Sometimes, episodes of anxiety and depression will translate to some pretty empathetic songwriting. In the case of Brian Indig (Milk Dick) and Coby Chafets (Glueboy), a collective maelstrom of melancholic rage while in Hastings on Hudson, spawned their brainbaby Ubetcha, and their debut album, The Piss Olympics. Ripping through 10 songs (and, just about every feeling one might feel), in just over 16 minutes, it’s a gut-punch of an introduction whose raw vulnerability is enough to incite your very own breakdown, and subsequently provide instruction for recovery. From the first breakneck rolling of bass on opener, “Obviously, I Shouldn’t Be Doing This,” to the overly honest acknowledgments of mistakes made throughout, it blares with crippling self-doubt and misgiving. It’s chaotic at times, twitchy at others, and totally fluid at others, setting the tone for the record as a whole and preparing for the listening experience to come. Nonstop, jarring changes in rhythm, harsh and crude instrumentation, and shrill vocals.
Things do, however, balance out. “Caught in the Cloam” turns things into some dilapidated surfpunk dystopia and you start to get a feel for the dichotomy of the record, and the songwriters, themselves. You’re out of the muck and you’re suddenly a wallflower at a beach party, unrelieved and on-edge because of sun-induced delirium. And it continues on in this way, alternating between slamming maelstroms and finely touching upon individual nerves, with weirdpop moments of reprieve like Every Day I Buy Shit” and “The End Of That!” All strikes a chord. It sprints into shit, and then seems to cleverly prance out of it. Your relief is like one of those scenes of someone sitting in the shower, fully clothed, and sobbing. U bet.
The Piss Olympics is out now, digitally, with a cassette release by GP Stripes set for April 18. They play Sunnyvale that night with Wicked Kind, Fits, and Drug Pizza. On stage, they’re joined by Kate Black (THICK), and Kerry Kallberg (Flagland). Check it out, NYC.
