Perceptions about Cashmere Washington's "The Shape of Things To Come"

trust soup

An ancient forklift sits in the corner of a Trust Co. warehouse, always ready to get some shit done, but rarely feels the need to rush the process; except when it's Old-man robot Mr. Withers' shift. Withers dusts the forklift off ann scoots on in. Forklift, pumped for the day, revs the engine and takes off weaving through the warehouse in a wheely. Together they toss titanium boxes across the work floor into evenly spaced cubbies, immediately dissolving with a flash of light. "Everything's gotta home" Withers sings to the forklift. A bell rings and the forklift slowly drops the wheelie and reparks itself. Mr. Wither scoots on out and walks off giving both forks a low-five. As the lights dim, Forklift doses off, once again feeling like the fucking man.

-trust soup

erica mooney

this music came to me at a time when i was/am going through a pretty serious death/rebirth experience.

the mixture of nostalgic sounds, new stories, and a friendly chameleon of a voice weaving those together came in as a balm.

not a stranger to reckoning with queerness, rebellious teenage drama, strained family dynamics, naming abuse, and navigating complex emotions - the songs all speak to a different facet that i can relate to.

Another Forest Drive is one of those songs that is a damn bop, yet the words on their own might be a poem that would have me sobbing. the fact that Thomas can turn such an enraging, frustrating, sad, experience of shitty situations into something that makes me want to twist and shout - with a full spectrum of joyful expression - is a testament to the transformative power of their music. high school fucked up vibes but somehow i can hear the smile through the singing repetition of "too sad to even use the remote" reminds me of the bothness of missing a depth of sadness that was home - like i'm pissed off but loving that i get to tell you about it.

Cowboy Dan drives forward with a reminder of the inevitable modest mouse mix cd screaming along at the top of my lungs boonie drive. changing from personal storytelling to a more abstract language takes me where i want to go after the first track - somewhere far away from my own meandering narrative. flavor of rambling man, out with the emotions and the reverb...

drum tick, take me to the head bop pounding fist rest that revives. it's someone else's story of dive bars off the lonely highway, someone else's cigarettes, someone else's sell out friends, someone else's code.

Second Wind (Coming Around The Bend) gives a reprive, rough guitar that cleanses my ears with a rushing noise. "i think they're coming round. I feel them coming round. SO WHY THE FUCK DO I MISS YOU." tell it like it is. when do we say what we mean, and who is even hearing the words, do they hear what they want to or do what we mean to say? who cares at this point. "i don't need to miss you. stand in my truth." brings us the perfect coming round the bend sing-along as the song winds towards the next one.

after all that yes please bring us the funky beat that is Last Year//"i don't want you now so please don't come around." a silky serenade underscored with a class in boundary setting. "wait a minute" bass line drops us towards grunge guitar echo-y cosmic Space Ace . . . are we even on the same plane? at this point does it even matter? just ride the draft. listen to the story. you're strapped into this ship now. descent to earth imminent - or will you get blasted into space, no tether?

Everything grounds me, but where do you end up? "Don't know why I just apologized for you being so horrible." this song reminds me of nirvana and elliott smith drunkenly making out and then recording a mashup of everything means nothing to me and come as you are or something sped up and repeated to land you back in the ... where are we again? oh yea. guitar riff. The Bothness. defining who we are by the negative space, maybe because someone left, maybe because the void they were/are now created a vacuum that sucked up the shit they stirred.

or maybe, for sure, you'll find something else in the journey of this crafted audible adventure into and out of . . . feelings. expression.

It's over now. I feel empty, like my best friends leave me. ready to be filled again

shout out to Thomas Dunn for being a friend, a true talent, their self completely. and to Isaac Levine for the same but different. and Diane Cluck for the lyrically inspired reference at the end of this review narrative.

love you all. wouldn't feel as supported in my wholeness as I do without these people, this EP, these journeys.

with gratitude and blessings for future endeavors in honestier honesty ~ erica mooney


