of this album revolves around love in all its forms, along with drug use. The erratic beat on “See You Soon” represents her heartbeat while high.

Beatopia is a wonderful introduction to Beabadoobee, you’ll get lured in by her angelic voice and stay for the soft instrumentals. If you enjoyed her first album, there are high energy songs on this album that will hit the spot. Beatopia is great for relating to any stage of a relationship or simply for a laidback listen.

--Sophia Kresse, ‘26 --Blue Rev Alvvays

Five years after the release of their sophomore album “Antisocialites”, Toronto-based indie-pop/rock band Alvvays has returned with their third, and best, album to date.

“Blue Rev” is as Alvvays as ever.

The new album is rife with their distinguishing elusive lyricism, chaotically vibrant sound, and thematic disaffection delivered with

levity, but this time elevated to dreamier and noisier heights, and carrying more emotionally sophisticated narratives. While Alvvays’ debut and sophomore albums explored youthful narratives of relationships, escapism, and defiant independence, the band’s five-year hiatus lended itself to “Blue Rev” venturing into more mature thematic territories. It is the dreampop soundtrack of adulthood, infusing dreamy soundscapes with narratives of a harsher reality. Fuzzy layers of crashing drums and distorted guitars tell stories of bygone memories, existential dread, and hopeless regret. Who knew approaching midlife feeling empty could sound so warm and magical? The album takes its name from a (not particularly palatable) alcopop frontrunner Molly Rankin drank as a teenager. However, if the fourteen tracks on “Blue Rev” could be bottled, they would fill glass like glowing syrup and intoxicate like blinding sunshine. The soundscape is uniquely timeless, enchanting, and at times nostalgic–the auditory equivalent of Super 8 film footage.

The melodies are medicine; the record’s ruminations a philosophy. In “Bored in Bristol,” Rankin repeats the line “always waiting” as a melancholic meditation on the tensions between conformity and the desire to get away, but the line describes my perpetual state until their next genre-defining album. Alvvays waiting.

--Sofia Najjar, ‘26 --Lavendar Days Caamp

As elusive as it is, nostalgia is the only feeling present while listening to Caamp’s Lavender Days.

An album inspired by the appreciation of life’s little moments, illustrating the resulting love and loss. Even the color lavender contributes to this nostalgic atmosphere as Taylor Meier connects the color to little memories in his life. The folk band captured the

hearts of listeners, old and new, with their take on the in-between moments of life.

Lavender Days opens with “Come With Me Now,” an intimate song with soothing repetitive guitar strums, inviting the listener to open their hearts and ears.

The front half of the record is stacked with lighthearted songs needed to balance the back half, as the topics presented there are heavier. Tracks like “The Otter, “Believe,” and “Apple Tree Blues” give the urge to tap one’s feet, while “Fever,” “Snowshoes,” and, my personal favorite, “Lavender Girl” invoke a melancholic feeling. The latter songs showcase having optimism at low points or memories of long-gone happiness.

“Lavender Girl” exemplifies the reason we humans endure life, as no matter how much sorrow we endure, there are always joyous moments. The soft guitar and tender, longing vocals can cause any listener to smile (while tears stream down their cheeks). Lavender Days is sung as an incantation. It feels personal, causing a feeling of nostalgia, good and bad, to rise up in a listener. Those who listen understand that this is not a happy album, but can walk away with the feeling of a warm, full heart.

--Allison Beale, ‘25 --DECIDE Djo

To all of my fellow Stranger Things fans (or anyone who is equally in love with Joe Keery), you may be surprised to hear that Keery has been making music for years under the stage name Djo. I recently discovered him over the summer, and I’ve been obsessed with his music ever since. In September, Djo released his sophomore album DECIDE, the perfect combination of psychedelic and synth-pop.

The first single from the album, “Change,” sets the tone for the rest of the album and its message.

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Overall, DECIDE is about struggling with recognizing ourselves but growing from those experiences by trying to change. There are many songs on the album that focus on self-identity like “Figure You Out,” “End of Beginning” and “Climax.” Therein lies this sub-theme of change and deciding who we want to be. Djo also relates this sense of recognition with social media in songs like “On and On” and “Half Life”; we view our lives entirely through this lens of how we’re presented which can be dangerous. The album can be perfectly summed up by the last line in the entire album: “We all wanna be someone at the end of the day,” from “Slither.” This ultimatum at the end, we all want to be someone, is where we lose ourselves.

