Sub Pop Rock & Indie 214 Items

Oh, Inverted World, the earth-shattering, indie-rock-redefining 2001 debut album by The Shins, is presented here in its finest form, dressed up all nice for its 20th birthday. The classic tunes get new life by way of a full remastering job under band leader James Mercer's watchful eye, the art is given a little extra zest via a die-cut jacket and a classy inner sleeve, and the package is rounded off with a big ol' booklet with vintage photos, handwritten lyrics, and more. The music, of course, is obviously essential. Aside from a friendly reminder that this is the album with the smash hit "New Slang," as heard in the hit movie Garden State, we just need to note that the remastering job truly makes this the album James Mercer always wanted it to be. Never quite satisfied with the sonics of the original, Mercer took the 20th anniversary of the album as his opportunity to finally set the (literal!) record straight. And the results sound stellar: great for new fans, and well worth the attention of those already on board! For old times' sake, here's what we had to say about this record back when it came out: Hailing from Albuquerque, NM, The Shins sprung from the ashes of Flake/Flake Music in 1997 (though those previous incarnations date back nearly a decade) - same members, different instruments, different approach. Counterpoint guitars have given way to a single guitar pitted against calculated keyboard passages; swarming indie rock machinations led to pop-based melodic endeavors (who knew?).

... incl. coupon for free download of the entire album

The Vaselines have long been celebrated by musicians and music enthusiasts across genres and across the globe, including super-fan Kurt Cobain. Emerging in the mid-eighties under the wing of The Pastels' Stephen McRobbie, The Vaselines came to define the sly wit and irresistible pop hooks of the era's Scottish indie scene. Sub Pop's remastered reintroduction of The Way of The Vaselines is an opportunity for those already familiar with the Scottish band's brief career to delve deeper into their body of work, while those new to their music can experience firsthand why so many hold them in such high regard. Originally mastered from a cassette tape (and since remastered on much better equipment in the new millennium), The Way of The Vaselines compiles the band's two EPs (Son of a Gun and Dying for It) and their sole LP release (Dum-Dum). This 2023 edition is the first ever vinyl release of The Way of The Vaselines, which originally came out on CD in 1992.

Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy on its wearer's shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. "A lot of it did feel like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length," says vocalist Charlie Drinkwater. "I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest." Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single "House of York" followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to Sub Pop for their debut album. When Uppers arrived in the height of a global pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its "dystopian doublespeak," but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the personal and professional landmark of its release felt "both colossal and minuscule" dampened by the inability to share it live. "It was a real gratification and really cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental health" admits Drinkwater. "I wasn't prepared, and I hadn't necessarily expected it to reach as many people as it did." As such, My Other People maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using "Saintless" (the closing song from Uppers) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health. "Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would say, particularly well," he says. "There was a lot of things that had happened to myself and my family that were quite troubling moments.Despite that I do think the record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in." "It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful," agrees Bueth. "Brutality and frustration are only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening." This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to My Other People, a record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you're welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy on its wearer's shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. "A lot of it did feel like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length," says vocalist Charlie Drinkwater. "I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest." Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single "House of York" followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to Sub Pop for their debut album. When Uppers arrived in the height of a global pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its "dystopian doublespeak," but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the personal and professional landmark of its release felt "both colossal and minuscule" dampened by the inability to share it live. "It was a real gratification and really cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental health" admits Drinkwater. "I wasn't prepared, and I hadn't necessarily expected it to reach as many people as it did." As such, My Other People maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using "Saintless" (the closing song from Uppers) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health. "Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would say, particularly well," he says. "There was a lot of things that had happened to myself and my family that were quite troubling moments.Despite that I do think the record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in." "It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful," agrees Bueth. "Brutality and frustration are only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening." This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to My Other People, a record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you're welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

It's Tempting To Think That You Have All The Answers, Screaming Your Gospel Every Day With Certainty And Anger. Life Isn't Quite Like That Though, And The Debut Album From London Four-Piece Tv Priest Instead Embraces The Beautiful And Terrifying Unknowns That Exist Personally, Politically, And Culturally. Posing As Many Questions As It Answers, Uppers Is A Thunderous Opening Statement That Continues The Uk's Recent Resurgence Of Grubby, Furious Post-Punk Music. It Says Something Very Different Though - Something Completely Its Own. Four Childhood Friends Who Made Music Together As Teenagers Before Drifting Apart And Then, Somewhat Inevitably, Back Together Late In 2019, Tv Priest Was Borne Out Of A Need To Create Together Once Again, And Brings With It A Wealth Of Experience And Exhaustion Picked Up In The Band's Years Of Pursuing 'Real Life' And 'Real Jobs', Something Those Teenagers Never Had. Last November, The Band - Vocalist Charlie Drinkwater, Guitarist Alex Sprogis, Bass And Keys Player Nic Smith And Drummer Ed Kelland - Played Their First Show, To A Smattering Of Friends In What They Describe As An "Industrial Freezer" In The Warehouse District Of Hackney Wick. "It Was Like The Pub In Peep Show With A Washing Machine Just In The Middle_" Charlie Laughs, Remembering How They Dodged Star Wars Memorabilia And Deep Fat Fryers While Making Their First Statement As A Band. Unsurprisingly, There Isn't A Precedent For Launching A Band During A Global Pandemic, But Among The General Sense Of Anxiety And Unease Pervading Everything At The Moment, Tv Priest's Entrance In April With The Release Of Debut Single "House Of York" - A Searing Examination Of The Monarchy Set Over Wiry Post-Punk And Fronted By A Mark E. Smith-Like Mouthpiece - Served As A Breath Of Fresh Air Among The Chaos, Its Anger And Confusion Making Some Kind Of Twisted Sense To The Nation's Fried Brains. It's The Same Continued Global Sense Of Anxiety That Will Greet The Release Of Uppers, And It's An Album That Has A Lot To Say Rig...

