By challenging each other to progress, Better Lovers challenge heavy music to move forward along with them.  Driven by the same restless spirit and clear intention, this cohort of longtime musicians have rallied around a shared vision of creative fearlessness and relentless energy. Playing with a chemistry bordering on magic, the musicians—Greg Puciato [vocals], Jordan Buckley [guitar], Will Putney [guitar, producer], Steve Micciche [bass], and Clayton “Goose” Holyoak [drums]—naturally evolve on their 2024 full-length debut album, Highly Irresponsible [Sharptone Records]. Puciato keeps it simple, “New album. First full-length. It’s a typical thing to say, but we’re excited to start getting this thing out there. Everyone really brought their best to this and brought out the best in each other.” It’s been that way since the winter of 2022 when longtime friends Jordan, Steve, and Goose congregated in a cold Buffalo, NY basement to jam, sowing the seeds for early song ideas. They initially tapped Will to produce (he also jumped at the chance to play guitar), while Greg officially joined the fold upon hearing demos. Without warning in 2023, the group made their presence known with “30 Under 13” followed by the God Made Me An Animal EP. Metal Hammer christened the latter “one of the finest examples of savage modern hardcore you’ll hear in 2023.” Inciting further critical applause, Revolver raved, “they attack like a fresh, hungry band out for blood. Which is what they are,” and KERRANG! profiled them with a cover story. Not to mention, they sold out the bulk of dates on their very first tour.  They capitalized upon and catalyzed this momentum into Highly Irresponsible. Putney resumed his role as producer, and the bandmates ignited ten tracks with calculated intensity. Putney notes, “Being a member of the band and the producer is actually a real advantage for Better Lovers. We’re so dialed in to exactly what we want to do, and our creative process is so in sync and natural that we rarely hit a wall when we work on music.” “Writing and recording our first full length was slightly more surgical than the EP, but had a similar lack of restraint. I feel more pressure writing this press release than I felt all winter in Will’s studio. I got to wake up everyday and watch the masters perfect their craft. I was a student. It was a playground. Everything was funny. We were reading each other’s minds. Even creating our own language at some points. I didn’t know if I was watching my closest friends write music, or if I was watching music use us to exist. The voice in my head warning me how highly irresponsible it was to hop on this bull again was gone. Replaced by bad ideas, inside jokes, and a rejuvenated love for helping to write songs that don’t sound like anything else.  That brings us to the first single “A White Horse Covered In Blood.” Gritty guitar rolls in tandem with a punchy drumbeat, and Puciato teasingly warns, “Oh, there’s nowhere to run to buddy.” He delivers manic taunts with insidious charisma matched only by the wild dueling riffing across the bridge. “I’m honestly just over here happy that I fit the word ‘buddy’ into a song,” the frontman grins. Elsewhere, high-pitched squeals drain into a rollicking riff on “Future Myopia.” The melodic chant on the chorus belies menace in the lyrics as Puciato proclaims, “Hard to look up when you’re down. No perspective from the ground.” Eerie guitar echoes over a loose bass groove on the spacey “At All Times.” Simultaneously, an arresting vocal performance takes hold, “We corrected the lines we drew. Didn’t we?” Opener “Lie Between The Lines” leans into a sinister melodic lead before culminating on a realization, “I can’t believe I’m just like you.” The finale “Love As An Act of Rebellion” might just be the perfect clarion call for the quintet. The breakneck beatdown and tense ticking clock give way to Puciato’s last word, “In a world where we’re the only. I’d still take life without you. I’d still be lost without you.” Better Lovers found each other, and they’re going to keep pushing each other and heavy music forward. “This is a band firing on all cylinders that is both dynamic and destructive,” Putney leaves off. “That translates through the speakers on this LP, and I can’t wait for people to experience the whole record.” Buckley smiles, “Humans and animals alike are programmed to do wild things for what they love—Highly Irresponsible things. And we love what we’ve created. We know you will too.”

