“Men take everything that happened and try to make a story out of it…But when the tale becomes too complicated they just…leave things out” (LaValle 125).

When my students tell me that they don’t like to read, I ask about what they enjoy watching, what they like listening to. The way in is to find what they enjoy; the medium that the story is communicated through is less important than the story being told.

A few years ago, I had a student who hated books. Despite being left back twice, he was extremely self-aware and intelligent. He was less concerned with academics but lit up when talking about food and cooking. When we read Othello in class, he always wanted to be the titular character. Other students teased him because of his choice to be the Black character while also being one of the few Black students in the school, but he channeled that ire into terrific performances every day.1

When I assigned my class a project for which they needed to independently read a fiction book of their choice, I suggested this student read Victor LaValle’s The Ballad of Black Tom, a novella retelling of “The Horror at Red Hook” by H.P. Lovecraft. LaValle told the story of “Red Hook” from the point of view of a Black man because Lovecraft is as acclaimed for cosmic horror as he is notorious for his blatant racism. Reinventing the story (including Lovecraft’s racism as plot point instead of a trait inherent in his writing) allowed LaValle to modernize a pillar of horror by valorizing people of color. My student ultimately loved the book—perhaps for its brevity as well as its content—so much so that he told me that I proved him wrong and made him enjoy reading.

Perhaps I should have retired from teaching at that moment.

The Ballad of Black Tom was my introduction to LaValle, but Lone Women is where I fell in love with his writing.

Lone Women tells the story of Adelaide Henry, a woman moving out to start a homestead in the real town of Big Sandy, Montana in 1915. She has nothing but a secret kept locked in a steamer trunk. This secret is her curse as much as it is her burden.

Lone Women is billed as a horror novel, which is typically LaValle’s bread and butter. The further I progressed into the novel, however, the more it read as historical fiction.

Due to its literary merit, I shortlisted the novel for consideration in my 12th grade English class. Although I ultimately didn’t go with this book, there is much readers can appreciate—especially those who fashion themselves as storytellers.

Three Takeaways for Storytellers

Third-person Omniscient Perspective

Adelaide Henry is only the first lone woman introduced in the novel. Please note, though: The title is plural. Slowly but surely more characters are introduced, including Adelaide’s immediate family as well as the neighbors and leaders she meets once she arrives at Big Sandy. LaValle ensures that every character introduced is more than just a trope on the page. There are antagonists, but there are no villains. There is good, but I’m not sure I can pinpoint anyone as fully evil.

In genre fiction it is condoned and sometimes encouraged to employ less fully realized characters. It feels good to root for the good guys, and it feels great to hate the bad guys. LaValle avoids that conversation entirely by using a third-person omniscient perspective, which allows him to venture into the minds of various characters, causing readers to empathize—or at the very least, sympathize—with everyone. He uses third-person point-of-view masterfully. Besides worrying that no character was safe from harm, I found myself fist-pumping, tearing up, and shaking my head in shame and disappointment at so many people, but never did I fully love or hate anyone—aside from a specific member of the Henry family.2

LaValle’s characters are all just flawed people, which makes them more real, and “real” characters should occupy a lived-in world.

World-building

Something I never truly understood was this idea of “world-building.” I always took it to mean constructing the setting and fleshing out the nooks and crannies of a story’s world to make it feel almost tactile and real. This is something that the best comics creators excel at: making the fantastical worlds their characters exist in become “real” via how creators make us feel through their characters’ thoughts, feelings, and actions. How did they do that?

LaValle unlocked this technique for me. World-building doesn’t exclusively happen in the setting. In fact, I would resist that notion and declare that world-building occurs in characters being themselves in one’s fiction. By crafting almost every person3 into a layered, multidimensional figure instead of a stereotype or caricature, LaValle makes Big Sandy feel as vivid as Gotham City in the best Batman media.

Ultimately, like our lives, what makes a world more interesting are the characters that inhabit it. In the same way that we return to our favorite bars, bookstores, clubs, tattoo parlors, haircutters, and more: it’s all about the people. The people make the world we live in colorful, interesting, and worth taking a closer look at.

Genre Mash-ups

LaValle uses his reputation as a horror-leaning, speculative fiction writer to play with readers. I went into the novel expecting terror and dread through the lens of something supernatural or fantastical. While that unspoken promise of branding is kept, LaValle subverts expectations by crafting a genuinely compelling historical, survival fiction book. In doing so, Lone Women goes beyond being another speculative fiction or magical realism novel. Maybe this is what people refer to as “postmodern,” but I mostly just think of it as doing something new and playful with a form that can be so weathered. By amalgamating various genres, LaValle creates something wholly new that feels familiar, which is the exact wheelhouse of an audience. Although people like to be surprised, they cannot feel too distant from the story in front of them, lest authors risk isolating them from caring about their characters and themes. LaValle manages to walk that tightrope perfectly.

Packing Up

I went into Lone Women looking for a contemporary novel to teach to my 12th grade English class. While it didn’t slot into the space I sought to fill in our curriculum, I found myself feeling invigorated by its hard-earned, weatherworn ending. Upon finishing the novel, I felt as though I’d had a nourishing, delicious meal that challenged and ultimately expanded my palate. Similarly, it made me want to cook up a story just as palatable and stirring.

Don’t be afraid to open your own steamer trunk. Whatever is inside might love you more than you can understand.

One more time for everyone not paying attention in the back of the room: SPOILERS INBOUND for the world’s biggest letdown of a holiday release.1

Marty goes through trials and travails but remains focused on his one goal: to be the best ping pong player in the world. He cares about others to the point where he doesn’t want to accidentally maim them. He cares about money, but it’s not particularly motivating for him outside of getting him where he needs to go. He cares about his not-girlfriend inasmuch as a means to sexual and personal gratification—and her not dying. Truly, all he wants is real validation of what he knows: that he is the best ping pong player in the world in spite of being one of its worst humans.

