While New York’s Lily Konigsberg (of Palberta) and Matt Norman, a.k.a. Horn Horse, have often operated in different respective sonic modes, Lily’s synth tracks and streamlined vocals and Horn Horse's more fragmented jazz in conjunction generate a shared language. Their new duo Lily and Horn Horse presents a pop-oriented, danceable mesh of synths and vocals from both parties, with rousing baritone horn outbursts. For their tour together last August, they compiled a 28-track album of solo and collaborative tracks which comprise the forthcoming tape release Lily On Horn Horse. In the songs shared below, they showcase their range: Horn Horse opens "Year Book" with a minute-long improvisation filled with pounding drums and horns and keys, then glides into “PVC Pipes,” which features sparse waves of horns and frenetic pipe sounds under haunting vocals from both Lily and Horn Horse. Both parties' words contain a strain of dissociative longing—for a life outside whatever’s inscribed, for a dream world. The closing song "I Only Lose Because I'm Lame" is Lily's long sigh for that world, a stark contrast to the held breath of the previous tracks, just the piano and her voice in the high register calling out, “I can be there, in a dream / I can see it, but it’s nothing / I can see it.” It's an ode to pathetic feeling—and even when she puts on the almost tongue-in-cheek "Oh ... so sad..." there's something deeply resonant in the surrender.
Jay Som, the project of multi-instrumentalist and songwriter Melina Duterte, has released the third single from her forthcoming debut record. Previous singles from the album, Everybody Works, have encompassed a variety of styles, demonstrating the depth of understanding Duterte has for music and song craft. “The Bus Song” is a slow burner ballad that drew inspiration from the guitar-oriented pop of the early ‘00s, while “1 Billion Dogs" is a power pop by way of shoegaze gem. “Baybee,” the latest track we’ve heard from the record, is a perfectly constructed pop song, using an off kilter, new wave-influenced backing track as the basis for a hook so strong it could be on a Cardigan’s record. The accompanying video, directed by Charlotte Hornsby and Jesse Ruuttila, finds Jay Som and company dancing in a skiing resort. The main shot fixates on the group riding the lift up to the top of the slope, seemingly without the pay off of skiing back down. It provides a satisfying parallel to the song itself—beneath the song’s slick, bright melodies is a reflection on a commitment to care for someone in a way that is detrimental to one’s self. There’s no pay off to the work beyond the sense that one is still moving.
A Cameroon native with a past working as a full-time software engineer, singer-songer Lætitia Tamko, aka Vagabon, has spent the past few years developing her songs through live performance, experimenting with solo and full-band versions of her sets, which are invariably intense. February 24 marks the release of the Brooklyn-based artist’s first full-length, Infinite Worlds, on Father/ Daughter Records, and Vagabon is set to tour in March alongside Allison Crutchfield. On Infinite Worlds, Tamko blends the frank lyrical stylings and swelling guitar rock that marked her 2014 debut EP, Persian Garden, with lush electronic flourishes. In late January, she spoke to us over the phone about her music’s evolution, and offered some thoughts on how DIY and the “real world” aren’t always so different after all—at least when it comes to questions of inclusivity.
AdHoc: The title of your record comes from a book of poems by Dana Ward called The Crisis of Infinite Worlds. What did you like about that collection?
Lætitia Tamko: It was a really challenging read for me. His writing style is so particular. There are a lot of run-on sentences; I had to really comb over his poems to grasp even an idea of what he meant.
I detect a similar affinity for strange repetitions and movements in your lyrics.
It’s funny—these songs were written before I read the book, but I was reading it as I was recording. It’s one of those things that sticks with you, though.
On her third album as Pharmakon, Brooklyn artist Margaret Chardiet explores the relationships between humans and their bodies and the bodies of others, and how our self-conceptions mediate these relationships. On “No Natural Order,” the second single from Contact, Chardiet takes aim at a pervasive assumption underlying our understanding of the self—that we are ordained, either by nature or by divinity, to be stewards of the world around us. The track is built around a throbbing synth pattern and a slamming drum hit which demarcates every other bar; a seemingly logical pattern that that is progressively undermined by clattering sounds and shivering electronic buzzes. Chardiet’s vocals, delivered with all the contempt merited by the violence endemic to a belief that the mastery over our world is our birthright, affirm that humanity is not, in fact exceptional. We are merely, she argues, “animals, lost in a confused dream / where Mankind is real, / and at the center of everything.”
I never went to my high school prom. My boyfriend at the time and I thought we were too alternative to take part in such an antiquated ritual, so instead, we took a train 40 minutes to see Portugal the Man perform in a packed warehouse. It was my first time having a partner I could feasibly invite to something like that, but going to prom never crossed my mind. Prom was for normies, after all. I didn’t think I was missing out on much.
As an adult, I’m still not big on traditional heteronormative practices, but I am a fan of coopting uncomfortable relics of the past and creating something new and exciting. Obviously, when it comes cultural appropriation, there is a line. I’m talking about the inverting-McDonald's-logos-for-band-merch type of appropriation, not the insensitive cultural kind. Fucking up prom made sense to me.
