Latest news with #SonicYouth
Los Angeles Times
01-08-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
Frankie and the Witch Fingers' spastic, psych-rock energy casts a spell on L.A.'s rock scene
What do Dead Kennedys' Jello Biafra, Thurston Moore of Sonic Youth and Motley Crüe bassist Nikki Sixx have in common? They all dig Frankie and the Witch Fingers, an L.A.-based band whose irresistible garagey-psychedelic rock sometimes even invokes shades of Oingo Boingo and Devo thanks to a staccato freneticism and pointed lyrics. The diversity of FATWF's peer-fans speak to the quintet's wide-ranging appeal, and the title of their new 11-song album, 'Trash Classic,' is a spot-on descriptor of the LP as a whole. In their longtime rehearsal-recording room in a legendary Vernon warehouse, the band perch on a couch a few days before leaving for tour. There's a whiteboard with a set list behind the sofa, and they share some 'mood board' phrases written for the creation of 'Trash Classic.' On posterboard, the bon mots include 'Lord Forgive Us For Our Synths,' 'Jello -B.Y.O.F. (Bring Your Own Fork) – Ra' and 'Weenus.' Laughter ensues at the memories. The lineup formed with Dylan Sizemore (lead vocals, rhythm guitar) and Josh Menashe (lead guitar, backing vocals, synthesizer) more than a decade ago, the pair meeting at college in Bloomington, Ind. In different bands, they'd seen each other's gigs and run into each other at parties. 'I was just bored one day, and was like, 'I wonder if this guy wants to jam.' I had all these songs,' recalls Sizemore. 'I just kind of showed up to his house, and I knew he was really good at guitar and really good at music in general.' The San Diego-raised Menashe recalls, 'I think by the time I met Dylan, I'd already dropped out [of college], though, and there were day jobs — at a screen-printing shop, I worked at a Turkish restaurant; whatever I could do to keep my music addiction going. I never really settled on a major because I just couldn't think about what I wanted to do. Nothing made as much sense as music.' Sizemore had been dabbling in music that was 'power-pop-y, kind of like Tom Petty worship ...' '… he was in a band called Dead Beach,' Menashe adds, 'and I would say it was garage rock, almost like Nirvana meets Tom Petty.' 'And Josh was in a more like surf rock, almost like mathy band. What would you describe [the band] Women as?' Sizemore asks. 'Angular, punky, buncha noise stuff,' affirms Menashe, who also played with acclaimed Bloomington-to-L.A. band Triptides starting in 2010. In FATWF (the name comes from Sizemore's cat Frankie) the pair's experience and influences were varied enough to create something new that, over seven albums since 2013, has morphed into a wildly creative and raucous band with hooks, melodies, smarts, irreverence, loud guitars and wonderfully oddball synth and sounds. A move to L.A. in 2014 and eventual changes in the rhythm section — Nikki Pickles (Nicole Smith), formerly of Death Valley Girls, joining in 2019; with drummer Nick Aguilar's 2022 addition solidifying the band further. Jon Modaff, a multi-instrumentalist from Kentucky who played drums on tour with FATWF in 2021, joined on synth in 2024, giving the band an even broader sonic palette to realize their sometimes-oddball audio dreams. 'Trash Classic,' produced by Maryam Qudus (Tune-Yards, Alanis Morissette, Kronos Quartet) follows 2023's 'Data Doom,' which was the first album to feature Aguilar on drums. Songs are by turns epic, edgy, spacey and insistent. Some 'Trash Classic' lyrics are topical and pointed: '(While the upper) class is feeding / (On the lower) babies' food / (Microwaving) TV dinners / (With the porno) graphic news.' 'Economy' minces no words: 'This has got to be / The best economy / The plasma you sell / (The plasma you sell) / Buys money to eat.' There was no grand plan or lyrical theme settled ahead of the new album's creation. 'We collectively talk about what's going on in the world when we're in rehearsal and stuff, and our feelings about it,' says Sizemore. 