Written by Anika Maculangan Founded in 2022 by Sam Slater, Italy Jones, Aron Farkas, and Jack Von Bloeker in Mission Viejo, California, five-piece skramz band Clay Birds is onto their sophomore EP, a separation of vanity, a palimpsest which gleams with dissonance and introspection, intimate as it is liberating. separation of vanity begins with “an intuition of morality”, a track that immediately sets you into a dirty basement, sweat flying from slamming bodies of a mosh pit, the heaviness of stomping feet on broken floorboards. The song carries a weathered subtlety, like a memory half-sung on a battered Telecaster; its bitter, wistful texture echoing the kind of late-night conversation you’d only dare to have beneath a spray-painted-over bridge, when it’s too dark to see each other’s faces but too honest to look away. As the EP progresses, Clay Birds’ sound is revealed not in nuance but in imperfection, sharp energy that’s like being pushed off a bike or your heart racing through the seams of a t-shirt. Every song is peeling away, a slash into the emotional undertow of being young. The tracks pose as an unraveling, taking you through the architecture of what has come undone. Each song arrives unearthed, dismantled, plunging you into its entropy. The music doesn’t come out as complete or polished. Rather, it seeps through, and invites people to bask in the mess through the acceptance of being unfinished together. What you hear is reminiscent of cut-short and picked-up conversations from venues, voice calls, and basement shows. It’s built with the rigid kind of faith that only exists between people who’ve gone through the same pain and somehow ended up at the show. Spoken in glances and gestures, in the nods around a circle pit, in the soothing silence when the set ends, it’s a project that insists: you’re not alone. These are not songs sung over a crowd but with them, music which depends on the listener’s openness to feel, to shatter, to mend in tandem. There’s a very real sense of every single line having been written in a room full of friends screaming the same thing at once, each of them taking the words because they’d written them themselves. The EP is not simply a recording of hardship; it’s a recording of being close enough to another person’s agony that it becomes your own. It’s not catharsis by distance but radical empathy. Even with its rough-around-the-edges demeanor, this is hardly a “noise” EP as you might anticipate. The language itself is the heft in this case, pulling on you instead of shoving away, evoking the spirit of unity. This culture of sharedness is at the center of the band. On their Bandcamp, there is a short sentence that reads: “Birds of the same feather flock together.” It’s a slogan, naturally, but something more. It reads as if it’s a manifesto. Clay Birds traces back to a more wide-ranging Gen Z DIY skramz ecosystem where communality is at the backbone of everything. Whether it’s through collaboration or collective effort, it’s in these relationships that the scene is rich, not competitive but cooperative. Pilfer their overlaps with bands like Composition Booklet and Kiowa, who the band shares members with. Not to mention their joint release with Knumears, where the sky meets you. By the same token, there is their commitment to DIY. Take for example their 2022 cover of iwrotehaikusaboutcannibalisminyouryearbook. The clip is didactic in its austerity: a cymbal to which a microphone is duct-taped, an unadorned, visual paean to the spartan aesthetic that characterizes the scene. DIY in this instance isn’t about utility but about authenticity, about not sanding off what makes the music sincere. Although considered one of the younger generations within the scene, Clay Birds continues a philosophy that has defined the scene for decades now: vulnerability, urgency, presence. It’s this devotion that brings their music back to haunt you long after the final note has disappeared, leaving not just sound, but the sense of something real, something felt behind. A band that challenges you to listen with more than your ears, but with whatever is still left of you that aches. Their cries form not chaos but concord, a solemn pact that, despite everything, the kids are alright. Why do I like it? Because it allows me to think out loud, and more importantly, do so alongside others. Not to be heard, but seen. Which reminds me — this is what life is all about. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
Tag: Screamo
EP REVIEW: Ghost Stories – Immortalized By Poetry
