Some artists hide serious work inside something that looks like a joke, and K. Porcelain belongs to that tradition. The Throgg’s Neck songwriter records his pop songs on an iPad in his bedroom and sells them, streaming-free, on Bandcamp; he sings in a whisper, stacks doo-wop harmonies behind himself, and finger-picks an acoustic guitar like he’s trying not to wake anyone. Now I’ve Got the Guitar Out is five songs long and in no hurry to convince you of its importance. The title track is gone almost before it starts—a quick, quirky bit of throat-clearing, the literal sound of a guy getting the guitar out. It would be easy to file the whole thing under bedroom-pop curio and scroll on. That would be a mistake.

Listen past the brevity and the deadpan, and a real songwriter keeps surfacing. “I Stan Stevie” lands like a lost They Might Be Giants outtake—goofy on its face, but built on the kind of hook those guys always smuggle in under the gag—with a thread of Gotye’s wounded falsetto running through it. The surface is funny. The craft underneath is not kidding around. That gap, between how slight the song looks and how carefully it’s made, is the engine of the whole record.

“Dying of Love” opens on a bassline that walks in straight off “My Girl,” all Temptations warmth and doo-wop promise—and then the title catches up with you, and the sweetness curdles into something sadder. The song turns interior, closer to Sufjan Stevens than to Motown, the oldies DNA bent into private reverie. It’s the whole record in miniature: a sound built for a sock hop wrapped around a sentiment built for three in the morning. And the reach is its own quiet argument—that Porcelain can travel from Motown to Sufjan inside one short song, then to a British Invasion staple in the next, says the eclecticism isn’t restlessness but range. He keeps grabbing the most familiar, comforting sounds in the American pop cupboard and tilting them just far enough that they stop being nostalgia and start being his.

Part of what makes the record so disarming is how little time it gives you to raise your guard. Each song is over before you’ve decided how seriously to take it, which turns out to be the trick—the brevity is camouflage. By the time you register that a track has slipped something genuine past you, it has already moved on, more or less daring you to go back and confirm you heard what you think you heard. You usually did.

Nowhere is that instinct plainer than his cover of the Animals’ “We Gotta Get Out of This Place.” Taking on a song that famous is usually a way to lose—a reminder of the better version everyone already knows by heart. Porcelain doesn’t lose. He rebuilds it from the floorboards up into something wholly his own, trading the original’s bar-band muscle for something quieter and, somehow, more desperate. It’s the clearest evidence here that the quirk is a method, not a limitation. He hears these songs differently, and he can make you hear them his way.

Then the closer, “Tonight Was A Good Night,” lets the ambition stop hiding. It plays like Bookends-era Simon & Garfunkel filtered through Pet Sounds: close, aching harmonies and the sense of a small song straining toward something far larger than its running time. After a run of miniatures, it lands like a thesis statement. This was never a novelty act. The jokes were just the door.

It matters that none of this is on streaming. Porcelain keeps his catalog off the services on purpose; if you want the record, you go to Bandcamp and get it. That’s a small act of friction in a frictionless world, and it suits music that rewards the kind of attention the feed trains out of us. These are songs that hand over their best parts on the second or third pass, not the first scroll by—the doo-wop bounce that turns out to be carrying something sadder, the famous cover that, stripped bare, sounds less like a cover than a confession. You have to lean in. The record quietly assumes you will.

Now I’ve Got the Guitar Out won’t tell you it’s important; it’s too busy being funny, and too short to demand much of anyone. But give it your real attention and the sleight of hand reveals itself—a writer with a deep memory of pop’s best decades, tucking genuine feeling and real craft inside songs small enough to underestimate. It’s a generous trick, finally: it trusts you to do the listening. Get the guitar out, indeed. Just don’t mistake small for slight.

by J. P. Langarfel

DIY America #12: St. Louis, MO

Assembled by Mere Harrach and Ripple

Cradled in the bend of the Mississippi river on the easternmost side of Missouri, St. Louis is the DIY oasis you’ve been dreaming of, and more. I’ve lived in St. Louis for the past almost five years and never expected to fall as deeply in long-term love as I have. The rent is cheap and the arts communities are lively. It never feels like too much of a challenge to book a show here due to the abundance of DIY venues and artists around to support. Yes, the city is small, with a declining population, but that only leaves us room for more mischief — music scenes become more integrated in genre and the baton of inspiration is thus highly circulated and spinning out of control.