I highly encourage you to give this album a listen, and once you love it, listen to his first album Twenty Twenty for more fun and funky music.

--Abby Johnson ‘25 --I Love You Jennifer B Jockstrap

With themes of self-acceptance, longing, and grief, Jockstrap’s first studio album, I Love You Jennifer B, tells of a woman looking for happiness and her apparent discontent even upon finding it. A woman who, based on her actions, doesn’t believe she deserves to be loved. Beautiful yet melancholy vocals paired with an orchestral sound that smoothly transitions into a warped, glitch-pop sound highlights the album’s theme, being both lyrically and musically a contradiction. Just like our protagonist, Jennifer B, the album is composed of two sounds and succeeds at bridging them together.

Many of the songs use glitchy and choppy sampling paired with rudimentary vocals to give it a distorted sound, while contrasting it with hypnotic and graceful segments, showcasing the musical range of both Georgia Ellery and Taylor

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Skye. Thematically, this translates into Jennifer B’s descent down the rabbit hole of discontent, isolating herself further away from the love she seeks. A love that can forgive and accept her. I Love You Jennifer B is a brilliant concept album that highlights what Jockstrap has been doing for the past couple of years.

It doesn’t do too much to innovate on their past works musically, but structurally it delivers their most cohesive project to date. While a dark album, I Love You Jennifer B, through the story of empathy it creates towards Jennifer B, encourages us to love ourselves as well.

--Jacob Little, ‘26 --Revealer Madison Cunningham

A handful of singer-songwriters today know exactly who they are. Madison Cunningham isn’t one of them; she’s a guitar virtuoso with a song in her head. Revealer is the highly anticipated followup album to Cunningham’s stunning 2019 debut record, whose title begged a question that Cunningham is evidently still asking herself: “Who are you now?”

Experimenting with time signatures and neo-jazz guitar techniques, combined with her California-grown, folksy blues vocals, Cunningham keeps listeners hooked from Revealer’s percussive opening track, “All I’ve Ever Known,” to its waltzing closer, “Sara And The Silent Crowd.”

While the album’s bookends would be daring, standout tracks on any record, the music that lies in between is where Cunningham reveals herself as a musician and songwriter, even if she still can’t pin down exactly who she wants to be.

From the 7/8 meter of “Anywhere” to a reflection on her grandmother’s death in “Life According to Raechel,” Cunningham’s songwriting ambitions soar. The theme of uncertainty manifests in reflections on love in the powerful refrain of “Your Hate Could Power A Train” and an acceptance of self-doubt in “Sunshine Over The Counter.” Revealer’s cen-

terpiece, “Who Are You Now?” ends in a refrain of what seems to be Cunningham’s perpetual question, as well as a new spin on the inquiry: “Who are you this time?” As Cunningham argues, we don’t have to know who we are all the time; all that matters is cultivating confidence in who we are right here, right now.

--Mary Beth Bauermann, ‘24 --Surrender Maggie Rogers When Maggie Rogers went viral for a song she played for producer Pharell, she was launched into a career that asked her to be a modern-day Joni Mitchell, the next Lorde, and a fourth Haim sister.

In her recently released sophomore studio album Surrender, Rogers has found her voice and desires amongst the noise of other people’s expectations.

Rogers asks herself to surrender to what she wants and the uncontrollable flow of relationships and emotions. “If you want want what you want want then you want it / Can’t hide what you desire when you own it,” Rogers sings on the song “Want Want.” This song is catchy, with a hook worthy of 2010s pop and production that takes the best parts of 90s grittiness. Rogers surrenders again on “That’s Where I Am:” “It all works out in the end / wherever you go, that’s where I am / even boulders turn into sand.” If this manifestation of a happy ending and relinquishing of fear feels religious, that might be because Rogers spent the first two years of the pandemic getting her masters degree from the Harvard Divinity school. Her thesis was titled, as is her album, “Surrender.”

Rogers can control an audience, she can masterfully control vocals, and she can control an album rollout with the marketing-savvy of a true pop star. But as for the things she cannot control, she seems to have found the power to surrender

to them and keep moving: “I found a reason to wake up / coffee in my cup / start a new day.”

