Man Holding Briefcase

 Do You Feel At Home? #16

Foremost, I believe I should articulate my absence and its accompanying mainsprings, as well as, y'know, apologize, as I certainly didn't foresee myself being withdrawn from all of this for such a prolonged period! Of course, if you'd prefer to, understandably, do without my typical diary-esque introductory spillage, scroll down this weblog a tad (once you've passed the first italicized passages, that's when you'll know you've made it). On the contrary, though, if you're keen to trudge through all this meticulously composed mumbo-jumbo, that's equitably lovely.

    String outlines each malign vortex; cyclones that assemble, dissipate, and subsequently reassemble, like clockwork, with weight multiplying, to macerate until the knots no longer anchor. The juncture where I'm undone, yet also explode, and fall apart thusly. Futile charades and maladroit ballets of impotence, traipsing from day to day whilst bound to the manacles, never ignored, though quickly depleting will, energy, and strength... such qualities I struggle to firmly possess, accept, or realize in whichever way quantifiable by my capricious stream of consciousness. It's bellowing, this strident pendulation of which intensifies exponentially until the engendered exacerbation has unspun me again. In honest, my compendium of utterances had been thoroughly exhausted, and, in suit, a period of quiescence ensued and has perpetuated for months. Forgoing all this kitsch, however, and relinquishing inordinate syntax; this summer has been painful, difficult, and whatever other delectable synonyms the charcuterie board of suffering has to offer.

    I've been hastily enveloped and anxiously lost amidst a maelstrom of change in my life, and, as such, have payed little mind to any endeavors outside of the one known as my mere survival. Train cabs are hellish, and the stations they and I depart from tenfold. Moreover, a nigh-fatal combination of poor ventilation and sweltering heat could and has transformed even the most leisurely of expeditions, long or short, into a trudging crawl through a mire of stickiness and stinging sweat... that, or I'm just weak... which I am. Regardless, all is to say, I've not been home, nor am I as of me typing all this jargon out, so, briefly; my apologies for my unprompted recess, but, in honest, that's nothing new. It is a shame I missed the month o' May, as that's my birth month, but, I suppose I'm still here, and, what's more, the artifacts I've to share have been clawing at my cranium for months, and I'm well certain that there'll be a few pin-balls that fall for it as catastrophically as I have (the weight lifted off my shoulders once this post is published will be tremendous)... or, at least, that's what I hope for the most whenever I finally plop down in my seat to write one of these things.

Now, to compact in a laconic summary; I traveled across my home state this summer, and, succinctly, it's been painful. So, so very painful. I've since moved from my aforementioned home and am, understandably, struggling to adjust to some semblance of adequacy. At the very least (directed towards myself), my absence did not occur without ample reason.


My most sincere and histrionic gratefulness to those sparing the unnecessary courtesy of even marginally skimming through such a morose mess as the one above. My heart beats for you, and I hope you feel at home here... in some infinitesimal way. Now, absconding continual baited prologues and introductory waffling, I'm exhausted yet overjoyed to return to sharing and archiving recondite music anew. Below is where that begins.

    I routinely attempt to relate many an intimate conceit, and, given ample time, they always reveal themselves to be no more than superfluous dramatics, of which I positively adore sharing, and, perforce this obsession, helps me keep a firm grip on my passion... and, while I may be staunchly passionate, I am also, admittedly, rather cloying... This saccharine stampede of mine simply cannot be quelled once its horns blare, as with each march, I cordially adorn my most pulchritudinous gown and haphazardly sling across my shoulder an indelible pageant sash of love. Indefatigably, I parade it all atop my gaudily ornamented chariot whilst I conduct the cavalcade that careens through the city... In the end, I suppose I'm a tad over-sentimental, and, yes, it is, on occasion, difficult to chew through... but, regardless, the strange oddities that pluck at my heartstrings are some that I unabashedly cherish heretofore, and, furthermore (I've noticed a handful of rhymes thus far), I would not wish to have it any other way. Once more, apologies for my absence, but, the sooner I begin to blather, the better, yes? Alrighty!

    From the scorned cesspool of littered streets and scathing eclecticism, recognized by the general populous as "Florida", a young man would bide his drudging time in placid solidarity. Amidst lonesome hours of solace, Boyd Shropshire, donning the moniker "Man Holding Briefcase", would earnestly cobble simple soliloquies of somber recollections, poignant anecdotes, as well as many a fictional retelling, of which he would share amongst those whom he was immediately surrounded by, both in performance and, of course, in small copied quantities. Initially surfacing from the accursed Bermuda waters in Pompano Beach, and soon relocating to Parkland, a nearby suburb, one relatively cursory chapter hidden amongst the profusion of Boyd's solo flourishes catalogued throughout his lifelong musical portfolio has, unbeknownst to the artist hereof, since been asphyxiated beneath a saline sea of dust and execrable sand. Man Holding Briefcase (whom I'll henceforth abbreviate to "MHB" as a lousy attempt at brevity) was a sorely ephemeral project birthed from the smoldering pyre of both unsurprising band dissolution (that band being Falter), as well as mere leisure, and, while unremembered and disregarded as it has laid dormant, MHB's timeworn innocence, restless outcropping of charm, melancholia, and lachrymose allure fastened the strings of my heart into slimy knots, and I'd be unscrupulously remiss not to exclaim that Boyd's young adult blandishments have pierced my maudlin heart like an arrow... as if puncturing the varnished skin of an apple.

