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,Just Shoot Me Now" und ,Dollys Coat" - aufgenommen und produziert von MJ Lenderman. Ursprünglich als CD-R in Eigenregie veröffentlicht. Mit MJ Lenderman, Karly Hartzman, Colin Miller, Ethan Baechtold, Xandy Chelmis, Landon George und Jack Kraus. Produziert von MJ Lenderman. Aufgenommen von Colin Miller und MJ Lenderman. Abgemischt von Colin Miller und Jack Kraus. Gemastert von Amy Dragon.

END[GER] Die Band Wednesday aus Asheville, North Carolina errichtet im Laufe der zehn Songs von "Rat Saw God" einen Schrein voller aufregender Details: Halb lustige, halb tragische Botschaften aus den Südstaaten, die sich klanglich irgendwo zwischen dem wimmernden Skuzz von Neunzigerjahre-Shoegaze und klassischem Country-Twang entfalten - mit verzerrter Pedal Steel und Frontfrau Karly Hartzman, die mit ihrer Stimme, den Lärm durchschneidet. Ein Song von Wednesday ist wie ein Quilt. Eine Kurzgeschichtensammlung, eine verschwommene Erinnerung, ein Flickenteppich aus Porträts des amerikanischen Südens, der disparate Momente einfängt und als Ganzes doch irgendwie einen Sinn ergibt. Karly Hartzman, die Songschreiberin, Sängerin, Gitarristin und Leiterin der Band, ist eine Geschichtensammlerin als auch eine Geschichtenerzählerin: Eine aufmerksame Beobachterin von Menschen und witzigen Bemerkungen. "Rat Saw God", das neue und beste Album des Quintetts aus Asheville, ist ekphrastisch, aber ebenso autobiografisch und vor allem sehr einfühlsam. Es wurde in den Monaten unmittelbar nach der Fertigstellung von dem zweiten Album der Band, "Twin Plagues", geschrieben und innerhalb einer Woche im Drop Of Sun Studio in Asheville aufgenommen. Die Songs auf "Rat Saw God" erzählen keine Epen, sondern das Alltägliche. Sie sind lebensnah, erzählen vom wahren Leben, sie sind verschwommen und chaotisch und seltsam zugleich - was Hartzmans eigenem Ethos entspricht: "Everyone's story is worthy. Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

Can a self-portrait be a collage? Can empathy be autobiographical? What's the point of living if we're not trying to understand all the horror and humor that surrounds everything? These are a few of the questions lurking under the bleachers of Wednesday's new album Bleeds, an intoxicating collection of narrative-heavy Southern rock that_like many of the most arresting passages from the North Carolina band's highlight reel so far_thoughtfully explores the vivid link between curiosity and confession. Bleeds is not only the best Wednesday record_it's also the most Wednesday record, a patchwork-style triumph of literary allusions and outlaw grit, of place-based poetry and hair-raising noise. Karly Hartzman_founder, frontwoman, and primary lyricist_credits Wednesday's tightened grasp on their own identity to time spent collaborating on previous albums, plus a tour schedule that's been both rewarding and relentless. "Bleeds is the spiritual successor to Rat Saw God, and I think the quintessential `Wednesday Creek Rock' album," Hartzman said, articulating satisfaction with the ways her band has sharpened its trademark sound, how they've refined the formula that makes them one of the most interesting rock bands of their generation. "This is what Wednesday songs are supposed to sound like," she said. "We've devoted a lot of our lives to figuring this out_and I feel like we did." Just like Rat Saw God, one of the defining rock & roll records of the 2020s so far, Bleeds came together at Drop of Sun in Asheville and was produced by Alex Farrar, who's been recording the band since Twin Plagues. Hartzman again brought demos to the studio, where she and her bandmates _X andy Chelmis (lap steel, pedal steel), Alan Miller (drums), Ethan Baechtold (bass, piano), and Jake "M.J." Lenderman (guitar) _ worked as a team to bulk-up the compositions with the exact right amounts of country truth-telling, indie-pop hooks, and noisy sludge. More than ever, the precise proportions were steered by the lyricism_not only its tone or subject matter, but also the actual sound of the words, as well as Hartzman's masterfully subjective approach to detail selection. Every image or scene is filtered through Hartzman's agile, writerly brain. The particulars deemed essential all contain revelations about Hartzman's specific obsessions and vulnerabilities, about the fragmented way she processes the world. Maybe sometimes the best way to locate truth or pain or dignity within your own life story, Bleeds suggests, is by crawling into someone else's.