There is so much to do in St. Louis; our museums and zoo are free to visit and there are several beautiful parks throughout the city. There are a plethora of good places to grab a bite to eat or go out for a drink or coffee. St. Louis was the second largest city in the U.S. at one point, and many of our homes and buildings are over 120 years old, as the city was known for having a clay content in the soil that can be used to craft some of the strongest bricks in the nation. The drinking water is also extremely clean due to the lobbying of the Anhauser Busch brewing company, which has been here since the mid-nineteenth century. Come to this beautiful city and you are guaranteed to witness a warmth of people and vibrancy of creation rare to most places.

Booking Contacts

Ripple — Lives at the nest. a beautiful friend. in the band shady bug, loves to help with art rock // post punk // experimental // shoe gaze // slowcore or whatever i find interesting :) hit me at @thenestdiy on instagram.

Mere — Loves to help set up shows for experimental and art rock/post-punk. Also plays with the bands Piracy and Mold Gold. Email: moldgold222@gmail.com

Luckas — Plays in Goo Man. Email goomanstl@gmail.com to ask about help setting up a show in south city

Gabriel Rainesc — Experimental performer and composer. They are one of the organizers who helps book the quarterly Synoptic Frequencies series across different sacred spaces in town.

Venues

CBGB — 21+ dive bar, extremely DIY. It’s best to find a local contact to set up a show here, always a fun time. Not recommended for softer music as noise often spills over from the bar side.

Sinkhole — Smallish DIY all ages venue. Dive bar vibes & open to punk, hc, emo, indie rock, country, basically all kinds of bands.

Dissonant Works — Small/intimate sitting room primarily hosting shows for experimental, improvising, and electronic musicians. Baby grand piano and projector available. There is a bounty of experimental performers in St. Louis — if you book a show here and are stumped on who to play with, they can help you connect!

Heavy Anchor — Open to rock, punk, hardcore, and most bands, the Heavy Anchor has a large-ish room with a medium stage & is located in the Bevo Mills neighborhood.

Off Broadway — Mid-size venue that sometimes hosts DIY shows. Very cozy patio with fire pit. They will often require a certain expected attendance, but the sound is always great and it’s located near historic Cherokee Street in a really beautiful part of town.

Blueberry Hill — Located on Delmar near Washington University. Mid-size venue near a lot of night life located in the basement of a 60’s rock-n’-roll themed diner.

Houses (reach out to a local and ask about these spots!)

Bolozone — A basement venue in a punk house in South city that’s been going since the nineties with a lot of fun history in its walls. They will probably let you crash on the couch too. No AC or central heat so keep this in mind if asking to book in the hottest and coldest months.

Knitting Factory — Extremely fun place for shows. A welcoming and cozy vibe at every show in this Dutchtown home. They are open to hosting most genres of music and performance.

The Nest — Another basement, has been hosting shows for around 10 years, interested in mixed bills and bringing different scenes together. will always have a big long butcher paper and markers. Probably around 50 cap maximum. Comfort is king.

Chill Dawg Cove — All in the name, Matt has made the cove into the chillest house venue in Carondelet. There is eclectic paraphernalia on every wall and a corrugated metal tub pool in the back yard.

Kerr Foundation — Very cool warehouse half a mile north of the arch. You have to go through locals to book here, but these shows can be some of the most fun. Kerr foundation is run off-grid through wind and solar. You have the option of playing in a very dungeony basement, large main floor performance space or roof-top with a view of the Mississippi river.