Full of Hell burst forth with incredible force from the small, dagger-shaped city of Ocean City, Maryland, 15 years ago. Over five full-lengths, five collaborative full-lengths, and countless splits, EPs, singles, and noise compilations, they’ve evolved at extraordinary speed, their music becoming more complicated and technical without ever slowing down or losing its soul. Everything on a Full of Hell album feels like a blur: smears of guitar, harsh noise shaken like gravel in a bag, singer Dylan Walker’s snarl and bite carrying him into outer space or into the core of the earth. They’re coiled, interlocking, impossible to penetrate, and they move with alarming speed.    They have now reached terminal velocity. Having created their own context, they’re now able to walk around within it, to survey its terrain, to visit far corners and see who’s nearby. Coagulated Bliss sounds like Full of Hell, but it’s nothing like any Full of Hell record that’s come before it. These songs are trimmer, less freighted with anxiety, more interested in opening up than speeding away. Its bile is sometimes funneled into traditional song structures. It never shies away from the extreme harsh noise, unrelenting spirit, and pitch-black sadness of previous Full of Hell records; if anything, the leanness of these songs makes them feel even heavier. Nevertheless, there are tracks here you might find yourself whistling hours after listening. It’s an extraordinary and unexpected evolution in sound for a band who made their name on rapid metamorphosis, and it’s the logical endpoint of everything Full of Hell has covered so far. “I wanted to try to take every aspect of what we’ve done from previous releases and integrate it into this one,” guitarist Spencer Hazard says.    Coagulated Bliss was written and recorded shortly after the band completed When No Birds Sang, their collaborative album with Nothing. Working with the Philadelphia shoegazers gave Full of Hell new insight into the emotional and artistic power of classic pop songwriting, and to the importance of following a song where it wants to go. “That was a good experience of learning how to find what actually services a song,” Hazard says. “Even with Roots of Earth Are Consuming My Home, even when we’ve had an extreme grindcore influence, I still wanted it to be catchy.” Walker also cites the band’s work with The Body for helping him to “recognize that there was value in pop music.” Accordingly, Coagulated Bliss features some of Full of Hell’s strongest songwriting: Gone is the frenetic flailing of Garden of Burning Apparitions and Weeping Choir; in its stead is a richer, thicker sound, one that’s considerably less ornamented—and somehow heavier than ever.   These songs feel huge, totemic, groundshaking. In “Gelding of Men,” the entire band hammers away at one chord, stomping it into the ground at mid-tempo, blasts of horns helping to push.The numbskull stomp of “Doors to Mental Agony” sets up a circle pit, blasts it apart with a grindcore chorus, then slides away on a slanted riff. In the title track, they bounce back and forth on a thick groove, punctuated with occasional cowbells and scratched up by Walker’s scream, barrel into a pummeling chorus, then jump back out onto the dance floor.    While the focus on songwriting already makes Coagulated Bliss the most grounded album in Full of Hell’s catalog, it’s also the first Full of Hell record that tries in earnest to reflect the world around it—not in some broad, monotony-of-evil way, but the everyday horrors of life in small town America. Three of the four members of the band were raised in Ocean City. Hazard and Bland still live there, while Walker is located in central Pennsylvania and bassist Samuel DiGristine relocated to Philadelphia. “The American dream is small towns,” Hazard says. “But anyone that’s grown up in a small town realizes it’s just as fucked up in a small town as it is in a big city—if not more, because it’s more condensed.”    Walker’s lyrics have always framed their suffering with what he calls “fantastical, metaphorical shit,” but on Coagulated Bliss his writing is clear and direct. The album’s title is meant partly to reflect the idea of the over-pursuit of happiness leading to misery—whether in addiction, greed, or anything else. “Your happiness is just out of reach and you don’t know why,” he says. “Too much of this bliss, you think you’ve found your endpoint, but it’s really just this small, tiny, little thing that’s going to ruin your fucking life. And that could be anything.” Much of the album is rooted in the band’s own experiences. “A hundred dead ends, a thousand dead friends,” Walker screams on “Doors to Mental Agony.” “I hear their howling, I hear them weeping.” There are corpses slicked with morning dew, “false balms for deep wounds,” numb failures, thieves in the night and killers in the dark. There are many trackmarks; there are many dirty needles.    