--Lilly Tanenbaum, ‘25 --Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers Kendrick Lamar

KENDRICK LAMAR IS NOT YOUR SAVIOR! And he intends to make that clear throughout Mr. Morale and The Big Steppers, his fifth and final studio album with Top Dawg Entertainment. I must admit, however, that the more I listen to this album, the closer I am to building a shrine dedicated to the most creative mind in rap. I’m kidding, but not really. Kung Fu Kenny has been a presence in my life since middle school. My dedication to Kendrick was at an all-time high Sophomore year of high school when I did a project for my Bible class at my tiny Christian school in Texas on Kendrick and his connection to Christianity. To say I yearned for a new Kenny album is an understatement. The world went one thousand, eight hundred and fifty-five days without a new release, and Kendrick reminds us of this on the first line of the record, ‘United in Grief.’

To say things have not drastically changed in our society since the release of DAMN in 2017 would be like saying J. Cole is better than Kendrick Lamar. Just flat out WRONG! Kendrick fans anticipated hearing what topics Kenny was going to discuss on his latest project, and while he does not stray away from current events, he tends to go more personal and calls himself out more than the world around him. This is a special project with excellent production, features, and flows, and I just pray we will not have to wait another 1,855 days for Kendrick Lamar’s next record!

--Livia Martinez, ‘25 ---

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“all dressed up,” evelyn hall, 2022

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“dude, where’s my pop?” evelyn hall, 2022

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“kicking and screaming, part i,” catherine henry, 2022

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G R U N G E

G I R L S :

Women Who Rocked Onstage and Behind the Scenes

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by Mary Beth Bauermann | art by Madeleine LeTendre

hen we think of grunge music- and especially the grunge boom of the ‘90s-, Seattle often comes to mind. Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, *insert your choice of angst-filled, hard rock band, usually clad in flannel, here*. In modern popular culture and understandings of grunge music in the 1990s, images and sounds associated with grunge are often masculine, fueling the age-old stereotype that female-identifying individuals, for whatever reason, can’t rock as hard as the guys. I challenge anyone to listen to a recording of Fanny from the ‘70s and tell me women can’t rock but, sadly, misogyny lingers and follows women in rock music through the decades. Despite grunge stereotypes, women were absolutely essential to the grunge genre, as they challenged rock music’s frontman stereotype, supported male frontmen as badass bassists, and ultimately paved the way for women to achieve commercial success in the rise of rock subgenres to follow. My mission here isn’t to address every female-identifying individual who took part in the grunge music of the 1990s, but instead to illuminate the uncelebrated roles of women in a genre so overshadowed by the Kurt Cobains and Eddie Vedders of the world- the women who wrote songs that inspired generations, shredded their respectives instruments, produced records that revolutionized the grunge scene, and promoted the music that resonated with them regardless of how the rest of the music business treated them.

Tina Bell Before he was the frontman of Nirvana, Kurt Cobain was a roadie for the Melvins, as well as a trailblazing Seattle grunge band, Bam Bam, starring Tina Bell as the frontwoman. Bell was one of the first African American women to front a hard rock band in the U.S. and has been acknowledged by the Seattle Times as the “godmother of grunge.” Bam Bam never received the same critical acclaim as the bands with whom they shared the stage (Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, and Alice in Chains- just to name a few) and they often faced the double whammy of racism and misogyny, but Tina Bell and Bam Bam were undeniably foundational in the grunge mu-

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sic scene. Though she passed away in 2012, Bell is still remembered and celebrated by musicians to this day. Just last year, Seattle musicians gathered to play a tribute concert to Bell, Bam Bam, and all that they did for grunge.

Lisa Umbarger Even today, professional female instrumentalists are hard to come by in rock music. Lisa Umbarger was a founding member of the band Toadies, whose song “Possum Kingdom” and their debut album, Rubberneck, remain staples in ‘90s grunge and alternative rock.

From the band’s formation in 1989 until her departure from the group in 2001, which brought about the groups’ dissolution, Umbarger played bass and occasionally provided backing vocals. In recent years, Umbarger returned to the bass to play with a few of her former Toadies bandmates in a new group called SolShifter. Even through her cancer diagnosis, Umbarger continues to shred her bass guitar, sing loud, and advocate for rock music.