[Addendum: stlshowpage.com faithfully documents and calendars shows & the basement ecosystem. Reach out over email at stlshowpage@gmail.com ]

we turned three on saturday and we had the best birthday party ever. 12 hours of performance, dj, raffle, panel screenprinting, food pop up, and more. thank you immensely to the artists that donated their time and labor, to the panelists who shared their knowledge, to every beverage/food/raffle sponsor, and our amazing 35 volunteers.

thank YOU for being there and spending your money to keep making gunk free forever. if you want to contribute you of course still can become a paid subscriber on substack, or make a donation via pools. we’ll make you proud.

isnt the merch sick??? dont worry it’ll be for sale soon….

all images by Tucker Mitchell

<3333 love ceci and hannah

3 Years Ago

by Ceci Sturman and Hannah Pruzinsky (co-editors and co-founders) in honor of three years of GUNK

Its august
I want to slow this down
I haven’t written a full song in ages, I keep the guitar in the same tuning for one year and I try to exhaust everything I have to say in that tuning and then when something changes I can change too
 
This month three years ago I was twenty six years old. We walked down Nostrand Avenue and there were explosions everywhere around us. It happened this year too. At some point I would like to tell you that
 
I sing something over and over the other night. I can't figure out what to come after
we were phantoms and then we were
phantoms
 
Then full of ghosts and courage I try to
make it a song. At Hannah’s concert I want you to look at my face. I want you to see the awe
when I listen to something beautiful
it doesn’t happen that often
 
When Holden watched my cat he told me that she acts like a butterfly. It has a few too many beats and if I say butterfly in a song its going somewhere visually  I’m not sure I want it to but
he said
she’s so gentle she’s
just like a butterfly
I choked up when I repeated it
 
She’s so gentle she’s just like a dove or just like a worm. Holden said that too as an option
 
In every song I’ve written I have tried to say
I have to do everything with my hands. anyways. I’m always trying to
tear apart something with my hands
your grey clay on your desk you say no, it shines so it’s silver.
I’m always trying to figure out what it is in my throat if it’s
not fire or a cold it’s
something harder to stomach
 
God it
takes a while to figure out where you’re going.
All I know is for a few months I slept on a twin bed and there she was with me
 
A memory surfaces for you that you want to tell me about, gently please
I opt to move for weeks, for years, for an hour in synchronization to think less about
missing you with my arms stretched out wide. Because then
we all have our arms out like that
 
Ceci Sturman

The beginning is the last of moments
smell of cat hair mixed with burnt popcorn
How long it took to release my body 
The jar of salve next to the couch
Rubbing the knot each night from your back
No one makes me know pain 
Quite the way you do

hand me a glass jar 
You Tell me it is 
Immunity
The time inside of it stale and forever
How do you choose when you most need the fix

I lost many of the friends since that august
Not lost, you say
i push away the world again
Wanting it to continue 
just you and my world is an expanse!
It is more than i could ever ask for! 
I wear you
My immunity!
You remind me forever is more than a glass jar
That the point is what exists around it

Reminders of time
And The lack of it stretching on
To eternity
I keep on the table next to my bed
Ashes
A piece of volcanic glass 
And i wonder
Is it forever 
Or the lack thereof
That i see in a thing that has changed shape

Your grandmother took that straight from etna 
A woman who never left pennsylvania
In the year of my memories
She came back with her girlfriends and a bracelet of thick volcanic glass
And all the same she is twisted in memory
Future past make believe

paper is fact
The only distortion, intentional
Or the slow eroding of sun
Heat warped moth eaten
I cross the same word out each time i try to write it

Some old words i find from that time
The rest around it lost
The glass jar preserving the rest

I want future 

Was this what we imagined?