    Peregrinations drifting atop tempestuous waters, parceled, consigned, and perplexingly emigrated, such illustrious and flummoxing voyages for homespun media so shopworn (of which one would presume to be exclusively confined to their white trash panhandle) never cease to befuddle n' bedazzle me. It's seemingly inexplicable, this projects physical material and its globetrotting journeys, withstanding unremitting scrutiny, yet, contrarily, is conscionably, and very well most likely, entirely anodyne. How derelict art and young creative expressions such as MHB terminates its oceanic back-and-forth into the beams of my shelf is something I struggle to apperceive on a routine basis. It is just, how do I say... astonishing, and leaves me in awe. Utterly starstruck, I ought to decree. Jaunts over the Atlantic abyss, all culminating to the relegation of its final resting place, back in the arms of a Florida resident... well, a former resident, anyhow. It's a gift amongst a love-struck bouquet of dozens that mere cherishing simply proves insufficient for my hearts liking, and the parables of which serve to chronicle every piece are diffident and dolorous. It's scarring... utterly scarring. This summer nearly brought things to a close, and MHB is the torch of which was lit until the solemn end of the seasons passing.

    MHB was a project audibly akin to few contemporaneously (though such similar projects I equally adore), with its very place in history being the often fabled tail-end of the 20th century, which will unquestionably dumbfound a small number of listeners. The 1990s was and still certainly is a boundless realm of serendipity and mind-alteration, continually peerless in its uninhibited eclecticism, whether endearingly impetuous or consummated through unbridled ardor. MHB's peculiarity careens over the precipice of warming, wistful charm, notwithstanding embellishments of which creations as low fidelity as itself forbear, without concern, in simple pursuit of uncomplicated expression. Merely two arms as bassinet to the guitar, caressing open ears with a berceuse of pained, amateur instrumentation and rending whispers of stories inciting a drained, sore-eyed slumber. 

    Though primarily confined to ponderous indoor solitude, MHB, fettered to its panhandle, did occasionally entertain an audience of willing witnesses, of whom were bestowed with quite the endearing auditory experience. So pungently bittersweet those performances surely were, and, when stealing eared glances at projects akin to MHB, I'm left lazily spinning amidst spiraling afternoon fantasies... though, once the whirling begins to wain, I'm reeled back in by the safety line fixed to the arrow... the anchor nestled betwixt my ribs. It's a bittersweet comfort; Pertinently fitting appendages shaped with proliferating grace, and my squishy, sickeningly vascular heart delicately cradled amidst the creeping entanglement in the grasp of poison oak arms. It's the sting... the burning, searing affliction that accompanies those plaintively sweet yearnings of days slipped by. So distinct in every incarnation, such longing, yet MHB possesses particular qualities that I deem titanic in difficulty to glean from many others akin, at least via my personal perception.

    Preceding any further progression, here's a rough timeline on this projects "releases":

1998 or 1999 saw a cassette EP (unknown title) followed by a CDr EP titled "We Were Planning To Stay Away From Civilization For A While", though I can't be entirely certain on the dates. The CDr EP would see a 7" reissue with an additional track on side-B in the year 2000, and, following those three, the projects efforts would subsequently be compiled onto a CDr with unreleased recordings, as well as an outlying compilation contribution.


Now, onto the aforementioned releases!

    The main course is to follow, so, in another attempt at some semblance of brevity, I'll keep this passage succinct. Now, humble is an apt descriptor for the Answering My Own Question 7" EP (let alone this entire project (and the litany of other D.I.Y. projects that have and continue to exist)), I'd readily remark, though, frivolous may also be accurate to some. Regardless, asserting my internal adoration for this project merely begins to blossom for this release, and, in effusive honesty, I cannot help myself from slowly melting into tears when I take in this 7"s bizarre yet aesthetically winsome artwork. An impassioned booklet of far too many pages to begin consideration of its reasonable inclusion here, however, all is readily available to view on this records corresponding Discogs entry, as usual (do note, however, that the pictures on Discogs that are featured below are not mine, as my scanner actually kicked the bucket long before I got the chance to scan the ole thing! At the veriest leastest, I've made an Instagram post you could take a glance at.). It positively steals the show for me, these inserts... goodness, the poster makes me sob in a moments notice. To those in search, bestest of luck!

Answering My Own Question 7"

A1. Hole In Chest Marked "Heart"
A2. Newton Shoots An Apple
B1. Manipulator (You're A)
B2. I Built A Monster

(Very much enjoyed the shortening aspect of the tracklist)

    Main course is piping for the table. All charcuterie boards have been disposed of, and all cheap liquors have been banished to the freezer. Tissues should be in order, at least for me.

    Calendar months of silence nigh-absolute, a summer baring down without pause, rendering the remaining stability I clutched onto with irreparable tremors incorrigibly fractured, with recovery seemingly absconded into discontinuance... collapse of tenuous bonds, hearts punctured, cauterized, and incised cyclically. A circuit of infallible sybaritic injury with the strings snapping against the skin from all perceptible angles, and the checkered flag logging elliptic consummation thereof serving as the catalyst, introduced to commence this desperate decomposition. Man Holding Briefcase is the proverbial flag; the forerunner to a summers catering of poison cheese and crackers, the kindling of embers rapidly proliferating, intensifying into a blackbody of sweltered pain. Sobbing and bleeding, splitting the ribbon of hopelessness with brass scissors. Insidious connection and effulgent hedonism. For all that's occurred or been given forth, I can't stave off repeated reminiscence, even if unendurable. It's the architecture of this summer slipped by, conjoined with torrential floods of sudden change and newfound ambiguity. It's an oxidized trail of blood blithely embellishing hypothetical innocuous progress, and, despite all exclaimed, Man Holding Briefcase has been a solemn point of respite and refuge, while, simultaneously, the sorest. An ache of disheartening proportions, yet a net of commiseration and repose. A dichotomy few others possessing such developed sentimentality share. The warmth, the effervescence it smothers me with... it's acoustic stridence par excellence that I cannot nor will experience identically otherwhere emplaced in any rationally conceivable locus. Its strung as ornament across my heart, and though it expends no concern for fidelity, its clarity disambiguates this impenetrable melancholia enshrouding the sun.