Susan Silver The manager of Seattle’s biggest grunge bands, Susan Silver helped Alice in Chains, Screaming Trees, and Soundgarden achieve fame. Silver also played a key role in helping Nirvana get out of a restrictive contract and switch labels in 1990, a critical move in order for the band to release Nevermind in 1991. She was also married to Soundgarden’s frontman, Chris Cornell, and inspired a number of Cornell’s songs, such as “Moonchild.” Today, she still manages Alice in Chains and, with their drummer, Silver is a co-owner of The Crocodile, a popular music club in Seattle, sustaining live rock music’s vitality.

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Dawn Anderson In the 1980s, writer and music fan Dawn Anderson began writing and publishing a fanzine called Backfire. Covering grunge and hard rock from 1983-1984, Backfire featured articles on Black Flag, Iron Maiden, Quiet Riot, and many more. In 1987, Anderson started publishing Backlash, another music fanzine that declared itself “Seattle’s only local music magazine,” which covered many Seattle grunge bands, from Screaming Trees to Alice in Chains. Anderson’s last issue of the original Backlash featured Nirvana on the front cover, just as they began to take off and secure a spot for themselves in grunge and music history.

Anderson and her Backlash team directly challenged other music magazines that were popular at the time, like Rolling Stone and Creem.

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he essence of rock music, in all its forms and subgenres, is rebellion against the system. Although rock music history and the modern rock scene continue to be disproportionately dominated by men, the women who challenged the status quo, whether history remembers them or not, left undeniable impacts on the genre and continue to inspire new generations.

These women’s impacts on music are ever-present, as we still hear reverberations of these pioneering grunge women in Hayley Williams of Paramore, Fiona Apple, Phoebe Bridgers, Olivia Rodrigo, and up and coming female rock bands like Hello Mary.

There are so many more women I could have discussed in this article, from Veruca Salt and Liz Phair to The Breeders and Hole. Spotify’s “Grunge Forever” playlist only includes 5 songs by 3 female-fronted grunge bands (Hole, L7, and Veruca Salt), as well as “Possum Kingdom,” featuring Lisa Umbarger’s bass guitar. But that’s 6 tracks out of 60… a measly 10%. The bottom line- you have to (at least for the time beingI’m hopeful) seek this stuff out for yourself. The next time you find your ears craving some ‘90s grunge, search the depths of Spotify for Bam Bam, crank the bass on “Possum Kingdom,” and sing (or scream, or both) along with Veruca Salt. ///

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T S A F E V I R D PLAY FA STER

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by Jak Roehrick | photos by Brandon Oleksy

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igarette butts, crushed PBR cans and graffiti. Though a common sight in back streets across the country, these surroundings signify more than just trash in a New York alley. They signify an event, time spent by a collective wishing to release adrenaline, frustrations, and experience something new. A collective who aims to unify all walks of life, leaving a personal imprint on the space and claiming industrial corridors as our own. We arrive with an idea, and leave only the material aftermath of raw expression. These are the artifacts of an underground metal show, a phenomenon likely occurring every night in a city near you.

My first experience with an underground show was a house show which, as the name would imply, took place entirely on a back deck in Richmond, Virginia. Though I had been to many large concerts before, the energy in the cramped, fenced-off backyard was indescribable. Electricity permeated through the crowd as the moshpit churned, careening and whirling through the grass. Amplifiers, drums, and screams shot a cacophonous screech into the December sky. Fans stood on top of fences, walls, and trees to catch a view of the stage. To add to the thrill of the night, it was not just my first time attending a house show, but also my first time playing a house show. I’ve played guitar for years, but it was not until that night that I managed to play a gig to an audience. Linking up with a friend from high school, I had the opportunity to fill in on backing guitars, a decision I’ll never regret. Feeding off the crowd’s energy and playing music to an audience is an experience like no other.

Standing on stage, you shed the role of a participant in a show, instead becoming a director. Like the conductor of an orchestra commanding musicians, we guide the crowd in a bolt of exhilaration. Yet, just like the

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orchestra, it is not the conductor that plays the music, but the crowd that gives life to an underground show. We may be musicians up on stage, but our music merely serves as a backdrop to the energy and expression of a concert’s audience, thrashing and moshing with vigor.

