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Hearkened Heap: Bands Of The Heavy Underground – October 3rd, 2020

Article By: Leanne Ridgeway, Owner/Editor This random roundup of bands is the Hearkened Heap. I enjoy alliteration, get over it. Silly name, serious fun. We may not be able to catch live music in person yet, but we can still bring you some heavy while we’re waiting. We receive a bucket of emails every day about […]



Article By: Leanne Ridgeway, Owner/Editor

This random roundup of bands is the Hearkened Heap. I enjoy alliteration, get over it. Silly name, serious fun. We may not be able to catch live music in person yet, but we can still bring you some heavy while we’re waiting.

We receive a bucket of emails every day about new music and rarely have enough time to cover each one. This is a quick list of bands to check out, many of whom have new music and I’ll throw in some older albums you may have missed or forgotten about. Many of these artists may also be part of our monthly Spotify playlists as we go along. Listen, follow, shop, share, or all of the above…

Hearkened Heap

October 3rd, 2020


Bandcamp | Merch


Facebook | Instagram | Website | Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp | Merch


Facebook | Instagram | YouTube | Bandcamp | MerchUS / MerchEU


Facebook | Instagram | Website | Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp | Merch


Facebook | Instagram | Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp | Merch


Facebook | Instagram | Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp | Merch


Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | Website | Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp | Merch


Facebook | Instagram | Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp


Facebook | Instagram | TwitterWebsite | Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp | Merch1 / Merch2


Facebook | Instagram | TwitterWebsite | Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp | MerchUS / MerchEU


Facebook | Instagram | Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp | Merch


Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp | Merch


Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp | Merch


Facebook | Instagram | Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp | Merch


Facebook | Instagram | TwitterWebsite | Spotify | YouTube | Bandcamp | Merch

If you’re a heavy band and have some news, send us your information [HERE].

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2020, Acid Roulette, Atmospheric, Audio Stream, Bandcamp, Bones Of The Earth, Briqueville, Death Metal, Denimachine, Doom, Hardcore, Hearkened Heap, Heavy Metal, Heavy Rock, Jupiterian, Melodic, Metal, Monster Magnet, Mos Generator, Oceans Of Slumber, Post-Hardcore, Post-Metal, Progressive, Psych Rock, Psychedelia, Punk, Satan, Seum, Sludge, Spotify, Stoner Rock, Takezo, The Bronx, The Penitent Man, Thrash


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Why Touché Amoré may never be able to write a full love record

Touché Amoré aren’t a band known for delicacy. Despite the frequent counterpoint coupling of frontman Jeremy Bolm’s thumbtack-gargling vocals with lavish, delay-heavy guitar atmosphere, they’re a band on the attack. They cut their teeth on songs with ferocious bite and lyrics of sharp self-introspection that typically lean into pessimism. When Bolm initially began work on […]

The post Why Touché Amoré may never be able to write a full love record appeared first on Alternative Press.




Touché Amoré aren’t a band known for delicacy. Despite the frequent counterpoint coupling of frontman Jeremy Bolms thumbtack-gargling vocals with lavish, delay-heavy guitar atmosphere, they’re a band on the attack. They cut their teeth on songs with ferocious bite and lyrics of sharp self-introspection that typically lean into pessimism. When Bolm initially began work on their latest album, Lament, he set out to write a “love record” devoted to his fiancé. However, he soon realized that their approach to making music doesn’t lend itself particularly well to professing undying affection. Simply stated—throat-screaming “I love you” doesn’t always come off as the most endearing.

Regardless, Lament features their poppiest song to date, an abundance of country-inspired pedal steel and actual bona fide lyrics of affection. But don’t you worry—the album is just as urgent and abrasive as anything in the TA catalog. And Bolm considers it to be a great gateway into the band.

Read more: The internet is here for Jack White as the last-minute ‘SNL’ musical guest

“I think it’s going to be one of those records that you don’t have to feel like you had to have been initiated in 2010. I think it’s a perfect entry point for us. I think that’s a really cool part in any band’s career,” Bolm says. “If you’re new to the band, this is a fantastic entry point. And if you’re already familiar, I think you’re going to have a good time.”

