Nicomo - "Other Line"

By Charley Ruddell

There’s a sweet sadness beholden to relationships that slowly dissolve and meander apart. Like clinging to a severed piece of driftwood at sea, the last legs of the most deteriorated partnerships often arrive after having already drifted so far from happiness, the only real sense of comfort found is in the connection of not being alone. This is “Other Line,” off Nicomo’s 2019 EP Views.

When Nico Osborne sings “I saw you look away like, ‘What’s that over there?’”, the magnitude of distance behind that observation feels overwhelming. It’s a subtlety marked by a David Longsteth-ian vocal chorale that brings a taciturn action to the forefront of a greater issue. On a macro scale, “Other Line” does this with a range of despondence; an aching set of three chords and a cascading guitar line move under sedation, feet dragging, while Osborne’s weighty voice hums with a soft regret. The song’s cathartic chorus—drums anchoring the downbeat, soaring falsetto harmonies, a devastating minor chord at the turn—crashes in strong waves, like grief, or clarity. It’s a song that feels entirely born from an emotional experience, like it formed in one stoic stream of tears, ambivalent, but willing enough to embrace the coldness of singularity.

Will Roane’s accompanying video punctuates the theme with a precious vision. Loosely inspired by the stories of his grandparents’ inextricably woven lives, the concept of doubt shifting to hope (and vice versa) plays out in a narrative of two adults who, despite their aged and profound connection, are still searching for something. Through walks in the woods and the tranquility of a waterside cabin (beautifully shot by Bucky Illingworth), there’s an underlying sense of distance, portrayed both delicately and playfully by Cynthia Babak and Sid Ross. It manifests microscopically, almost telepathically, through passing glances and furrowed brows. And while ultimately the pair are united by a photograph, the lingering emotion of “Other Line” recalls Roane’s theme that hope and doubt are always vacillating. Interchangeable, in a sense—complex, but necessary for change. 

ESHOVO - ok u mad

By Phillipe Roberts

Anger doesn’t need to be righteous to be real or worth hearing. As the oppressive foundations of the good old USA crumble beneath us a bit more visibly these days, sharing our deepest, most visceral emotions shouldn’t require justification. Sometimes, “u mad” is all the recognition you need, and who better to unpack the boundlessness of anger than PG County label-dodger ESHOVO? 

A frequent collaborator of ThrdCoast favorite Tony Kill, ESHOVO makes space in the cracks between genres, blending noise, cinematic atmosphere, and off-the-wall sampling across a universe of albums and singles that stretch back to 2013. He truly takes off on his 2018 project Listening or Of Empathy and Echo, where his sprawling sensibilities collide for an expedition into a loud mind that’s tired of existing in silence.

“Ok u mad,” the album’s second track, evolved gradually from a rant over a hastily-assembled instrumental, to the self-assured verbal sparring that rumbles out of your speakers. “Before actually writing to it, I layered a recording of myself speaking for a few minutes on the track,” ESHOVO explained, “I was saying something about perceptions, self and external. After writing it, I didn’t touch it for a few months, and when I got in the studio it was like I was right back in the shit, in a good way. That's where everything else came out.” 

That refined stream-of-consciousness, punctuated by waves of twinkling synth delays and an arsenal of clattering percussion, throws punches against being misread and misrepresented, and keeps the focus on observation. “Watch my words and keep ya eye open,” he says, bobbing and weaving through the beat with glee.

The song’s video, which arrives today on ThrdCoast, follows ESHOVO as he dances, plays basketball, and wanders through tall fields on grainy video. Directed by fellow PG County artist R. Treshawn Williamson, the video’s sketch-like quality brings out the track’s not-so-hidden vulnerability incredibly well, capturing both the isolation and joy that comes from feeling that anger deeply and fully. The video’s treatment of lyrics about staying cool and validating aggressive emotions is particularly effective, juxtaposing these lines against two people slap-boxing from a skewed angle, just out of frame. 

Playing with that tension between emotion and expression is key to their collaboration. “Emotions are really complex, and letting out your aggression is even more so. It’s just something really sublime about feeling what you need to feel,” Williamson says, “I feel like, for us, coming from where we come from, slap boxing is the most controlled form of aggression I’ve ever seen. But at the same time, you can only slap box so long before it gets actually real. That teetering point with aggression, that’s exactly what getting mad is about. When you juxtapose things together, like the slap box does, there’s only a certain window of time before it becomes something entirely different."

Check out the song’s video now and dip into ESHOVO’s discography at his Bandcamp page.

Panther Hollow - Atoms in the Universe

By Phillipe Roberts

Guitar-backed meditations on insignificance tend to accumulate in locations with a little bit of breathing room–where folks live close enough to taste forest-cleansed air, feel the spray of the ocean, or gaze out into the eerie desert night with a sense of wonder and enough wisdom to quench your ego before the majesty of “empty” space. Perhaps it’s the daily grind of charming and clawing your way to the top in the urban world, or the grandiose monuments to human exceptionalism that cities pretend to be, but within these walls, it’s be big or go home.

Well light pollution be damned; Queens’ Panther Hollow are out here, squinting through a telescope for a taste of that sweet, sweet insignificance on their track “Atoms in the Universe.” The opening and title track for an EP released a year ago today, the song balances gentle folk finger-picking and phaser-enhanced psychedelic rock bombast as it tumbles through a window-gazing reverie into a more innocent time “when we were atoms in the universe / falling down.” Led by Bernardo Ochoa’s telephone-effected vocals and meandering guitar, Panther Hollow paints an ambiguous scene that manages to feel immediately emotionally familiar. From the gentle romance of “when you're right beside me, no one contains us / but our clothes” to the dorm-room psychedelic come-down poetry that “your room is an island / where we are stranded” calls to mind (maybe just mine?), Panther Hollow comes equipped with the lyrical artillery to match their own formidable instrumental fireworks.