From that night on, I was in the band. Though schoolwork and other positions kept me from playing every gig, I trekked across Virginia whenever I could to get back in the action. This past summer, we took things to the next level. Our jobs were flexible enough to give us over a week off of work, and with that, we had a tour schedule ready. Though the process of booking and finding places to stay was stressful, we headed out on the road in two cars, ready for the five back-to-back shows we had planned.

Starting in Washington, D.C, we made our way north and played Philadelphia and Trenton, before taking a longer drive to Upstate New York.

With three days and three shows under our belt, the process of traveling, playing, and packing felt like a routine. Miles ticked by, and the states changed as we pushed forward. As the miles increased, so too did tensions between each other. They were minor disagreements at first, small spats and arguments which eventually added on to each other with ever increasing tension. By the time we had reached Rochester, New York, a long drive with sleeping passengers had pushed us to the edge.

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However, when we arrived at the house where we were spending the night, our outlook changed. For two nights, following our shows in Rochester and Buffalo, we stayed at the house of the band Bloat and their roommates. Up the east coast, in Philadelphia and Washington, we had become accustomed to living in basements, sleeping on couches, and living on take-out. In Washington, we simply grabbed blankets and slept on the stage we played hours earlier. While these living accommodations were extremely generous, it wasn’t until Rochester that a thought truly clicked between us. Here, not only did the housemates invite us out of generosity, but they also involved us in their community. Though we had only met them online once, they were willing to share their lives with us for two whole days. We partied and slept at various houses on the way there, but it was only in Rochester where they welcomed us in, introduced us to friends, and spent hours sharing stories. Both from their stories on the road and our stories from the summer, we crafted a bond that I had never felt from people who were strangers hours before.

“The frustrations and tension we experienced on long drives was only temporary. The bond of the scene is permanent.”

This new found friendship made my bandmates and I look inwards and at each other. What we were squabbling over was surface level; communities like this are our home. Across the board, the aesthetically tough, intimidating looking punks and metal fans are some of the kindest individuals I have ever met. Just as people in the crowd comprise the true energy of the underground metal show, it is the tight-knit, well connected community of like-minded fans that keep the scene alive. The frustrations and tension we experienced on long drives was only temporary. The bond of the scene is permanent.

Adrenaline, anger and catharsis: expressions that all culminate in the energy of the metal show’s crowd. Whether in the basement of a row house, the upstairs of a dive bar, or in the back alley of industrial landscapes, fans across the country convene in concerts that shake the ground with thunderous energy. These shows function more than just to release frustration. More than anything, the metal scene is guided by connection, a place to unite all walks of life in rage. Though the crowd conveys this community, nothing taught me this more than the road, and the people along the way who took us in and made us feel at home. To drive fast and play faster is the goal, but the backbone is the kindness of the best community on Earth. ///

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his is not an informational piece, and I don’t intend for you to get anything in particular out of it. Nor is this an essay about genre; I regret to inform you that I am in no way knowledgeable about the nuances of punk or the history of metal. I’m not going to attempt to explain the impact of a particular artist or time period, nor tread anywhere near the minutiae of the chemical effects of music on the brain. The fact of the matter is, I am not a well-researched authority on this subject, and I don’t mean to be.

What I do know is that this is a piece about a feeling. Or perhaps several. When I say “angry” music, it is more out of a lack of other descriptive words that fit. This is the type of thing that you listen to when someone was just an asshole to you, and you want to drive just a little faster. Or when you’re writing and want to feel a bit evil. Or when it’s the end of the day and there really isn’t anything left to do but stew in frustration. These are the melodies that give you the urge to punch a wall, or scribble down lines of moody poetry, or let out a villainous cackle. It’s the music that wells up the feelings that you normally keep way down there in your gut and save for those special occasions when you allow yourself a bit more angst than usual. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Whether it’s rock or punk or metal or blues or movie scores or organ sonatas, there is a place for the feeling this music brings in all of our lives.

“The darker, more creative, more dangerous side of the soul calls out to them.”