For any intrigued, I sincerely assure that you will be endeared.

I Don't Want To Have To Call This A Discography...

1. The Schoolbus
2. Oh Beautiful
3. My Brother Listens To Pop Songs
4. Kentucky Swingset
5. The Shark That Hated Me
6. Hole In Chest Marked 'Heart'
7. Newton Shoots An Apple
8. I Built A Monster
9. Newton Shoots An Apple (4 Track Version)
10. Sharks And Amusement Parks
11. The Test Of Time
12. Untitled
13. Downtown Disappeared
14. Somehow I Still See It (Boring Instrumental)
15. Tom Jefferson
16. That Blue Shore

(The first copy made of 10, as well as the denouement of this post. I still think about you.)

    Suppose I'm home again, though, such feelings posses a hapless tendency to shift around rather dramatically. Anyhoodles. My absence this summer was unprecedented, and the month by month transpiration of events commenced prior to me even stepping one foot out of my previous home. All is to say, there was a noticeable possibility of this post remaining unpublished indefinitely, but, I'll shy away from the explicit, and, in lieu of excessively morose blithering, express my unfeigned love for those who've expressed their own, likewise. Any phrase selected off the charcuterie board of thanks and pleasantries would be unquestionably insufficient at adequately expressing the emotions I'm positively teeming with. If I could extend an all-encompassing hug and embrace to those who have accompanied me throughout these dire months, I'd perform that elastic freak-show in a single beat of my heart, though it does occasionally skip once or twice. I believe there's but one feasible way to display my love and appreciation, and that is through all of this. Possessing the luxury to string together these passages of excessive exuberance and have people be receptive and, above all, intrigued. To share, and provide a space where I and anyone else can feel at home. It's painfully ironic to the point of inducing a grimace, but, for how many layers of fancy cheeses its submerged beneath, it is wholly true, and remarkably delectable, I'd hope!

A farewell to this glorious table. A backdrop to be remembered.

^ Instagram post ^

Much love and well-wishes,

Samantha Ruthmarie (Do You Feel At Home?)

Another Sevenfold

Do You Feel At Home? #15

Another Sevenfold

  This post is also currently featured on CanadianWasteland (one of my biggest inspirations), as I am now a coauthor! Thank you so, so very much Ben, Maya, and Tenzin!

    In all honesty, there are some days where, while skimming through the hopelessly tangled (and nigh endless) emonomicron, I find myself in a rut... wandering, aimless, all strewn about... lost. For every band that treads the water of my mind, a good handful simply drift downstream, eventually falling over the precipice of my ear canals about as quickly as they entered them. It's a darn shame, too, as I've quite the tendency to lazily gloss over bands that I would, under any other circumstances, praise to high hell... and, admittedly, it gets me into a few pools of hot water sometimes... however, some bands, and certainly not a small number of them, manage to permanently set up camp on the harbors of my brain, with this band right here being a shining example. The very second I decided to feast my rapidly deteriorating ears upon them, I was swooning with adoration and voracious infatuation, of which soon turned into a full-blown long-term obsession of mine... So, what band is it? Well, you read the darn title, didn't ya?

    Another Sevenfold (whom I will henceforth refer to as "Another 7x" for brevity (and no, NOT Avenged Sevenfold... even the band has to do a double-take when they pass by their section in a record store... it's hysterical!)) was a humble little three-piece screamo outfit hailing from Elizabethtown, North Carolina (of all places), and operated from roughly 1995 to May of 1999. Running their forks across the chalkboard of passion and touting their unmistakable shrillness at the forefront of their efforts, these three carved a path of sharp and unapologetically raw poignancy whose presence still lingers just shy of three decades later. While their tenure was rather diminutive, clocking in at a meager four years, compared to many of their peers, it's quite the respectable run, as an uncountable number of groups called it quits after only one year, or heck, even just a few months! That's a point of discussion I tend to touch on routinely, as it simply breaks my heart every time I see it... It's always such a shame, but, I suppose it's not all that surprising anymore, especially with all the knowledge I now possess, so, I won't dwell on it any further. Moving on!

    Whenever I hear an obsessed, and, admittedly, deranged screamo fan (such as I) decree that they've never once in their life heard of this lil' ole band, my mind is instantaneously catapulted into a debilitating state of obscene bewilderment. How could someone such as yourself, someone who's so adamantly engrossed in this nasty, bewitching little genre, possibly not have heard of Another 7x? My stupefaction tumbles well far and down the escarpment of rationality, and, by the time I reach the valley floor, the discombobulation has likely ground my brain to a fine paste. Am I overreacting? Oh, you betcha... but, c'mon, can ya blame a girl? Well, I suppose you can, and you most likely should for your own safety, at the very least... Anyhoodles. All that to say, and to put it succinctly; it positively boggles my feeble little mind how so few people have heard of this band! Gosh, it really does turn me into a total headcase, too... but, I can't help it! My insatiable hunger to spread the Another 7x gospel simply knows no bounds, and this post, this post right here, shall be my megaphone in which I'll use to disrupt the quietest of public spaces!