Hannah Pruzinsky

Remember that our digital raffle is live and available for digital purchase until the end of 8/13/25 midnight EST. check it out it’s incredibly stacked. rules for entry and instructions can be found here.

our party is right around the corner! this saturday 8/15/26 from 12pm to 12am at secret riso club in bushwick, NY. yes, 12 hours of GUNK. lucky you. we sold out of the founder’s wave and general wave 1 of tickets, so snag your second wave tickets while you can! tickets day of show and at the door will be more expensive so save a little money by letting us know you are coming early <3

we also have a special artist’s playlist on Apple Music that includes one GUNK pick song for each of the artists performing on saturday, followed by one pick from each of the performers of a song they’ve been enjoying. listen to it here. (please note, we have all selections aside for K. Porcelain because their music is only available on bandcamp. our pick of a K. Porcelain song to listen to is “water”, and they recommend listening to “You Don’t Have to Worry ‘Bout My Love” by R Stevie Moore).

all proceeds from this huge celebration go to the sustainment of GUNK!

a look at those numbers right here for you:

we can’t wait to see you all and we are so grateful for the incredible response so far! <3

xoxo

Hannah and Ceci

we are soooo excited for our big 3rd birthday bash this saturday, 8/15/26 at secret riso club in bushwick. the party is 12 hours long if you haven’t heard already. so yes, that means we will be partying from 12pm saturday with drinks, snacks, bands, DJs, live screen printing, tattooing, and even a live panel discussion until midnight.

our first round of tickets sold out and round 2 is 3/4 of the way to selling out as well! get your tickets today (here) because you don’t wanna miss the event of the summer.

Reminder that paid subscribers get discounts, just use your email.

all the money fundraised from this event is used for the continuation of GUNK. about $900 (minimum) goes into the printing, shipping, and supplies associated with GUNK. that doesn’t get anyone on our team paid except for a small fee to two recurring feature writers. that means all the rest of the labor is currently donated because we love the ethos behind GUNK so much:

• design team

• editorial team

• print team

• copywriters

• additional writers

• folding and collating team

• distro team

consider buying a ticket, becoming a paid subscriber, and maybe entering into our raffle drawing so we can better pay our team while keeping GUNK free in the world to be found and picked up <3

we can’t wait to also present to you our panel discussion titled “Documenting a Scene” that will happen at 4:30 pm on the 15th. Tickets towards the event also get you into this talk featuring Adlan Jackson (of Hellgate), Jojo Sommer (a recurring GUNK writer), Jenn Pelly (writer for Pitchfork, NYT, NPR, and more), and Chris Billias (a local NYC musician who has documented the scene on video for decades). moderated by your editors, you don’t wanna miss it.

Raffle Announce!

the coolest part of the GUNK bday party is the music (in my opinion…but we are music guys..) but I think maybe the THIRD coolest thing after our panel has to be the raffle.

This is our second time doing it, and this year you can win prizes from returning greats like Death by Audio, School of Song, Crystal Guardian, Tiny Arts Supply, Made in Cookware, Brooklinen, and Topos, and we have additional new donors from some awesome places like Queens Perennial CSA, Aplos, With Nothing Underneath, Film Forum, Baby’s All Right, Light Phone, Girls Carrying Shit, and Desert Island Comics. We also have some cool donations from dear friends and companies we love like Liberty tickets from our friends at Good Sport, a signed copy of Mood Machine from Liz Pelly, Drum Lessons from Kid Million, acupuncture from Alison Roehs, curated vinyl selection from An Earful podcast, body work session from Montana Walworth, and a tattoo from @egretwithlove. Whew!!!!!!! ;0

here’s how you enter:

1. Follow gunk.nyc on instagram and become a subscriber on substack (free or paid!)

   Subscribe now

2. You must live in NYC and be available to pick-up your prize if you win or be in attendance at our anniversary event on 8/15 when we announce the winners!

3. Venmo @seemal for entry. Each entry is $5 and will count towards one ticket. IRL (saturday) you can pay via cash or Zelle.

4. In the purchase description, indicate the number of the raffle item you would like your ticket to go towards. You can place multiple entries but specify how many entries per prize. You must also include your email address on the venmo charge.

5. Online raffle entries will be open until Thursday, August 13th at 12pm EST. In person raffle entries will continue at Secret Riso Club until we draw the winners on Saturday, 8/15/26. Winners announced at midnight.