'I think it's just at a point now where talking about certain things just feels more — what's the word? — it feels more part of the zeitgeist. Like 'Economy,' I wanted to write about being around abject poverty. But it makes more sense now, it fits into the context of where we are. Things that we talk about in here, about what's going on, maybe weren't so omnipresent, and now it feels like it is. Like, you can't escape poverty. You can't escape what's happening to people less fortunate than you. It's everywhere.' In writing the lyrics, Sizemore thought about growing up, 'seeing people trade in their food stamps to get alcohol because they're addicted. Messy stuff like that. But it's relevant now, it's not just parts of the world. It's gonna be everywhere if we don't do something about it.' Lyrics, while Sizemore-centric, are a collaborative process. Pickle, however, who came to bass in her 20s, says, 'I just am happy to be along for the ride, and I'll contribute where it's helpful. I like to sit back; I guess I don't feel qualified as a songwriter.' But, she says, 'honestly, I think that that's a helpful way to be, because if you have too many people with egos on top of each other, like, 'no, no, no, do it my way.' I like to listen and then insert where I can. That's my vibe.' Differing approaches and backgrounds serve FATWF well. Because of their 'cohesive diversity and flexibility in the rock realm,' Aguilar observes, 'I feel like we could play with almost anybody. At least a rock band, to any extent.' While they're mostly doing headlining tours, they've shared stages with Cheap Trick and ZZ Top. So where would FATWF overlap with the two elder statesmen classic rock lineups on the musical spectrum? 'I mean, we were really into the [13th Floor] Elevators, and…' Sizemore says. 'The Velvet Underground…' adds Pickle. '…Roky Erickson, all that stuff. I think we tried to, like, gear our set more in that direction, just so we weren't fully playing freaky, noisy funk stuff,' Sizemore continues. 'But there's an overlap, for sure. If we play in Atlanta or something, we'll get someone saying, 'Oh, the first time I saw you guys was with ZZ Top' and that's always cool.' Most of Frankie's members cite the DIY scenes in their areas as influential: Aguilar is from San Pedro and began drumming at the age of 10. He eventually played with that neighborhood's most famous musician: bassist Mike Watt, and growing up, 'discovered I don't need to go to the Staples Center or Irvine Meadows to see a band. I could just go, like, 10 blocks away from my home on my bike to house shows,' he says, adding, 'if there wasn't the music scene in San Pedro, I probably wouldn't be in this band. I'd probably be playing at the Whisky with some s— metal band that nobody cares about.' An increasing number of people are caring about FATWF; Jello Biafra even joining them on stage. At a gig in Biafra's hometown of Boulder, Colo., the punk provocateur met the band after their show. The next night, the singer showed up in Fort Collins. 'We have a lot of mutual friends,' explains Aguilar. 'I work at Alex's Bar in Long Beach. So I met him there a long time ago. He said he was gonna come see us at our Halloween show in San Francisco. I was like, 'How would you feel if we learned some DK songs and you sang with us for Halloween?'' He answered in the affirmative, so Frankie and the Witch Fingers learned the Dead Kennedys' 'Halloween,' 'Police Truck' and 'Holiday in Cambodia.' Biafra rehearsed with the band at sound check, and for the holiday show FATWF dressed up as 'bloody doctors.' As for Biafra? 'He changed his outfit in between every song! He was throwing fake bloody organs at the audience. You could tell half of the audience knew who he was. And half was like, 'Yo, who the hell is this?'' 'Talking about all this like ancient history makes me feel, 'Oh yeah, we've kind of come a long way,'' Pickles ruminates. Aguilar states his somewhat modest hopes for the band: 'I think my realistic goal is the headline the Fonda Theater one day.' But if larger-scale fame and fortune find Frankie and the Witch Fingers, beware: Menashe claims he'd get a face tattoo if the band sells a million records. His promise is captured by the reporter's recorder, officially 'on the record,' the band teases him. But in true FATWF fashion, Sizemore pushes it one further: 'You gotta get a teardrop too!'
