Chasing Fridays: Julie, Being Dead, The Hives, and more

Hello hello. Welcome back to another edition of Chasing Fridays – my weekly roundup of music criticism and gig reviews. I skipped last week's issue because I was too swamped with work all week and honestly didn't listen to very much new music. My brain was similarly preoccupied with vintage shoegaze this week, but I did manage to drum up some thoughts on a few recent releases, and attend a concert that got me all warm with nostalgia. Check out my thoughts on all that down below.

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julie - my anti-aircraft friend

I broke my julie silence over the summer when I weighed in on their single "clairbourne practice." It didn't impress me, and neither does this full-length debut from one of shoegaze's buzziest upstarts. When people say an indie-rock album sounds like the Nineties, it usually means that the record has the sonic character (and sometimes the emotional tenor) that encompassed the decade's first half; shabby, spikey, guitar-based "alternative rock." A contemporary band "channeling the Nineties" might sound like one or two bands in particular, but they more often than not sound like they're aiming to non-specifically capture a vibe that permeated guitar music for a handful of years. my anti-aircraft friend is a more targeted type of Nineties album, in that it's attempting to be an album that specifically sounds like the year 1992 – made, of course, by people who weren't alive until roughly 2002.

1992 was a fascinating year for guitar music, and specifically shoegaze. It was almost certainly the most well-funded year in the genre's history, as labels like Creation, 4AD, Rough Trade, et. al were witnessing the boom of grunge – and, in the U.K. at least, the promising chart success of select shoegaze and shoegaze-ish bands – and deciding to throw money at said shoegaze bands to see if any of them could translate into Nirvana/Pixies/Sonic Youth-type success stories. 1992 is the year we got Ride's Going Blank Again, Lush's Spooky, Boo Radleys' Everything's Alright Forever, Pale Saints' In Ribbons, Curve's Doppelganger – these gigantic sounding, regally produced epics that aimed to make each band bigger than they ever would've thought possible just a few years prior.

Those were all great records, but none of them had the chart impact that their labels probably hoped they would. In hindsight, no shit. However, what's more interesting about these albums than how they charted is how they set the standard for what a big-ass shoegaze record could sound like going forward. A bar that bands have been chasing for over 30 years. And a bar that julie, being signed to Atlantic Records, and clearly displaying an affinity for 1992-era shoegaze, have the means to if not outdo, then at least meet. And the most frustrating part about my anti-aircraft friend is that it doesn't even come close to matching even the most forgettable shoegaze whiff of 1992 (that would be Revolver's Baby's Angry).

Like Ride and Lush did on their respective 1992 opuses, julie's debut sounds like the noisy, frayed edges of their sound – the most shoegazey elements – were sanded down a smidge to let the bigger, sturdier pop-rocks songs shimmer proudly. The way this album is written (tactical fuzz blasts, growling basslines, punched-up vocals) and produced (wide-open space between each instrument and booming low-end) is entirely oriented around accentuating razory hooks, bludgeoning riffs, and efficient song structures that simply aren't present. The melodies are bland, the guitarwork is predictable, and the writing is almost entirely void of both playfully unexpected twists and gratifyingly predictable straight-aways.

Even on an unabashed MBV rip like "tenebrist," which is the only song on this record I can recall from memory by the time it ends, sounds woefully vacant and stagnant. The mix is so filled with empty space, and the rhythm section is so awkwardly overpowered, that it never ends up sounding as scalding and tempest-like as it should. julie are a trio, and as far as I can tell they decided to sound like a trio on this album, which is a huge no-go for shoegaze bands, who should always have at least one phantom rhythm guitarist – a fourth Green Day member, if you will. When julie aren't doing Isn't Anything-era MBV with a Lush-like palatability, they're either muttering through slowcore ear-sores ("knob"), trying to re-write Feeble Little Horse songs ("Feminine Adornments"), or ambling through Sonic Youth "type beats" that make Dirty sound avant-garde ("piano instrumental").

There's a lot of shoegaze coming out right now that's either mind-bendingly innovative or pleasantly derivative. I've made it clear in my coverage that I'm game for either, so long as it's done well. My biggest criticism of julie is that their output thus far ticks neither of those boxes. They're not adding anything to the genre that hasn't already been done better by even the most unremarkable Julia's War bands, and they're not even using Atlantic's resources to make music that at least sounds baller, even if it's not particularly inspired. The glowing praise I've seen for my anti-aircraft friend astounds me because no matter how many times I run this album back, it never sounds even remotely like a defining shoegaze album of our time. Fortunately, despite the banner year 1992 was, Souvlaki didn't arrive until 1993. Therefore, I'm holding out hope that the true gem(s) of the TikTok-gaze era is on the docket for '25.

Blankenberge - "New Rules"

Ah, shoegaze. Isn't it wonderful? Doesn't it just coat your pores like a cool mist and freshen your breath like a sweetly stingy mint? It sure does when Blankenberge make it. The Russian band, who made one of the greatest shoegaze albums of the last 10 years with 2019's astoundingly crisp More, have been silent since 2021's Everything. This week, they returned with "New Rules," which demonstrates how graceful they are at clicking together Slowdive-like clouds of atmospheric reverb with jugular-slicing distorted guitar that cuts through the mix with aerodynamic precision. I've never heard shoegaze sound as frigid and balmy as Blankenberge's output always manages to be. "New Rules" is like an ice-rink kiss planted on a frost-reddened cheek.

