“Someone New”

Welcome back and welcome home to all music Lovers in the greater Wilmington area. As the heat of summer fights fall’s refreshingly welcome advances, we find ourselves back in our beloved arena of communal discovery to illuminate another set of our community’s finest creatives. Today, we present for your viewing pleasure Lady Die and their debut single from March of this year, “Someone New.”

Review and Exposition

The building of empires is constructed upon the desire for a grand permanence. Kings, tyrants, rulers, and the many differing organizations of humankind build marbled statues and raise ivory towers to the heavens with the belief that theirs will be the first empire to undue History’s legend, to trample on Time’s perfect record. Now, I’ve never raised an obelisk in my name or the name of a lover, but I have spoken to the impossibility of forever, and I’ve seen my empires fall into Time’s abyss the same as all the rest. One of life’s inescapably cruel lessons is seeing love come tumbling to its demise, to willingly raise yourself from the rubble, however naively, and continue building our empires of love. “There is no clear way to enter / The heavy machinery of the heart / Just jagged cutthroat questions / Just the glitter and blood production,” Mindy Nettifee beautifully illustrates the conflicting nature of entering Love’s kingdom in this excerpt from her poem This is the Nonsense of Love, identifying it as a place of necessity in all of our lives but also a place of damning impermanence. Lady Die’s debut single, “Someone New” is a fantastical exploration into the aftermath of heartbreak, traversing the distance between the crippling chill of isolation and the return to a warm, hopeful embrace with some assured future with love, be it for another or of self, embedded within an expansive six-minutes.   

“25 weeks of winter, skipping dinner,” is an awfully poetic summary of the depths experienced, of how truly ugly this all can be. The first act of the song builds a somber space rooted under the bitter weight of despair felt in response to the loss of something once held dear. “I wanna be silvery, and beautiful to you / With sapphire in my voice.” Longing, as another prevailing reaction in Grief’s wake, has a certain drowning gravitational pull that is explored in, “Someone New.” Our immediate natural responses laid bare as otherwise helpless attempts at coping. The song may not explicitly offer an explanation of what specific presence of love that was lost, yet the sense of craving for a return, to normalcy and to the comfort of what is known, resonates. “Held your hair back in a braid, silly women, we’re all the same / spill the redness of our hearts, I go too far,” in what may be my favorite moment, the song undergoes it’s point of departure as Julia Rothernberger’s voice distorts to a higher plane with the last words of the line. The worried, bleeding hurt that embodied Julia’s tone, the minor piano strokes, truly the entirety of the first act, are now supplemented with expressly amplified, synth-heavy, electronic movements that seem to tangibly empower Julia’s vocal direction towards relief. This marks a shift to an emancipated understanding of where they can direct themselves towards healing. To a space of new opportunity, to both be with, and become someone new.  

The attention paid to production value adds additional layers of radiance that deserve its fair due as well. The sweeping, complex sound design organically melds in beautiful harmony with Rothenberger’s emotionally charged lyricism and vocal apparatus to form a glimmering web that suspends the listener within its ethereal, mosaic grasp. “Someone New” is a story that begins with an ending. Formed on parallel planes of storytelling in both sound and conversation, it travels alongside the road to rediscovery and is a beautifully vulnerable reflection into how we deliver ourselves from, “I want to be with someone just like you” to the decisive realization of  “Wanted to be with someone just like you / But there’s someone better for me than you / I’m gonna be with someone new.”

What’s Next

Lady Die is composed of Samuel McNeilly on drums, Logan Strahley on guitar and supporting vocals, Tanner James Lackey on bass and supporting vocals, and lead by Julia Rothernberger. They are just beginning their blossoming tenure as a full band and are playing an ever-growing number of shows around town. As they work on recording and preparing the release of their first full length project, the release of “Someone New, demands, by virtue of its brilliance, our attention into whatever may come next.  Follow their future steps by keeping in tune with them on Instagram @__ladydie__  

Ben “Danger” Matthews | PCE

Chief Word Person

“On A Stick”

Welcome back and welcome home to all music Lovers in the greater Wilmington area, happily returning for the first time in September for another installment of the somewhat continuous, ever-infrequently recurring, but persisting nonetheless, Song of the Week (we’re trying our best out here). Absolutely no cool dudes are allowed for this reading as this week we joyously present Exercise and their debut full-length album, Shrug.