The first Indie Pop Prom I put on, in 2013, was probably the most successful: a bill full of friends at the now-defunct 285 Kent. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart headlined, with Swearin’, Waxahatchee, Potty Mouth, and Weed Hounds supporting. The New York Times covered it, and I’m proud of the headline to this day: “Independent Women Celebrate Genres That Never Went Away.” People actually dressed up—and many said it was much more fun than their actual prom.
Boston slop-rock tricksters Vundabar are sharing a new song, “Shuffle”, with all proceeds from digital sales going to Planned Parenthood. The track hones in on the band’s sonic signatures; reverbed guitars and dry, fuzzed out drums hack out an exaggerated waltz while the band sings an elegantly constructed, hook-filled melody in a swooning falsetto. The band turns the song’s structure inside out multiple time across its three minute length, agitating for new ways to express the song’s central lyric: “I just want to hear my own voice.” One moment it’s a whisper, the next a scream.
Romance and masculinity have been enduring fascinations for Philadelphia-based punk band Pissed Jeans, from their 2007 Sub Pop debut Hope for Men to the upcoming Why Love Now, out February 24. In advance of the band’s record release show at Brooklyn Bazaar that same night, we asked frontman Matt Korvette what contemporary straight men are getting wrong about relationships and other social behavior.
AdHoc: Several of Pissed Jeans’ records explore the ins and outs of modern masculinity. What draws you to this topic?
Matt Korvette: I’ve always been fascinated by myself, my motivations, and being a man. It’s probably a bit narcissistic, even if I’m being self-critical, but my lyrics for the band have pretty much always been based on things in my life that I’m actively pondering, curious about, angry about, or sad about. And my identity and how I fit into the world has always been a part of that. I also enjoy taking shots at guys and the generic vision of masculinity, since it’s a ripe target for criticism and I don’t think it gets nearly enough grief—especially from people who fit within it.
AdHoc Issue 18 is here! Download a PDF of the zine at this link, and look out for physical copies both at our shows and at record stores, bookstores, coffee shops, and community centers throughout the city. (Those of you outside New York City can order a copy as well.)
In this issue, we turn our attention to love and human connection. Maria Sherman talks about Indie Pop Prom, an annual concert she organizes around her birthday (and Valentine’s Day), and how she flipped the heteronormative high school tradition into a celebration of female artists. Matt Korvette—whose band, Pissed Jeans, is set to release a new LP called Why Love Now—muses about toxic masculinity, and how it’s time modern men learned to stop being assholes. Finally, Brooklyn-based singer-songwriter Vagabon, aka Lætitia Tamko, considers her agency to effect political change as both an artist and a citizen, within not only the musical underground but also the “real world”—two spheres that aren’t as different as they may seem. Their stories remind us that our communities are built on person-to-person interaction, and that engaging with and caring for those around us is a crucial step toward building the world we want to see.
* * *
AdHoc Issue 18's contributors:
Maria Sherman is a culture writer and recent New York City transplant living in Philadelphia. For this issue, she wrote an essay about Indie Pop Prom.
Samuel Nigrosh is a Chicago- based illustrator who publishes books and comix under the name Trash City. He drew the illustrations in this issue.
Salina Ladha is a ceramicist, painter, and illustrator based out of Montreal, Canada. She made the art that appears on the cover of this issue.
Florida emo foursome You Blew It! have released a new video for the song “Arrowhead,” a highlight from their newest record Abendrot. “Arrowhead” is a slow burner of a song, patiently unfolding the song’s central, coiled up riff throughout the it’s three minute build up. Josh Coll, member of labelmates Foxing, was called upon to direct the video. Structured like a short film, the video seizes on the song’s gradual development and the chorus’s central protest that “there’s got to be something wrong with me,” featuring a narrative of a young girl with flower buds on her head that haven’t yet bloomed and is rejected by her dandelion’d peers. The video, shot in Philadelphia, takes cues from ‘90s indie film makers, featuring a bright, Wes Andersonian color palate against the contrast of a muted, wintry city.
Pile embody the restless, hardworking DIY ethic about as well as anyone can these days. Their constant touring and bloodletting live performance are the stuff of other band’s mythologies—remember when Krill (RIP) made a “failed concept album” about some kids who realize they are part of a Pile song? With their tenth year of existence and the prospect of making a fifth album looming on the horizon, frontman and founder Rick Maguire decamped from Boston—a city as wrapped up in Pile’s mythos as DC was for Fugazi—to a cabin in Ellijay, Georgia, where he wrote and toured solo across the South. It’s a hermetic gesture that’s actually consistent with the particular adjective whose shape seems to fit the intensity and drama that’s so particular to Pile’s music and ethos: ascetic. That their forthcoming record is called A Hairshirt of Purpose just confirms this suspicion. A hairshirt is a garment of animal hair intended to be uncomfortable, worn as a form a penance.
“Dogs,” the second single from the new record, embodies that self-isolating impulse. It’s a remarkably quiet, restrained work. The slamming crescendos of distorted guitars the band has long since perfected show up as red herrings, a brief contrast from the gently arpeggiated, mellotron washed verses. The dynamic build of the song revolves instead around the violins and violas—a relatively novel addition to the band’s repertoire—which swirl into the track’s second half. It’s a stunning song for band that’s made a career goal of writing and performing the most arresting music possible.