When Marty finally does beat his rival Endo, he is not smug, because that is actually not part of his ambitious character. Rather he is relieved and full of catharsis, because his reality has validated his dream: Marty reigns supreme over ping pong players across the globe.

What is interesting about Josh Safdie’s film, though, is that the catharsis does not arrive entirely when it should. Yes, we get a whiff of it when Marty beats Endo in the “real” rematch. But Marty’s literal discharge of emotion occurs when he sees his child: he starts crying. Are they tears of happiness for his newly christened fatherhood?

Mazel, etc., but no.

Marty finally cries when he sees his child because his dream has become a reality. In the opening credits of the film, a spermatozoa fertilizes an egg, which becomes a ping pong ball.2 Then we have a movie where the proverbial ping pong ball flies across the proverbial table until the credits roll, and that fertilized egg, like Marty’s dream of being the world champion of ping pong, is as real as his newborn child before him.

My friend argues that Marty’s tears are a sign of change for him, such as Marty now being released of the burden of his dream, being able to be a father, chasing a new dream.3 They posit that there needs to be some sort of hero’s journey, or otherwise there would be no point to the film as a whole. While that is a lovely reading of Marty’s potential change from the bane of everyone’s existence to a caring parent, the movie offers no previous support of this character arc.

Sure, the ending is open to interpretation. While my friend’s is more optimistic and mine is more cynical, the latter holds more water. Perhaps they’ll convince you should you have a run-in with each other, but my ship has sailed past that threshold.

What stood out to me in their argument was the notion about the hero’s journey. They are right to challenge me on my reading of Marty never changing. How could Safdie, a knowledgeable filmmaker, make a movie about a man who doesn’t change? That would be an amateur faux pas.

Or is it a postmodern maneuver? Perhaps a trope of pulp fiction?

In creative writing classes, students are taught to craft dynamic characters who develop versus static characters who do not change.4 Colloquially speaking, dynamic characters are interesting in contrast to boring static characters. If Marty doesn’t change, then there is no point to the audience’s watching the past two-and-change-hours of his life on the silver screen. It is a “boring” movie because nothing changes.

I understand where they are coming from, but in my heart of hearts I just don’t buy that Marty will ever change. The text of the movie does not support their interpretation because Marty shows no signs of redemption—or even a desire for redemption—at any point throughout its runtime. Frankly I don’t even think Marty knows how much of an asshole he truly is.

But what is the point of the movie then? Safdie is too good to make that error and not have a point to his capital-F Film.

In my conversation with my friend, I brought up how the superhero genre is always in the second act. Similar to a soap opera, there can be no real change in the characters; they are perpetually in that second act. Can Batman ever stop being Batman and be happy? If he did, we wouldn’t be watching or reading Batman. The audience wants Bruce Wayne to struggle with his choice, but ultimately we know which option he will choose.

In Patrick Kindlon and Maurizio Rosenzweig’s Gehenna: Naked Aggression, the titular character is burdened with grief and a bounty on her head. At the end of the comic, not much has changed, and this is by design. Per Kindlon in the trade’s afterword:

A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing, and a semester of creative writing class is one of those dangerous bits. It convinced so many of us that characters need clearly defined arcs.

They don’t. That’s a convention of mid-budget film and beach paperbacks. It’s not a law for all media. Characters in comic books need opposition, which if done well means “a chance to show why they are special.” An arc is optional. And sometimes a detriment.

There’s over 150 Destroyer novels. 40 years of Punisher comic books. More than 25 Bond films. At no point did anyone request an “arc.” In fact, every time one was forced on these characters by a big-brain executive or frustrated writer, it was swiftly undone. Because that’s not what we’re there for. We want to see exceptional people do exceptional things. We want the people telling those stories to do so exceptionally. We’re not there to relate in the literal sense or see ourselves in those characters. But we do want to feel them.

The Safdie Brothers made Good Time and Uncut Gems, films about bad dudes doing shitty things because that is innately who they are as people. They suffer consequences for their actions, but their actions reveal their character, just like Marty.

Josh Safdie made Marty Supreme, an unofficial trilogy closer to their series about lousy men. These are not genre movies, but they borrow genre tropes through action. Why can’t they borrow more tropes through character?

Of course Marty Supreme is no comic book or pulp fiction novel. It’s not a piece of action cinema despite some thrilling scenes. The film is, however, spectacle, and spectacle does not necessitate character arcs. It requires only entertainment and craft, both of which Marty Supreme possesses in spades.

Over here, on my supplemental Substack series, I covered both the self-titled Box Car Racer album and When Your Heart Stops Beating by +44. One of those things is not like the other, and I leave it up to you to brush up on your blink-182 lore to see which is which.

It’d be remiss of me to not acknowledge Box Car Racer’s final form, Tom DeLonge’s Angels & Airwaves (AVA). As of the time of this publication, AVA have released six albums and four EPs. For this list, I will be drawing from the LPs.1

Do You Believe in Hallucinations?

To engender the most suspense, below are my top five AVA songs, culminating in my number one pick. Don’t scroll ahead! We hate spoilers over here.

5) “Sirens”

Upon both first and repeated listenings of the Star Wars-coded I-Empire, I loved the first half of the record and couldn’t tell you about anything after “Secret Crowds.” Of those first six songs, “Sirens” stands out with its awesome bass line, perfectly mixed synths, and hype-building pre-choruses. What knocks it to fifth is its lackluster, but serviceable chorus. Tom could’ve made it explode more, could’ve done more than the typical blink move to overlay vocal lines in the final chorus. It’s great, but I still want more.