I find that angry music is just more technically interesting, though maybe that’s pretentious of me. Chords are more dissonant, melodies have more layers and go in more unexpected directions, and I suppose that makes the band kid I keep trapped in my brain chuckle a little. These songs make decisions that make me shake my head in amazement at how creative they are, whether it’s something unique about the instrumentation, a particularly intense lyric, or a chord progression that terrifies and excites me at the same time. When an artist decides to do something a little more dramatic or ferocious, a switch flips. The fetters are unlocked; the gloves come off. The darker, more creative, more dangerous side of the soul calls out to them. I imagine that submerging yourself into this mindset allows you to abandon the typical cliches and trademark musical traditions, turning instead to bolder changes in composition and more adventurous explorations of emotion, both in terms of lyrics and musicality. For lack of a better term, music gets edgier, and

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that makes us feel all sorts of things. The other thing I find fascinating about angry music is that it is inherently empathetic. If writing angstier melodies allows artists to express themselves in deeper, moodier, and more complex ways, then it’s only natural that a listener might recognize a piece of themselves in those emotions. Sure, happier music can do this too, but I believe that those more optimistic feelings are easier to notice in yourself. There’s a time and a place for upbeat music, but it can get exhausting when song after song feels like it’s mocking you, or there is simply too much whiplash between what’s in your ears and what’s in front of your eyes and inside your mind. It is often difficult to label that dark, brooding, sometimes uncomfortable emotion you’ve been sitting on all day; you can’t describe it, or maybe you don’t want to.

Angry music provides a solution and an outlet. It expresses those photo by evelyn hall feelings in a way that words just don’t do. It’s transparent, and honest about the undesirable parts of life. And the best part about it is that you realize there is someone else out there who feels the same way, and was able to somehow capture it exactly. There’s an unspoken bond that forms between artist and listener, where each recognizes the other’s innermost struggles. It’s comforting to have someone cut through the madness with a song, like they’re saying, “Hey that thing you’ve been wrestling with? I get it.

Take this.”

My point is: give angry music a try, whatever that looks like for you.

Genre doesn’t matter, it’s about the feeling. If you’ve never dipped into angstier tracks, you might find it cathartic. Even therapeutic.

That being said, I also don’t want to discount the fact that angry music is also just cool. You don’t need to have a certain reaction. Like all music listening, and all hobbies for that matter, we do it because we enjoy it. ///

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photos here probably

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Vinyl Tap Rips Their Jeans on Purpose Violet - Hole Blister in the Sun - Violent Femmes Carry the Zero - Built To Spill Safari - The Breeders Wave of Mutilation - UK Surf Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away) - Deftones Creep - Radiohead Undone - The Sweater Song - Weezer Everybody Hurts - R.E.M. Hurt - Nine Inch Nails 1979 - Remastered 2012 - The Smashing Pumpkins Sex & Candy - Marcy Playground Black Hole Sun - Soundgarden Hunger Strike - Temple Of The Dog Heart-Shaped Box - Nirvana

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“peering out of the darkness,” van monday, 2022

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“the death of me: exam season,” catherine henry, 2022

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“angel in the basement of a house show,” van monday, 2022

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“flirting with fire,” van monday, 2022

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“swinging party,” catherine henry, 2022

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by michael romero | art by evelyn hall

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n September 20th, proto-grunge heavyweights Pixies released Doggerel, their all-time eighth studio album and their fourth since reforming in 2004. Though it has its moments, the album suffers from many of the same shortcomings as the band’s other recent output. On the whole, the vocal performances are tepid, the writing is formulaic, and the production aesthetic is lifeless. But I don’t mean to simply catalog all of the ways Doggerel is mediocre. Instead, I want to sketch an answer to a question Doggerel’s mediocrity raises: what should we, the fans, think when an artist stops being great if part of what made them great also made them miserable?

Pixies formed in the early ‘80s when singer-guitarist Charles Thompson and lead guitarist Joey Santiago met at the University of Massachusetts. In ‘86, they cemented their lineup with drummer David Lovering and bassist Kim Deal. Deal had never played bass before, but that was fine. Technical ability wasn’t the point of Pixies. Thompson, who wrote almost all the band’s music, was a punk and a surrealist, drawing inspiration in equal measure from Iggy Pop and David Lynch. His instrumentals were noisy and dissonant, his lyrics perverse and nonsensical.