Written by Anika Maculangan Often, screamo music is known for having a dramatic flair of ambiance, which in the case of New Misery Records’ 5th release, doesn’t disappoint. Immortalized by Poetry is charged with thematic references to morality, heavy with forlorn melancholy and grief. It utilizes allusions to Greek mythology in saturating these elements, giving a nod to iconographies like Orpheus and Eurydice who both emphasize these dark and chaotic qualities. Brooding in nature, the EP poses as a meditation on the fragility of life, conveying the tragically harsh landscape of hardcore, being influenced by bands like Saetia, Suis La Lune, In Loving Memory, Orchid, and The Spirit of Versailles. In essence almost hauntingly vulnerable, the tracks are at best, aggressive yet profound in depth. The instrumentals are multi-layered, which complements the lyricism’s poetic appeal. Dynamically weighty, the strength of this EP is its ability to be deep without being too zealous toward dismal language. New Misery’s goal is apparent, in the way that thus far in their releases, have shown attempts at redefining the tones that possess screamo as a genre. Yet still remaining intense, that classic gloominess is not removed by their proclivity toward cathartic elegance. They vocalize these measures loud and clear, by delivering each line with amplified rawness. Like a fire brewing somewhere in a wintry atmosphere, the EP develops over the course of one’s listening session. It metamorphoses into just about a dozen different faces, showing off all the entities it can overtake. The EP starts and ends with an apparent transformation, beckoning to change with welcomeness. It calls for sanctum, but also simultaneous movement within disarray, embracing that flux of energy. Similar to most bands belonging in the genre’s spectrum, their temperament toward screamo is more so reflective, packed with tension and conflict, both mirroring each other. They take the listener through a journey of mourning, in the process of loss when balanced with love and longing. It immerses the listener into these transient and fleeting moments, teaching one to navigate these ephemeral experiences. It’s apparent that this 5-part EP of a taster is well-crafted and thought out concept-wise, which the screamo scene is constantly in search of. With musicality that is seemingly perpetual in its state of dissonance, forms a connection between classier bouts of hardcore with its post-era, opening more leeway for evolution. The vibrations expressed throughout the project channel the band’s strong passion for urgency and melodic flow, never giving the listener a second of stillness in their mostly shifting fusion of anguish and malaise. The tracks within Immortalized by Poetry express what it means to contemplate on the troubles of catastrophe and affliction. It portrays and depicts that exact frenzy and introduces that babel in a more intimate light. It makes us seek the coherence in entropy, allowing it to lead the way, in understanding and comprehension. One follows through the journey of the EP, not knowing where it will take you — but just that the journey is exhaustive with spirit and life, making one feel for more unpredictability and spontaneity wherever the grating chain dangles to next. Support the art & the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: Fragile – Deep Enough
In recent years, we’ve noticed screamo music making a comeback amongst younger generations. Now, it’s referred to as ‘skramz’, which claims to be a contemporary approach to the classic genre. Do a basic search on ‘skramz’ and you’ll probably stumble upon bands like Catalyst…, Knumears, and Vs Self. But the catch is, most of them are from the U.S., whether the rural midwest or some suburbia out of the west coast. This makes their music often reflect Western imagery — something that is hard to relate to and resonate with if you didn’t grow up in America. Especially since most of their songs circulate within the themes of one’s teenage years. Although, thankfully, we have bands like Fragile now, to make skramz more applicable to our locality. There’s no denying that there’s some sense of contentment in finally having a skramz band, that is from the Philippines, and as a matter of fact, from Cavite. Skramz no longer feels like such a distant genre, hanging from the fringes of Western culture. It is now also something that we, as Filipinos, can define for ourselves, in our own version of it, independent from its Western counterpart. The track deep enough is angsty, melancholic, and with guttural vocals. It cuts through the senses like a sharp knife, bellowing with downtrodden lyrics. It provides that satisfying levity that we often feel, from listening to skramz, as if transcending towards heaven, and maybe even hell. The instrumentals hold a feel for nostalgia and sentimentality, which paired with harsh vocals, end up with great contrast and texture. However, the overall ‘recipe’ of the song still reflects a bit of what we hear in bands like Algae Bloom, Versera, and seahorsechoke. While there’s still some room for improvement, one could place priority on originality. Perhaps exploring themes and subjects within their ideas that are not so generic upon their temperament of what’s ‘angsty.’ Maybe something more rooted to the Filipino experience of the coming-of-age. Less on the dread, and more on the context. Asking questions like what is our (Filipinos) account on what torments us? And how can we convey such a niche experience through musicality? Although to add onto that, they’re still a relatively new band, and it always takes time to develop one’s unique sound. With this, comes an opportunity for them to establish a skramz sound that is purely authentic and genuine to the local scene. Despite it being quite common for skramz bands to fall into the trap of repeating a pattern of redundancy out of their own peers’ music, Fragile seems to be a capable band in breaking that frequent occurrence. Hopefully when they do, it won’t be a blueprint to what Western bands have already come up with. For one, they already produce more spirited, vigorous instrumentals that, in all honesty, is difficult to find in this day and age’s gloom-for-doom type of skramz. Despite clearly withholding aesthetics that are influenced by industrialism and perhaps even slightly nihilist, the overall sound of the band does not sound ‘dead’ and in fact livelier than ever. But maybe that’s the hope we Filipinos have, speaking for itself – always looking for the light at the end of the tunnel. Basically, free of mimicry and replication, without the inclination to imitate earlier skramz bands. Hence, there’s a lot of pressure for a band like Fragile, who is bringing a fresh genre into the community. Yes, screamo has been in the country for years, but skramz is an entirely new variety of it, and its presence is still pristine to the country. Certainly a big responsibility, one can place their bets that as they discover more of their sound, they’ll make a distinct name for Filipino skramz. Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: LIMBS – Everything Under Heaven
‘Massive’ would be an understatement to describe this album. “Everything Under Heaven” marks the third full-length release of the Manila-based Limbs, and it is perhaps their most colossal musical outing yet. Like a steel Eldritch creature you cannot look away from, “Everything Under Heaven” is a record that dwells from the underground to cast its shadow upon all that sit carefree in their comfortable abode to shine light on truths less realized by many unaccustomed to violence. From the album art itself, the band, with their fellow ARPAK artist Mikhail Collado helping them bring their vision to life, depicts a backdrop of an urban locale entrenched in war. Dilapidated interchanges that surpass people in height, silhouettes of mech robots built for war pulled straight from a sci-fi movie towering over all they trudge their path on. Whether it was by intention or sheer coincidence, Limbs was going for something grand on this album that even the title hints at (their use of giant robots to illustrate this is sheer ingenuity), and the music that comes with its packaging delivers some of the best hardcore pieces of the year so far. Originally branding themselves as a screamo band, Limbs’ “Everything Under Heaven” feels more like a mini compendium of the wider punk umbrella than a one-note act. There is something for everybody, and the way the band incorporated these different elements is commendable. Breakdowns come from every which way, complex drum fills fly at break-neck speed, distortions come in full force. It is the rawness of hardcore you would come to expect going into this record, and more. Whether it’s the balls-to-the-walls skramz of “Transactional Rifle”, or the restrained chaos of “Metropolis of Salt,” or the multi-sectioned odyssey that is the title track, there is always a method to their madness. Meanwhile, there are moments of ambient and electronic music thrown across the album as the band exhibits their capabilities as producers, sometimes to complement the guitar-driven sections, sometimes to go along with the loudness of a song, and sometimes to be its own thing (“Second Survivor” comes to mind). Also worth noting are the contributions other artists have made to this album. Pry’s Jem Gallardo makes a major appearance in “Metropolis of Salt” as a co-writer and vocalist. switchbxtch, also known for releasing protest music, especially during the pandemic, also lent a hand. Now I would be remiss to write about “Everything Under Heaven” and not discuss the themes the band explored in the album — rather, the stories the album was built around. “Everything Under Heaven” is centered around the mass injustices of the Philippine government on the poor, spanning many faces of human rights violations and terror-induced state formation in rural parts of the country. It is the underlying, horrifying truth the band tries to bring forth to its listeners. “Metropolis of Salt”, for one, outlines a gruesome image of starvation faced by the poor in the midst of a violent clash with the state’s forces. The single “Hope Belligerent” is more specific with its narrative as it explores the Tinang 83 incident in chilling detail. True to their roots as activists and members of ARPAK, Limbs outwardly express their disdain towards the state and its forces, whether clad in blue or green. Using their art as a conduit, the band not only wishes to bring awareness to the people, but encourages everyone to break free from all moral restraints and share the same burning spite. Like a steel Eldritch creature you cannot look away from, “Everything Under Heaven” is enormous in scale and in essence. It is packed with collaborations, a bevy of musical influences, and songs that will leave you dizzy from all the headbanging you’ll end up doing. Its enormity is ever-so-present in its packaging. But looking past the exterior, you’d inevitably come across the horrors it eagerly wants to tell you. You either look away, or you face them and do your part in this movement for change and for justice. Support the art & the artist: [bandcamp width=350 height=470 album=894523801 size=large bgcol=ffffff linkcol=0687f5 tracklist=false]