Upon the album’s release, Bolm caught up with Alternative Press to revisit the intensely confessional nature of his entire discography. Bolm also explained the Lament track that is a direct sequel to Stage Four and how the pedal steel became prominent on the record. 

…To The Beat Of A Dead Horse and Parting The Sea Between Brightness And Me lyrically feel like someone who’s defining themselves in a stage of life that is tumultuous and decisive. Coming to terms with finding ideals and things that most people would write off as idealism. Is Survived By feels like someone accepting their mortality. Struggling with that feeling that the life you are leading now currently dictates the legacy you will be remembered by. Stage Four is the period of life in which you have to accept the mortality of the people that you love. Do you feel like your albums are a chronology of your life? And as importantly, your grasp of a deeper meaning and the eventual end of life? If so, how does Lament factor into your understanding of yourself and your own life? 

JEREMY BOLM: Yeah, I certainly do. I started this band just as an outlet. As a way to deal with whatever I was going through in those periods of my life. So each one of these records has all been very time and place. I’ve always done my best to not write about people specifically. Because feelings about people change, and relationships change. And I never wanted to get stuck singing about something I don’t necessarily think I’m going to connect to years later.

[…To The Beat Of A Dead Horse] being about everyday depression that I think a lot of people go through. And my understanding that I’m not doing anything about it other than complaining about it. Which is what I feel like I did throughout that whole record. I’m not looking for any sort of help. I’m just looking to get it out. That’s why I’m beating a dead horse in that I’m not saying anything new. I’m not unique.

And then Parting The Sea… was the band getting to tour. The band are now on the road. The band are now on the road a lot. It’s finding solace within that and learning how to handle relationships. Family-wise, romantically, all of those sorts of things.

Is Survived By, as you mentioned, is much about legacy. How I’m living and how I’m going to be remembered and all these sorts of things. I had turned 30 when that record was being written. I have to assume a lot of our listeners are, if they’re not 30 yet, approaching 30. I think that record was a perfect thing for me to write about at that time. A lot of people say when you turn 25, you start to reflect on your life. I don’t know that I necessarily agree with that. I think 25 is when you’re starting to become comfortable in your own skin. But 30 is when you have to look at the bigger picture, which is what I was doing.

And then [Stage Four], I lost my mom, and I had to recalibrate my entire existence. Come to terms with my own fear of mortality. And obviously, the sadness of losing a parent.

And now we’re at Lament, which is me reflecting on all of these sorts of things. What I’ve written and the relationships I have. And now I do feel comfortable writing about someone close to me because that person is going to be close to me for the rest of my life. All of these things factor into Lament and what that record represents and who I represent as a person at this time in my life. 

Stage Four was devoted to the grieving process of dealing with your mother’s death. Did the process of divulging so much grief leave you emotionally drained? Was it challenging to pour something new into this record? You touched on the idea of it being about somebody who you know you’re going to be around for your entire life. Do you think by dealing with your mother’s death through lyrics, it enabled you to now write about people who you have an attachment to in a way that you weren’t able to before?

Yes. Stage Four was certainly emotionally depleting. In a lot of ways. I’ve been saying a lot lately that when I reflect on writing that record, I don’t reflect on it as a fun time. For me, it was just necessary. It was my way of handling my own grief and what I was going through. It was the easiest record to write and the hardest record to write. The easiest in the term of there was never a moment where I didn’t have some avenue I could take. Do I write about how I’m feeling about visiting her in hospice? Do I write about how I was feeling the day I found out about it? Do I write about how I was feeling today as I’m having to go through all her things and clear out the house? There was an endless supply of directions to write about. In that regard, it was easy because I can write six more albums about that. But I don’t want to do that. And I don’t know that our listener base wants that, either.