Yahoo
02-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Punk Icon Makes Bold Political Statement
Punk Icon Makes Bold Political Statement originally appeared on Parade. is doing her part to fight the power. The former Sonic Youth member announced on Friday, June 13 that she has released 'Bye Bye 25!', a remake of 'Bye Bye' from The Collective, her critically acclaimed second solo effort. Both the song and the album earned Grammy nominations. 🎬 SIGN UP for Parade's Daily newsletter to get the latest pop culture news & celebrity interviews delivered right to your inbox 🎬 In the new video directed by and Gordon, 's classic 'Subterranean Homesick Blues' concept of holding up cards with words on them in a stark black-and-white video clip is updated, only the words in Gordon's video have all been banned by the Trump administration. '[Producer and collaborator] had this idea to redo 'Bye Bye' starting at the end of the song. When I was thinking of lyric ideas, it occurred to me to use words taken from a site that had all the words that Trump has essentially banned, meaning any grant or piece of a project or proposal for research that includes any of those words would be immediately disregarded or 'cancelled.' I guess Trump does believe in cancel culture, because he is literally trying to cancel culture,' Gordon said in a statement. Among the words Gordon highlights in 'Bye Bye 25!' are advocate, climate change, female, Hispanic, immigrants, intersex, male-dominated, mental health, non-conforming, trauma, uterus, victim and women. Fans applauded Gordon and the video in her Instagram post of the clip. 'You are awesome! Keep up the good work and the good fight! ❤️❤️❤️❤️,' one wrote. 'Love this. Am I in heaven?? not only New Kim Gordon music but an organization that celebrates Noise and women's reproductive freedom??? I'm in,' another posted. 'Louder for the people in the back! Thank you @kimletgordon for continuing to use your platform for good! 👑,' added another. Proceeds from 'Bye Bye 25!,' both the song and the T-shirt, will be donated to the reproductive rights nonprofit Noise for Icon Makes Bold Political Statement first appeared on Parade on Jun 13, 2025 This story was originally reported by Parade on Jun 13, 2025, where it first appeared.
Chicago Tribune
19-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Chicago Tribune
MJ Lenderman at Salt Shed: Perfecting the art of malaise
Its only a handful of years into his acclaimed career but to say MJ Lenderman sounds like the second coming of Neil Young has already become tired, however true, and, considering that Young himself is still alive and touring, even kind of blasphemous. Yet, sorry, but it's hard to unhear this: There is the same weary warble tuned to permanent heartbreak, and that trudging pace that suggests the band is seconds away from resting their heads on pillows, and here are the grinding hurricanes of feedback that summon images of western plains and mesas, and a little Sonic Youth. Watching Lenderman at the Salt Shed on Wednesday was to be reminded of the curious power of exhaustion. It's a beautiful, humid, rickety sound. You can hear in it why the sighs of Neil Young became inextricable from Watergate-era malaise, and how Lenderman, 50 years later, sounds like both a throwback to strung-out singer-songwriters of the '70s and very much of his own time. His muse is fading expectations. He sang, 'Every day is a miracle, not to mention a threat.' He sang, 'We sat under a half-mast McDonald's flag.' He sang, 'Every Catholic knows he could've been pope.' That last one, eerily prescient, got a big Chicago cheer. It came just after another Chicago name-drop, 'Hangover Game,' the show opener, about Michael Jordan's infamous 1997 finals performance, the one where he scored 38 points despite supposedly playing through a bout of flu or something. Or as Lenderman sees it: 'It wasn't the pizza/ And it wasn't the flu/ Yeah, I love drinking, too.' And I love a singer I can smile and nod along with. The man is a fountain of random, biting one-liners and, despite a lanky frame and stunned backwoods grin suggesting a half-finished John Mayer, he comes across on stage with a muscular immediacy (which could be why his fanbase seems to be male Gen X dyspeptics, with a helping of depleted millennials). All of this comes across as simultaneously familiar and fresh, even if you don't recognize the precedents. There's the deadpan of John Prine, right there. The late-dawning self-awareness