Pushing boundaries is nothing new to Omerta. With their latest single, “Charade,” the band blurs the line between music, cacophony, the avant-garde and the outright unhinged.
Let’s talk about it.
A New Era
Described by Culture Addicts as a “five-minute opus,” “Charade” is the first track of Omerta’s upcoming album “Suicycle.” The album is set to come out via Blowed Out Records, the label manned by Ross Robinson, Ghostemane and Bill Armstrong, later this year.
As I explained in my profile on Omerta, the band’s genre is hard to define. Despite the valiant efforts of Redditor music aficionados to uncover this sacred truth, the band’s classification ultimately depends on who you ask.
Cover for “i luv u 2” by Omerta
Are they nu metal? Trap metal? Metalcore? A flagrant affront to the music world in general? The Council has yet to offer an answer, and it seems Omerta is dead-set on only further tormenting musical purists.
Have you ever taken a college course that was considered a “make-or-break” type of class? If you’re a STEM major, you probably have. These classes are arduous and tough and often soul-crushing, designed to weed out the people who just can’t hack it.
In a way, “Charade” is a “make-or-break” kind of song. You either get it or you don’t.
Early Releases
I fell in love with Omerta after catching them live at Hangar 1819 back in 2022, during which they performed tracks from their debut album “Hyperviolence.”
Cover for “Hyperviolence” by Omerta
How to explain “Hyperviolence?” It’s vile and razor-edged and gritty, the kind of music you’d listen to as an angst-ridden teenager riding the school bus at 6 a.m.. Vocalist Gustavo Hernandez, despite being 5 feet and 2 inches tall, emanates palpable rage. The instrumentation is fierce, the lyrics capricious and the album’s central theme — violence — taking center stage.
In 2023, Omerta released the single “Antiamorous,” a downright caustic track with heavy experimental flair. You can read about it here.
After “Antiamorous,” the band teased “Suicycle” — referencing the term “sui generis” rather than suicice — calling the album the start of a new era. On May 1, 2024, they dropped “Charade.”
“Charade”
The first thing I asked myself after listening to “Charade” was: do I like this?”
The question was difficult to answer. So naturally, I listened to the song 20 more times. I’m still not sure if I actually like it, but it’s certainly interesting.
“Charade” features vocals from Vicente Void, former member of Darke Complex, and alternative rapper Hash Gordon. Both artists have worked with Omerta before, with Void producing most of the band’s songs and Gordon featuring on the “Hyperviolence” track “Cidephile.”
There’s a hard masculine edge to much of Omerta’s music, with the glorification of violence often taking on Clockwork Orange levels of absurdity. From the first few seconds of “Charade,” I knew I was witnessing something drastically removed from the band’s previously-established “brand.”
I was shocked to learn that Gustavo provided most of the song’s vocals, especially those at the first half of the track. His hard, barbed edges are rendered smooth as breakcore-esque electronic beats crackle in the background. I was instantly reminded of the English covers of Vocaloid songs I used to listen to as a tween, and I thought to myself is this actually Omerta?
Just as soon as I asked myself this question, a distorted guitar entered the chat. The vibe instantly shifted, quickly ushering in what I would consider to be classic Gustavo: loud, throat-ripping and laden with expletives. Next, Hash Gordon sending the track into a full-on adrenaline rush with a rapid-fire slant. I was reminded of the insanity of Spider Gang (specifically, Methhead Freestyle).
At this point, I lost my grasp on the song entirely. Even now, having listened through it over a dozen times, I can’t really make sense of it. There’s simply too much going on for my mind to comprehend, hence my inability to truly state whether or not I actually like it.
Final Thoughts
“‘Charade’ is cringecore,” the band said in a public statement. “It’s avant-garde. It’s post-post-hardcore. It’s acid jazz. It’s K-Pop. It’s prog rock. It’s an anime opening. It’s neo metal. It’s an overture heralding the arrival of a sui generis cycle.