Taking all of that into account, now it’s four years later, and I have to write a new record. And there was just a hard new understanding on how to approach a record. OK, so I just put out arguably the most personal record that I’m ever going to write. The most heartbreaking record that I’m ever gonna write, hopefully. I don’t want to test the universe and try to have them give me something new to deal with. But I think what this did was it gave me an ample opportunity to reflect on what has happened in my life since releasing Stage Four. I’m with someone who was there for me throughout that entire process, who I’m now engaged to.

Reminders” is arguably the poppiest song in our entire catalog, which was a fun direction to write. It wasn’t meant to be that way. Once that song came to be and the chorus was in my head, it was a matter of taking it further than we’ve ever taken a song before. Let’s make it big. And have fun with that and pull from the influences that we all have within us but we’ve never really explored. I always joke that there’s only a handful of bands that we all agree on. We all listen to such different stuff. But one of those bands, of the five that we all like, is Jimmy Eat World. I think that cuts through a little bit in that.

That song is political in a way. I wrote it the day that Trump didn’t get impeached, and it was just built out of that frustration. It was fun to take this record with different avenues. It was the most fun I’ve had doing a record because everything was exciting. Working with Ross [Robinson] was exciting. Writing the songs was exciting. For that reason, I look at this record as just a completely new experience. And it’s nice to have that five records deep. 

On Is Survived By, with the song “To Write Content,” you’re wondering if you can write a song without channeling that pessimism. Do you think you’re at a place in your life where you can do that now? 

Is it hard to write a song without having to inject pessimism? Definitely. I think it’s a mix of the impostor syndrome that I always feel. I think I’m at my best when I’m at my worst. When I was thinking about where to go with this record a long time ago, I went to see Turnstile play. Brendan [Yates] and I were talking. I was like, “I’m thinking about maybe writing a love record.” And he got excited. He was like, “I fucking love that. That’s sick. You should totally write a love record.”

And then I was making a stab at that, which some of this album is. But at the same time, making the kind of music that we make, it’s really difficult to write a love song. You’re yelling in an aggressive manner. And it just feels incorrect. That was a bit of a challenge, which I enjoyed. But still, like I mentioned, impostor syndrome and just questioning who I am at every turn is always going to come through.

With the first song on the record, “Come Heroine,” I can’t help it say “And I’m just a risk/A colossal near miss/Prone to resist what is best for me.” Which is a short history lesson in a lot of my past relationships. I’m gone most of the year. I’m not great with my emotions. I bottle them up, and this is my way of always expressing them. I found somebody who has changed me in a lot of those ways and has made my life dramatically better. 

Stage Four did a really great job of interjecting more soft moments. But you push it farther on this record. Specifically, the pedal steel. When I first heard Nick [Steinhardt, guitarist]’s cover of AFI’s “God Called In Sick Today,” it blew my mind. I was hoping to hear that sound on a Touché Amoré record. And then you did it. But was there trepidation behind doing that? You’re not known for being a band who sound twinkly and delicate. But somehow you really made it work with this record. And there’s a haunting element to that pedal steel. But were you nervous about incorporating those elements? 

No. And yes. It was one of the things where Nick had told us he was picking up that instrument. He was learning how to play it. His best friend got one, and I think he played around with it and found that he enjoyed it. Both Nick and Clayton [Stevens, guitarist] have gone through a deep, very old classic country phase.

They’re like super into extremely obscure, early, early country records. Nick has the funniest collection now of like 80-year-old men playing pedal steel records. Which is incredible. He goes to pedal steel conventions, where he’s definitely the youngest person there. He had picked up this instrument, and he and I had a discussion when we started writing the record. I told him, “If you think you could write a song for the record on the pedal steel, I think that would be great.”