Review and Exposition

Writing these reviews, which include a combination of detailed engagement with the songs combined with some background digging into the bands and artists spotlighted, fosters connections I would have found impossibly unforeseen with just a general pass through of the artists’ work. Such is the profound reasoning as to why we deeply believe in music sharing/listening as an essential practice into communal discovery: one may find they not only enjoy the face value creation of an individual or group but also share similar, sometimes niche interests.

I’m no seaworthy wickie and I can’t recall the last time I found myself pacing a treadmill, yet “On a Stick,” is one of the most relatable listens I’ve had amongst any song in recent memory. Robert Egger’s 2019 film The Lighthouse is a wild maelstrom of unpredictability, just as it is a deeply approachable tale of isolation’s descent into insanity. A colorless story of two lighthouse keepers (wickies) unfolds as they attempt to maintain the physical structure of a lighthouse against the inevitable force of nature and struggle for the upkeep of their own mental fortitude, isolated from any human contact save with each other, while preparing for a violent storm bearing down from the sea, prepared to test their wit’s end.

“Bad luck to kill a seabird,” is an age-old sailor’s superstition and the initiation of the unraveling of both characters’ fates in The Lighthouse. Robert Pattinson’s Ephraim Winslow murders a one-eyed seagull he believes to be mocking him, drastically shifting the winds meant to lead his homeward bound boat to his rescue, instead ushering in the aforementioned violent storm that spells their untimely ruin. Exercise’s Matt Wilkins recounts this line of superstition with an emphasis on repetition and dispels the film’s particular brand of chaos into the song. The parallels of a monotonous, procedural tale emerge in both mediums of work, as if Exercise is establishing a screenplay of their own. Each day, regardless of the conditions that meet us, begins with our awakening. “I get up, brush my legs off and bite my nails on down to the nub/ I’m running in place on a treadmill that is just speeding up,” the realities of life see to it that waking up doesn’t always begin with a fine line of sun illuminating a day we look to with tranquil reassurance. On this treadmill of life, we learn to adjust to its beginning, gradual motion underfoot, but inevitably, storms are sure to find their way to each of our shores as the speed of the machine increases. Anxiety and worry arise naturally as we alone find ourselves ill-fitted to keep up with the persistent humming below that would send us tumbling off the edge into wreckage.

As fun as it is to lyrically derive meaning from a song utilizing references from The Lighthouse, what really lends the lasting impact of the song is the total cohesiveness of arrangement Exercise constructs through just the three members. Remove the lyrics entirely from the song and what remains holds the same emotional weight, and allows for a similar story to be dissected from the bridges of tightly-knit, scaling verses into the pandemonium of the reciprocated chorus. The fusing of the divide between the lyrical impetus and instrumental accompaniment displays the intention and ability of Exercise to deliver brilliance. The drums and bass, supplied by Daniel Jones and Matt Underwood respectively, steadily tick to the tune of the minute hand and establish the pace of Exercise’s treadmill of anxiety. Deliberately placed guitar riffs ring within a side view of the listener’s attention and echo warnings similar to a foghorn ,adding a layered complexity to the strangely unique sound. Exercise ultimately and genuinely cultivates one of the most striking sounds within the Wilmington music scene by exploring the directions we are driven to in our relationships with our own sanities, dispelled over a track that seemingly falls apart while remaining intensely connected.

What’s Next

Exercise has spent a little more than 6 years as a band, this first full-length release serving as a long awaited deliverance of the band’s tireless work and dedication. They have spent the time since the release of the album ramping up their bookings and satisfying the desire of those wanting to experience their musical exports in person. Follow along on their Instagram @exercise_bands for future show dates and potential releases.

Ben “Danger” Matthews | PCE

Chief Word Person

“Back Down (demo)”

Welcome back and welcome home to all music Lovers in the greater Wilmington area. For this week’s Song of the Week I may have to ask more of you than I have before, and I know that’s saying something considering that these don’t seem to be getting any shorter, but there’s some salvation at the end of the road here. I’d like to make a bit of an ode to the particular joy of discovery found in the live music sphere. To have that ode answer the purpose of giving space to express my appreciation for another local favorite. Without any further delay we present Back Down (demo) by La Veta Pass.