6. If winners are not present in person, they will be contacted by email and will have 24 hours to respond to claim their prize. If we have not heard from you by then, we will choose another winner.

7. Once your prize is claimed, you have 1 week to pick up your prize in NYC. If you do not pick up the prize by this date, it will be forfeited.

   Share

☆ ★p.s. — we’re teaming up with encoreconcerts.fm (basically letterboxd for concerts) so you can track every gig on our monthly show list and build your own little show calendar. skip the waitlist with code gunk →here

see you saturday?

<3

HP and Ceci

Happy anniversary everyone!! We’ve now made thirty seven editions of this showpaper. This special edition, GUNK NO.37, is on tabloid, so make sure you get your hands on it. Its been an absolute dream to do this for three years, it’s truly been fun every single month, and because of gunk the two of us have grown so much as organizers, editors, best friends. We wrote some reflections for this edition that we’ll share later this month too.

Thank you for valuing printed media, live shows, art, generosity, community. That’s what gunk is. And gunk will always be free for everyone. You can help make sure it stays free by becoming a paid subscriber, becoming a venue sponsor, coming to our birthday party~!!!

Speaking of our birthday party on 8/15….the first rounds of tickets have sold out pretty quickly, so don’t miss it. We have an extremely stacked line up and twelve hours of live performance, DJs, a panel, a really sick raffle, live screen printing, tattoos, more… Please come celebrate with us!

Reminder that paid subscribers get discounts, just use your email.

Label Makers

By: Jojo Sommer

Whenever I zoom out on the state of the music industry I get an instant wave of doomsday dread about the continued existence of middle class musicians. From streaming royalties remaining negligible (at best), and AI stealing some of the last scraps of profitability in music, I look around at all my poor and luminous friends and the bands I see each week performing to 12 people and think God Bless. In an attempt to soothe my worry, I reached out to four different heads of independent music labels to hear their personal approach on how they’re championing smaller artists.

I spoke to Wesley Wolffe of Good English Records, Rob Glander of Take Care Records, Ariel Loh and Rowan McDonald of Trans Music Archive, and Katie Garcia of Bayonet Records, creating snapshots of four variously overlapping yet different approaches to releasing the music of others. All four come from different backgrounds—a performer, producer, industry alum, and retired financier—but despite the range of age and experience, all are committed to trying to better the livelihood of musicians so that they can focus on art making and not algorithms.

The Young and Hungry:

One day Wesley Wolffe, who plays in Bedridden and his self-titled project, approached his friend and bandmate Nick Pedroza about starting a label to bring exposure to friends they’ve met touring over the years. They began Good English Records, which has been operating for only a year and has already signed five acts, including much-hyped local bands Victoryland and bloodsports. He describes Good English as “a springboard label” to promote and provide resources for musicians who the team believes in but may not have the followers or streams to get signed by a more traditional label. “A small label that’s attempting to capture a certain scene is going to invest further into that scene and help it grow,” he says. “That’s why we’re so big on the live show, and why we’ll only sign bands that are really good live performers, because we want a real life scene.” He says it seems like major labels are only signing artists that are big on the internet, whereas Good English wants to be rooted in platforming the real people they’ve met touring the country or seen at local venues, solidifying a network of like-minded enthusiasts.

The Cheerleader:

Rob Glander retired early from his finance career eight years ago, and after a few false starts, he began Take Care Records in 2024. Glander is a collector of all physical formats and sees live music five or six nights a week. He describes Take Care as a “very serious passion project,” because it is something he will only lose money on, but he is in the fortunate position to be able to do so. “We’re actually investing a lot of money in these bands, we’re spending on advertising, promotion, PR and all that stuff, so while we’re a new label, we’re very much trying to offer bands what more established labels can offer them,” he says. “I mean I look at these artists and they deserve it, they deserve to be heard by more people and I just want to help them.” So far Take Care has released works by Starcleaner Reunion, Whisper Doll, Blums, and Truman Flyer.