    Now, though this humble little high-school trio were in existence for quite an admirable number of years, one would be surprised to learn that, despite such a short (yet comparatively lengthy) career, these three well-nigh never played shows outside of the Carolinas! Oh, and speaking of those three, I've yet to list their names... of which I made the same mistake last time. My apologies. Another 7x was composed of William and James Daniel on bass and drums respectively, with Joseph Matthew on guitar and vocals. For a simple three-piece, their sound was, in some bizarre way (and likely only in my eyes), larger than life, and my goodness, Joey's screams are strident and wholly heartbreaking! Granted, I should save my ravenous gushing for later, so, that's precisely what I'll do. Ahem... I could not possibly fathom what this bands true influence could have and very likely would have been had they toured outside of their home states only a teeny-tiny bit more frequently, and, even in spite of their relatively landlocked operations, their influence was and still is certainly bountiful! Not to mention, the bands they shared the stage with are simply a treat to read through, as we've acts such as Stretch Armstrong, Watership Down, The Appleseed Cast (now I'm pissed), The Emotional Strain, MxPx (really?), and, of course, Griver! So, from all I can gather, I've not a doubt in my mind that these boys could hold their own when the lights hit em!

    Right about here is where I would place an embed to a live performance uploaded on YouTube or what have you, but, alas, none exist online. It's a darn shame, too, as I've always, and I mean always wanted to see one! I'm sure they were a riot live, no question!

    Circling back around... that influence had to have come from somewhere, yeah? What's the deets on that? When did these three up and decide, "Hey, why aren't we ravaging peoples ability to hear?" Well, for starters, these boys had known each other for a good long while, meeting sometime during 4th grade, though, of course, the band obviously wouldn't start then... that'd be ludicrous. Another 7x would take shape around the time they entered 9th grade, and, unfortunately, these three lived in a small little town, and one that certainly wasn't musically rollicking! The only town close enough that did indeed possess some semblance of a scene was Wilmington, so, twas where they went. From there, the band would pin together their guitar strap of influences, and, how they eventually stumbled their way unto their sound is nothing short of a mystery to me... but, I suppose musical proficiency comes with maturity! So, once they did that whole maturing thing, and, of course, amidst their time maturing, the three began to commit some of their work to tape... finally...

    Now, I've been waffling on and on about history and what have ya, so, how's about the music, hey? What did these three put out? Well... bluntly, two releases. Yes, two... Wait, actually, that's a lie, they had six releases! Unfortunately, though, it's not all sunshine and rainbows, as four of them are behind lock & key (the band would rather the material remain unheard), that being their four demo tapes, of which the dates of their release can be easily viewed via the bands website... which is still live! The list of the tapes is as follows:

January 1996. 4 song cassette
March 1996. 3 song cassette
September 1996. 4 song cassette
February 1997. 7 song cassette

    The first three of those tapes were sent out to a kind soul by the name of Paul, the very same Paul who ran the label Motherbox back in the mid to late '90s! When receiving the first tape sometime in the early spring of '96, he thought to himself, "This is some pretty good screamy emo, but the quality of the tape wasn’t so hot", so, with that, he politely filed it away, though he did indeed enjoy what he heard! About a month or two passes, and, lo and behold, a tape from the very same band arrives in his mailbox! Then another! By that point, Paul had heard all that he needed to hear; he dug what these three were cooking up, so, out of the kindness of his heart, he decided to put out the bands first record. Cut and dried! With that, Another 7x would mosey on up to Pennsylvania, and quickly record their sole full-length effort, all with the gracious assistance of Mr. Motherbox readily at their fingertips.

    The 11 song self-titled CD would see its release in April of '97, and, by and large, has to be one of screamo's most wholly recondite pieces of plastic (as is the release to follow). The twinkle in these three's eyes as they play are an elegantly strung together bodice of peculiar needles, earnestly piercing your tympanic membrane, leaving naught but enchanted ringing, with stars swirling around your cranium as you sway and rock in bedazzlement of their scintillating and humble musical glint. This ole number is a heart-wrenching, earnest, and unassuming offering of poignant and lovingly hopeful screamo. It's one that's horridly shrill, and fuzzily coarse, all endearingly so. It's unostentatious, and rather recherché for an entire full-length of its nature and makeup, I'd say... it tends to recrudesce in my mind how unheard of this band goes. It really does. For a record as soundly assembled as this one here, I feel as though many are remiss to not pay forth to this band some of their supremely precious attention. It encapsulates a large variety of 90s screamo's many idiosyncrasies that I positively swoon over, and, succinctly, is one of its offerings that I decree (though it's obvious) gets glossed over and dismissed all too frequently. I've hopes that one day, some day, it's audience will felicitously stumble across it, and subsequently fall for it just as painfully as I did... at their own risk, of course... and I foresee a future where a slew of hopeless emo obsessives (just like me) are soaring with adoration for this band and their material... but, for now, I wait for the day I see it receive a tithe of the attention their contemporaries amass yearly. Not that it's some travesty, of course. They were just a gaggle of kids making some alright music for the fun of it! Now, as for its obscurity, I'd say there's no reason to worry, as it's a remarkably easy record to get your grubby little hands on! A small assortment of copies are currently for sale (at the time of writing this post), and I've never seen the release page lack listings. Not once! If you do indeed take a keen interest in this record or band, I sincerely recommend picking up a copy. Such a delightfully inconspicuous package!

Self-titled
(driftingwiththeice also has a lovely post regarding this disc, however, if you'd prefer to stay here, this record is available to download!)