If you reflect on all of our records, they have the weirdo track. On Parting The Sea…, we have a song with a piano. It’s not exactly the most original thing, but piano and screaming felt like trying to do something a little different on that record. And then Is Survived By has a song called “Non Fiction.” It’s a post-rock song, for lack of a better term. Stage Four has “Skyscraper,” which you can tell is influenced by bands like the National. And then this record has “A Broadcast,” which was written on pedal steel. It has a chanty Arcade Fire chorus.

When Nick wrote the song, we were so stoked on it. It’s so brilliant and really pretty. And then I had the thought of, “Shit, what am I going to do over this thing?” And that’s what I’m often hit with. At the moments when the guys present something truly interesting, I’m always beside myself. Like, “Yeah!…Fuck! What am I gonna do?” Then I figured [I’ll] just take a step back from the mic. Just yelling, but not screaming. It’ll come off in more of a loud poetry sense, which I think helped the song take full form. 

I’m glad you brought up “Condolences” [The “weirdo” track on Parting The Sea…]. Is the Lament closing track, “A Forecast,” a stylistic nod to “Condolences,” with the minimal vocal and piano treatment? Lyrically, is it a direct sequel to Stage Four

Yes, absolutely. I look at “A Forecast” as an open letter to the listeners who were there for Stage Four. The people who connected to it in a way that no one wants to connect to it. Someone who likely lost somebody or in any other way. You could have just enjoyed their record for what it was, and that’s fine. And you understand the concepts. “A Forecast” is me not being clever. “A Forecast” is me just being very direct. And it was the last song I wrote for the record. I wrote it less than a week before we entered the studio. I had three more songs to finish before going into the studio. It was “Exit Row,” “A Broadcast” and “A Forecast.” I had come to Elliot [B[Babin, drummer]span style=”font-weight: 400;”> who always plays piano on all of our stuff. I was like, “Come up with something not too intricate. Something ominous.”

I think a really important message is that there’s no time limit on grief. Having someone tell you “Just give it time” or “Time heals” is the most fucking toxic thing you could say to somebody who is going through something like that. I’m never gonna get over it. I don’t think anyone who’s ever gone through something like that ever gets over it. I think the message that I’m trying to really get out with the end of the track is basically saying that it’s OK to not be OK. And don’t assume that the person in your life that may have suffered a loss 10 years ago, five years ago, two years ago is good. Always check in on your friends and always be there for them, whether you think they need it or not. Just a simple text. 

Have you ever had a point in your career where you were worried that you didn’t have anything left to lament? Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe someday down the road, you won’t have that pessimism? Is that a fear of yours?

Do I fear being completely depleted? Kind of. Yeah. I think that ties into the impostor syndrome thing. You sit down with a notepad and whatever it is that’s in your head and can’t come up with anything. You convince yourself that, you know, my worth. Is it gone? Do I not have anything left to say? And I think when you have the worst feelings of those moments is when you do start to shine. I think it’s when you feel like you have nothing left is when some of your best material is going to come out.

Lament is available now via Epitaph Records. Stream it here or below. Touché Amoré will also be hosting a record release show on Twitch Oct. 12, which airs here at 9 p.m. ET.


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Overo / Asthenia – Split EP


This record came in the post the other day to remind me that split 7″ format is still the perfect medium to convey the powerful emotions and intensity of this type of music scene. The late ’90s post-hardcore/emo revival in recent times has been very appreciated. There’s also no doubt that Houston’s Overo—featuring two members […]

The post Overo / Asthenia – Split EP first appeared on DIY Conspiracy – International Zine in the Spirit of DIY Hardcore Punk!.




overo-asthenia-splitArtist: Overo / Asthenia

Title: Split

Release: 7″ EP / Digital

Year: 2020

Label: Forge, Count Your Lucky Stars, Middle-man, Pundonor, strictly no capital letters, Lilac Sky, Polar Summer, Scully Records

This record came in the post the other day to remind me that split 7″ format is still the perfect medium to convey the powerful emotions and intensity of this type of music scene.