4) “Anomaly”

AVA doesn’t really play acoustic songs on albums. Color me surprised when I heard “Anomaly” at the end of The Dream Walker! Although a good ol’ love song, the double-tracked guitars and lead vocal melody are a delight to listen to on headphones. Buried electronic drums offer the rhythm, and a simple low note is maintained for the majority of the song on a synthesized cello (or viola?). It’s simple, but it works, and challenges the expectations of what people anticipate when pressing play on an AVA album.

3) “Do It For Me Now”

The third Angels & Airwaves song ever! And it continues to hold up. Tom sounds young but hungry here. To me, this is the platonic ideal of AVA: huge drums, delay and reverb washing both Tom’s developing voice and a picked guitar, a driving bass and synths filling out the space. The minute-long outro is a bit repetitive, but it sounds like Tom’s in space, reinforcing the yearning. Ultimately, it’s catchy as hell. Both U2 and David Bowie would be proud.

2) “Timebomb”

Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are to pick something as recent as “Timebomb.” I’m unmoved if somewhat sour on the vocoder intro, but it pays off well enough that I sit through it every time with a smile on my face. Tom sings, “You seem like you’re having fun” to his romantic audience here, but I actually think he’s singing to himself. He sounds better than ever, and the melodies are endless hooks. I still get chills when the background vocals kick in with “tell me.” His musicianship and songwriting improve more and more with every album, which is why I’ll always give a new AVA album a shot.

1) “A Little’s Enough”

“A Little’s Enough” is utterly melodramatic. The title lyric refers to love; that’s all you need to fix the world’s problems, or just improve your crush’s melancholy. Granted, this is a product of its time, but the sentiment remains sweet if cheesy. Tom is exploring his depth here, branching out beyond the sophomoric jokes of blink-182.

The song edges listeners for two and a half minutes before opening up into a chorus so good, he repeats it four more times after the laziest “bridge” known to man. Even though it’s been almost 20 years old, “A Little’s Enough” remains my most played song in my library. I’m not even embarrassed about it.

Wow, I Can Get Personal Too

With the end of "The blink Files” on Filler, Steve and I have wrapped our first major project on the podcast. I’m proud of us both for being so consistent and disciplined in getting these past seven episodes out week after week while we move through our lives with our families and jobs and other commitments.

I have learned how to use a podcast hosting platform as well as continued to hone my recording, editing, and mixing skills. With the podcast creation process, I feel more invigorated than ever to write here, too.

As each episode goes by, I can hear the both of us growing as critical thinkers who can articulate nuanced thoughts. Even if we debate and disagree, conversations remain insightful and fun, which has always been the goal of Filler for me. Let’s hope we can maintain this respect when we get into our Bruce Springsteen miniseries (no promises…on my end).

Our next episode will have our first guest, and it’s a great conversation about creating within the modern, chaotic world. I look forward to having more friends, family, and peers on the show.

If it moves you, please leave a review and rating on your preferred platform to support us in our reach to new listeners. Subscriptions, likes, and tips go a long way as well. I appreciate your support.

Thank you for your eyes, those things you read with.

Last week I reviewed Tom’s foray into a solo project that became less solo as its recording wore on. I enjoyed it and thought it held up fine enough, but ultimately it was just a trial run for Angels & Airwaves.

I feel quite differently about +44’s When Your Heart Stops Beating.

Dry Your Hollow Eyes and Let’s Go Down to the Water

After blink-182’s Untitled in 2003, the band grew tense likely stemmed from post-TOYPAJ and Box Car Racer days. DeLonge wanted to take break after touring and focus his creative energy elsewhere; Hoppus and Barker felt contentious about that, so they went on indefinite hiatus in 2005. Tom formed Angels & Airwaves, while Mark and Travis created +44 with guitarists Shane Gallagher and Craig Fairbaugh. Hoppus and Barker produced the record with oversight from longtime blink-producer, Jerry Finn.

The overall tone of When Your Heart Stops Beating leans much more electronic, mostly due to the constraints of the original recording (i.e., recording demos in a house). “155” especially showcases synth as a focal point in lieu of the traditional hooky guitar riffing that blink is famous for. “Lillian” continues the electronic theme in its almost minute-long intro, a callback to the extended instrumental prologues of Cheshire Cat and Dude Ranch days.

Beyond the album’s overall darker, electronic timbre, Hoppus’s lyrics have never been more biting. Again, “Lillian” (Can you tell that’s a favorite of mine?) rips into a former lover:

“Your heart is a grave, to be perfectly honest

Your mouth’s a smoking gun

And you smile while you’re twisting the knife in my stomach

Until everything is gone.”

When I was 13 and listening to this record, all I could hear was romantic heartbreak. Now I detect more platonic heartbreak from Hoppus, though I might be reading too deeply. Knowing how deeply Mark was hurt by Tom because of Box Car Racer, their friendship was deep enough to cause enough pain to be on par with that of a shattered romance. I concede that Hoppus’s lens leans romantic, but a part of me will always question where all the inspiration comes from. Regardless, I have never loved his lyrics more.

This is a heartbreak album from start to finish. “Weatherman” might descend deepest:

“Let me slip away, I’m barely holding on

Every now and then, I feel the end of us

I love the way you breathe inside my head

But something’s gotta change, I’m barely holding on.”

Both as a teenager and now in my early thirties, WYHSB is the logical, natural next step after blink-182. Hoppus is channeling The Cure’s Robert Smith after he was featured on “All of This.”