Can a self-portrait be a collage? Can empathy be autobiographical? What's the point of living if we're not trying to understand all the horror and humor that surrounds everything? These are a few of the questions lurking under the bleachers of Wednesday's new album Bleeds, an intoxicating collection of narrative-heavy Southern rock that_like many of the most arresting passages from the North Carolina band's highlight reel so far_thoughtfully explores the vivid link between curiosity and confession. Bleeds is not only the best Wednesday record_it's also the most Wednesday record, a patchwork-style triumph of literary allusions and outlaw grit, of place-based poetry and hair-raising noise. Karly Hartzman_founder, frontwoman, and primary lyricist_credits Wednesday's tightened grasp on their own identity to time spent collaborating on previous albums, plus a tour schedule that's been both rewarding and relentless. "Bleeds is the spiritual successor to Rat Saw God, and I think the quintessential `Wednesday Creek Rock' album," Hartzman said, articulating satisfaction with the ways her band has sharpened its trademark sound, how they've refined the formula that makes them one of the most interesting rock bands of their generation. "This is what Wednesday songs are supposed to sound like," she said. "We've devoted a lot of our lives to figuring this out_and I feel like we did." Just like Rat Saw God, one of the defining rock & roll records of the 2020s so far, Bleeds came together at Drop of Sun in Asheville and was produced by Alex Farrar, who's been recording the band since Twin Plagues. Hartzman again brought demos to the studio, where she and her bandmates _X andy Chelmis (lap steel, pedal steel), Alan Miller (drums), Ethan Baechtold (bass, piano), and Jake "M.J." Lenderman (guitar) _ worked as a team to bulk-up the compositions with the exact right amounts of country truth-telling, indie-pop hooks, and noisy sludge. More than ever, the precise proportions were steered by the lyricism_not only its tone or subject matter, but also the actual sound of the words, as well as Hartzman's masterfully subjective approach to detail selection. Every image or scene is filtered through Hartzman's agile, writerly brain. The particulars deemed essential all contain revelations about Hartzman's specific obsessions and vulnerabilities, about the fragmented way she processes the world. Maybe sometimes the best way to locate truth or pain or dignity within your own life story, Bleeds suggests, is by crawling into someone else's.

Banana Stand vinyl. I Was Trying to Describe You to Someone is Wednesday's second fulllength album & first as a full band. The Asheville, NC quintet (guitarist/ vocalist Karly Hartzman, lead guitarist Daniel Gorham, pedal steel guitarist Xandy Chelmis, bassist Margo Schultz & drummer Alan Miller) maximizes the dark dissonance of a three guitar attack to highlight the emotionality of Hartzman's bell-clear vocals & wisps of half-recalled memories & literary references that make up her lyrics. I Was Trying to Describe You to Someone's eight songs meld elements of shoegaze, grunge, indie pop & southern American culture into a uniquely personal style of modern rock music that resonates with power & tenderness. The ever-darkening & deepening of Wednesdays' sound on I Was Trying to Describe You to Someone owes a debt of influence to The Swirlies, Arthur Russell, Red House Painters, Tenniscoats, Ana Roxanne, Acetone, & their continued collaboration with MJ Lenderman (who lends backing vocals to the songs "Billboard" & "November"). I Was Trying to Describe You to Someone was recorded at Hartzman's home with engineering assistance from her roommate Colin Miller. The depth & clarity of the recordings balance the distorted volume of Wednesday's live performances with the intimacy of Hartzman's voice. Her words hold the center of the chaos, unobscured by the power of the band. Hartzman describes her lyrics as "attempts to access old personal memories & do them justice through prose, with inspiration from the writings of Richard Brautigan, Flannery O'Connor, David Berman & Tom Robbins, & movies like Steel Magnolias."