Review and Exposition

We believe and have often referred to music discovery as a communal endeavor here. Though we geographically define our locality as the dimensions fixed between two great masses of water, we can appreciate the relative ease of immersing ourselves in the music streaming world relatively free from physical borders (if we aren’t counting a monthly fee or access to the internet as explicit borders, but therein lies a debate for another time). We can engage with our capacities to expand horizons by rummaging endless catalogs and browsing the forever libraries contained within these musical archives, available almost effortlessly to us. Still, there always remains a singular cathartic deliverance found precisely in the presence of a transformative live performance. “Back Down” is a demo posted on La Veta Pass’ website that allows the opportunity for a sampling of their immense sound as we await any future releases or contributions. Dualistically, it serves as an invitation to come join the hike.

“Hold on to your hat/ When you cross La Veta Pass/ The wind blows strong in Colorado.” If we are to speak about musical experiments in this port city, we must go on in hushed tones and stupendous roars that both echo our reverence for the exports of La Veta Pass. On any given stage, they can take the appearance of all the routine parts of a traditional three or four piece band. I often find the true nature of La Veta Pass as an expansive demonstration of the shared power of the collective that opens itself to all possibilities. Danny Crapanzano, Olivia Gillaspie, Josh Wilkinson and Aaron Keener form the nucleus of the band and at times they are backed by a small, yet commanding choir. Each member shares a playful fascination to learn different instruments and impart their individual artistic summations into the whole, cultivating a rare fluidity giving rise to memorably unpredictable live performances. “Who else is wandering? Who else is lost? If I found them out here, can I carry their stuff?” Danny Crapanzano is lovingly referred to as a cult leader, a sentiment intimately displayed as he leads us through this number. Danny could sell sleep to the dead, bread to a field of wheat, water to a well and would lend the last ounce of his strength to carry both you and your baggage up any tiresome mountain pass. His compassion for both his work and the lives of others leak into all aspects of the music as it meets in beautiful harmony with the force of his surrounding members. “Back Down” does not overtly feature the totality of awe that arises when Danny’s distinctly kinetic, ponderous impression intertwines with Olivia Gillaspie’s luminously transcendent voice in a spirited duet. But, as Danny lyrically contemplates earthly direction and the purpose found in exploration over the track, Olivia’s voice subtly creates an emotional resonance with the choir’s movement as it ascends the underlying current. The timing and tone of the song are crafted by these symphonic injections as an almost call and response act giving way to the choir before returning to the band’s own resounding movements. “Why did I bring all my supplies/ I had no plans to stay overnight/ Just look at the sky/ It’s opening up now,” the air behind Danny’s singing in this line is rich with a hopeful relief emerging as he gazes into the vast infinities that reflect back our impermanence.

Olivia Gillaspie would say that all songs are love songs, despite whatever the overbearing emotional impetus of the song may be. The experience of a La Veta Pass show is probably the closest I have come to church in living memory and have spoken to a more genuine love than some of the churches of a distant youth. Regardless, the ability they possess to occupy a space and orchestrate their reach astounds me. When an artist approaches their work from places deeply embedded within themselves, the product is bound by the same fibers as its maker, for La Veta Pass this means they’re going to take the lot of us for a hike up their trail of wonder, guided by their shared love ethic.

What’s Next

The advance of streaming services like Spotify and Apple have made access to discovering new music a mass convenience and no doubt serve an important role in the connection and persisting inscription of local music scenes. You’ll have to follow alongside their progress on instagram @lavetapassband or share some kind words with them at a show for updates on future happenings and opportunities to take part in this truly beloved, uplifting experience. I look forward to getting Back Down on the path for all future hikes with La Veta, the enchanting parts of its whole, and the rest of you I hope to see along the way.

Ben “Danger” Matthews | PCE

Chief Word Person

“Everybody Loves Me”

Welcome back and welcome home to all music Lovers in the greater Wilmington area. I wish all the best as we search for some respite from this overly cruel, dead heat of summer. As we pursue salvation under any welcome cover of shade provided by the likes of clouds above, the trees and foliage around, and in the copious consumption of water, I hope we can continue our discovery of the communal sound forming around us and the individuals imparting their souls on that sound. This week we are led to the formless fringes of Wilmington’s music scene as we are overjoyed to present for the Song of the Week, The Proper Heathens and their new(ish) release, “Everybody Loves Me.”