In +44 I discovered the depth I yearned for in blink’s music. WYHSB incorporates all of the electronic experimentation from Untitled while retaining hooks galore in Hoppus’s melodies. Barker holds it down as he always does, solidifying himself as the most consistent drummer in mainstream pop-punk.

And We’ll Both Take Our Revenge…

While “Lillian” skews romantic despite crossing a Venn diagram that might have inspired some interesting Tumblr fanfiction, “No It Isn’t” is Mark’s public shot at Tom. Hoppus goes full emo with his scorn and anger. The cleanest of guitars rings in with electric keys, and he comes out the gate swinging:

“Please understand

This isn’t just goodbye

This is ‘I can’t stand you.’”

I was freakin’ 13 years old, and I understood that was Mark stabbing Tom directly in the heart. Hell, my own heart broke as I listened to the album on my Walkman. Not only did my favorite band break up, but the two guys I looked up to hated each other. I was crestfallen yet grateful for how their splintered relationship pushed them into interesting creative pursuits for my own listenership. Although this was much to process as a young, developing human, Mark and Tom’s rift incited me to view the world with nuance and empathy, which is an astonishingly mature takeaway from the breakup of a band that sings “Happy Holidays, You Bastard.”

But We Still Won’t Feel Any Better

Whenever I write about an EP or an album, I always focus on the closer. Growing up on Jimmy Eat World and Motion City Soundtrack has honed my ear to listen to that song as the ultimate message an artist or band is communicating with their piece of music. It has become an almost sacred moment of a musical artifact.

“Chapter 13” might be my favorite song in the wider blink-182 universe. It opens with a wall of guitars, is covered in hooks, and Hoppus slices through hearts with his lyrics and delivery. Just today I woke up singing “I’m scraped and sober, but there’s no one listening”!

If “No It Isn’t” was Mark leaning into his emo tendencies, “Chapter 13” is his conclusion that +44 is an emotional band in a way that blink never really was. They flirted with depth and mature feelings and themes, but none of their songs—aside from an “Adam’s Song” here and a “Stay Together for the Kids”there—cut as deeply as the songs on When Your Heart Stops Beating.

While I appreciate that blink’s initial break-up led to the formation of +44 and Angels & Airwaves, there is a part of me that wishes we got another +44 album. Of course I am grateful that the band got back together and we got Neighborhoods ONE MORE TIME… eventually, but I will always think about what could have been for both Tom’s initial creative projects (e.g., Box Car Racer) and Mark and Travis’s focused partnership. I mean, can you imagine what a “Chapter 14” would’ve sounded like? Baby, come on.

Thank you for your eyes, those things you read with.

Box Car Racer? I Hardly Know ‘Er

I can’t remember the first time I heard Tom DeLonge’s “solo” record Box Car Racer. I was 9 years old when it came out, so my finger was yet to be glued to the pulse of popular music. Fortunately I had my older sister to get me started on all the cool music of the time, like Linkin Park, blink-182, and Korn.1

In a few years I’d go to high school where I’d become an emo/pop-punk kid, and I’d discover all these underground bands either local to New York, or playing on the smaller stages earlier in the day during Warped Tour. High school is also when I became a fiend for discovering everything there is about my favorite bands. I loved blink-182’s Dude Ranch and Enema of the State, but I wanted more from them. Since this is when the internet was still fun, I found my way to a super compressed download of Box Car Racer, which is what I used for this write-up. Keeping that fidelity felt appropriate instead of the gloss of lossless streaming.

Box Car Racer was a solo project of blink-182’s Tom DeLonge after their 2001 album, Take Off Your Pants and Jacket. According to Wikipedia, he was burnt out on touring and sought to do something that was not blink-related. He brought Travis Barker on, because everyone always knows only one drummer. Future Angels & Airwaves guitarist David Kennedy, along with Barker’s bassist friend, Anthony Celestino, joined them in the studio for the recording. The inimitable Jerry Finn, blink’s go-to-guy at the boards, produced.

Box Car Racer is generally darker than any other output from Tom that precedes it. The sophomoric humor that propped DeLonge up as a ne’er-do-well in the public eye is not present aside from “My First Punk Song.” which sounds like the band are just having fun in the studio more than making a song. The album contends with heartache, self-acceptance, and a deep resounding anger towards authority—most notably, the government.

Can’t You Wait? Maybe I Don’t Want to Go

“I Feel So” rips the hinges off the door of the album, but its main guitar riff is Tom foreshadowing Mark’s bass line from “I Miss You.” “All Systems Go” could have been cool with its paranoid dynamics, but it’s just the prototype for all the wall-of-guitars A&A songs to come (and blink’s mid-career miss, “Up All Night”).

DeLonge lets Rancid’s Tim Armstrong lead “Cat Like Thief,” similarly to how blink becomes Robert Smith’s backing band in “All of This.” The studio effects allow tons of space on Tom’s guitars and vocals, especially on the refrain, “Don’t leave her.” While this might have been an interesting sonic experiment the time, the passing of time has proved it to be little more than proto-A&A.

“Letters to God” remains the standout track. The lyrics are genuinely deep and meaningful, not just for a blink-verse track. DeLonge’s speaker struggles with God, making a deal not to sin, but also admitting they’re not ready to die. Exploding electric from acoustic into the excellent chorus truly feels thunderous and angry, not just in a “baby’s first punk song” kind of way. Ending on the dark E-minor is such a choice that leaves listeners feeling uneasy despite being an appropriate resolution. This song hit home when I was a kid because I was pissed off for all the pubescent reasons. Now I feel such empathy for my younger self and for any child (or person, really) pushing back against an authority figure.