The late ’90s post-hardcore/emo revival in recent times has been very appreciated. There’s also no doubt that Houston’s Overo—featuring two members of Football etc. and the drummer of Perfect Future—absolutely nail that kind of emotive hardcore in the five minutes or so they can commit to the their side of the record.

Overo’s first track is called “Haunted by Heat”—a song about loss and coming to terms with the end of something cherished—was inspired by real-life events about a series of fires in old buildings with faulty gas or electrical systems that took multiple lives. Impassionately screamed male and female vocals are brewed along beautifully layered and driving melodic guitars. The song structure is nothing new, take any classic Gravity Records band and you know the score. But I’m still latched onto this kind of stuff. The song is fantastic.

Second track “Near The End” is a more straight-forward emotional quickfire. It explodes in an outburst of personal emotions and it’s gone. The lyrics say “She told me that love is not enough,” and it’s time to turn the record over and enjoy the other side.

On the flipside there are two more tracks, with Asthenia contained on it. These guys are one of those absolutely incredible screamo bands from Tokyo that everyone should know about.

More than just an explosion of melodic guitars and utterly desperate vocals, their sound is deeply rooted in the ’90s hardcore scene noodling to bands like Groundwork, Frail, You and I, etc. Both of their tracks are carefully layered, textured and pieced together to make a seamless blend of crying-on-the-floor emo and chuggy hardcore that comes from the heart.

Needless to say that Japanese lyrics and the unbridled passion they release in screaming those in their native tongue is something that you can’t get from any other part of the world. Solid stuff all around!


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Milo first heard Descendents’ debut album at a stranger’s house in college

Maybe you’re a grizzled punk lifer who hates the kids. Perhaps you came of a certain age where you use the term ”melodic hardcore” more than “pop punk.” You may be a new listener doing a deep immersion into punk history. If you identify with any of these terms, we know you understand the importance […]

The post Milo first heard Descendents’ debut album at a stranger’s house in college appeared first on Alternative Press.




Maybe you’re a grizzled punk lifer who hates the kids. Perhaps you came of a certain age where you use the term ”melodic hardcore” more than “pop punk.” You may be a new listener doing a deep immersion into punk history. If you identify with any of these terms, we know you understand the importance of Milo Goes To College, the 1982 debut album from the mighty Descendents. That’s why we corralled frontman Milo Aukerman and drummer Bill Stevenson for an oral history of the legendary release.

Indeed, Descendents—frontman Aukerman, drummer Stevenson, guitarist Frank Navetta and bassist Tony Lombardo—crafted an enduring document of American hardcore. Ripe with teen frustration and hatred (“Parents”), hooks to hang from like a nerd suspension artist (“Hope”) and unbridled energy (“Suburban Home”), this album is punk history that shall never lose its shine.

Read more: These 6 geek-rock bands are living proof that being a nerd is punk AF

You can tell Aukerman and Stevenson how awesome they are, and they still won’t believe you. The duo remember what the songwriting process was all about and how their lives as outsiders and nerds were shaped by band life. One-part history lesson, one-part angst case study and another part sheer WTF-ery, this oral history of Descendents’ mile-marking work will shock and awe you.   

Milo Goes To College was written by four individuals. All the themes are wildly different from song to song. But they all sound extremely cohesive. What was the mindset in Descendents at the time that made it sound like all these ideas were coming from the minds of four individuals but coming out of the voice of one cohesive unit?

BILL STEVENSON: It’s like instead of having asparagus and potato and steak and beans, we made gumbo.

MILO AUKERMAN: Because we’re going to the Wienerschnitzel ranters. 

STEVENSON: [to Aukerman] You know what I mean. We made gumbo. Like he said, it’s cohesive. Gumbo is one dish, but like not steak and asparagus and potatoes and beans. So we made gumbo. Yeah. I’m hungry.

What was the dynamic like in the band around that time period? How did you all get on the same page? I think it’s extremely impressive. Everybody’s contributing lyrics and music. But still, it sounded 100% like a single voice. Throughout the entire course of the Descendents, you have always sounded extremely cohesive. But at that time period in particular, what was the dynamic between the four members of the band like?