Ein Album zum Schlafen und Wachen, zum Gehen und Fahren, zum Jagen und Fischen, zum Herumlungern vor einer Raststätte in der verwunschenen Tundra. In Fahrstühlen okay, zum Abendessen nicht so toll. Auf Caveman Wakes Up, dem neuen Album von Friendship und ihrem zweiten für Merge Records, wird die historisch weit gefasste Definition von Country-Musik noch weiter gefasst. Shambolische Gitarren werden durch Flötenpads ausgeglichen, trübe Poesie trifft auf eine Motown-Rhythmusgruppe, ein Song über Jerry Garcia und die First Lady Betty Ford wird mit einem Schlagzeugsolo ausgeblendet, als käme Talk Talk aus einem schmuddeligen Keller in Philadelphia und würde von James Tate gespielt. Der zerklüftete Bariton des Songwriters Dan Wriggins schneidet durch elf düstere, wirbelnde Country-Rock-Songs mit tiefgründiger lyrischer Substanz und Aufrichtigkeit. Wie ein Wecker, der am Rande eines Traums eingebaut ist, gehört "Caveman Wakes Up" gleichermaßen zum bewussten und zum unterbewussten Verstand, voller Hintergründe, durchdrungen von Referenzen und Experimenten, beiläufig und als düstere Warnung vorgetragen und vor allem der kreativen Seele der Musik gewidmet. Im Laufe der Jahre hat sich diese Hingabe ausgezahlt. Friendship ist zu einer Art umgekehrter Supergroup geworden, in der die Band selbst und jedes einzelne Mitglied im Zentrum einer zunehmend prominenten Szene junger Folk- und Country-Musiker und Songwriter steht. Der Schlagzeuger Michael Cormier O'Leary leitet das Instrumentalkollektiv Hour und betreibt zusammen mit dem Bassisten Jon Samuels das Label Dear Life Records, das Freunde und Kollegen beherbergt, die Friendship zu einem wichtigen Einfluss zählen, darunter MJ Lenderman, Florry, und Fust. (Samuels spielt auch die Leadgitarre bei MJ Lenderman and the Wind). Die Band 2nd Grade des Gitarristen Peter Gill ist ebenfalls aktiv und macht zahlreiche Aufnahmen. Wriggins begann mit dem Schreiben der Songs von "Caveman Wakes Up" auf einer verstimmten klassischen Gitarre von Lenderman und beendete es auf einem kaum gestimmten Klavier in einer Wohnung, die er mit G DeGroot von Sadurn teilte. Im Sommer 2023 hatte Wriggins gerade den Iowa Writers' Workshop verlassen, wo seine Liebe zur Poesie und sein Misstrauen gegenüber der akademischen Poesiewelt gleichzeitig wuchsen. Eine Beziehung ging in die Brüche, und Wriggins übernachtete mehrere Wochen in North Carolina im Haus von Lenderman und Karly Hartzman (von Wednesday ), wo er die ersten Demos von "Resident Evil", "All Over the World" und "Love Vape" aufnahm. Wriggins kehrte nach Philadelphia zurück, und die Band machte sich an die Arbeit, um neue Ideen zu entwickeln. Schließlich nahmen sie das Album in fünf Tagen mit Tontechniker Jeff Ziegler (Mary Lattimore, War On Drugs) auf, den Gesang mit Bradford Kreiger, dem Techniker von Love the Stranger. Orgel, Geige (Jason Calhoun) und Flöte (Adelyn Strei) wurden von Lucas Knapp in einer Kirche in West Philadelphia aufgenommen. Textlich bewegt sich "Caveman Wakes Up" auf vertrautem Friendship Terrain - das Heilige wird profaniert und das Profane geheiligt. "Caveman Wakes Up" zeigt Friendships besonderes Genie für visionäre Arrangements, die über Generationen hinweg dem Folk-Rock-Kanon von Neil Young, Joni Mitchell und Emmylou Harris ebenso verpflichtet sind wie Indie-Größen wie Yo La Tengo und den Merge-Labelkollegen Lambchop oder Zeitgenossen wie Lomelda und ML Buch. Mehrere der Songs verwenden Fade-Outs, die im Text von "Love Vape" scherzhaft erwähnt werden, und es gibt andere Elemente, die von Motown und 70er-Jahre-Balladen übernommen wurden: festgefahrene Schlagzeugmuster, Bassintervalle, gefühlvolle Streicherarrangements. Jede Referenz wird über das Genre hinausgeschoben, verwirbelt und wiederholt, zu etwas Neuem, das eindeutig zum Friendship-Sound gehört. Bei "Free Association", "Artex" und "Wildwood in January" ist der Groove so festgelegt, dass andere Klänge nahtlos kommen und gehen können: Mellotron-Flächen, Klavierwirbel und -stiche und klare Gitarrenmelodien, wimmelnde Texturen, die sich als Einheit tarnen. "Caveman Wakes Up" das bisher am weitesten fortgeschrittene Werk von Friendship, ein weiterer Beweis für die Hingabe und Sorgfalt der Band.