Ups & Downs Got Me Frazzled

This was the first time I experienced Tom without Mark Hoppus, blink-182’s bassist and other singer. Historically, I have always been a Hoppus fan. I enjoyed the timbre of his voice more, thought his jokes were funnier, and I even grew up to become primarily a bassist in my music scene. This preamble is all to say I was confused and excited as hell when Hoppus showed up on “Elevator,” which is a fine if unremarkable song.

So why was this not a blink album if Mark shows up on the last track? Guess you should listen to the next episode of Filler to find out what Steve and I thought.

The Ashes Will Slowly Pile Up to Prove We’re Finally Done

The songs that hold up for me now are the same ones that I enjoyed as a wee lad, which is a validating conclusion for this music fan. Regardless of how I’ve changed as both a person and a music critic, I enjoyed the dark turn for Tom then as much as I do now. Following artists’ phases and creations is more fascinating to me than clamoring for the next of the same thing that they are known for. This album, along with further experimentation on 2003’s blink-182, led DeLonge to creating Angels & Airwaves, for which I’ll have something to discuss in a later newsletter.

If you give a listen to Box Car Racer, let me know what you think. Am I too blink-pilled to give it a fair shake in 2025? Have the years of hearing Tom’s spacey vision blurred my ears to the genius of his youth?

Thank you for your eyes, those things you read with.

And yet, day after day, I long for the unstructured time of the evening and Saturdays. It’s a classic grass-is-always-greener scenario. The week-long breaks in December, February, and April are always a delight, but feel just too long. I spent this week rebounding from a nasty case of the flu last week, so it has not been as eventful as weeks off have been in the past. This lack of busyness is not necessarily unwelcome.

A couple days ago, I discovered during an evening journaling session that I am living the dream of my past self. I have a platform for writing where I earn some extra money (Thank you! 🥹); I am privileged to make music I love with great friends; now I produce a podcast to talk about all of the media I love, and the feedback on that has been promising.

I truly did not realize that I was living my dream until I stopped for a moment and reflected. The nitty gritty of the daily grind often leaves me on autopilot and less grateful for all I am able to create. This week off of nothingness has allowed me to see forest after getting lost among the trees.

That’s enough of that. You’re here for the recommendations.

What I’ve Been Reading

I’m about 50 pages from finishing Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner, a.k.a. Japanese Breakfast. It has taken me about a year to read this book, but that’s not because it is not engaging or lacking in any way. Rather, H Mart is dense in its emotion. I feel heavy with grief, or full of delicious food, or any other feeling Zauner seeks to communicate. I see why it is an important read in its successful development of empathy, but it is not one I will ever read again, or engage with in any adaptations, should they ever pan out. The world is sad enough, but at least Zauner finds beauty in her pain.

Another sad story, albeit more of the cosmic horror variety, I have finally began my descent into the green hell of Al Ewing and co.’s The Immortal Hulk. The major conceit of this run is that Bruce Banner can die, but his alter ego, the Hulk, cannot. Banner and the Hulk were my favorite super heroes growing up, so it delights me to follow their story through a lens I’ve become enamored with in recent years. The sorrow of a man who cannot escape the monster inside him, even through death, is gut wrenching. I’m only a few issues in so far, and it is mostly The Twilight Zone-meets-Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, but it is immediately clear why this is a modern classic.

What I’ve Been Watching

As mentioned on this week’s episode of Filler, I finished Cassandra on Netflix. The miniseries is a tight, six episodes of German science fiction that tugs on your heart strings, not unlike Dark. The concept is simple: A family reeling from tragedy moves into a 1970s-built smart home with its own tragic origin. Er, tragedy ensues. While the show is not without its faults (the father in particular constantly made frustrating, questionable choices), Cassandra stuck the landing for me, making me begin to rethink my hesitant feelings about watching television again.

What I’ve Been Listening To

My ears have been mostly occupied by podcast editing, listening to mixes for Burn Over District, and demoing for the LVP.

What I’ve been listening to that isn’t something I have a hand in directly making, is Rapt’s beautifully somber Until The Light Takes Us, out today on START-TRACK. Rapt mastermind Jacob Ware fingerpicks an acoustic guitar and plucks heartstrings with tender lyrics that explore grief and love. Album highlights include “Attar of Roses” (“If this was the price they’d pay to love / Why do they love?”) and the apocalyptic title track. Until The Light Takes Us is what winter in February sounds like: solemn and cold, but with a quiet gratitude for the hearth still burning as we wait for spring to thaw.

Until Next Time

My typing must cease and I am to return to Logic to finish editing this upcoming episode of Filler. Steve and I begin our descent into blink-182, a band I grew up with (that didn’t grow up with me? Hm…) that has always been a blind spot for him. This miniseries was a challenge to research, but the final product and our conclusions were insightful.

What about you? What’s new? What has been filling your cup, or challenging you creatively? Wherever you are, I hope you’re warm.

After weeks of glacial reflection, I concluded that I could produce a podcast. While I do not consider myself a professional audio engineer, I know enough of the basics to make something aurally pleasing. What I don’t know, I make an excellent learner for.

I spent time brainstorming and iterating a topic that could remain evergreen. All of my favorite podcasts are ones that I spent weeks binging to catch up to the most recent episodes. I love spending my time listening to interesting thinkers who elicit new ideas of my own. This spurred the epiphany that I essentially do the same as an English teacher to my high school students.

Every day, from September to June, I challenge young people to empathize with other perspectives and grapple with meaningful conflicts in order to support their development as ethical members and upcoming leaders of society. Why couldn’t I do the same with a microphone in front of me? And did it just have to be about books aligned with my state’s English learning standards? Of course not.