of a Charles Portis character, the non-sequiturs of Steve Martin. Every influence is set to a languid pace — entirely languid, in need of variety — but with hooks you can not shake. (Sorry, one more lyric — 'So you say I've wasted my life away/ Well, I got a beach home up in Buffalo.') I fear I'm making MJ Lenderman (Mark Jacob, of Asheville, North Carolina) sound more like a recipe than what his Salt Shed show proved: At 26, he's more than ready to be the rallying point rock could use. Like other indie stars in his orbit — Waxahatchee, Wednesday, both of which he's recorded and performed with — he avoids coming off like a nostalgia act by drawing more on the spirit than specifics of his influences. Nobody here seems eager to get anywhere. His excellent band can walk a squall of droning guitars and pedal steel into an abrupt stop, hover a second, then surge forward as one, without sounding rehearsed. Nothing feels machine-tooled, nevermind factory-precise. But I hesitate to say this is not fashionable in 2025 — Waxahatchee seems maybe one album away from playing arenas, and MJ Lenderman's sold-out Salt Shed audience of 3,000 was his largest headlining show so far. I also hesitate to say Wilco, which certainly shares fans, could be a model here for the future — MJ Lenderman is still loitering in a pretty comfortable sound, and not showing a lot of eagerness to stretch. And at least right now, it's working ridiculously well. There's no preening, no self-consciousness, only a giant casual cosy hug of recognition at the mess we're in. These songs never talk at you. There's no self-improvement plan or preaching. It's the sound of overheard conversation, bracketed by guitar solos arrived at with minimum fanfare, every line building on a tone of uncertainty and rattling around your head. Like, 'One of these days, you'll kill a man/ For asking a question you don't understand.' Somehow, it's both poignant and unmoored from any specific meaning. For the first encore, MJ Lenderman returned explicitly to Neil Young to cover 'Lotta Love,' but now that famous Top 40 refrain — 'It's gonna take a lotta love, to change the way things are' — repeated and repeated and repeated, no longer suggested just a tenuous romance. It suggested: MJ Lenderman, the new poet laureate of national decline.
Yahoo
13-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Trump's Least Favorite Words, in One Terrifying Song
The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here. Last year, a lot of indie-music fans—including myself—got someone else's packing list stuck in their head. I'd walk around muttering 'Milk thistle, calcium, high-rise, boot cut / Advil, black jeans, blue jeans'—lyrics hissed out by the art-punk legend Kim Gordon on a song called 'Bye Bye.' The track led off her album The Collective, one of the most acclaimed releases of 2024. Over hard hip-hop beats and snarling guitar distortion, Gordon stammered about daily banalities, reframing modern life as a psychological war zone. Now the 72-year-old co-founder of Sonic Youth has released a new version of the song, called 'Bye Bye 25.' The music is largely the same, but the lyrics are new, and they start like this: mental health electric vehicle Gulf of Mexico energy conversion gay bird flu These are among the terms that the Trump administration has tried to minimize from public life. PEN America has assembled a list of at least 350 phrases that federal authorities have, this year, scrubbed from government websites and materials (including school curricula), flagged as necessitating extra review in official documents and proposals, or discouraged the use of among staffers. The attention paid to these words reflects Trump's crusade against diversity, equity, and inclusion, as well as his team's stances on policy issues such as energy and vaccines. Gordon picked some of these words to rework 'Bye Bye'—making her, somewhat curiously, one of the few established musicians to release music directly inspired by Trump's second term. For all the chaos and consternation caused by the president this year, the entertainment world's response has been relatively muted. Bruce Springsteen, that liberal stalwart, kicked off his tour with an anti-Trump sermon; stars such as Doechii and Lady Gaga have made awards-show speeches in support of immigrants, trans people, and protesters. But outright protest music responding to recent events has been rare. 