Review and Exposition

What good is melody? What good is music? If it ain’t possessin’ somethin’ sweet? In 1961, Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington met for their first and only time in the studio for the recording of an album comprised of 17 Ellington originals accompanied by Louis’ all-stars. On “It Don’t Mean a Thing (If it ain’t got that swing),” Armstrong begins the tune by interrogating the foundations of music to help pilot the listener towards an understanding of what makes a tune complete. Louis is probing at what lies beneath the surface melody, what is to be unveiled at the core that makes a song not necessarily commercially successful, but what gives it feeling—what makes it move and leads us to move along with it. The swing that Armstrong references was described by Ellington as simply, “Harlem for rhythm,” but this description extends to the heart of what can make a song, album, and even artist immortal. Now, The Proper Heathens don’t seem the type to find themselves juking about the jazz halls of Harlem, but what I believe Louis was getting at is universal and defies all constructed borders and strict classifications. The Proper Heathens boundaryless compositions are rooted in the swing of several influences compounding themselves into an imaginative sound, purely creative and limited only by the direction they wish to explore.

“Everybody Loves Me,” is not a new song by chance but essentially the release of a recording from around six years ago. It serves well to exemplify how long the Heathens have been active in the pre and post-pandemic Wilmington music scene and how well the music holds up regardless of the recurring changes and reformations that take place in the contextual world of music. It takes little time for the Heathens to find their stride in this brief minute and 48-second song. “Well everybody loves me when I’m drunk,” Billy Heathen spontaneously erupts with their thunderous voice empowering itself as the perfect boot to kick open the proverbial door that initiates the swing of the song. The cyclical stop and start of the beat draws on punk stylizations where the between space is filled with the full might of Billy’s voice. The musing of the instrumentation waltzes between the vibrations of punk and country and displays how close the distance between the two can be. The guitar line struts along at the pace of a galloping horse as snares click in tune with the gradually increasing tempo, giving way to a myriad of clashing cymbals and walls of distortion that blend the sound into one chaotic maelstrom as the song concludes. “Dance and sing and lose track of time/…Loss track of my mind,” the marrying of a Southern twang endowed in the low end throughout the verses and the explosive impulse creates a sonic calamity, natural in the punk realm, bolstering the dynamism and uniqueness of the track and really allowing the song to tick. You’re like to find your foot bouncing off the floor and head pulsating, equally as buoyant, with every strum of the downbeat and kick of the drum.

The emotional eye of the song, lyrically derived, reinforces the idea of a seamless divide between the confines of genres that would typically be thought of as worlds apart and the creative freedom for artists implicit there. The origins of both punk and Americana-country find themselves deep-rooted in rebellious response to systems that put restraints on liberated ways of living. The Heathens explore the sometimes ruinous burden that exists in the role of a performer, giving yourself up to the whim of a crowd who is there for you only as long as the song lasts. “Girls dance and sing, wanna take me home/In the morning pack up and go/ They leave me alone… Where do they go?” The weight of momentary obligations, symbolized with the bite the bullet line, otherwise signifies a sacrifice of self in service of others, building up the emotional release known well by their live performances around town and profoundly felt in “Everybody Loves Me.”

What’s Next

A heathen, by definition, follows no widely held dogmatisms and opens themselves to a multitudinous, fluid understanding of life. Even if we find ourselves to live a complete mess of a life, as stated in the song, there is still some room for comfort in knowing that our confines are bound only to the limits of our working imaginations. As we practice the limits of our patience and await news of the next line of shows by the Proper Heathens, I invite everyone to familiarize themselves with their music; the live performances are sure to make you dance and sing long after the song and show have ended.

Ben “Danger” Matthews | PCE

Chief Word Person

“(forgetting) sarah marshall”

Welcome back and welcome home to all music Lovers in the greater Wilmington area. We find ourselves gathered here, back again on yet another Monday, in the familiar and fond embrace of our arena of communal discovery, an arena built in the longing for an in-tune connection with the music made around us. This week we are beyond thrilled to introduce Doggy Daycare and their new single, “(forgetting) sarah marshall,” for our Song of the Week.

Review and Exposition

For those who may not know, this isn’t the first time that this song has seen the light of day, only the first time in its renewed vision. “(forgetting) sarah marshall,” was released earlier this same year, by an artist under the same name currently in use. “sarah marshall,” was released on a solo project by Adam Bastug, a love letter to his friends he appropriately named, I Love My Friends, under the alias Doggy Daycare. The project ostensibly arose out of some desire by Adam, possibly more fitting to describe it as an intrinsic need, to declare an appreciation and acknowledge an acceptance. He gives thanks to those who have sustained him and seen him into the present light, and to acknowledge a readiness to see himself emerge to a higher place, welcome to the embrace of the more pleasant offerings of this world. This understanding that Bastug reached within himself allowed him to proclaim on I Love My Friends, “I’m so afraid, to let things begin/ Love is so pretty, I wanna let some in.”