“The postmodern condition has relegated Sincerity, Love and Beauty to vestiges of a bygone era, and in their stead, Cynicism, Irony and Ugliness abound. In this profound, suffocating darkness and loneliness, this song is our proposal for a vibe shift – a bullet through the skull of Nihilism.”
Whether or not “Charade” is truly a “bullet through the skull of Nihilism” or the members of Omerta have simply read too much philosophical theory (or watched too many arthouse films) remains to be seen. With the upcoming release of “Suicycle,” perhaps “Charade” will fit into a bigger, more coherent context.
Or perhaps not. But that may be, as the band suggests, precisely the point.
Album Review: “A Dream Is All We Know” by The Lemon Twigs
Bodhi Says, “Check It Out:” “Church Bells,” “If You and I Are Not Wise,” “How Can I Love Her More?” and “Rock On (Over and Over)”
Helmed by Hicksville, Long Island brothers Michael and Brian D’Addario, The Lemon Twigs pull saccharine 60s pop melodies off the shelf, dust them off, charge them with potent 70s jukebox chords and release their somehow nostalgic yet fresh rock upon the masses.
In layman’s terms, Power Pop.
With four albums under their belt, the band introduced a fifth into their canon in May of 2024, the jangly and jubilant “A Dream Is All We Know.”
However, don’t let the numbers get to you; the album is easily one of their cleanest releases to date, leaning further into more Brian Wilson-esque charms rather than the Badfinger-adjacent, guitar-driven rock of their earlier albums.
More pop than rock, “A Dream Is All We Know” takes the impermanent, liminal unreality of day-to-day life and embraces the dream we all know with open arms.
The sonic scenery is hazy and ephemeral, with the listless possibility of a summer day spent by the record player, the dust from the stacks filtering through the sunlight; Tom Petty, NRBQ, Todd Rundgren, Big Star and Cheap Trick make heavy rotation that day.
“A Dream Is All We Know” is falling asleep with the window open, a little sunburnt and a little sweaty, letting the cool breeze brush your sun-kissed shoulders as the sheets pool around your feet while a Wings song plays from the next room.
Only a day ago, a friend texted me, “Have you ever listened to Jenny Mae?”
I hadn’t. He sent me the link to her album “What’s Wrong With Me?” via youtube, and I listened to the whole thing through, once, twice and then a third time.
It was strange, soft, sweet and deeply Ohio-ian, somewhat like a mix between the artists Broadcast and Kimya Dawson and Vashti Bunyan. Each of the songs felt deeply personal, deeply intimate, as if you were sitting on the bedroom floor of a close childhood pal listening to them play for you.
Jenny Mae’s “What’s Wrong With Me?”
The compilation album of Jenny Mae’s works called “What’s Wrong With Me?”
I needed to know more, and there was not much information to work with. What information I did find, however, painted a portrait of a deeply troubled and deeply fascinating artist that deserves far more recognition than she received during her lifetime.
Jenny Mae, born Jenny Mae Leffel, was raised in a five sibling household in South Vienna, Ohio. She was the life of the party, the ringleader, a popular tomboy who won awards for her trumpet playing at a young age.
Her high school boyfriend and long-time advocate, Bela Koe-Krompecher, recalls Leffel’s magnetic laugh and that she won the yearbook accolade of Funniest Girl. When it was time for the two to go to college, he followed her to Ohio State.
The two immediately immersed themselves in the music scene, becoming regulars at local bars and house shows, and Leffel playing in the OSU marching band.
Leffel soon began performing with her band Vibralux, thrifting three or four dollar gowns to wear up on stage, with her early performances being described as “gauzy and delicate.” Her major influences included artists such as the Beach Boys and the Beatles.
In a time where the Ohio musical landscape was loud and brash, Leffel’s music was dark, understated, and airy. Even though Vibralux broke up in 1993, Leffel continued to work on her own, notably releasing a single with the acclaimed band “Guided by Voices.”