I considered what to discuss. I’ve got plenty of opinions, and if you know me personally, you know that I can yap with the best of them. Ultimately, I decided that I want to talk about stories in any medium that I enjoyed or got something positive out of. The idea was not necessarily to critique but to dissect, poke, and prod, with an eye toward celebration and appreciation.

I just wanted to talk about the stories I loved, the ones that filled my cup and inspired me to create my own art.

But could I do it alone? That would be boring and, frankly, not fun. Once I started co-teaching, I realized there is nothing better than the relationship with a partner where you can riff endlessly. I didn’t just want a co-host: I needed someone to improvise with, to breathe life into this vivid world I was imagining.

Fortunately, my close friend and bandmate in the LVP, Stephen Sbiroli, agreed to join the project.

Steve has a background in screenwriting and songwriting. He can articulate what makes a story moving and engrossing. Perhaps more importantly, he is able to acknowledge and address shortcomings and flaws in the greatest works of art, including his favorites. Steve’s eyes and ears are as critical as they are appreciative, and that is exactly why he is the right person to join me on Filler.

Steve and I are three episodes deep1 as of this post. In that time I have:

• learned how to set up a podcast hosting account, which is much more involved than I originally anticipated

• composed, recorded, mixed, and mastered a theme song

• begun to train my ear for what kind of audio I want my audience to experience (and translate that into my process in Logic Pro X)

• put myself way out there.

I don’t know how long Filler will last. I’m not even sure how long I want to produce a podcast along with a full-time job and other responsibilities and hobbies. For now, though, I am having the time of my life talking about interesting media in fun, novel ways with my friends and family.

Doing that fills my cup.

Flight b741 sounds like King Gizz and classic rock radio. The guitars are tube-driven, the grooves make your head bop, the bass is warm and round; Stu Mackenzie does that growly-voice thing that he somehow fits into every genre the band tries out.

The first three songs on Flight b741 could have been on the soundtrack to my childhood. Made up of duped CDs form old cassettes, I grew up on the classic rock of the sixties, seventies, and eighties. I know the words to most if not all Beatles songs; John Paul Jones informs how I carry myself not only as a bassist but as a bandmate. Therefore, when I hear anything that could have played on Q104.3 in New York in the 1990s and early 2000s, I am transported to sitting in the backseat of a rusting, periwinkle Chevy Impala on my family’s infrequent drives to a nearby Costco.

That shade of blue is the color I see when I hear “Antarctica.” Despite the chilly-yet-swampy atmosphere that KGATLW aim for, I feel the heat of a baking summer in the car as my hand washes in the wind like a wave. One song that was on the soundtrack to that warmth in real time was The Band’s “Ophelia”; the soundtrack to that memory is now “Raw Feel,” or any of the other eight songs on Flight b741.

What is beautiful about this record is that it does not feel disingenuous with its nostalgia. Let’s use Greta Van Fleet as an example. When a GVF song comes on, I get bored quickly and want to listen to Led Zeppelin. When the a cappella comes in on “Hog Calling Contest,” I want to hear what comes next and appreciate growing up in home that encouraged singing along to “Fat Bottomed Girls” like we were singing in a megachurch. KGATLW always toe the line of respectful acknowledgement and never enter the cheap, unsatisfying territory of nostalgia.

Conversely, there is Batman: Caped Crusader, from Batman: The Animated Series head producer Bruce Timm and acclaimed Gotham City comics writers Ed Brubaker and Greg Rucka. The new series evokes the nineties’ show’s 1940s-inspired steam-deco aesthetic. Hamish Linklater does a great Kevin Conroy for his Batman—though I do miss Conroy’s lofty playboy Bruce Wayne. There are new twists on old characters, the production value is high, and the creators clearly respect the material they are working with. Nevertheless, this doesn’t hit the way Flight b741 does.

Because of these not-quite-but-almost-Animated-Series traits, watching Caped Crusader is the sort of nostalgia that stings unpleasantly. I am not necessarily missing the original show (it is available to stream easily); nor do I truly yearn for the blips of memory I have of watching it as it aired in my nascent childhood. Instead my pain derives from wanting something more than a riff on what Timm and co. have already achieved.

Don’t misunderstand me: more Batman is always good Batman to me. Nevertheless, I wish to engage in art that charts new paths, not media wearing new boots in the same old tracks. King Gizz clearly went for the sound of yesteryear with their 70s-rock-inspired opus. While all the songs on Flight b741 would make any boomer smile and wonder when they dropped acid to KGATLW, Caped Crusader makes my millennial heart yawn in a sleepy, lukewarm satisfaction. I am happy and grateful it exists, but as a fan, I am left wanting.

There needs to be more risk in the way creators homage what comes before, let alone just make things in general. It is totally acceptable and respectable to nod to your forebears, but the audience knows when something else could have been done to make the work more special. A forward-looking failure still faces the right direction.

What should I watch, read, or listen to next?

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate you.

I would not call it writer’s block. Rather writing did not hold the priority that I wish I had made it. When I was in high school and college, and a grade haunted me, writing came easily. There is no accountability but my ego for my own writing nowadays. That needed to change. My accountability has become that I love writing and I need to do it regularly to be my most authentic self. I am glad to report this process is making terrific progress.

(Now that I sit with it, I realize I need to make a more concerted effort to encourage my students to write for themselves and not for a grade. Making a practice is more important than polishing a product, and I have not done my best to ensure that value is emphasized for my students. That sucks for them this year: they just got another project.)

That’s not to say I haven’t been writing. In this interim I finished my first short piece of fiction in years, wrote and composed the third After School Special song, and journaled endlessly. I took the time to fall in love with the practice of putting my thoughts onto paper before advertising whatever brand I have to share. If others are interested, great; help me make a living, and I’ll do it more regularly. If not, I share my words when I share them, and I accept that with grace and compassion for myself.