With Thompson at the helm, Pixies released five albums that, by way of their influence on grunge, changed rock music forever: Come on Pilgrim, Surfer Rosa, Doolittle, Bossanova, and Trompe Le Monde.

Ben Sisario’s 33 1/3 volume on the history of Doolittle (the band’s best and most cohesive work) reveals the strong artistic convictions Thompson used to have. Apparently, while the album was in pre-production, Thompson had a stand-off with producer Gil Norton over the length of the band’s songs. Norton wanted him to draw out some of the record’s shorter songs to standard, commercial pop song length. Thomspon accosted Norton, dragged him to a record store, and presented him with a copy of Buddy Holly’s greatest hits. If a minute and thirty seconds was good enough for Holly, he told Norton, a minute and thirty seconds was good enough for him.

Thompson had his oddball vision, and he fully intended to realize it, compromising only where necessary. Doolittle’s singular brilliance no doubt had much to do with this resolve.

Resolve did not always work in the band’s best interests, however.

Tensions between band members began to rise during the Doolittle sessions. Thompson’s refusal to let Deal sing lead stoked then-nascent flames of mutual hate that would soon envelope their relationship. As

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the years wore on, the problems worsened. Recording sessions for both Bossanova and Trompe Le Monde were expensive and often unproductive.

Thompson spent inordinate amounts of time experimenting in the studio, not caring what anyone else had to say about it. He had always been slow to compromise; enabled by label money, he was quickly becoming uncompromising.

Here’s how Thompson described the mentality he had at that time to Sisario: “[Y]ou’re young and you’re cocky, and you’re like, `Hey man, I’m king of the fucking college-rock heap here! No one’s going to fucking tell me what to do.”

Having just hit their creative stride, the band split in ‘93. The infighting had become too much. Thompson, Deal, and Santiago worked on other music, while Lovering quit music entirely. When they reunited in ‘04, they weren’t the same band that had recorded Doolittle. Thompson, for one, was more world-weary. Like most of his bandmates, he had struggled to make a living through his solo efforts. He admitted openly that money motivated the reunion. Deal left again before Pixies began recording new material. The rest of the group pressed on with other bassists.

Deal’s move seems to have been prescient. Fast-forward eighteen years, and these are the terms in which Thompson can be found discussing the band’s latest album, Doggerel – on a promotional podcast for Doggerel: “It’s not that I want to rip [the romanticized idea of the creative process] apart, but. . . There’s a reason, there’s a deadline. . . the king has asked for a song. You’ve got one.”

“How much do you really want to micromanage? It’s nice to be able to relax into something and go, ‘you just take care of whatever.’ LP, single, whatever the hell it is. Want songs, whatever man, here are some songs.

You want more songs; I write more songs.”

“It’s not that big a deal. It’s just a job, really.

Doggerel was just the latest assignment.”

This Thompson barely resembles the Thompson of the mid-’80s and early-’90s. He talks about songwriting like it’s an assignment from his label. He no longer butts heads with higher-ups over creative differences, painstakingly pre-produces his albums, or tinkers obsessively behind studio doors. He writes only when he is given a “reason.” Simply wanting to make an album is, it seems, no longer reason enough. Either because

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of the subduing effects of age, disappointment with his career’s trajectory, awareness of his past transgressions, or all of the above, he has chosen to compartmentalize his identity as a musician. It’s not that big a deal. It’s just a job, really. Doggerel was just the latest assignment.

From one perspective, it’s sad to see. Fans of music tagged “underground” tend to subscribe to the mythology that surrounds that music.

Songs are to be authentic expressions; artists are to be inspired. For us, realizing it doesn’t work out like that every time, even for our favorite artists, is like being told Santa isn’t real. And when an album also sounds a little phoned in, as in the case with Doggerel, it’s hard not to feel cheated. But from Thompson’s perspective? Thompson has found a way of being a musician that is far less consuming - and that likely puts far less strain on his relationships - than his old way. Doggerel doesn’t compare to Doolittle, but then again, it was never meant to.

Thompson got the job done, he had a fine time doing it, and that’s what matters. What might, from one angle, look like cynicism, looks suspiciously like maturity from another.