An album for sleeping and waking, walking and driving, hunting and fishing, for loitering outside a roadhouse on the haunted tundra. Okay in elevators, not great for dinner. On Caveman Wakes Up, Friendship’s new album and second for Merge Records, the band’s historically capacious definition of country music grows wider still. Shambolic guitars are offset by flute pads, bleary poetry is set against a Motown rhythm section, a song about Jerry Garcia and First Lady Betty Ford fades out with a drum solo, like if Talk Talk came from a dingy Philadelphia basement and was fronted by James Tate. Songwriter Dan Wriggins’ ragged baritone cuts through eleven murky, swirling country-rock songs with profound lyrical substance and sincerity. Like an alarm clock incorporated into the edge of a dream, Caveman Wakes Up belongs equally to the conscious and subconscious mind, fraught with background, steeped in reference and experimentation, delivered casually and as a dire warning, dedicated, above all, to music’s creative soul. Over the years, dedication has paid off. Friendship has become a kind of reverse supergroup,
wherein the band itself and each individual member are located centrally in an increasingly prominent scene of young folk and country musicians and songwriters. Drummer Michael Cormier O’Leary leads the instrumental collective Hour and, along with bassist Jon Samuels, runs Dear Life Records, home to friends and peers who count Friendship as a major influence including MJ Lenderman, Florry, and Fust. (Samuels also plays lead guitar in MJ Lenderman and the Wind). Guitarist Peter Gill’s band 2nd Grade records prolifically. Wriggins began writing the songs of Caveman Wakes Up on a downtuned classical guitar of Lenderman’s and finished on a barely tuned piano in an apartment he shared with Sadurn’s G DeGroot.
In the summer of 2023, Wriggins had just left the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, where his love for poetry and mistrust for the academic poetry world grew in tandem. A relationship fell apart, and Wriggins crashed for several weeks at Lenderman and Wednesday’s Karly Hartzman’s home in North Carolina, where he recorded the first demos of “Resident Evil,” “All Over the World,” and “Love Vape.” Wriggins returned to Philadelphia, and the band got to work on new ideas, finally tracking the album in five days with engineer Jeff Ziegler (Mary Lattimore, War on Drugs). Wriggins recorded vocals with Love the Stranger engineer Bradford Kreiger, and organ, violin (Jason Calhoun), and flute (Adelyn Strei) were recorded by Lucas Knapp in a West Philadelphia church.

"No Friends" ist so etwas wie eine Album gewordene Brieffreundschaft zwischen dem in Hamburg arbeitenden Home-Produzenten Mensing, mit sehr gutem Standing in der Londoner Underground-Szene, und dem roughen Talent des in Miami lebenden ex-New Yorker Rappers siii3eyes. Dabei geht die Rolle des Keno Mensing über die eines Produzenten hinaus. Er fischt aus siii3eyes' Raps und Lyrics die Elemente heraus, die ein Chorus oder Vers sein können und bildet daraus Strukturen, komplexe Puzzles und schliesslich den finalen Track. Alles eingebettet in eine perfekte Balance aus soulig-jazzigem Storytelling-Rap und einer lyrischen Eindringlichkeit und Authentizität, die man sonst eher im Straßenrap verortet. Zwischen den Skits, in denen siii3eyes mit seinem ehemaligen Freund und Mitbewohner spricht (mit dem er sich später überworfen hat, was auch den Titel erklärt), liefern Mensing und er roughe, unmittelbare Einblicke in das Gefühlsleben eines Mannes, der geradezu um sein Leben und seine Selbstverwirklichung rappt.

PURPLE VINYL


A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

Tape

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.