1. Misadventures Of Me
2. Certainly Star
3. Furney Rising
4. Short And Sweet
5. So That's How They Get The Ship In The Bottle
6. Staircase
7. Daymare
8. Genie
9. Jacks And Hopscotch
10. Right Of Center
11. If Only I Could Conquer The World

    Their trend of inconspicuousness continues (and, unfortunately, ends) the August of the following year with their second and final release, which was, in fact, not released by Motherbox, but instead released by Fond Of Fabrication, which was run by two kids from Greenville, NC named Scott and Gabe! The record in question is their beautifully entitled EP Thousand Star Serissa, whose name derives from a type of shrub used for making bonsai. Now, for every shred of hyperbole, and for every iota of bombastic enthusiasm and verbose aggrandizement I sloppily jot down, there always comes a time where, no matter the word, no matter the phrase, no matter the intensity of the monsoon of over-exuberance that pours from my lips, the stream from my faucet of superlatives wanes to nothing more than a series of scattered spritz, and subsequently, to nothing more than feeble drips. Sometimes I'm so taken aback, so gobsmacked, and so in awe that my words... they just sorta... fail me, y'know? Could this be another one of those cases? Hahaha, funny, but no, as every single little thing I said in regards to their full-length applies to this release, and for some songs, doubly so!

    With an entire genre whose bedrock is practically comprised of 7"s, it's exceedingly rare for one so unassuming to stand and scintillate leagues above their peers, of whom are just as wonderful based on their own merit alone. However, some are undeniably worthy of a higher pedestal, so they take their seat atop the clouds, casting down the rays of their brilliance, illuminating the coarse dirt below, ultimately putting the sun to shame. Some records are so distinctly congenial that I, admittedly, praise them to a degree that seems, for lack of a better term, religious, as if I'm a wayward messenger for some nondescript church (or, more appropriately, cult), and my one sole prerogative is to spread the good word. The gospel, if you may. Well, I've to say, it's far from any sort of a secret that I acclaim some records to an obscenely hyperbolic extent... treating them like royalty, if you will... and I mean, hey... what can I say? I'm passionate! Sometimes a girl just has to place her favorites atop their seat in her personal "emo pantheon", adorning them with their regal robes (plastic sleeves) and indefatigable scepter of boundless musical enjoyment (tonearm, cartridge, and stylus)... and this, I'd say, is certainly one of those 7"s! I positively fell in love with it the very second I did lay my ears upon the treasures stored amidst its grooves, and, in all honesty, I don't think I've ever been quite the same since. Both this 7" and the bands only CD have coaxed from my eyes many a tear, and many times over, I should add. Sometimes a band just satiates a sweet tooth ya didn't even know you had, hey? Heck, that's pretty much how I ended up here in the first place... and now I can never leave. Oh well, so be it! Anyhoodles. As for where to acquire this, I sincerely wish I had somewhere to point ya like I did earlier, but, alas, 'tis not the case. If you ever see a copy of this humble beauty for sale, do not miss your opportunity to nab it! I mean it!

Thousand Star Serissa

A1. One Man Pilot
A2. From These Waters Of Epsom Wells
B1. From This World To That Which Is To Come: Delivered Under The Similitude Of A Dream

    This would be where I begin my closing statements, but, fortunately, I've one more surprise, that being some stellar unreleased/demo tracks, of which I'm overjoyed to have been shown! Assembled here are six songs of whose release statuses are, admittedly, up in the air, as by this point, deducing (let alone attempting to remember) what tape they were released on and/or if they were even released at all is, to keep it blunt, not happening... however, they are irrefragably official, that I know! You can thank Joey (vocals, guitar) for having these up, as well as for their websites continued availability! There's some positively wondrous stuff here, ranging from spectacularly moody instrumentals, to tracks that veer more on the side of what I'd deem "harrowing". It certainly is a lovely batch of songs, that's for sure, and I'm over the moon for more people to discover these, as there's absolutely no possible way I would've stumbled across these on my own!

Demos & Unreleased

1. Thunderstorms and Sometimes
2. Ten Dollars
3. Second Hand Rose
4. Louis A
5. Fractals and The Chaos Theory
6. Crosstown Traffic

    Alrighty, now we've arrived to the closing statements.

    I'd be remiss if I didn't say that this here post is about a year or so past its due date. It's been a tumultuous couple of months over on my end, with sporadic turmoil accompanied by the ever-so-predictable turbulence that life inflicts upon its passengers. Admittedly, I've been banging my head against a wall trying to psyche myself up to finally put together something for this band for a good long while (not in a bad way, just been doing some growing, y'know?), but, for some (very likely unjustifiable and arbitrary) reason, I still hadn't written the darn thing out yet. Thankfully, that worm has finally weaseled its way out of my brain, and I'm happy to report that it is no longer chewing away at me from the inside out... so, hooray, I suppose! Anyhoodles. For how verbose this post unquestionably was, I'm still uncertain as to whether or not I adequately expressed my feelings and connection to and for this trio. Suffice to say, I love em a good bit, and, judging by the forecast, there's a high probability that my ever torrential monsoon of adoration for them will not cease. At least, not until I'm dead, and that's how it'll be for many, many other bands... The Pine, I'm looking at you... I'd say be on alert for flash floods, and avoid driving for the time being. The storm will pass, and then you've got a good month or so before it inevitably starts pouring again!

Au revoir!

Eyes Of Autumn

 Do You Feel At Home? #14

Surprise (not a surprise)! After a little over a month, I've reemerged from the marshy depths of the "emo" mangrove with more reptile heads, as well as a modest handful of assorted discs as trophies, or, more aptly, spoils of war.... A war on my patience, of which is steadily growing thinner and thinner with each passing day... Now, my days as a war veteran and bizarre introductions aside, let's mosey on over to the fun part of this post, hey? Oh, and be warned, my hyperbole knows no bounds. (I was in quite the good mood whilst writing this!)