Speaking of which, I want to make posting here more of a practice and less of a product. I have been too concerned with polishing that I become stuck before sharing anything I deem “worth” sharing. This perfectionism is silly and based in fear, one which will leave me only immobilized, one that I will combat by doing the damn thing.

I’ve been listening to a lot of great music, watching a ton of awesome films, and reading fantastic comics and books. Talk soon about them, and more.

I came to writing about music through being a fiction writer. While that was not an option for a genre track at my alma mater, I grew tired of academic navel-gazing about literature written by authors centuries dead. Creating new ideas and images appeals to me far more than picking apart what makes a novel/a play/poetry so great.1

After college I drifted from writing fiction. Writing short stories became something I seldom did instead of the practice I wish it was. Even now, almost 10 years out from my graduation (gasp), I am not a practicing fiction writer. Music and teaching usually have my full focus.

Despite my divided attention, I started a journal practice in earnest last year. While I am not set in a ritual there yet, every week I grow closer to having a dedicated page count solely in order to get words on the paper, let alone a complete story.

In an effort to get in touch with my authorial roots, I attended an event called “Sip and Scribe” in Queens a couple of weeks ago. It is essentially the same as a paint-and-sip night but oriented as a writing group. There were a couple of warmup exercises, then some timed writing activities. In between these quick writes, the group members would share either what they wrote or what their experience with their writing was like. This was my first time attending, but immediately I felt comfortable, like I was back in a workshop2 in college.

The story below, “Eyes and Thighs,” was written as a response to the final prompt. Previously in the evening, writers were invited to reflect on parts of their bodies they had feelings about (e.g., shame, pride). Writers were directed to craft a meet-cute short story (inspired by Valentine’s Day on the horizon) where your body part is randomly paired with another.

I won’t tell you which body part I wrote about unless you ask nicely. Enjoy!

Like glue, Eyes met Thighs. They saw the curvature of the muscle strain under the weight. Each bulged at the other, but neither relented from the pressure. Rather, they almost drew closer, inexplicably magnetic. Two couples, a pair of swingers, salty with sweat and secret tears.

Eyes desired a closer view. Something more direct, you know, to take a picture for memory's sake. Something to look back on when they close before sleep in private delight. Something to dream about when no one else could see them.

Thighs struggled. They felt Eyes peering at their pressing veins, measuring their hairs like some trophy just caught for dinner. Thighs felt Eyes' hunger, and they wanted to satiate with their power. Under this weight, they couldn't say much. Thighs pressed on in silent seduction.

Eyes neared. With a closer look, their gaze grew more obvious. Yet care they did not. Eyes wanted Thighs to know they were there glaring, seeing possible angles splayed in delight. Eyes narrowed, laser-focused on their real goal: a picture they could never forget.

Thighs relaxed, quivering. They breathed drowning men's gasps. Thighs rested, successful with work, satisfied with attention.

Eyes never blinked once.

I was born and grew up in Brooklyn, lived on Long Island for college and some time after, then returned home in 2016. I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life—a creative writing degree can only take you so far. While I hopped from one fruitless internship to the next, music remained steadfast, perennial.

I had played in many bands since I first moved back. There were several iterations of a throwback garage rock band, a smidge of dream pop in one group, a cool yet doomed fifth-wave emo band, and a blues rock trio. (I’d link all of them here, but it’s more fun for you to find them on your own!)

I enjoyed playing guitar but discovered that the bass was my instrument. I loved learning how to be a bandmate and a proficient recording musician; how to find a vocal harmony, a talent I didn’t know I possessed. Looking back now, I truly did learn so much and I am endlessly grateful for all of my experiences.

After a few months in these projects, though, I found myself unfulfilled. Maybe we weren’t exploring sounds I wanted to try, or maybe I was too immature to allow time to lead to flourishing relationships that could breed music that makes my heart sing.

Whatever the case was, I grew stagnant. This ennui led to my messaging Steve Sbiroli.

Steve had posted an ad on BandsDoBK for a bassist for his “remedial math rock” band. Having a sense of humor and not being the most theory-driven musician, I was immediately intrigued. I listened to the demos that he and Kyle Drumheller, his college buddy and former bandmate, put together and released on SoundCloud. The songs had the DNA of The 1975, Fall Out Boy, Bruce Springsteen, and Green Day. They were catchy, interesting, and told a story. What more can one want in a good song?

Like now, the world was COVID-y in 2022. Socially, everyone was still thawing from the isolation past two years. On top of the general circumspection, the last band I had been a part of had ended in hostility, bruised egos, and evaporated potential. Suffice to say, I had extremely tempered expectations and hopes when I met Steve, Kyle, and Vince Camarista of Easy Tigress fame.

Being in a band is like being in a romantic relationship. You portray a certain version of yourself at the beginning. Then you experience growing pains as each party becomes more comfortable and more themself. Ultimately you decide whether to stick it out and invest in one another, or call it quits.

When I first played with the LVP, like many first dates, it was a bit tense and awkward. We sized one another up while trying to discern if the chemistry was there. I was nervous because I had something to prove; I imagine Steve, Kyle, and Vince were anxious to find the right fit so they could start looking for shows and recording.

Fortunately it went well enough that I was invited to be in the band full-time, and we started grinding out those SoundCloud demos into an electric live set.

We spent the winter of 2023 recording “Raspberry” with Nicholas Starrantino at Deadend Studio on Long Island. Recording him with was so fun and natural that we impulsively decided to go back in the late summer/early fall to finish recording our debut EP with him, including the second single, “Deepest, Darkest” (Kyle’s favorite).