It's Tempting To Think That You Have All The Answers, Screaming Your Gospel Every Day With Certainty And Anger. Life Isn't Quite Like That Though, And The Debut Album From London Four-Piece Tv Priest Instead Embraces The Beautiful And Terrifying Unknowns That Exist Personally, Politically, And Culturally. Posing As Many Questions As It Answers, Uppers Is A Thunderous Opening Statement That Continues The Uk's Recent Resurgence Of Grubby, Furious Post-Punk Music. It Says Something Very Different Though - Something Completely Its Own. Four Childhood Friends Who Made Music Together As Teenagers Before Drifting Apart And Then, Somewhat Inevitably, Back Together Late In 2019, Tv Priest Was Borne Out Of A Need To Create Together Once Again, And Brings With It A Wealth Of Experience And Exhaustion Picked Up In The Band's Years Of Pursuing 'Real Life' And 'Real Jobs', Something Those Teenagers Never Had. Last November, The Band - Vocalist Charlie Drinkwater, Guitarist Alex Sprogis, Bass And Keys Player Nic Smith And Drummer Ed Kelland - Played Their First Show, To A Smattering Of Friends In What They Describe As An "Industrial Freezer" In The Warehouse District Of Hackney Wick. "It Was Like The Pub In Peep Show With A Washing Machine Just In The Middle_" Charlie Laughs, Remembering How They Dodged Star Wars Memorabilia And Deep Fat Fryers While Making Their First Statement As A Band. Unsurprisingly, There Isn't A Precedent For Launching A Band During A Global Pandemic, But Among The General Sense Of Anxiety And Unease Pervading Everything At The Moment, Tv Priest's Entrance In April With The Release Of Debut Single "House Of York" - A Searing Examination Of The Monarchy Set Over Wiry Post-Punk And Fronted By A Mark E. Smith-Like Mouthpiece - Served As A Breath Of Fresh Air Among The Chaos, Its Anger And Confusion Making Some Kind Of Twisted Sense To The Nation's Fried Brains. It's The Same Continued Global Sense Of Anxiety That Will Greet The Release Of Uppers, And It's An Album That Has A Lot To Say Rig...

If you're looking for a raw, sugary blast of distorted pop, look no further than Weird Nightmare. The debut album from Metz guitarist and vocalist Alex Edkins contains all of his main band's bite with an unexpected, yet totally satisfying, sweetness. Imagine The Amps covering Big Star, or the gloriously hissy miniature epics of classic-era Guided by Voices combined with the bombast of Copper Blue- era Sugar-just tons of red-line distortion cut with the type of tunecraft that thrills the moment it hits your ears. These ten songs showcase a new side of Edkins' already-established songwriting, but even though the bulk of Weird Nightmare was recorded during the Covid-19 pandemic some of its tunes date back to 2013 in demo form. "Hooks and melody have always been a big part of my writing, but they really became the main focus this time" he explains. "It was about doing what felt natural." To be clear: Weird Nightmare is not a "pandemic album," but an album-some of which had been gestating for quite a while-that just so happened to be recorded during the pandemic. "I had always planned on finishing these songs, but being unable to tour with Metz, and forced to lock down, really gave me a push." After days spent homeschooling his son, Edkins would drive to the Metz rehearsal room and tinker deep into the night on these songs' deceptively simple structures and rich, static-laden textures. "It was a godsend for me," he states about the creative process. "The hours would disappear and I would get lost in the music and record. It was a beautiful escape." Weird Nightmare is, in its own way, a study in extremes: Edkins' melodic instincts and penchant for dissonance are both turned up to the max throughout, the latter reflecting not only the barn-burning tendencies of Metz, but Alex's own sonic predilections. "It doesn't sound right to my ears until it's pushed over the edge." He also cites other artists who are masterful at mixing the sublime and the punishing-Kim Deal and Scout Niblett among them-as influences on his own songwriting. "My favorite songs are the simple ones," he explains. "I've never been attracted to virtuosity or technicality. Certain songs have the power to lift your spirits like nothing else can. I wanted to create that type of song." A few guests pitch in on Weird Nightmare: Canadian alt-pop genius Chad VanGaalen adds his unmistakable touch to the ever-escalating "Oh No," while Alicia Bognanno of Bully lends her distinctive pipes to the thrashing "Wrecked," a collaboration that effectively saved the song. "I almost didn't put it on the album because I thought it was missing something," Edkins explains. "I sent it to Alicia and she lifted it way up." And taking risks and reaching out of Edkins' comfort zone was the name of the game when it came to making Weird Nightmare. "I found myself doing new things I didn't have the guts to do before, recording everything by myself and trusting all of my musical instincts," he states. "I think when music manifests quickly, a certain amount of honesty automatically comes along with it. When it is a purely instinctual creation, there is no opportunity to obscure the truth."