Being Dead - EELS

My dad sent me this album earlier this week because he thought I might like it. I clicked play with no expectations and haven't been able to turn it off since. It's early, but it might be one of the most enjoyable indie rock records I've heard all year (Pitchfork agrees). I was vaguely familiar with Being Dead from their 2023 album, When Horses Would Run, but not enough to remember what they sounded like. I'm still not quite sure of the best way to describe EELS. At times, it reminds me of Chicago psych-twang minimalists Dehd, but with a surfier, punkier undergirding. Sometimes the vocals bring to mind Cende, the short-lived NYC indie supergroup who made one album in 2017 that teetered between taut post-punk and twee indie-pop.

Being Dead do both of those band's sounds better. Their hooks are dangerously sharp, and when they fuse Shangri Las/Ronettes harmonies with toy-chest percussion on "Blanket of My Bone," I'm totally enamored. From that point forward in the tracklist, it seems like every song is striving to be the catchiest. This album is littered with a-list choruses, and Being Dead lackadaisically coo them with the ease of sipping cold brew poolside on a sunny afternoon. For as meticulous and precise as the arrangements are, the band sound entirely relaxed the whole way through, giggling over vocal takes on "Rock n' Roll Hurts" and shrugging off the missteps without ever treading into slacker apathy. I haven't listened to much else this week because I can't justify turning off EELS to do so.

The Hives @ Stage AE

When I was in 7th grade, my dad gave me a bunch of contemporary indie and alternative albums to put on my iPod Nano. Albums by bands like Cold War Kids, the Kaiser Chiefs, !!!, Mercury Rev, and probably a bunch of other blog-era stuff I can't recall. I didn't like any of those bands at the time. All of it sounded like boring Adult Music to me. There was only one album he gave me from this Blogspot batch that I did like: The Black and White Album by the Hives. In fact, it quickly became my favorite album in my meager collection of 30 or 40, and before long, I had my dad download every single album by The Hives so I could hear more from the Swedish garage-punk outfit, who were then styled as a sort of European response to The Strokes (a considerable step up from Australia's Strokes, the Vines.)

Before long, The Hives were my favorite band, which was something I'd never had before. Everything about them spoke to my 12-year-old sensibilities. They were fast and raucous but still exceptionally catchy. They were silly but not jokey. On their early stuff, singer Howlin' Pelle Almqvist screamed every word like a mad dog. I didn't know singers were allowed to do that! Also, The Hives were cool looking. They wore matching suits and struck stylish poses on their album covers. Every member had pseudonyms like Chris Dangerous and Nicholas Arson. And even though most of their albums didn't have the "parental advisory" sticker on them, they still managed to swear on a couple songs, and my mom didn't seem to notice, which was of course the coolest part.

One of my first band t-shirts was a Hives shirt, which I managed to squeeze into from 7th grade all the way to the end of high-school. By then, I had moved on to claiming different Favorite Bands (most of them far lamer than The Hives), and by the time I finished college I had lived through several different evolutions of my music taste, winding up in a place where, ironically, I'd probably really enjoy hearing those !!! and Kaiser Chiefs records. Despite disowning 75% of the music I enjoyed before my twenties by the time I was 21, I never gave up on The Hives. I'd listen to them now and again and never grow tired of hearing the "Hate to Say I Told You So" riff or the "Tick Tick Boom" chorus. A few years ago I picked up a couple Hives CD's from the used bin and had a phenomenally fun weekend cranking their music while I decorated my apartment, all of their lyrics and intra-song transitions flushing back to me as if I was still in 7th grade, playing them on my iPod every day after school.

Despite being a Hives fan for almost 20 years, I'd never seen the band live until last week. They rarely tour the U.S., and when they do it's usually in bigger markets, which was certainly not the Western, NY city where I grew up (Rochester). But for their latest tour, in support of their kickass 2023 album, The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons, The Hives came through Pittsburgh, and I ensured that I was there to see them. In fact, I managed to convince their publicist to put me on the guest list, which, unbeknownst to me until I arrived at the venue, granted me access to VIP seating up in the balcony. If you told 7th grade Eli that he'd be able to see the Hives for free, while sitting in the VIP section of a club, chit-chatting about music biz gossip with my friend in between songs, I would've...well, I probably would've put even less effort into studying for my math exams, which might not have worked out in the long run. So it's probably best that I couldn't see the future.

Needless to say, the experience felt pleasantly full-circle for me. Mostly because of how fucking amazing The Hives were as a live band some 25 years into their career. Howlin' Pelle is damn-near pushing 50, and was supposedly nursing a torn ACL, as he revealed halfway through the set, but he still thrashed, headbanged, climbed, and ran about the stage with the verve of a young twenty-something. He simply did not stop moving the entire set, and frequently stepped down in front of the crowd to sing in people's faces – or even cut through the audience like a cake knife and strut all the way back to the bar before retreating for the epic encore of "Tick Tick Boom."

They mostly played from the new record, which wasn't so much a return to form (they never left) as it was a reminder of how timelessly fun their sound is. The crowd was greyer and tamer than most shows I go to these days, but the band got everyone moving to the best of their abilities, and classics like "Walk Idiot Walk" and "Main Offender" went over like classic rock staples. Sure, I wouldn't have minded hearing a setlist that pulled more from their back catalog, but it made me happy to see newer tracks like "Bogus Operandi" and "Countdown to Shutdown" get the same caterwauling response from fans as the oldies did. There aren't any bad Hives songs, and I can't imagine there are really any bad Hives shows. Most aspects of my life are better now than they were when I was in 7th grade, but I'm glad the Hives remain just as cool as they've ever been to me.