    Maybe I ought to assemble a small choir for this here band, just as I should've for their label-mates This Bright Apocalypse many a moon ago. Unfortunately, I don't possess that amount of manpower, however what I do indeed have on my side is the immense gall to believe I could possibly rival such an assembly of voices... which I totally can (not, I am but a singular woman)!

    Eyes Of Autumn was a three-piece emo/math-rock/post-rock band that hailed from the chronically dreary state of Washington, and more specifically, came from the town of Purdy (located right next to Gig Harbor), and operated as such until their dissolving sometime in the early 2000s. Punk, in it's various forms, is predominately reined by young adults, and Eyes Of Autumn (whom I will henceforth refer to as "EOA" for brevity) comfortably sit in that seat. However, in stark contrast to the plethora of other high-school bands, EOA carried in their school bags an immense amount of talent, and stored in their dusty lockers a wealth of songwriting wit, almost as if the souls of some seasoned musical veterans were strangely reincarnated as a gaggle of nerdy kids long after their time had passed.

    It's always a rare treat to stumble upon a band delicately nestled under the larger (and generally unapologetic) "emo" umbrella with a genuinely phenomenal vocalist, and rarer so one that both plays and is backed by musicians of equally unmistakable skill (of course, not to overshadow them). When in every facet of their oeuvre a band is able to positively dominate ones eardrums, both in tasteful aggression and calculated subtlety, it immediately becomes evident to me that, whatever band it may be, they're a group that is far, far greater than the sum of their parts. Such is the case with EOA, a trio of whom boast undeniable gifts of musicianship in this weird little genre with the most unfortunate of names. Now, allow me to bookend my theatrics; I could endlessly waffle on and on about EOA (as well as 54º40' Or Fight!'s roster) for practically ever, and I sincerely hope you believe me, because it's friggin' true. Being obsessed with things so niche only amplifies my incessant urge to gush over them, and by golly, this band is anything but an exception to that rule.

    These three possessed such impeccable talent at such young ages, and goodness me, what a spectacle it was and is! Inventiveness, creativity, and burgeoning genius are a few descriptors that come to mind, though they're rather pointless. Truth be told, I believe I've run out of superlatives, as there really isn't much word vomit I've left brewing in me to keep rambling, and I've only just started... and that's a good thing! I only occasionally am left utterly gobsmacked, and every time it happens, it comes as quite the pleasant surprise. It's easy to understand why this group was so revered in and around the Tacoma/Seattle area during their day, as talent such as theirs, young as it was, is certainly a sound to behold!

    You would think being in such an impressive band would take up most of ones time from school, however, these boys kept themselves rather busy outside of playing music. The drummer hosted a radio show at their high-school with a friend of his named Tyler (though, I've heard he (the drummer) was nigh impossible to keep track of), and the vocalist was, in fact, the high-school's president! I couldn't even begin to fathom how one could possibly balance so many things into any sort of schedule, but, granted, public school was never really my cup o' tea (though, I certainly wish it was at times!). All this to say, whatever qualifies as being "cool kids" in the aughts, it'd likely be these three. Actually, come to think of it, I've not even listed any of their names, not once! Apologies. Eyes Of Autumn consisted of Michael Duggan on guitar and vocals, Micah Tucker on bass n' backing vocals, and last, but certainly not least, we've Peter Mansen on drums n' piano.

    Operating at the bands artistic helm was Micah, responsible for a vast majority of the bands artwork, lyrics, stage design, and whatever else his imagination could get its hands on. While originally the band went under the name Third Man Circus (and was notably Christian), soon after discovering the 90s most life-affirming works did their scope start to extend far beyond what their adolescent eyes could meagerly make out. Micah himself was the soul whom came up with the moniker Eyes Of Autumn, of which was conjured after the band collectively delved head-first into (and, admittedly, had their minds blown by) what music truly had to offer. Bands such as Don Caballero, Sunny Day Real Estate, Radiohead, and future label-mates Dilute were the groups that helped lay the groundwork for what EOA would quickly shape up to be. The band soon found themselves venturing outside the bounds of traditional songwriting, attacking it with a keen sense for the abstract, pivoting from how they would previously assemble music amidst their days as a Youth Group. With hindsight at ones disposal, the bands development is crystal clear to see, and good golly if that development was nothing but meteoric! Really seems as though all these three needed was one tiny little push, and once they got it, their fire started creating like a machine.

    Now... what's all this musical genius I've been blabbering about? Well, there's not very much, unfortunately... but, at least there's some! These three's tenure was rather diminutive, only operating as a band for a handful of years (mostly during their high-school careers) until their eventual dissolving after around 5 or 6 years in existence (from roughly 1997 to 2004). The band would understandably call it quits once their musical interests began to lean in opposing directions, of which is a perfectly natural and relatively common way for a band to politely hang up their hats. Despite their respectful half-decade run, the band would initially start out playing a plethora of local and high-school shows, before finally deciding to commit some of their work to tape... or, disc, rather. With a few years of performing under their nerdy little belts (or suspenders, whichever floats your boat), the band soon released but two discs, of which make up the entirety of their discography.

    So, here ya' have it, EOA's elusive demo CDr, self-released in 2001, and goodness me, is it positively lovely! While this disc does indeed differ somewhat, albeit, marginally, from the material that would follow it shortly hereafter, it's still quite indicative of the bands future development. Their utilization of atmosphere presented on these three tracks is darn superb (if not simply due to how they were recorded), and lends credence to their unmistakable post-rock influences, which occasionally makes its way to the forefront. I've gots to say, this ol' thing is remarkably ambitious for simply being a first offering, and possesses some charming & enigmatic character that is an absolute delight to sink my fragile little teeth into. Granted, the former is pretty darn typical for these nerdy boys, as they seemingly always climbed the stairs two steps at a time... it's a miracle they never tripped over themselves, hey? Anyhoodles, I have quite the soft spot for this little disc, and I hope you find a similar spot in your heart for it as well!