Leffel’s song with “Guided by Voices,”
From then, Leffel made the decision to suspend her education and work on her solo career. Koe-Krompecher and Leffel had broken up, but he still helped her produce her first album called “There’s a Bar Around the Corner… Assh–s.”
It was a local critical success, marking an important achievement for Lefell. However, it was here that her troubles with addiction truly began.
She was a burgeoning alcoholic, getting drunk privately and in public. “I have a bad drinking problem,” Lefell said, even recognizing the issue. “I was drunk when we recorded, drunk when I did the credits, and drunk right now.”
Despite this, she continued to record, releasing her sophomore album “Don’t Wait Up For Me,” to recognition from magazines such as Spin. She did a small tour with artists Cat Power and Neko Case.
However, afterwards, Lefell continued to drink and began dabbling with cocaine. Her relationships with men became more erratic and family and friends reported signs of her decreasing mental health. She would hallucinate and experience troubling panic attacks.
By 2005 she was unhoused, living in Ohio and sleeping outside the OSU music building so that she could play the piano at night.
In a moving article, Koe-Krompecher details trying his best to look after her during this time, visiting her frequently while also caring for his young family. He attempted to place her in temporary housing only for her to continuously get kicked out. In his own career path, he had become a social worker.
“The system just failed her,” Koe-Krompecher said. “I did a lot of stuff from my end…trying to get her in the right place…But she never really realized she was homeless.”
Lefell’s health and addiction only kept getting worse. In 2017, she died of liver failure. According to Koe-Krompecher, she was still cracking jokes up until the moment she died, retaining her vivacious laughter.
Reading through all this, I was shocked that such a captivating life had faded to such obscurity. Koe-Krompecher remains Lefell’s greatest champion, publishing a book about their relationship and Ohio in the 90s called “Love, Death, and Photosynthesis.”
Exploring her discography, the music of Jenny Mae Lefell remains pop perfection to this day. Her songs are indeed gauzy and delicate, but also dark, tinged with sweetness and a brutal honesty.
She does not shy away from reflecting on her mental state. On “Ho B—,” she sings, “Why am I so moody / Oh no / How did I get unhappy.”
These lyrics are not phrased as questions, but flat statements. She doesn’t know, but she’s not asking. It’s just the truth.
Her deep sorrow is cushioned with a catchy, classic pop chorus of “La la la la,” which almost works to offset the whole thing with an air of carefree acceptance.
This song, I think, captures how Koe-Krompecher remembers Lefell’s personality, her larger-than-life disposition juxtaposed with the crippling struggle within her own mind.
Reading about Lefell, one story that struck me came from her early childhood. She convinced her younger sister to climb to the very top of a tall pine tree, toting burlap sacks fit with pillows that they would supposedly float down in.
Unlike Winnie the Pooh, however, who accomplished a similar trick with a red balloon, Lefell and her sister crashed into the dirt. Fortunately, neither of them were hurt.
Lefell’s career is the pine tree: she reached as high as she possibly could, nearing the top, before falling to the cold, hard ground.
Even so, her music is as euphoric and full of whimsy as arriving at a great height, akin to the rush one gets from the peak of a ferris wheel or scurrying up an oak as a kid, knees skinned from the bark and twigs. Listening to Lefell’s voice is like capturing a bit of that magic for yourself, a magic that will live on forever.
MIKE performs at Cat's Cradle on May 22. Image by Juno Palacios
In my preview for this concert, I wrote very briefly about my relationship with a more poetic style of song, the kind of style that MIKE employs in his work. It’s a type of sentiment that I share with a couple of my close friends who also enjoy a more mellow style of rapping. I mention this again because I never exactly realized the exact degree to which an artist could make me feel connected with their words (and their beats). I could continue on about this, but for now, I should probably discuss what the actual show was like.