Technological agitation. Narcissism fatigue. A galaxy of isolation. These are the new norms keeping Weyes Blood (aka Natalie Mering) up at night and the themes at the heart of her latest release, And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow. The celestial-influenced folk album is her follow-up to the acclaimed Titanic Rising. (Pitchfork, NPR, and The Guardian admiringly named it one of 2019's best.) While Titanic Rising was an observation of doom to come, And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow is about being in the thick of it: a search for an escape hatch to liberate us from algorithms and ideological chaos. "We're in a fully functional shit show," Mering says. "My heart is a glow stick that's been cracked, lighting up my chest in an explosion of earnestness." And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow opens with the wistful, winsome "It's Not Just Me, It's Everybody," a song about the interconnectivity of all beings, despite the fraying of society around us. "I was asking a lot of questions while writing these songs. Hyper-isolation kept coming up," Mering says. "Our culture relies less and less on people. Something is off, and even though the feeling appears differently for each individual, it is universal." Other tracks follow in kind. The lullaby-like "Grapevine" chronicles the splintering of a human connection. The otherworldly dirge "God Turn Me into a Flower" serves as allegory about our collective hubris. "The Worst Is Done" is an ominous warning, set against a deceivingly breezy pop melody. "Chaos is natural. But so is negentropy, or the tendency for things to fall into order," she says. "These songs may not be manifestos or solutions, but I know they shed light on the meaning of our contemporary disillusionment."

Technological agitation. Narcissism fatigue. A galaxy of isolation. These are the new norms keeping Weyes Blood (aka Natalie Mering) up at night and the themes at the heart of her latest release, And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow. The celestial-influenced folk album is her follow-up to the acclaimed Titanic Rising. (Pitchfork, NPR, and The Guardian admiringly named it one of 2019's best.) While Titanic Rising was an observation of doom to come, And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow is about being in the thick of it: a search for an escape hatch to liberate us from algorithms and ideological chaos. "We're in a fully functional shit show," Mering says. "My heart is a glow stick that's been cracked, lighting up my chest in an explosion of earnestness." And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow opens with the wistful, winsome "It's Not Just Me, It's Everybody," a song about the interconnectivity of all beings, despite the fraying of society around us. "I was asking a lot of questions while writing these songs. Hyper-isolation kept coming up," Mering says. "Our culture relies less and less on people. Something is off, and even though the feeling appears differently for each individual, it is universal." Other tracks follow in kind. The lullaby-like "Grapevine" chronicles the splintering of a human connection. The otherworldly dirge "God Turn Me into a Flower" serves as allegory about our collective hubris. "The Worst Is Done" is an ominous warning, set against a deceivingly breezy pop melody. "Chaos is natural. But so is negentropy, or the tendency for things to fall into order," she says. "These songs may not be manifestos or solutions, but I know they shed light on the meaning of our contemporary disillusionment."

Technological agitation. Narcissism fatigue. A galaxy of isolation. These are the new norms keeping Weyes Blood (aka Natalie Mering) up at night and the themes at the heart of her latest release, And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow. The celestial-influenced folk album is her follow-up to the acclaimed Titanic Rising. (Pitchfork, NPR, and The Guardian admiringly named it one of 2019's best.) While Titanic Rising was an observation of doom to come, And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow is about being in the thick of it: a search for an escape hatch to liberate us from algorithms and ideological chaos. "We're in a fully functional shit show," Mering says. "My heart is a glow stick that's been cracked, lighting up my chest in an explosion of earnestness." And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow opens with the wistful, winsome "It's Not Just Me, It's Everybody," a song about the interconnectivity of all beings, despite the fraying of society around us. "I was asking a lot of questions while writing these songs. Hyper-isolation kept coming up," Mering says. "Our culture relies less and less on people. Something is off, and even though the feeling appears differently for each individual, it is universal." Other tracks follow in kind. The lullaby-like "Grapevine" chronicles the splintering of a human connection. The otherworldly dirge "God Turn Me into a Flower" serves as allegory about our collective hubris. "The Worst Is Done" is an ominous warning, set against a deceivingly breezy pop melody. "Chaos is natural. But so is negentropy, or the tendency for things to fall into order," she says. "These songs may not be manifestos or solutions, but I know they shed light on the meaning of our contemporary disillusionment."

White Vinyl Edition