Whatever the case, I will likely not be giving Doggerel another spin. ///

cutout style photo here

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M

y favorite shows are awkward and cringey and real. It’s what I loved about the comedy-drama Freaks and Geeks (1999-2000) starring Linda Cardellini, James Franco, and Jason Segel. I watched this show when I was just turning 13, and the pathetic, clumsy, and misunderstood themes that described high school deeply resonated with me. However, Freaks and Geeks left me on a cliffhanger when it was canceled after one season. Similarly, in 2018, Netflix came out with Everything Sucks!, another raw comedy-drama about various aged high schoolers finding themselves, exploring their sexuality, and having embarrassing locker room interactions. Like Freaks and Geeks, it only ran 10 episodes before its cancellation.

While neither of these series ever got the second season it deserved, the acute similarities between the shows adopt what it’s like to experience the notion of teen angst in the ‘80s and ‘90s. Not only are these decades becoming significant and popular within TV shows, but they’ve been influential in fashion and music as well. Some prominent examples include slip dresses, shoulder pads, blazers, and fanny packs.

Within music, ‘80s and ‘90s influences can be found through sampling; essential bops like Ms. Jackson by Outkast (2000) and Baby Got Back by Sir Mix-a-lot (1992) are found in DJ Khaled and SZA’s Just Us (2019) and Nicki Minaj’s Anaconda (2014).

[It] made me feel less alone...and allowed me to see myself as one of [the] angsty characters.”

I have never been one to listen to older music, apart from the Cranberries and Indigo Girls that my parents played as I grew up. Nevertheless, I was immediately drawn to listen to all the Elton John, Weezer, Mary J. Blige, and Oasis that Everything Sucks! had to offer alongside your typical high schoolers enduring angst, bullying, and stereotypes.

And never before had I sought out a show’s soundtrack to listen to all the songs, but artists like Van Halen, Styx, Grateful Dead, and Billy Joel within Freaks and Geeks left me hungry for more rock n’ roll. Illustrating the challenge of being a teenager while playing the poignant songs from the ‘90s made all the difference. Watching adolescents just trying to get by in high school frankly made me feel less alone, and listening to their iconic playlists allowed me to see myself as one of Everything Sucks! and Freaks and Geeks’ angsty characters. ///

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HAIKU REVIEWS every year, the intrepid staff of vinyl tap takes it upon themselves to review new records in as small a space as a haiku. three lines. five syllables, seven syllables, five syllables. relish in their brevity. expert in a dying field - the beths by: evelyn hall sun through a window. i’ve got to learn this on guitar. silence is golden. five seconds flat - lizzy mcalpine by: evelyn hall my brain is on fire. this album is the water that will put it out. radiator - sadurn by: van monday not state college but a college town nonetheless it resonates here. woodpecker - deer scout by: van monday cowboy, out of state. i imagine it is me. just a facsimile. blue rev - alvvays by: barrett smith michael corleone: just when i thought i was out, they pull me back in. god, save the animals - alex g by: barrett smith jesus, saul goodman my lawyer, my runner. god? i hardly know her!

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grow your hair long if you’re wanting to see something that you can change - field medic by: van monday is it emptiness? or something bigger than me? harmonica rulezzzz. being funny in a foreign language - the 1975 by: mary beth bauermann my, my, my, oh- this disco of contemplation. that’s all that i need to hear. midnights - taylor swift by: callie booth karma is a cat; taylor returns to her roots, pulling me to dance. keep a tender distance - eleri ward by: aidan white sometimes people leave you, but you roll along in merry agony. the loneliest time - carly rae jepsen by: natalie lopez sweet, introspective desert daydream dance party; let your feelings hurt. revolver (super deluxe) - the beatles by: mary beth bauermann we still seek refuge in our yellow submarine, ever revolving. hold the girl - rina sawayama by: justin berg no surprise; rina re-explores the same trauma and takes it clubbing!

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EDITORIAL BOARD 2022-2023

nathan hall ‘23 mary beth bauermann‘24 copy editor editor-in-chief

catherine henry ‘25 photo editor

natalie lopez ‘25 copy editor

justin berg ‘24 social media editor

van monday ‘24 design editor

boowa zarcone‘25 art editor

STAFF 2022-2023

liz liner ‘25

evelyn hall ‘25

sofia najjar ‘26

maya chatterjee ‘26

abby johnson‘25

jak roehrick‘25

jacob little ‘26

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sophia kresse ‘24

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