I think my favorite outcome of the re-releasing of “(forgetting) sarah marshall,” is best exemplified in the retelling of the line, “January makes me numb.” It’s almost as if the addition of his friends into this intimate space, sought out for his own personal exploration, empowers Adam to recreate the meaning and shift the weight behind his own words. “sarah marshall,” is crafted around a sound that exudes from a place of crippling isolation. The burdensome load that brought Bastug to the creation of the record is felt penetratingly in the line as his pitch rises as quickly as it falls, giving way to a feeling of utter exasperation as he finds himself dealing with another lonesome January. Not that the weight previously shared is gone or suddenly lifted with the re-recording, but when you hear Adam screaming at another numbing January, it feels channeled through a lens that has been shaped by the wrestling with that weight and by that act enables it to be reborn. Therein lies the gift of a retelling as it marks a place where we are compelled to return to our creation renewed in some way. For Adam the gift comes with the emergence of Doggy Daycare, reenvisioned with the inclusion of three close friends: Ethan Jenkins on bass, Connor Simpson on drums, and a twin flame standing close by on guitar and vocals, Josh Sullivan, that legitimizes and broadens what was dispatched on the solo record.

“(forgetting) sarah marshall,” as it exists in its new form, is an act in the service of healing. The re-release presents an actualization of the desire to begin anew as it meets with the willingness to let love in. The melancholic distortions and looping instrumentation of the old track are amplified and rejuvenated as they are reimagined by the now unified whole of Doggy Daycare. The dynamic departures between tracks are made further noticeable in lines such as, “I don’t feel you anymore,” and ultimately in the delivery of, “I’ve never been enough.” Anyone who was fortunate enough to make it out to the Place’s last show understands the power that now is at hand when these four take to the stage as one. Doggy Daycare delivered a passionate performance that encompassed the rage found in a room that was shaped by the loss of something communally loved. I believe that somewhere in that bridge between the rampant individuality we fall into, and the shared realizations we can find in common, is the new sound of Doggy Daycare. Perhaps best expressed as the coming together of our communal power that conveys the same heart wrenching sentiments that were found by one alone, but with the reorganization comes a new capacity for its deliverance to the world at large.

What’s Next

Usually I like to follow the review of the song with what is next in store for an artist, be it upcoming dates and locations of where to find them perform or potentially any new releases that we should be aware of. Though there may be rumors of a complete re-recording of I Love My Friends, (and I believe we all would love to see that come to fruition), I believe we shouldn’t put pressure on an artist to be guided by any external force but by their innate sense of where to venture. So in conclusion I would like to offer a bit of a love letter to Adam and to the rest of Doggy Daycare, sincerely from just a fan.

Adam, for whatever it is worth, you are one of my favorite musicians here
I see myself reflected in the music you offer
and find a welcoming comfort that I’m sure others share with you as well
In my time I try not to detach the distance between sorrow and joy, because they work in tandem as most things seem to
I continually try to find appreciation for the peaks, and understanding in the valleys they carve into our perceptions of the world around us
And it is hard. Almost always, I find myself overwhelmed and far too often Ill-equipped to handle the divide alone
I too, find myself not enough.
But I hold a belief that we can resolve our contradictions, both mine and ours, through communal struggle
Seeing our material conditions cared for in line with our more spiritual needs
Helping us to actualize the potential of both ourselves and our communities
And I think you really did something of that nature here
Maybe there is a comfort to be found in learning that we have nothing to be enough for,
and I understand if that comfort is only built out of a viscous wrestling with ourselves.
What if we all made a pact to learn how we can each let love in?

Ben “Danger” Matthews | PCE

Chief Word Person

“The Sun on My Skin”

Welcome back and welcome home to my fellow music Lovers of the greater Wilmington area. A Song of the Week brought to you a touch late because, as we all know, cars are unreliable, repairs are never cheap or quick, and reliable public transportation is an afterthought in the minds of our wonderful city planners. A dull, repetitive story but nonetheless, we are delighted to present another review for your enjoyment. A mere five days ago, Madisinn released her debut EP, The Sun on My Skin, on all streaming platforms and without further delay here are some thoughts on how it turned out.