The Altruist:

Trans Music Archive began in March 2025 as a way to create a physical archive of trans music, releasing and reissuing the work of trans artists on vinyl. The organization began because Ariel Loh, who is a music producer, noticed so many artists were at a loss on how to actually release the music beyond just uploading it to DistroKid. “I feel like we know a lot of people who love vinyl and vinyl sales have been up and up for the last couple of years, so we’re just, like, ‘What if we help trans artists print vinyl as a way to actually put some money in their pockets?’” It’s worth noting Trans Music Archive is specifically not a label but a nonprofit organization. They take a minimal fee to cover their distribution costs, but otherwise all profits are given to artists on a monthly basis. They think the focus should be on how to get people to a show and sell 10 CDs, which is the monetary equivalent to a six-figure stream count on Spotify. Some of their releases include albums by Natalia Catalan, Um Jennifer?, and Zora.

The Veteran:

Eleven years ago, Katie Garcia left her position as label manager at Captured Tracks and co-founded Bayonet Records alongside her husband (Dustin Payseur of Beach Fossils). The two wanted to have creative control over a roster and find an eclectic, yet cohesive balance, which has come to include releases by Benét, yeule, and Mei Semones (and perhaps most prominently, Frankie Cosmos’ “Next Thing.”) Garcia believes there is a benefit in sticking with smaller labels because of the care and attention artists will receive, as well as an ability to risk-take without jumping through bureaucratic hoops. She points out that independent artists and labels own over 40% of the global recorded music market, and the more that number continues to grow, the more bargaining power to be had over the majors. “There’s so many people making music, there’s so many different genres, and my view is there’s [a label] for everyone,” she says. “The more the merrier.

AUG SHOWS

if you are a paid subscriber to GUNK via substack and use your substack email to sign up on pools, you will get a nice lil discount. if you AREN’t yet a paid subscriber and GUNK has made you smile or gotten you to a gig sometime in these last 3 years of operations…consider becoming a paid supporter today on either platform :) all proceeds after covering expenses for our anniversary party will go to the furthering of this DIY publication. paper, ink, shipping, and paying only 2 writers monthly runs us around $900 in expenses. we are just making ends meet and this fundraiser is our big annual way to say thank you to the publication and keep it going and growing!

some dreams if we raise a lot of money:

• Expand print run

• Pay our editorial team

• Pay our design team

• Pay our printing team

• Pay all monthly writers

we would love if this could be our full time job! help us! this is a labor of love <3

can’t make it to the big party but wanna donate a ticket to someone else? CAN make it but still wanna help someone get there that doesn’t have the funds? purchase the “sponsor a gunk community member” ticket to help someone else get in the door. we have been able to offer 14 community free spots so far and would love to continue to offer the space if people have the means to support another.

final party favor asks….

• do you have a bunch of cool free snacks you wanna donate for the event?

• do you have a really cool raffle item you’d like to donate to the event?

• do you randomly have the hook-up for supplying free or extremely cheap blank tees that could be used for GUNK merch?

email us at thegunkyard@gmail.com if this is you :)

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Local Artist Spotlight: Tasha’s Top 5 Spots in Ridgewood, NY

1. Valentino Food Market - 66-64 Fresh Pond Rd

Produce you can actually afford and oranges with a name like “#1 Big Smile”

2. New York Fabrics - 59-37 Myrtle Ave

Recently freshened up my dining table with a big swatch of beautiful linen I fashioned into a table cloth. I love the selection here! Tiny but mighty.

3. European Coffee Bar - 66-07 Fresh Pond Rd

Randomly popped in here with a friend a few months ago eager to see what the vibe is and it’s immaculate of course. Think, no frills cash only coffee bar in regional Italian airport. An absolutely perfect place for an espresso, tiny cookie, and a quick cigarette.

4. Ridgewood Public Library Branch - 20-12 Madison St

Aside from being amazing just by virtue of being the library, this is my go-to respite when it’s 95 degrees and I’m desperate to sit somewhere cool and quiet in the middle of the afternoon when all of the cafes are too full.