EP

1. Milestone
2. Creating Waves Bigger Then Ourselves
3. Trains Crashing On Foggy Nights

    Another detail worth mentioning is that this is one of two variants that exist of this demo. The other one (pictures available on this CDr's respective Discogs page (embedded above)) contains the same first three tracks, with another eight that follow it. Those tracks are not the work of EOA, but are in fact the work of their local contemporaries, Stradhoughton Echo. It appears as though some of these discs were released as a sort of split release, however the Discogs page makes no mention of it (aside from the accompanying pictures). If you'd like to hear the Stradhoughton tracks, I've gone ahead and uploaded them to YouTube!

Thanks, Tyler!

    Gosh, y'know, I really wish, from my aorta to the pile of mush in my skull, that their discography was lengthier. I really, really friggin' do... but, alas, we've arrived at their final release, that being their sole full-length effort, "Hello", released in 2002 on 54º40' Or Fight!. When I stated earlier that I had run out of superlatives, of descriptors and hyperbolic decrees of aggrandizement, I sorta kinda only half-meant it. In honest, no matter the grandiosity of my praise, and no matter the theatrics of my unconditional flood of love and adoration, it'd all deal naught but sufficient justice to how extraordinary I believe this record (and band) truly darn is (I tend to use that phrase pretty often, I've noticed...). If you, for whatever reason, gave a look-see to this records corresponding page on RYM, you'd come across a succinct quip that reads, "These kids can play"... and gosh darnit that reviewer could not be more correct (despite their humorous NFIIC comparison)! There's very few releases from this decade that stand alongside "Hello" in my personal "aughts pantheon", though, I'm always on the search for more! I've scrupulously scoured the bowels of the interweb's disheveled and disorderly underbelly in search of this genres most recondite knowledge and unsung releases, and, while I've found a healthy assortment of criminally obscure discs that I thoroughly enjoy, very few (again, of the incredibly obscure) venture much farther beyond that point. Regardless, here's a couple that come to mind; "Happy Endings For Lowlives" by The Bitter Life Typecast, "Motion And Rest" by This Bright Apocalypse, and The Pine... just, as a whole... they are my number one favorite band, after all! (There's also a sizeable list of screamo releases that I'm excluding for brevity.) Wait, wait, wait... I'm getting sidetracked, aren't I? Let's get back to business.

    EOA's prodigious musical adroitness has reached the very summit of its developmental assent, and quite hastily, as you may have observed thus far. Naught but a year after the release of their initial demo EP, these three have assembled what one could only appraise as their tour de force, or, at least, my overly dramatic self certainly likes deem it as such! It's less so this trio's virtuosity that comprises this records stellar idiosyncrasies, but rather, the humble brilliance in their articulate repose. Touting instrumental chops so sharp that one risks scarring themselves, and singing/songwriting so exemplary you begin to wonder if you're even listening to a punk-adjacent record anymore... However, on occasion, it dishes out a routine slap to the face, and reminds you what you sat down in your lousy little chair for... that being you giving your ever so precious time to a cheap piece of plastic that demands your utmost attention. "Hello" is a consummate opus of the early 2000s emo scene, standing humbly and inconspicuously amongst an autumnal forest, allowing itself to be found, but never venturing into the plains for all to catch a glimpse, as is commonplace for many records released during the aughts. I sincerely hope ya fall for this thing as hard as I did, because it's quite the work of art for just a nerdy gaggle of high-schoolers! Below I've included scans of the CD package, however I've excluded a download, as it's readily accessible via streaming. Enjoy!

Hello

1. Fire Creates Like Machine
2. As A Child
3. Distance + Time
4. The Air Is Concrete And Hard To Breathe
5. If I Could See Myself Now
6. Cordially Yours
7. Warm Cheeks, Cold Hands
8. ...___...

    Well... that was... a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. Maybe I was being overly dramatic, I'm not sure, I couldn't tell ya. (I'm lying.) That was an absolute ball to write, and I hope it wasn't too tiring! I jovially ramble on a hair too much, but, in honest, I think I prefer it that way, as it really lets me spill my silly (and often confused) heart out! Besides, you can always just scroll down if you're not too keen to read through all this jargon, and don't worry, I wouldn't blame ya, not one bit! Oh, and for those of you whose interest I may have peaked with this band, you should check out these live shows from this Eyes Of Autumn related band, Oranday (they were active at the same time)!

    Anyhoodles. Before I end this off, I'd like to extend my loving gratitude to Tyler Brown and Peter Mansen. Y'all are the bee's knees, and I sincerely appreciate all the help you've lent me in putting this little post together! It really does mean the world!

Toodles!

Kid Dynamo

 Do You Feel At Home? #13

    I've spelled and chronicled many a tome in my day, particularly with regards to this blog, and I foresee this post here ending up being no different. Anyhoo, I'm happy to be back in the saddle after my stay at the hospital. Hope everyone is having a lovely February!

    "Well, for starters, they had a perfect name." Kid Dynamo was an emo/indie-rock band touting their inventive and occasionally explosive angst from sunny ol' Santa Rosa, California. Their tenure lasted a hair over half a decade, and, amidst the emo whirlwind that was the 90s, Kid Dynamo were naught but a group to be shelved and brushed off to the wayside. I'm poised to declare that this gaggle of whiny but imaginative kids teeter on the edge of "unsung heroes" status... and, even if they weren't notably innovative (depending on who ya' ask), they were incessantly creative, and sought to never stand in one place for any prolonged period. Now, quickly me, before I inevitably and unfortunately neglect to list them out, Kid Dynamo was comprised of: Brian Buchholz on bass (and backing vox), Kevin Buchholz on drums (brothers!), Jeremy Campbell on guitar, and last but most definitely not least is Matt Carrillo, on guitar and lead vocals respectively. Rest his soul.