Review and Exposition

“Vissi D’arte,” translated in English is, “I have lived for art.” Those familiar with opera from the turn of the 20th century may recognize this from Giacomo Puccini’s three act work, Tosca. Though I, myself, am in need of a familiarization with this work (I am positive the majority of us may have a lil bit of homework to do on this one), I have become familiar with the classically trained voice of Madison Grifaldo after having spent the last five days with her new EP, The Sun on My Skin. A sad reality exists for those curious enough to find an understanding of our peers in glimpsing behind veils into the intimacies of other’s lives, but attempting to do so while removed from their physical presence. Left to the world of pure-intentioned assumptions, I like to imagine that Madisinn (her chosen stage/performance name) was either nurtured in a world closely occupied by beautiful voices passed down generationally or some divine intervention transpired along the way. Maybe it was a bit of both, as the case may be, Madisinn is finding her place of belonging within a world of creation and musical exploration.

“I’m getting lost in you, the way you’re getting lost in me,” a sentiment wondrously illustrated over this track via layered, multi-part harmonies from vocals so focused, so endlessly trained that they tow the lines of what exists on a human plain and what may be departed on us seemingly from above. The meandering progression of the instrumentation from a lazing acoustic to a powerful accompaniment builds the foundations allowing Madisinn’s voice to investigate the range of her physical ability alongside being an emotional force. “The Sun on My Skin” is both the anchor and guiding light of the EP, an auditory epitomization of an intense feeling taking hold, ultimately consuming you. A place of learning is composed in tandem with intuitive examination in the song and leaves us to define the acceptance we come to under its grasp. “I feel a presence/ I hear my call,” as she arrives at a realization within and follows with self-actualization in the form of this release, she uncovers herself in the act of fulfillment. Madisinn utilizes “The Sun on My Skin,” as an externalization of one’s purpose and the recognition of what is to follow. One’s purpose is not likely to be found in a single moment in time. Unlike the apple that falls from the tree above, knocking a revelation of complex, worldly phenomena into the mind, the path to finding our purpose is painstaking and prolonged. Naturally results differ, but are developed through a series of intricate recognitions of the labors of love we endeavor to perceive candidly. Purpose may be found in the hours spent with, “days on empty,” as Madisinn declares on, “Everything Must End (Demo),” the surrendering of yourself to a power beyond our control (not necessarily divine, but found in the outside forces of nature) that she speaks to on, “Grapefruit (Surrender To Me).” The quintessence of our labor and the fruits reaped from its production, are found in the search for purpose and self-actualization. We can be unalienated from a rabid individualism, where work is survival, to a freer place where we can imbue our desires on our work to reveal our truest self. “The Sun on My Skin,” is that plain we aspire and work towards, and a place Madisinn wishes to see all in.

I spoke recently with a dear friend, Luis Mendoza (known widely as Visions of the Lens) on his thoughts of The Sun on My Skin at the listening party that traveled from Rose Ave to Bottega on the night of its release. He returned a piercing gaze mustered from a feeling of utter joy and said something along the lines of, “I turned it on, laid back and got lost in it. It was hypnotic.” I don’t believe he knew at the time that he was almost directly quoting from the EP, but such is the power of an elevated creation. The visceral reactions elicited by the production of art are both curated purposefully by the artist, and synthesized uniquely by each of its observers. When the intent and reaction meet in unison a powerful, intimate, and truly lasting connection forms. A connection that I found organically and honestly constructed by the work Madisinn and her team on The Sun on My Skin.

What’s Next

What follows for Madisinn are the infinite directions any artist can take, especially after the first release of an extended body of work. Currently with no scheduled shows upcoming, you will just have to stay in touch with her social media platforms to find out about future shows and releases, as I know I will stay in touch with whatever direction she chooses for herself. Find her @madisinnr on Instagram.

Ben “Danger” Matthews | PCE

Chief Word Person

“I Think My Friends Hate Me”

Welcome home music lovers of the greater Wilmington area. Back for the first time in this ungodly hot and humid month to bring forth another slate of songs for your enjoyment and potential discovery. Our first selection for July is hot off the press and is already being spun and streamed in all corners of Carolina. Without further delay we are ecstatic to bring you our review for Ridgewood’s new song, “I Think My Friends Hate Me” off of their new, self-titled EP, Ridgewood.