Perceptions about Yung Sham's "Impromptu Fantasies", out 4/1

Jr. Owl

Impromptu Fantasies by Yung Sham is a slightly disorienting and thoroughly heartwarming experience to listen through. I found myself repeatedly excited by the way each song wrangles the energy of a child mashing on a keyboard in excitement and shapes it with a delicate touch into a deliberate and sensitive collage of sound. I haven’t been this excited and drawn in by the first track of an album in some time (Guitar Song). There is something about how Yung Sham creates such a challenging and unconventional sound without forcing it–it’s organic. When the words begin to pierce the dripping wet reverb on Dreams, the existential sadness rings through into your bones. “To lose something so dear to you means everything. The existential worries particular to the time rest gently in its warm warble. The sadness is sweet and inviting with stabs of grit punctuating the wash. The final track, Piano Song ends on such a quiet, sincere, and fragile note carrying the underlying tension into the silence and leaving the listener in a soft, vulnerable contemplation. With Impromptu Fantasies, Yung Sham pushes the edge of pleasantness without venturing too far into the clamorous, creating a melancholy, lovable collection of vibrations with just enough bite.

-Jr. Owl

Observations around Monogamy's "Tonight Looks Bad"


"Tonight Looks Bad" comprises some of Monogamy's best work as a trio. They manage to bounce around between jangly acoustic pop to guitar riffs so heavy you want to smash a bottle on the floor! Synths and drum machine dubs are worked into every track just right. All the noise and energy finally gives way at the end to the quiet, self loathing slow-core track, "white can." Which has become my new favorite Monogamy tune.


Hannah Lewis

Monogamy seems to me like an indie rock band. Their album, ‘Tonight Looks Bad’ is an interesting look into a unique sound with equally unique lyrics. Their album title fits well with the themes of most songs, which to me handle things like depression, drinking to forget, and trying to stay motivated. The band gives me very intense local garage band vibes; it strikes me as a band anyone could know and may have grown up listening to at local talent shows. The album has a good balance of slow and fast songs, and seems to pick up more on Side B of the album. The vocals give a mix of talking the lyrics and signing, though I feel like the lyrics were talked rather than sung a big portion of the time. I’m sure that’s a stylistic choice, as it was most evident in the song ‘I’m Sad All the Time.’ It works well creatively here because being sad makes it hard to do anything, including, I’d imagine, singing.

Vocals when sung were slightly out of tune, however if done on purpose, does give a more personable feel to the music presented; it felt like I knew them. Overall the lyrics were intriguing to listen to and I’d be interested to read the lyrics so I could get a full sense of the wording at play. In my opinion, ‘Never Seen You Dance’ had the best lyrics from what I could tell. All in all, I thought the album reflected a local, personable indie rock band with a pretty solid creative process.

– HANNAH LEWIS, @buggybabe on instagram

Tino Tino

"A Yamaha keyboard from your childhood was left in a closet and spontaneously acquired self awareness. You discover it one day when rummaging about, searching for old journals. It’s only been able to develop a worldview by listening to the muffled vibrations that rattle through the door, from televisions left on in the house, and monologues performed by sleepwalking family members — midnight ministers discussing the inevitability of the apocalypse; dreams of you and your siblings parsed about in broken speech. The vapid environment that it was held in required a colorful expression to combat the darkness and stench of old shoes. Left to its own devices, the keyboard processed and compartmentalized this life using the plastic tones and industrial design at its disposal. Hooks and melodies warded off the insanity that accompanies survival in such a stunted world. It continued to call out to the room with pleas for freedom — there was never an answer. These passages of internment were stored behind the “PLAY” button to document its existence. You press the rubbery, red, rectangular button.

Listening, you both remember and unremember this life that you’ve lived. There are lines spoken from its slatted speakers that sound like incantations delivered by a hallucinating-daytime-cable-therapist, and distortions that fade in and out from years of electrical corrosion. The paythrough finishes, and a few phrases and melodies get stuck in your teeth. There seems to be an imminence of danger about these songs. You feel the need to return it beneath the folds of your jacket-strewn closet, but the instinct for partnership is too strong — you’ve maybe found a fitting soundtrack for this life. Choruses that could strengthen you against the grotesque oppositions of your daily routine; sonic expulsions that could release you from the mortal grip. The keyboard now resides underneath your bed. You pull it out whenever sleep refuses to come in the early hours — when nihilism beckons you away from anything real."

TINO, henderson century,