The album’s viciousness and Walker’s clear reading of the world around him might scan as misanthropy—“humanity to blame,” he concludes after running through the ways the earth is “riddled with sores” in “Gasping Dust”—but it comes from a place of disappointment that’s driven by a deep love for people and life and the world. “There’s not a lot of anger, to be honest,” he says. “I’ve never felt anger when we’re playing, ever. It feels like electricity that’s built up in my body that has to get out. But I feel more profoundly sorrowful than I ever do anger.”    The world may be in a constant state of bitter flux, but Full of Hell have never sounded more at home in it.“We’ve shed any kind of ‘do we belong in this space, what do people expect of us,’” Walker says. “The joy is in the pursuit.” The loosening of their grip on the direction of their music has made it feel paradoxically closer to the bone. “People tend to burrow themselves so deeply into things they love,” Walker says. “It’s too much of a good thing, and it almost cheapens it.” By paring back their sound, Full of Hell aren’t just finding a new way forward: They’re proving that a little bit less of a good thing can add up to so much more.   Coagulated Bliss was recorded at Developing Nations in Baltimore by Kevin Bernstein, mixed by Taylor Young at The Pit Recording Studio in Van Nuys California and mastered by Nick Townsend of Infrasonic Sound in Los Angeles California. Full of Hell is Spencer Hazard (guitar/electronics), David Bland (drums/vocals), Samuel DiGristine (bass/sax/vocals), and Dylan Walker (vocals/electronics/lyrics), with new guitarist Gabriel Solomon joining following the album’s completion. Coagulated Bliss is out April 26 via Closed Casket Activities.

From beyond the Spire and the Ward of Song echoes Cloakroom’s tertiary LP, Dissolution Wave. It’s like this: The concept of Cloakroom’s third album is a space western in which an act of theoretical physics—the dissolution wave—wipes out all of humanity’s existing art and abstract thought. In order to keep the world spinning on its axis, songsmiths must fill the ether with their compositions. Meanwhile, the aforementioned Spire and Ward of Song act as a filter for human imagination: Only the best material can pass through the filter and keep the world turning. This is the philosophical universe that Cloakroom guitarist/vocalist Doyle Martin conceived as a way of processing the last few years. “We lost a couple of close friends over the course of writing this record,” he says. “Dreaming up another world felt easier to digest than the real nitty-gritty we’re immersed in every day.” With lyrics based on an imagined cosmology, Dissolution Wave also marks a grand expansion of Cloakroom’s dreamy space-rock palette. “We often get lumped in with stoner rock bands—and I love that,” bassist Bobby Markos offers, “but at the same time, we can do an acoustic set. If we wanted to make a song completely out of synthesizers, we could. So our approach to Dissolution Wave was to do everything we’ve ever wanted to do.” You’ll hear it in the album’s first single, “A Force At Play.” Written from the perspective of the album’s protagonist—an asteroid miner who writes songs by night—the track has an airy pastoral feel, almost like a modern equivalent of the Byrds’ gorgeous 1968 departure album, Sweetheart of the Rodeo. “The miner is talking about ‘bottling lightning beams,’ which is a new take on the old music industry term ‘lightning in a bottle,’ which can pertain to a fire ass track or a good bottle of homemade booze,” Martin points out. “As you can imagine, bottling lightning is a pretty hard thing to do.” The melancholy title track captures the miner’s regret as they lament that they signed up for such a long stint on the job, while closer “Dissembler” describes their anxiety about the revelator who will judge their work. “If you don’t write a good enough song in this universe, you run the risk of being forgotten and lose the opportunity to return as a meaningful form of life,” Martin explains. Essentially, the system is a karmic wheel measured by the worth of a song. “Can this existential dread be applied to our own world and mirror some Sanskrit cosmologies?” Martin posits. “As far as a cyclic existence and the actual fear of death processed by human abstraction are concerned, one hundred percent yes.” Dissolution Wave is Cloakroom’s first album with drummer Tim Remis (also of SweetCobra), who joined in 2019. “Even though we’d already been a band for seven years at that point, adding Tim made it feel all new again,” Markos says. “He brought a whole new songwriting dynamic to the band.” The bulk of the album was recorded in December 2019 at Earth Analog in Tolono, Illinois, the same studio where Cloakroom recorded their 2015 debut, Further Out. Subsequent overdub sessions were done at various Chicago studios. The album was engineered by the band’s longtime soundman (and Markos’ childhood friend), Zac Montez. As fate would have it, Dissolution Wave’s release in early 2022 will align with Cloakroom’s tenth anniversary as a band.