'I think people are kind of mostly just still stunned and don't know what to do,' Gordon told me in a video chat earlier this week. The memory of what happened the last time around might be contributing to the hesitation. Trump's rise to power in 2016 spurred a quick response from popular culture, resulting in diss tracks (Nipsey Hussle and YG's 'FDT') and provocations from luminaries (remember Madonna wanting to explode the White House?). The indie-rock world united for a compilation called Our First 100 Days: one track released for each of Trump's first 100 days in office. But today, many of those efforts feel like either artifacts of a bygone movement—the pink-hatted #Resistance—or simply inconsequential. When I spoke with Gordon, she said, with a laugh, that she had no memory of contributing to the Our First 100 Days project. The new version of 'Bye Bye' caught my attention because it's deadpan funny, and because it avoids some of the pitfalls that await many anti-Trump protest efforts. The president and many of his supporters seem to use liberal outrage as fuel, which means strident criticism has a way of backfiring. Steve Bannon's stated strategy to 'flood the zone with shit'—to stoke multiple incendiary media narratives every day—can make knowing what to protest first difficult. The firing of human-rights workers? The extrajudicial deportations? The dehumanization of trans people? The bid to turn Gaza into a resort? How do you pick? Gordon's song cuts across topic areas by highlighting the dark absurdity of an ascendant political tactic: controlling policy by controlling language. It also doesn't sloganeer; instead, it presents a patently ridiculous jumble of terms for listeners to reflect on. (Theoretically, a MAGA loyalist might even enjoy the sound of diversity-related jargon becoming a heavy-metal hit list). 'I wanted to have some really mundane, weird words in there like allergy or measles or tile drainage,' she told me. 'It's unrealistic to think they could actually ban these words, because everyone uses them every day. But I think if they had their ultimate fantasy, maybe.' Gordon and her former band, Sonic Youth, emanate the kind of inscrutable hauteur that might seem at odds with outright protest. But this is not her first such effort in this vein. Sonic Youth arose out of the punk-rock underground of the 1980s that was boiling with outrage against Ronald Reagan. In 1992, their song 'Youth Against Fascism' featured Thurston Moore—the band's other singer, and Gordon's now-ex-husband—sneering, 'Yeah, the president sucks / He's a war pig fuck.' That same year, the Gordon-led 'Swimsuit Issue' skewered male chauvinism, a topic she returned to with the hilarious 'I'm a Man' on The Collective. Talking with her, I remembered that though Gordon is often associated with Gen X disaffection, she's really a Baby Boomer who came of age attending Vietnam War protests and listening to folk music. The video for 'Bye Bye 25' splices images from the recent anti-ICE protests in Los Angeles with shots of her holding cue cards in the style of Bob Dylan's 'Subterranean Homesick Blues' video. She told me her favorite protest song is Neil Young's 'Ohio,' which decried the state violence at Kent State University in 1970. Young, she suspected, didn't intend to write an out-and-out rallying cry. 'Those lyrics were describing a time,' she said. 'That's what I hope I'm doing with my music and my lyrics—really describing what's going on.' Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
13-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
Saying ‘Bye Bye' to Trump's Least Favorite Words
Last year, a lot of indie-music fans—including myself—got someone else's packing list stuck in their head. I'd walk around muttering 'Milk thistle, calcium, high-rise, boot cut / Advil, black jeans, blue jeans'—lyrics hissed out by the art-punk legend Kim Gordon on a song called 'Bye Bye.' The track led off her album The Collective, one of the most acclaimed releases of 2024. Over hard hip-hop beats and snarling guitar distortion, Gordon stammered about daily banalities, reframing modern life as a psychological war zone. Now the 72-year-old co-founder of Sonic Youth has released a new version of the song, called 'Bye Bye 25.' The music is largely the same, but the lyrics are new, and they start like this: mental health electric vehicle Gulf of Mexico energy conversion gay bird flu These are among the terms that the Trump administration has tried to minimize from public life. PEN America has assembled a list of at least 