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UID:76c8fd30-21a2-4b85-82f6-b9d216263c37@360exp.net
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DTSTAMP:20260816T024713
DTSTART;TZID=Europe/London:20270205T190000
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SUMMARY:Slow Pulp
LOCATION:Leeds Project House
DESCRIPTION:- Slow Pulp are uniquely acquainted with the process of regrow
 th. Singer and guitarist Emily Massey met childhood friends Henry Stoehr (
 guitar)\, Alex Leeds (bass)\, and Teddy Mathews (drums) in Madison\, WI in
  the mid 2010s\, kicking off a decade-strong musical bond. Raised on ’90
 s alt-rock radio and coming of age during the 2000s indie wave\, they took
  a pan-American approach to rock music—transcending the genre’s inner 
 boundaries in service of a sound critics across the board have applauded b
 ut struggled to describe—that made them stand out in the small city’s 
 scrappy scene. But in 2018\, the lifelong Wisconsinites left their comfy s
 urroundings for the midwest’s metropolis\, transplanting from Madison’
 s rich soil to Chicago’s concrete grid.This was just the first of Slow P
 ulp’s new beginnings. Riding high from their second EP’s notable recep
 tion\, they arrived in Chicago with the wind at their backs. They found th
 eir new scene more than welcoming\, but other issues sprung through cracks
  they didn’t know existed. Living and touring together\, they realized t
 his constant proximity was “not the most conducive to figuring out how t
 o be a band\,” Massey says. “There were a lot of growing pains.” Wor
 k schedules conflicted. Massey caught Lyme’s Disease and Mono\, and her 
 mother and father\, the latter\, a veteran musician\, was seriously injure
 d in a car crash. She used her time taking care of them in Wisconsin as an
  opportunity to record vocals with him. These vocals appear on the band’
 s groundbreaking 2020 debut LP\, Moveys. A 2022 COVID scare forced Massey 
 to write many of the lyrics for that album’s follow-up\, Yard\, in a cab
 in in northern Wisconsin\, but the band took it in stride again\, sending 
 stems back and forth across state lines. “I discovered that it felt good
  to be completely alone\,” Massey says. “That level of isolation was h
 uge for my creative process.” Beyond those parts\, though\, Yard was a f
 ull-band effort\, and this synergy is evident from the first chord. Blendi
 ng the raw power of their early tapes with sharper lyrics and arrangements
  that showcased their stylistic range\, it established them in indie rock
 ’s highest echelon. If Moveys put Slow Pulp on the global stage—on tou
 r with the Pixies and Death Cab and Alvvays\, bands they’d bonded over i
 n those early Madison years—then Yard proved they belonged there.Slow Pu
 lp started the songs that comprise their third album Melodie\, due out Sep
 tember 18 via ANTI-\, with nothing to prove to the public. But reflecting 
 on past lives and past relationships forced them to reevaluate their appro
 ach and\, once again begin anew. The result is a record that balances powe
 r-pop euphoria\, acoustic heartbreak\, and the ocean of sound between them
 .This time\, they looked to their collective past for inspiration. In most
  of Slow Pulp’s time living in Chicago\, lyrics have mostly been helmed 
 by Massey’ (hence the solo trips north). But back in Madison\, words flo
 wed more freely between her and Stoehr as they bounced ideas off of each o
 ther until they coalesced. The seedlings of the songs that comprise Melodi
 e germinated the same way. “Emily and I were reconnecting with how we wr
 ote together when we first met\,” Stoehr says.“Better Man” jumps off
  of the wax like a brush fire. It begins with what sounds like the bell at
  the start of a boxing match but is actually the sound of Stoehr smacking 
 the strings of his guitar behind the bridge to produce an atonal chime. Ne
 vertheless\, the track is an epic bout\, between the ideal self and the re
 al self\, the man we hope to become and the man we are today. As Melodie
 ’s lead single\, it’s one of five tracks on the album whose lyrics wer
 e written solely by StoehrThe emanation of Stoehr’s words from Massey’
 s mouth cause some intriguing incongruities\, such as the gender swap in 
 “Better Man\,” which is even further complicated by the peculiar turn 
 of phrase Massey added late in the writing process to the final line of th
 e song’s final verse: “Maybe lead me to a better man / Who can be some
 one to tell myself to leave.”Throughout his creative process\, Stoehr ne
 ver wrote with Massey’s voice in mind. “I was writing straight from th
 e heart\,” he says. “I've tried writing stuff to cater to Emily's pers
 pective\, but it doesn't work as well because it's hard to monitor my own 
 writing in that way.” Part of the brilliance of this album is that\, wit
 hout looking at the credits\, one can’t be sure whether Stoehr or Massey
  wrote any given track. This is especially true of the songs into which bo
 th writers injected pieces of themselves. “Entertainer\,” for instance
 \, felt to Stoehr and Massey like a full return to the era when an endless
  stream of verses and hooks flowed between them. Though the track ended up
  expressing Massey’s fear that she was doomed to embody the stereotype o
 f the messy\, emotionally unstable artist\, they created it by combining t
 he best parts from the fully fledged versions they’d each written.Melodi
 e is too large for any single style of rock to contain. The tastefully fol
 ky tracks that open the album are mirrored by electrified slow burns at it
 s end. There’s some subtle dream pop and several breathtaking ballads. B
 ut clustered around the album’s midsection are four righteous takes on p
 ower pop. Along with “Better Man” and “Entertainer\,” “Melodie
 ” and “Red Car” rush forward on the backs of Stoehr and Massey’s p