Review and Exposition

The roots of self-titled projects run as deep as the history of recorded music itself and have been utilized in innumerably diverse ways. Oftentimes, self-titling serves as an introduction to the identity of the creators and the direction of their music. Many long-beloved artists have begun their careers with self-titled works. In the punk realm, visionaries like Blondie in 1976, the ​​The Clash in 1977, and The Ramones in 1976 all began their climb to prominence with band names adorning record faces. The list of immortal self-titled albums goes on into the void, with the point remaining that something is there to be unfurled, something to be discovered on part of the artist, ushering in a new offering to the world at large. Ultimately a new voice emerges, looking to declare themselves. The exercise of eponymous album naming is much more than a simple solution when a band is looking to brand and label an entire body of work. It is countless hours of self-defining labor, a point of demarcation. Simply put: it is the sonic embodiment of the band.
This is the second project from Ridgewood, outside of a few single releases and following 2022’s debut album, I’m Glad We’re Doing This. Ridgewood has described this work as a more cohesive creative effort on part of all four members of the band. Elliott Stanford (main vocals/ rhythm guitar) and Charlie Peters (lead guitar) served as the main song writing team on the previous record, but now Bennett Hair (drums) and Matt Dauphin (Bass) both dispense a more active role in the writing and directive processes for their respective parts on the songs. Each contribution is actively felt on the EP as four individual bleeding hearts melt into one sound that still empowers each to shine. The departures made from project to project display an expanded focus on each song while remaining true to the penetrating personal narratives Ridgewood has become accustomed to.
Lead track “I Think My Friends Hate Me,” works as a befitting introduction into the mechanizations of insecurity, one of the main thematic explorations of this EP. “That tune fucking sucks”/ You’re a scrawny bastard,” the first moments of the track include harsh manifestations of external criticisms that embody our own internal anxieties about our perception which spiral into damaging patterns of self-hatred. These voices shout into what feels like the back of your head as a gentle, low end melody carries us to a brief pause before Peters shatters the tension with a heavy slice and gets the song rolling. The story travels alongside a night of bathroom party antics, downing uppers with friends till consciousness slips away (in line with you and your friends odds of getting home anytime soon), to our main subject being left standing alone at 4:30 in the morning, in a cloud of abandoned desolation and left to their own devices. Friends, lovers, mothers, and even one’s god can’t help the attitudes of anxiety that shut us down, force a retreat back within and allow for the descent of the mind towards a belief that we are hated by those closest to us. If anything, Ridgewood highlights the pressures from these external sources feeding into what may be seen from the outside as a delusion, but within the spiraling mind, a damning state of helplessness. I’ve always loved the clashing of contradictions that exist in punk genres. Tragic, unnerving, and raw lyrical testaments coalesce with the turbulent, screeching, and rapid-fire instrumentation to form a home for those wishing to give voice to their grievances in a powerful way. “I Think My Friends Hate Me,” along with the rest of the EP, is effective in encapsulating these punk traditions and inviting the listener into their struggle so that a greater circle of healing can take place, one where we all welcome to air our deepest insecurities and be met with loving community, to be reassured that our friends actually don’t hate us at the least.

What’s Next

Just as the bending and wailing of Elliott’s voice lingers in your head long after a listen to Ridgewood, Ridgewood’s imprint on the music scene of Wilmington is sure to linger around for this summer and many to come. They’ll be getting around North Carolina for the remainder of July with shows in Charlotte on the 15th, at The Place on the 28th, and then traveling south of the border to play a show in Charleston, SC on August 4th. Send all your love to the Ridgewood folks by streaming Ridgewood, out on all platforms for music consumption.

Ben “Danger” Matthews | PCE

Chief Word Person

“Said and Done” by Dog Park.

Howdy Wilmington, welcome back to the Port City Experiment. Here for the last time in this month-long celebration of Pride to bring you our latest Song of the Week offering. Back from a three and half year hiatus and ready to establish themselves in the sonic waves of Wilmington, we bring you the fur-ocious trio of Dog Park, and their single “Said and Done.”

Review and Exposition

Today I want to talk about voices. There are multitudinous avenues to be explored in the realm of voices before even a word slips from one’s mouth and emits an audible noise. In the written tradition, an author looks to find their unique look on life and focus on its applications within characters in the crafting of a story or novel. A poet looks to transmit the breadth of the human experience within stanzas and lines, hoping to reverberate their thoughts to other souls and elicit something from within. Writers, authors, any soul who jots down a piece of themself into the physical world really, is seeking to explore the response, from within and from the world around them, that their voice creates. The beauty of human creation, as it extends into the musical world in which we find ourselves in this here and now, is the ability for musicians to discover and craft a voice from their being. A voice is thrown into a microphone at the whim of vocal cords, an accompanying voice expresses themselves through the strings of a well-loved guitar. For the trio of Dog Park, their final voice sits in the traditional rhythmic section of a stage, on a short stool in the back, bleeding their voice through the steady hum of the drums.