AUKERMAN: I think we all share an outcasts mentality that you can see running through most of the lyrics. Bill and I were in high school together, and we both had that. Frank was one year older? 

STEVENSON: He was a year older. He was one year ahead of us but same high school. Tony had gone to Maricopa two years prior. 

AUKERMAN: I didn’t know that. So I think I’d be a combination of the outcast part but also the nerd part. Because like Tony, we were both nerds. I was a nerd coming into it, and then I think Tony embraced the same thing. But that’s just another branch of being an outcast. So I think that’s probably lyrically what we could really rally around as a force. I’m just like, “Yeah, stick it to the jocks!” or whatever. I didn’t write very many of the lyrics. I just embraced them wholeheartedly because they spoke to me as being an outcast, as well. So then when I’m singing, I’m just like really putting my own line. And because of the fact that I identified with the same struggles that these chaps were undergoing.

STEVENSON: You know, I was talking to Tony on the phone just yesterday. I told him flat out, it’s like you guys were the only friends I had. I didn’t have any other friends, no girls or anything. That was just our little club that we had. We’re not even talking about the music. That was my world. Descendents meant everything to me. I don’t think we really even knew what the outside world was going to make of our lyrics, what they were going to think of them. We never really thought anyone would hear our band other than just a few of our buddies. It’s crazy how it all worked out.

Read more: 10 musicians you probably didn’t know were also teachers

AUKERMAN: I think our entire social life in high school would be parties and going to the beach and whatever. But our whole social enterprise was basically practice. We practiced a lot because that was how we actually socialized, And that speaks to how Descendents were like the Four Musketeers, basically. I think the bond started from that moment, and the band continued to do it through the years.

I feel like the record is the summation of everybody’s high school experience. It’s completely universal. And it’s also that weird period in your early 20s where we’re still figuring shit out. What was your high school like? What was your hometown like growing up? That fostered this record. 

STEVENSON: We lived pretty much on the beach, you know, Hermosa Beach, Manhattan Beach, California. So it was nice that way. That’s a pleasant life to be able to go swimming, surfing and fishing all the time. But at the high school itself, I personally didn’t get on with the rich, preppy types with the… What do you call those boat shoes, Milo?

AUKERMAN: Top-Siders. The uniform was the Sperry Top-Siders and the alligator shirts, the Izod Lacoste

STEVENSON: Yeah, alligators. And it was just the cheerleaders and all that stuff. Like, there was no place for us there.

You have talked in interviews in the past about how you rejected the fashion aspect of being punk and that whole culture behind it. You were just doing your own thing. Did you feel like Descendents fit in with punk-rock culture, or do you think you were accepted musically? Or do you think you were being looked at strangely during the early years?

AUKERMAN: We must have played shows with other sprocket-head bands, and they were just like, “Who are these guys?” Because there was this fashion sense in the band. But it was really a fashion sense born out of fishing. 

STEVENSON: There was a while where everyone was wearing those jumpsuits because we would wear those fishing. We’d call it a “clothe.”

AUKERMAN: Pants and shirts normally go separate, but this was pants fused to shirt. It was a “clothe.” And the thing is, I never fished with these guys. But they would go fishing and get those clothes covered with fish guts. And then they just come to practice stinking like fish or go to school stinking.

So I think we had just dressed like normal schmoes or we were wearing fishing gear. At that point in L.A., the English punk had come in, and it became a fashion scene. The good thing about [it] is that we actually were from the South Bay. Actually in the South Bay, you had a lot of bands that were just like, “Screw that.”

STEVENSON: That’s true, Milo. None of the bands we hung out with bothered with any of that peacock stuff. Minutemen or Saccharine Trust or Black Flag or us or anything else. None of them and whoever I’m leaving out had any sensibility toward Sex Pistols stuff or the mohawks, Because those kinds of clothes cost a lot of money. You have to go out of your way to do that. My dad worked two full-time jobs my whole childhood. We were poor. We didn’t have any money. So my clothes came from Kmart or the thrift store.