350 phrases that federal authorities have, this year, scrubbed from government websites and materials (including school curricula), flagged as necessitating extra review in official documents and proposals, or discouraged the use of among staffers. The attention paid to these words reflects Trump's crusade against diversity, equity, and inclusion, as well as his team's stances on policy issues such as energy and vaccines. Gordon picked some of these words to rework 'Bye Bye'—making her, somewhat curiously, one of the few established musicians to release music directly inspired by Trump's second term. For all the chaos and consternation caused by the president this year, the entertainment world's response has been relatively muted. Bruce Springsteen, that liberal stalwart, kicked off his tour with an anti-Trump sermon; stars such as Doechii and Lady Gaga have made awards-show speeches in support of immigrants, trans people, and protesters. But outright protest music responding to recent events has been rare. 'I think people are kind of mostly just still stunned and don't know what to do,' Gordon told me in a video chat earlier this week. The memory of what happened the last time around might be contributing to the hesitation. Trump's rise to power in 2016 spurred a quick response from popular culture, resulting in diss tracks (Nipsey Hussle and YG's 'FDT') and provocations from luminaries (remember Madonna wanting to explode the White House?). The indie-rock world united for a compilation called Our First 100 Days: one track released for each of Trump's first 100 days in office. But today, many of those efforts feel like either artifacts of a bygone movement— the pink-hatted #Resistance —or simply inconsequential. When I spoke with Gordon, she said, with a laugh, that she had no memory of contributing to the Our First 100 Days project. The new version of 'Bye Bye' caught my attention because it's deadpan funny, and because it avoids some of the pitfalls that await many anti-Trump protest efforts. The president and many of his supporters seem to use liberal outrage as fuel, which means strident criticism has a way of backfiring. Steve Bannon's stated strategy to 'flood the zone with shit'—to stoke multiple incendiary media narratives every day—can make knowing what to protest first difficult. The firing of human-rights workers? The extrajudicial deportations? The dehumanization of trans people? The bid to turn Gaza into a resort? How do you pick? Gordon's song cuts across topic areas by highlighting the dark absurdity of an ascendant political tactic: controlling policy by controlling language. It also doesn't sloganeer; instead, it presents a patently ridiculous jumble of terms for listeners to reflect on. (Theoretically, a MAGA loyalist might even enjoy the sound of diversity-related jargon becoming a heavy-metal hit list). 'I wanted to have some really mundane, weird words in there like allergy or measles or tile drainage,' she told me. 'It's unrealistic to think they could actually ban these words, because everyone uses them every day. But I think if they had their ultimate fantasy, maybe.' Gordon and her former band, Sonic Youth, emanate the kind of inscrutable hauteur that might seem at odds with outright protest. But this is not her first such effort in this vein. Sonic Youth arose out of the punk-rock underground of the 1980s that was boiling with outrage against Ronald Reagan. In 1992, their song 'Youth Against Fascism' featured Thurston Moore—the band's other singer, and Gordon's now-ex-husband—sneering, 'Yeah, the president sucks / He's a war pig fuck.' That same year, the Gordon-led 'Swimsuit Issue' skewered male chauvinism, a topic she returned to with the hilarious 'I'm a Man' on The Collective. Talking with her, I remembered that though Gordon is often associated with Gen X disaffection, she's really a Baby Boomer who came of age attending Vietnam War protests and listening to folk music. The video for 'Bye Bye 25' splices images from the recent anti-ICE protests in Los Angeles with shots of her holding cue cards in the style of Bob Dylan's 'Subterranean Homesick Blues' video. She told me her favorite protest song is Neil Young's 'Ohio,' which decried the state violence at Kent State University in 1970. Young, she suspected, didn't intend to write an out-and-out rallying cry. 'Those lyrics were describing a time,' she said. 'That's what I hope I'm doing with my music and my lyrics—really describing what's going on.'