“Said and Done” is quick to introduce the three voices forming the band known as Dog Park. The relaxed tone induced by Cat Quinn on bass guitar paired with the staccato snare stick work from Michael Costagliola on the drums helps to drive this song into the introduction of Julia Latter’s soft musing and intrusive voice. Latter’s voice dances across each syllable, the peaks and valleys of her pitch juxtapose with each line end and dictate the direction the listener is taken. The shifts that take place within the acts of this song are strongly propelled by the way Latter is able to convey a state of mind through the use of her voice.

The first verse details the difficulties associated with attempting to view someone else’s world through their lens: “The world through your window/ Is not what I want it to be.” The essential act of understanding another, in hopes of a furthered connection, has been described as putting yourself in someone’s shoes. Dog Park explores the window of the mind instead, not attempting to live another’s experiences but simply to view those experiences and come to an understanding of the elicited response. Though an important step in the pathways to understanding, efforts to “try and make sense” are far too often elusive without a shared willingness between both parties to intimately empathize with one another. Without this empathy, disconnection gives way to doubt and the overarching feeling of isolation,“Do you know me/ Do you know my name.” The tonal shift that occurs between the more upbeat, driven verses and into the slowed, dejected chorus exacts a desperation on part of the storyteller that would stem from continual failed efforts. Such desperation is not always alleviated by lines of communication and in the end the dialogue concludes with the acknowledgement that what must be said, is said, and what is done, is done.

After the first listen (and subsequent constant replaying) of “Said and Done,” the desire to grapple with the foundations and utilization of one’s voice settled into my mind, leaving a series of questions to help me guide my own voice. Questions of the role one’s voice serves in belonging to oneself and the distance between what is lost and gained by its addition into the worldly voice permeate the song. The meandering range of Latter’s voice, in combination with harmonies from Cat Quinn, serve as an example of the ways voices meld together to become one. The crafting of collective voices expresses the spaces where individuals become common, united through retelling of shared experiences. The voices we all present are a part of a deeper, layered undertaking in the formation of oneself. It is both the pinnacle of expression, the conclusion of thought as it is transferred from within yourself to another more open and visible space. But as we all eventually retreat back within ourselves, left with what was given from our last offering to the communal sound; we retrace and redraw. We come back to ourselves with a renewed understanding of where and who we are.

What’s Next

Dog Park are back together for the foreseeable future, releasing both “Said and Done” alongside “ Trust Fall” near the beginning of this year. They have several shows planned for the end of June (6/30 at Barzarre) and beginning of July (7/1 again at Barzarre and 7/2 at Varnish for Summer Slam). We wish them the best of what’s to come and are anxiously awaiting more releases from Dog Park.

Pride Till The End of Time

We are four days from the conclusion of the international celebration of LQBTQ+ Pride Month. The establishment of Pride started after the police raid of the Stonewall Inn in June of 1969, a safe space for the queer community of Greenwich Village. The response that culminated in the Stonewall Riot was the spark that ignited the Gay Rights Movement and the continuation of a decades-long struggle against violence and suppression of the Queer community.

We wish to celebrate those who have dedicated themselves in the effort for Rights and Freedoms long withheld by systems seeking the erasure of Queer voices. We wish to empower those in the Queer community looking to transmit their voice as part of a self-actualizing movement, providing an outlet for expression in the music world and beyond. We wish to celebrate Pride to the utmost possibility of the human spirit. The realization of the constant violence and aims of suppression levied against Queer individuals, communities, and ideologies necessitates advocacy and participation in the movement seeking to rebuild this world into one that chooses Love and Liberation for all.

“We have to do it because we can no longer stay invisible. We have to be visible. We should not be ashamed of who we are. We have to show the world that we are numerous. There are many of us out there.” —Sylvia Rivera, member of the Drag and Trans communities, participant in the Stonewall Riots, and community organizer of STAR (Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries) alongside Marsha P. Johnson. May she rest in power as we honor and are guided by her commitment.

Ben “Danger” Matthews | PCE

Chief Word Person