5. Di’s Corner Bar- 3-92 Woodward Ave

This bar just opened up a few blocks from me and I’ve already had two romantic nights tucked into a corner here, drinking a Guinness and catching up with a friend on a balmy Spring night.

Subscribe now

Moments in summer with Spring!

by: Hannah Pruzinsky

Tasha’s “You are Spring!” wafts through my kitchen on a Tuesday night, the first official tuesday of summer. My friend alexa is coming over for dinner, and the groceries ive carefully chosen for their degree of separation from rotting and reasonable price point are scattered across the countertop for me to heatlessly assemble into a salad i hope will make up for my lack of central air. She’s bringing wine, a ruth lewandowski, cold and red and something I’d expect the very artist soundtracking the preparation to be privy to as a wine connoisseur herself.

The album transports myself and my kitchen in the midst of chopping peaches and heirloom tomatoes. I’ve found on my second listen through I’ve been able to find my footing into its world: a breeze of a season before this, a room with walls further apart, walls that could disintegrate to windows, to a meadow, sprawling with friends and strangers the greatest city on earth has led me to.

The summer june heat is merely a tease at what is to come, and instead of simmering in my distaste for constant sweat and rising electric bills, i’m reminded of the season that has just as often exposed me to the kiss of river spray on the back of a ferry, the lingering moments at evening and morning with my neighbors on our block, and the throes of “a love that leaves as quick as it appears”, a sentiment i find relevant again and again after 11 years here. I am more lucky than i could have imagined.

The album serves a love letter to a city, to transience, to friends and lovers, to learning oneself. I walk the subway platform that brings me home, listening to “porous”, aptly titled as its hypnotic melody is joined by a trumpet player at the station. Its world bleeds into mine, its edges sticky, its spaces asking for the city to join in.

Listen to the album, released via Bayonet Records, here.

can’t wait to see you in nearly 2 weeks at our b-day party!

Hannah and Ceci

Q&A with The People’s Jewish American Prairie Princess

by Jojo Sommer

Prairie Princess is the songwriting project of Emerson Borakove, the 23-year-old multi-instrumentalist, composer, and visual artist, whose debut album “Jewish American Prairie Princess” comes out August 3. She is also a founding member of the avant-garde noise project Untitled Noise Night, as well as Small Womens, her Lennon-McCartney project with Lex Walton. She’s toured with her teenage idol Jeffery Lewis and played with Black Country, New Road and Geese, in addition to performing in a slew of other projects and working as a sound engineer in venues across the city.

Credentials aside, Emerson believes in live performance, ice cream, and band practice. While we speak in her bedroom, I’m sitting under a “The Idler Wheel…” poster and she’s curled up in a gamer chair with Twitter open on the desktop, dressed in denim shorts and a Pauline Oliveros tee. Her album is 55 minutes full of humor, earnestness, dejection, desire, orchestral peaks, guitar-shredding valleys, and song titles like “Jack Harlow Meal” and “Trying Wellbutrin Out.” It is the result of someone who has been practicing and experimenting for many years, and despite the length of her résumé thus far, it’s just the beginning.

Emerson was born in California to two ordained psychic ministers, but raised in Lincoln, Nebraska after her father had a vision about opening a gong distribution company. She grew up working at her dad’s factory, one of the only such companies in the U.S., selling to everyone from Jeffery Epstein to Ryuichi Sakamoto. It’s hard to not correlate this creative, experimental artist with the eccentricity of her father’s work, evoking an image of the inspired child surrounded by hundreds of resonant disks ringing around her head, though she says there were ever only a handful in the house at a time and her father was never a musician.

In high school, Emerson’s band was called Smells Like Bold. Their most popular song was titled “Never Tell Your Password to Anyone,” and she made her bandmates wear Minecraft t-shirts and cargo shorts as a statement against coolness. “People make bad music when they are teenagers, but mine was hilariously awful,” she says. Needless to say it was not popular.