What do you think is the greatest risk Descendents took with Milo Goes To College in that era in general? And did that risk pay off the way you had intended? It could be a personal risk or a risk as a band.

AUKERMAN: We didn’t know how else to be. All we could do is be ourselves. But “ourselves” doesn’t make for good punk rock. Think about it. I think that’s one of the biggest risks, especially at that time. All the bands are, you know, “Reagan sucks” or whatever. And we’re like, “I just want to write a song about going to Wienerschnitzel. Or write a song about my girlfriend or all these non-punk subjects. I feel like there’s a risk in that. I think the risk was just to basically put our own personalities out there and not be someone we weren’t.

STEVENSON: Yeah. It’s like, yeah, Reagan does suck, but fuck, everybody already knows that. So now what are we going to talk about?

AUKERMAN: I feel like our risk going into it was that we were just going to bank on being ourselves somehow was going to show through as something unique or as something that people wanted to hear. And I guess it was a risk that paid off because I feel like it comes across [as] more genuine. I probably didn’t even realize I was risking that at the time. In retrospect, maybe it would’ve been a lot easier just to put on the studs and all the leather and play a personality, play a persona or something.

STEVENSON: Personally, I think that people give Descendents so much more credit than we deserve for even knowing what we were doing. We lived in our own little bubble. Again, I’m speaking from my perspective. And it’s like, “Well, these are the songs we have, so these are what the album is going to be.” We didn’t really have a strategy or a mission statement or anything. There weren’t dos and don’ts. It was just, “These are the songs we have. These are the ones that we kick the most butt on. So these are gonna go on the record.” You’ve got to remember, we were very, very young. And I think that, again, really speaking for myself, I was extremely naive for my age. So we’re talking about a lot of youthful innocence and youthful ignorance.

Milo, when you had gone to college, how did you feel knowing that this record was coming out? What was that experience having this record being put out and knowing that you’re not in the band? In that time period of your life, did you have any regrets of how things were going? Or were you just fully committed to school? 

AUKERMAN: I was committed to school. I just started freshman year. For some reason, I couldn’t get into the dorm, So I was living off-campus. So it’s ultra-isolated, not even with my cohort, living in a room in someone’s house with a couple of brothers and a mom that lived there, too. 

So one of the brothers came up to me. This is after I’ve been living there for a few months and said, “Hey, my buddy down the street just got your record.” And I was like, “What? Oh, it finally came out.” Like, I had no idea. I didn’t know what the release date was. I didn’t have a physical copy of it myself. So he said, “You mean you don’t have it?” I go, “No.” He goes, “Well, come on over to my buddy’s house, and we’re gonna spin that mother.”

So I go over to this guy’s friend’s house, and that’s when I first heard the vinyl version of this. I was so out of the loop at that point ’cause I was [putting my head] down, putting on the blinders, trying to get my schoolwork done. So I had to go to some other house where they were spinning it. And then it must have been very strange for them because I was listening. They’re like, “You mean you haven’t heard this before?” And so that was me, listening [and] critiquing myself.

Read more: Knuckle Puck: The oral history of LPs, EPs and friendships

STEVENSON: You had the cassette. 

AUKERMAN: What’s that? No, I didn’t. I didn’t have a cassette. I had nothing like that. But you think I would have said, “Hey Bill, can you rip me a copy of this?” But I was so like [rubs palms together], “See you later. I’m going to college.” And when I heard it at this friend’s house, I was really like, “Well, OK. I guess it turned out pretty cool. That was just a bizarre thing to have to go to a friend of my roommate’s house to hear it for the first time. 

That was one of those things [where] we talk about the impact that it had. I felt like it didn’t really have an impact, although I did know that one person bought my record at that point. And so I was like, “OK, someone bought it. That’s cool.”


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