Making this album with my friends has been a shining moment in my life. I can’t imagine not writing, recording, and playing more music with these guys. Even now in our group chat (sentimentally titled “Boneless Boyz” for our collective and apparently unpopular love of boneless wings), I urge us to get back into our rehearsal space to work on the next slew of Luxurious Velveteen Psalms.

the LVP EP is streaming everywhere now. Consider supporting us on Bandcamp to receive a commemorative zine we made that documents the process!

I have a few goals of my own that I am still sorting out. Most of them revolve around creative endeavors that I anticipate to pursue rather than achieve. One of the best lessons I learned in 2023 is to treat the process as the reward. Creation in and of itself is the prize; the product is a memento for a portfolio and future reflection.1

The first reflection I have to offer is on my first song as a “real” artist. Although I’ve been writing songs in and out of bands since I was a wee lad in high school, only a handful of them were recorded and released.2

I wrote “Variety Coffee” several years ago. The chords and main melodies were there almost from the start. Frankly, I wasn’t confident enough that I could pull off putting a song out under my own moniker. Imposter syndrome always told me that my chops weren’t there, whether that was as a songwriter, a guitarist, a bassist, or a singer. I’m not interested in being a bandleader, and I doubt I’ll ever perform my music live. Even so, I was compelled to take on this project and execute it as best as I could.

Despite my nontraditional pursuit, creating music fills my cup like writing short stories did in college and my short stint in a MFA program. Collaborating with others—be it for album art, recording drums, or mixing and mastering—proved to be the most fulfilling part of this process. Even exploring the ins and outs of music distribution with Kanem X were thrilling to me.3

As far as 2024 goals of pursuing creativity go, I’ve already achieved mine, right?

I refute that. Instead I aim to go further and higher, to write more stories, reviews, and songs; to record and produce more music.

More than anything else, I aim to collaborate more with all the incredible, talented people I continue to meet.

I hope you’re one of them.

When I listen to Union Fool’s latest EP, Act Natural, something akin to nostalgia somehow creeps in. I don’t necessarily yearn for the past, nor do I miss much of anything that has come before; all those memories and feelings, in contrast to their documentarian black and white, are tinted sepia and warmly blurred around the edges.

Lead singer, guitarist, and songwriter Devin Whitaker’s performances do all the yearning, be it for human connection, confidence, peace and tranquility, or just the ability to get through the day. On the eponymous single, lead guitarist Himanshu Arora’s lines recall the catchy, early-to-mid-2000s pop-punk where the riffs could be sung along to just as well as the lyrics. Between Whitaker’s bemoaning the dating scene and exhaustion in a new home city, and Arora’s keen sense of musicality inspiring those early feelings of bouncing at Irving Plaza and moshing at Ethical Humanist Society, I forget about all my adult problems for a moment and relish the feelings of yesterday.

For all the nostalgia I lack, I possess anxiety in droves. How will I pay my bills this month? With all of the professional and personal moves that I’m making, when will my life pass the turning point of the grind to maintenance and pleasure?

Coupled with that anxiety, time passes by in grey hairs. I force myself to do as much as I can and distract myself from dwindling time with busyness and activity. I need to read more, write more, create more, be more. I have literally asked myself, “Why can’t I slow down?” phoneswithchords (aka Arthur Alligood) collaborates with songwriter Ben Sooy of acclaimed Denver rock band A Place for Owls to wrestle with that question and tackle the challenges associated with aging on phoneswithBen.

There is warmth and comfort in the intimate naturalism of the album. Chairs creak along wooden floorboards as fingers slide across an acoustic guitar. Children play behind the beats and underneath a coaxed piano. phoneswithBen, in its lyrics and melodies, its mixing and mastering, is produced with such extreme human beauty.

Plain and simple, listening to this album combat the angst of mortality in these songwriters’ homes makes me feel like I’ll be okay. It’s a warm touch comforting my shaking hand; it’s a pal taking me out for a beer on a Friday after work.

Like a good friend, I know phoneswithBen will be there when I need it, and it’ll be just what I need not only to keep going but to slow down and enjoy life better.

Although I write for myself, the process, and plainly just for fun, getting paid to do so would make this enterprise even more rewarding. Thank you for reading.

I listen to so much music that I mostly stopped watching television. Granted, streaming services are leaning more towards gluttonous content than thoughtful art nowadays, but I find music (along with movies, comics, and books—more on the latter two soon) more compelling for my attention. Because of that, every Friday is a feast day due to all this, er, cooking. Album, EP, or single, I always find something to enjoy.

Last Friday Go Home released their hotly anticipated Bug. Having followed the rollout of this album single by single, and having seen and heard these songs performed in various manners, I was the one doing the hot anticipating.1

Self-described as an art rock band that likes “the pleasure of the pattern, and the delight of the pattern-breaking,” Go Home are sonic naturalists. Every instrument, beat, and note feel “real” and a part of the tapestry of life. The harmonies between Marlena Mack and Zak Houston leave me longing for an idealized version of the past that I was not alive for (looking at you, ending of “Useless Pretty Things”). While Mack and Houston attract listeners with their haunting earworms, Travis Emery Hackett steadies their ship with tasteful drumming that simultaneously grounds and unbalances. Ghost notes have never sounded better.

Listening to Bug is like reading a story that I don’t want to end. The album feels lived in, warm, and inviting. All the same, Go Home’s musicianship and songwriting challenge me to pay attention and grow as an artist. Theirs is an album that rewards with repeated listens—both with eyes-closed, headphones-on attention, as well as in the halo glows hugging one’s daily life.

Although I write for myself, the process, and plainly just for fun, getting paid to do so would make this enterprise even more rewarding. Thank you for reading.