 erfectly distorted guitars\, Mathews’s punchy drumming\, and Leeds’s s
 turdy bassline\, heading for either a glorious arrival or an epic wreck.Th
 e genesis of “Red Car\,” the album's most platonic feel-good jam\, was
  simple: Massey had been listening to the Cars a lot and was driving in he
 r car when she came upon another car—a red Mazda sports car—that was b
 lasting a song with a cheesy but infectious drum pattern. Back home\, she 
 programmed the beat into her drum machine\, laying the track’s foundatio
 n.No Slow Pulp song is completely breezy\, though. Even as she wrote above
  her extremely ’80s drum track\, forcing herself to lean into its kitsch
  despite her kneejerk misgivings\, Massey knew she wanted to “make it a 
 bit darker\,” she says. The track’s lyrics\, though simple and catchy\
 , contain a subtext of unrequited uncertainty\, the panic of feeling unsur
 e within a relationship with someone who’s ready to take the leap into a
  more serious stage. The band were struggling to achieve this vision instr
 umentally until Elliot Kozel\, the first outside producer they’d ever em
 ployed\, stepped in\, subtly tweaking the arrangement to give it the anxio
 us undercurrent Massey was looking for.Working with Kozel was a new experi
 ence for everyone in the band\, but especially for Stoehr\, who’d produc
 ed every Slow Pulp album on his own up to that point. Melodie also marked 
 the first time he’d brought Massey into the booth. As an admitted contro
 l freak\, he says ceding some of that power was hard at first. Quickly\, t
 hough\, he found that splitting production duties with a trusted bandmate 
 and a seasoned pro was just as enriching as sharing lyrical ideas with Mas
 sey or instrumental ones with the full band. Loosening the reins allowed h
 im to focus on his enhanced role as a songwriter. Above all\, though\, it 
 was a symbol of his complete trust in his collaborators.“When Emily and 
 I started writing together\, there was a built-in trust\,” Stoehr says. 
 “When I met Elliot\, I felt completely understood. He knew what I was ab
 out and what I wanted to do.” Bringing Kozel into the fold felt\, on the
  one hand\, like entering uncharted waters. On the other hand\, Kozel is s
 omething of a Wisconsin legend\, and Stoehr\, Mathews\, and Leeds had all 
 grown up as fans of his old band. And beyond his unknowing connection to S
 low Pulp’s pre-formative years\, Kozel’s chops—and his experience pr
 oducing for the likes of SZA\, Rosalía\, and Yves Tumor—helped them tak
 e their sound to the next level. “We were trying to go big with this alb
 um\, and that required digging into the past\,” Leeds says.Slow Pulp are
  masters of concealing sadness in their most upbeat songs\, but they also 
 write pure sorrow as well as anyone. “Not for Nothing\,” nestled in Me
 lodie’s geographic center between “Red Car” and “Entertainer\,” 
 is a quiet piano song Stoehr wrote about a series of compounding heartbrea
 ks: the heartbreak of feeling powerless to change your emotions\, the hear
 tbreak of knowing those emotions will swallow you whole\, and the heartbre
 ak of the real-world consequences that ensue. Massey’s appropriately int
 ense delivery\, set against Stoehr’s somber chords and a plaintive banjo
  played by Kozel\, is mournful but not totally morose. “Once you forfeit
  your control and let that feeling in\, you're subject to your emotions\, 
 and you can't really lie to yourself\,” Stoehr explains. “You stop try
 ing to censor your own thoughts and you break your own heart\, but it’s 
 also cathartic. It’s a loss\, but there’s really no other option.”If
  the first 10 tracks of Melodie don’t make you cry\, “Slip Away” wil
 l. The album’s closer—just Stoehr’s electric guitar and Massey’s v
 oice\, as raw as it's ever been—is engineered to absolutely ruin anyone 
 who’s ever felt the need to retreat within themselves to avoid becoming 
 a burden on the people around them. “Walked to the hardware store / I gu
 ess you don’t know me anymore\,” Massey sings. While unassuming\, it m
 ight be the album’s most devastating lyric. “I was in my early 20s and
  out of control and alienating myself\, and I was walking to the Ace Hardw
 are in Madison and saw a couple of people I used to know and then saw them
  ignore me\,” says Stoehr\, who wrote the song. The incident\, though mu
 ndane\, was an existential gut punch\, a confirmation of his distance from
  the world of the living. Now 32\, Stoehr feels less volatile now than he 
 did back then. But while he used to feel the need to partition that part o
 f himself\, he’s come to accept that it’s a side of him he needs to le
 arn to live with. “I’m reconnecting to it and trying to understand it 
 as an adult\,” he says.Leeds\, too\, feels like Melodie is about returni
 ng to the past. “There’s the sense of a full circle\, tapping back int
 o things and transforming through them\,” he says. A song is like that t
 oo\, he believes: “not just a document of what you feel but also a vehic
 le for understanding how you feel.” Massey\, who returned to Wisconsin t
 o record with her dad this time\, too\, agrees. “Song writing is always 
 like that\,” she says.“There’s a very cyclical energy to a lot of th
 ese songs\,” Massey reflects\, ruminating on the decision to begin Melod
 ie with its most retrospective\, seasonal track\, “Yellow and Green.” 
 Beyond its thematic significance\, the track’s title is a shoutout to th
 e Green Bay Packers\, an organization that counts Massey and Stoehr’s fa
 milies among its roughly 539\,000 partial owners. The Packers also symboli
 ze the tenacity that’s allowed Slow Pulp to regenerate after every chall
 enge they’ve faced: No matter where they live\, they’ll always be Wisc
 onsinites.\n\nBoletos: https://wegottickets.com/event/708289
URL;VALUE=URI:https://360exp.net/events/76c8fd30-21a2-4b85-82f6-b9d216263c
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