I had initially planned on attending this show with a couple friends of mine, one of which was very familar with MIKE and the openers and another who wasn’t at all. In my opinion, if you plan on attending a concert with a pair, this is the exact dynamic you should go with. In my case, I was only really versed with MIKE, only being vaguely aware of the openers. Unfortunately, conflicting schedules let to my friends being unable to come along, so I was forced to go alone.
I arrived at the venue a little late, but still before any of the performances began, I still wish I could’ve gotten a better spot in the crowd though.
Prior to the performances starting, the venue staff had some quite enjoyable house tracks playing with R&B elements, which I may or may not have attempted to ID at certain points. Usually I feel like time is dragging on during the pre-show of a concert while my anticipation builds, but that wasn’t the case here.
In the midst of me vibing out to somebody’s house playlist, the lights go red and the first opener comes out, El Cousteau. The sound of loud trap drums was overwhelming, but the energy that El Cousteau delivered was arguably the most unique out of all the performers that would follow him. He didn’t exact fit the mold of a more “mellow” rapper, instead showcasing a more upbeat and excited mood, typical of the rage style. His set was fairly short, only about twenty minutes, but definitely did the job of hyping the crowd up some.
The next opener to come out was Niontay, who on the contrary did fit the mold of a “mellow” rapper. His voice was a lot more calm as compared to El Cousteau, and his lyricism felt more poetic, leading to a drop in the overall energy. This isn’t to say he or any of the other performers weren’t energetic, but more that they all brought a very different spirit with them, which I appreciate. My favorite aspect of this set would definitely lie in the beats, which were pretty similar to that of MIKE’s. They had a hint of some vaporwave elements to them which is probably one of the biggest things that drew me to MIKE’s music in the first place. I plan on looking more into Niontay’s music for myself, hopefully adding a few more songs to the playlist.
The final opener to perform would be that of 454, who felt like a fusion between the prior two openers. The first thing that immediately drew me to him would be his voice. He had a cadence which I’m not really able to describe, but got me more invested in his lyricism. The energy that he brought was more in line with that of El Cousteau’s, as it was more excited and fast-paced. With that in mind, I was more ready for MIKE to come out than anything else.
Finally, it was time for MIKE to come out, and initially, I don’t think I had mentally processed everything that was going on. To me, it was just “MIKE is here, he’s rapping, that’s cool.” It wasn’t until the hypnotic instrumental of “Set the Mood” came in that I had entered into what felt like a whole different reality. I felt this kind of familiar feeling that I had felt when listening to MIKE’s other instrumentals for the first time. All of his beats share this mesmerizing mood that never fail to put me in a trance-like state, pairing perfectly with his style of rapping. It’s a little difficult to describe, but for me, I believe the reason for this lies in this kind of “artificial antiquity” that he employs with the slight vaporwave influence that I mentioned prior. It’s a combination I never would’ve imagined working before, but MIKE somehow makes it happen.
There wasn’t a certain album or project that was focused on during the performance, it was basically a mixed bag of tracks from his discography in addition to some fun unreleased tracks. I wouldn’t have minded if it was focused on one project, but nonetheless I’m happy I was still able to hear some songs from early on, especially “Hunger”.
Throughout the show, there was a pretty clear effort made to foster a connection with the crowd. While being a great performer for one, MIKE is also just genuinely entertaining and funny. There was an entire arc about him not being aware of his friend’s birthday despite knowing him for over a year. I take pride in saying that I am exactly like that friend. Aside from that, I had just one qualm about some of the people around me, who seemed a lot more invested in a basketball game than they did the actual show. Which I normally wouldn’t care about, but they were right in the center of the crowd and slightly obscuring my view. Regardless, I still felt connected with the people who were there to actually enjoy the music and the artistry, and I especially felt connected with the performers.
MIKE closed out his set with the song “Closing Credits,” appropriately. I felt that it was the perfect song to drift away to and put an end to my hypnosis as I sang away part of the chorus. Somebody take the wheel, for real.