The song premieres today on ThrdCoast with a brand new music video. The brilliantly salvaged remains of an animation project, the melted studio playthrough of the song shows off the constellation of collaborations behind Panther Hollow. “This whole process definitely took longer than I intended,” explains Ochoa. “At the time I was planning on organizing a visual EP, and I initially wanted to animate all four songs. But after we released the audio in February, I realized that publishing and moving on was more important to me than finalizing my initial vision. So what's left is these amazing videos shot by Camille Petricola and animated by Joyce Zhao and Dan Criblez. It wasn't what I thought it would be when I first started conceptualizing the EP, but I'm super happy with the work that came out of it.”

Stream the full Atoms in the Universe EP at the band’s Bandcamp page.

Mood Tattooed - No Compromise

Gerard Marcus

Brooklyn-based Mood Tattooed is a musical project which balances elements of electronic synthesis, American folk tendencies, and fluid song structure to create music that sounds free of constraints. Written by singer-songwriter and composer Hagan Knauth, his music is generally melancholic, dealing with themes of both internal and external fear and anxiety. His new music video for “No Compromise” explores these themes visually. Made in collaboration with videographer Matthew Sullivan and artist Margaret Pinto, the video follows an alien being as it explores the forest and small towns of rural upstate New York. The creature is immediately odd juxtaposed against its surroundings. In a statement from the artist, he says he “wanted the creature to appear inefficient and out of place in the landscape,” which gives the character an enjoyable sense of absurdity. As you watch it move through the wilderness of rural upstate New York, it just seems odd, less of an immediate threat than just a confused being clearly in the wrong place. It’s almost funny, until you realize the creature’s mission, which is to collect various objects and eventually abduct a human for a bizarre ritual of unknown purpose (except to the creature performing it). Who or what is this creature? What is it doing here? Should we judge it based off of its absurdity or its actions? There are all good questions with no definite answer, other than to pull it back to themes found in the music. In the words of the artist himself, “perhaps the fact that the creature is simultaneously threatening and laughably absurd is all a metaphor for the little monsters we make in our heads.”

REVIEW: Wilder Maker - Zion

Phillipe Roberts

Nestled in the sprawling intensity of New York City is a proud tradition of bands, from the hallowed Television to modern wiz Kevin Morby, who use their music as a portal to transcend the urban clamor for calmer pastures. After all, not everyone can be bothered to emulate the never-ending screeches and howls of city life with scuzzy alternate tunings and insistent, throbbing rhythms. Brooklyn supercrew Wilder Maker get their kicks painting rambling living portraits closer to the folk tradition, but the expansiveness of their instrumental ambitions and the clarity of their confessional, at times brooding, lyricism puts them in direct lineage with the giants that came before them. And with Gabriel Birnbaum as songwriter, that tradition is in some dangerously capable hands.

In full acknowledgement of the utter collapse of genre today, the term post-folk comes to mind when describing Wilder Maker’s swirling vortex of airy-textured, extended jam-rock music. However, the four-piece is careful to center vocals and guitar in all of these compositions. One of their greatest strengths is that any of the songs on their latest masterpiece, Zion, would sound phenomenal stripped down to just those elements. Indeed, when they bring the lights all the way down for penultimate track “Multiplied,” with Birnbaum and longtime collaborator Katie Von Schleicher’s voices twirling around delicate finger-picked guitar and minimal shaker-and-bass-drum percussion, their flawless precision is awe-inspiring. They know how to tear your head off with a saxophone solo, like they do on the electrified country of “Gonna Get My Money,” or throw caution to the wind with the hallelujah crescendos on “Women Dancing Immortal,” but this is a band of marvelous and mysterious restraint.

For the most part however, Wilder Maker focus on taking private crises and blowing them up to tremendous proportions. They aren’t about punchy statements, preferring gaping expanses that allow them to spin lyrical yarns packed with vivid imagery. Opener “Closer to God” recounts ditching a scummy landlord for Mexico in no fewer than five verses. The narrative is packed with details like “The new place was a canvas / And we were a brush heavy with paint,” and couches them between the dual guitar harmonies and maximalist, All Things Must Pass thunder of its six-minute runtime.

Von Schleicher’s turns on lead vocals contrast with Birnbaum’s bluesy twang—the soaring highs of “Impossible Summer” spark off the driving instrumentation like lightning. “Like a dreamer who's still dreaming / I just can’t stop fucking up,” she yelps, before being swallowed by a crashing, metallic breakdown, the whole band slowing to a stop as she repeats “I tried so hard” until she disappears into the ether. When she owns the mic again on “Drunk Driver,” she wears a post-traumatic grimace. The story unfolds gently, tumbling through drowned feelings at a bar into another chanted, theatrical climax: howls of “The band plays on” collapse into a single piano note as the drunk driver turns the key. The combination of her stately, stage-perfected prowess and Birnbaum’s rousing but casually introspective warmth makes for an inviting listen at every turn.

As far as folk records go, Zion is as empowering as they come, with two riveting storytellers at the helm armed to the teeth with inventive tunes. Don’t let those thick runtimes stand in your way—Wilder Maker have a knack for generously elevating the smallest of bitter details to grand scales and inviting you in as they process them. Catharsis is better when it’s shared.