    It's hard to spell out the importance of a band such as Kid Dynamo, both to their respective scene, as well as the lives they've touched, and for how much I love my hyperbole and over-sentimentality, I'm skeptical as to whether or not it'd serve sufficient justice for a band of this stature. What I will spell out for 'ya throughout this post, however, is how close to my heart they're held. That's about half the crux of what this blog aims to achieve, that being it serving as a vessel for me to spout my affection for such underappreciated music and the groups that created it alike. Though, I think I've reiterated that more than enough at this point!

    Via their steady development and burgeoning creative genius as musicians, the band seamlessly and superlatively blended a cacophony of influences ranging from emo's gentler indie-rock janglings, to the ire-riddled screams and poignant abrasiveness of its hardcore ancestry, of which they did both to a T. That notion extended to the projects following the dissolving of Kid Dynamo as well, with the most notable among them being Edaline, of which was one of the most stellar emo/indie-rock acts of the late 90s. Period. My love and adoration for Edaline extends to Kid Dynamo as well, and just thinking about either of these bands gets me a little emotional! Eschewing the fluff of genre labeling and middling descriptors, however; at the very center of it all, was, succinctly, passion... something these four were positively teeming with. It's passion like theirs that touches the soul, and facilely plucks at ones heartstrings, as they do mine, and is precisely the reason I'm making this blog post, besides archiving their material, which is equally as important.

    Recently I shared some incredibly heartfelt and sentimental long-winded messages with a fellow who goes by Brantly with regards to this band. I reached out initially in order to see if he could offer any transfers of Kid Dynamo's music, however, he hadn't the means to. I offered to help in any way I could, and spiraling from that was tome after tome of reminiscence, and of the impact art and this bands music has had on both of our lives respectively. Amidst these passages of passion and adoration, Brant offered to send over their 2xCDr discography release for me to archive and share with y'all, and truthfully, that has got to be one of the greatest gestures of kindness and graciousness I've ever been the recipient of.

    He said to me, "After reading through your blog, which is written from the heart, written with a genuineness and a visceral passion, you, are part of that exact same community. A community of people who love art, who love tying together the threads of an entropically unspun web to recreate the music and memories for an entire new generation of people."

    I've to say, this stands as one of the most validating and kind string of words directed towards me that I ever did read. It's hard to put into text how important dialogue like this is to me, but, it really does mean the world and back. I've interacted with plenty of old-heads from the scene in my time writing this blog and collecting as well as enjoying this music, and it's interactions such as these that serve as the prime example of why I love this music and this hobby so, so very much.

    Anyhoodles, let's get onto that music I keep yapping about, shall we? I know both me and Brant are excited for it to finally make its way out there.

    In 2009, Pandacide Records made a very limited D.I.Y. run of CDr's containing Kid Dynamo's discography, of which was released around the time they reunited for their last show. It's a quaint little package, housed in a jewel case with no tray insert, just a double-sided card insert cover, a tri-fold insert right behind it containing the tracklist and liner notes written by Gabe Meline, a friend of Brant's, and sticker labels on the discs. Separated into "Hi-Fi" and "Lo-Fi", this disc chronicles the bands recorded works, as well as a plethora of live recordings and rare material not readily accessible outside of these discs. It truly is some wonderful stuff; blending, as I said, a cacophony of influences ranging from the playful highs of the indie-rock landscape, to the roaring roughness of the hardcore mosh pits, and it is handily some of the most emotionally charged fun I've had listening to music in a good long while. Matt Carrillo and his friends truly were extraordinary, both as people, and as musicians, and together, no matter what project they were a part of, created some of this genres most stellar and beautifully cathartic releases on this side of love. That description of their sonic palette from a few paragraphs ago should give you a rough idea of what you'd be getting yourself into, though if you're familiar with other acts from the Santa Rosa scene, and/or are already familiar with Kid Dynamo themselves, then I'm sure you're gonna love what's in store for you here. I sincerely hope you enjoy these tunes, as have I and Brant! Much love, everyone, and thanks for reading!

Sealed Letter In Portable Plastic

Disc One "Hi-Fi":

1. 01-Reighn For Rent
2. 6 Speed Kerosene
3. Jeffy Spacey
4. Model 6
5. Carpetmower
6. Kryptonite
7. Bubbledumb
8. California Rocks
9. Shade Of Winter
10. Ceramic Trim
11. Petrified
12. Genius Switch
13. Widow's Letter

Disc Two "Lo-Fi":

1. I'm A Star (Live)
2. Loomis Blue (Acoustic)
3. Rio Grande
4. Better Off
5. When I Was A Bomb
6. 3/4
7. Petro-fried (Acoustic)
8. Appending
9. Reflective Skin
10. Boo Radley
11. No Clue
12. This Is What I Show
13. Watercolors
14. Untitled
15. Model 6 (Live)
16. Sputnick
17. Loomis Blue (Live)
18. Eureka
19. So Insecure
20. I'm A Star
21. Bury Me

Thank you so, so very much, from the very bottom of my heart, to Brant Foehl (Brantly). Your letter was lovely, and this all means the world and back to me! I dedicate this post to you, and to the memory of Matthew Carrillo, who means so, so much to the both of us. Rest in peace.