Iglooghost is an artist that I’ve paid attention to for a long time.
His debut album, “Neō Wax Bloom,” came out in 2017 and was one of the very first EDM albums I listened to that wasn’t, like, from a video game OST. However, I didn’t really pay as much attention for his next solo album, “Lei Line Eon.” As far as I can tell, it wasn’t received nearly as well as “Neō Wax Bloom,” so I figured that I wasn’t missing much by having it on the backburner of my listening backlog.
This one I found out about from someone posting a link to the YouTube premiere, and I decided to listen to it because I saw a friend say it was really good. In my personal opinion: Iglooghost is back.
While I like to call myself an “avid reader,” I find during the nine-ish months of the school year I hardly get to read anything at all.
Well, let me rephrase: I do plenty of reading, just not reading of my choice.
But, the bright beautiful, summery light at the end of the tunnel has appeared and I’m back, baby.
So why not start off with my favorite read of last season; “Cool Town: How Athens, Georgia, Launched Alternative Music and Changed American Culture” by Grace Elizabeth Hale.
One part research, one part lived experience, and all Southern legend at it’s finest, Hale dutifully recreates the Athens of her youth and the college town that changed the game – sorry, Chapel Hill.
Whereas other music-history books err on either the side of salacious rumors or strict fact, “Cool Town” wasn’t only an easy read, it was a fun one too.
Those Summer Nights:
I picked up a hardcopy on a complete lark, and for a couple weeks it was my faithful companion between beach, pool and patio.
Looking back, it was a prescient read; My first summer coming home from school, struggling to find my footing as a weird, music kid in a Southern college town and this book fell into my lap.
Not to suggest I can even attempt to eclipse the likes of Michael Stipe or Vanessa Briscoe Hay, but it felt good to hear about “outsiders” forcefully carving out a space that ended up defining a generation.
Of course, you can’t tell the story of Athens in the 1980s without R.E.M, Pylon and the B-52s, but Hale is able to also highlight bands that were lost in the backwash like to every potent Love Tractor or her own band Cordy Lon.
Really, it is the underdogs and ancillary acts that make “Cool Town” and Athens of a certain time sing; young, broke and hungry for more people on the fringes determined a revolution in how we see and hear the South.
The most memorable and beautiful moments form the book are recollections of seemingly insignificant moments of DIY debauchery: a church-turned-crash-pad housing a still unnamed R.E.M’s first gig, the B-52s nearly caving the floor during a house party after raiding every thrift store within driving distance for costumes or Matthew Sweet being bullied by his pen-pals to join the fight and leave New York City for the college rock hamlet.
Before it became music for the masses, the Athens sound was queer, feminist, cartoony at times and achingly raw depictions of the chaos that surrounded their stomping grounds; an active folk archival of bohemia as it blossomed and withered.
Build a Better South:
Beyond my own need to feel seen and heard by people who (most likely) would have understood how I felt moving to NC State, I am acutely aware that what we do at WKNC wouldn’t really look the same without what happened in Georgia – and bled into Chapel Hill/Carrboro – nearly fifty years ago.
College kids across the nation, but especiallyin the Southeast glommed onto this new driven, jangly music through shared tapes and party bands.
The cretins (like myself) who found their way into the DJ booth then proliferated the new sound across the air, offering respite from the crude and careless old guard – looking at you, Howard Stern.
For the first time in a long time, the radio was fresh and new…and from a current DJs perspective, we’re still riding that high today; most of the listeners who reach out first found us through that eighties boom.
At universities across the South, armed with college rock/jangle rock/power pop/whatever you want to call it, DJs and musicians have been redefining what it means to be Southern in radical ways.
Simply put, y’all means all at WKNC and I will proudly stake part of that in the work coming from Athens some 45 years ago.
Do you want more college rock beamed to your brain?
Fear not good readers, I’ve got the best of the best for your listening pleasure all inspired by the cool sounds of “Cool Town.”