At 18, Emerson came to SUNY Purchase, and her musical world expanded. This is where I should mention that I overlapped with Emerson at Purchase, but despite swirling in similar social circles, we’d never talked for more than 10 minutes until I came to her apartment for this interview. I did, however, see her band Untitled Noise Night play in a variety of contexts at Purchase, ranging from the explosive to the meditative, and even then had no doubt she was someone I would be seeing play for a long time.

Prairie Princess is the result of someone who claims to have written a song everyday for three years, and “Jewish American Prairie Princess” is where some of the best of them now live. Emerson describes her role in Prairie Princess as different from the other projects she plays in because she’s, “the dictator in this one,” though she doesn’t diminish the significance of the musicians who round out her sonic templates.

“Rhea Freed is an insane drummer who plays parts that nobody else would write for these songs, Lex [Walton] plays bass like she’s playing Tetris, Sloane [McCarthy] wants to be Jerry Garcia, and my job is to corral them into something that has taste,” she says. The album is an escape from folk-punk (“I think 13-year-olds should not be trusted with the internet because they might end up listening to only Andrew Jackson Jihad and ruin their brains for the next five years”), and embraces long-time influences like Van Morrison and Jonathan Richman, while ripping direct lines from Paul Simon and Gaston Bachelard’s “The Poetics of Space.”

Emerson dreams of having an orchestra she can compose for, being on tour for 365 days straight, adapting an opera, and getting the TV pilot she’s working on made.

“I think what I’ve learned is that you just keep the ball rolling and however it turns out it is the art piece in itself,” she says. “Any story is worth living if it’s the one you’re assigned.”

If Prairie Princess could play on any four-band-bill who would be on it?

Konono Nº1, piano trio doing Ravel’s Piano Trio in A Minor, and The Replacements at The Windjammer.

What are three of your current obsessions?

Winnipeg, Gowanus – every time I’m in Gowanus I want to write a song with the word Gowanus in it. It’s perfect, it’s like hallelujah or something – and Airy Foist.

Prairie Princess is playing in NYC on August 3 at Trans Pecos.

Jojo booked an awesome show at Dead Letter on July 29th:

& dont forget…

Guppy Gets Weird at Baby’s All Right

by Eve Smith

I was the first to arrive, per usual. The Elvis poster by the bar stared at me, judging my compulsory punctuality which only seems to apply to live music. I watched as audience members trickled in to see Lunch Cult, the alt-rock/soul opener, and GUPPY, the indie-punk headliner known for their quirky lyrics and genre-bending ballads.

LUNCH CULT

I knew nothing about Lunch Cult before the show, but thanks to Instagram, I now know quite a lot. The duo are old friends who overcame their falling out in order to make music. Most of their songs were neo-soul fusion, while others leaned closer toward garage punk. There wasn’t much connective tissue between both extremes. Their set made me want to hear more from each song they played. I could tell their two-person set-up held them back from performing the music the way they heard it in their heads. That being said, when they played “Teenager,” I couldn’t help but bop around—that song proved that Lunch Cult is a punk group at heart, whether they know it or not. My advice to the band: embrace the noise.

GUPPY

The crowd packed in to see GUPPY. Most of the Los Angeles band hails from Emerson College, and some of their fellow alumni reconnected in the crowd. I’m an Emerson graduate myself—I knew J Lebow (vocals/guitar) and Marc Babcock (bass) in school, so when I found out they were not only in a band, but one that’s actually good, my jaw dropped. The rest of my former classmates at the show had seen GUPPY play before. When I mentioned the videos of their previous gigs on YouTube, someone cut me off and insisted they were much better live. I didn’t think the videos were bad—the hiccups could have easily been due to the audio equipment—but I was excited to see if they’d surpass my expectations.

GUPPY took the stage dressed in their own merch. Lebow and drummer Ian Cohen co-emceed the set, filling the space between songs with the unpolished banter that incentivizes me to see small-level bands live. Lebow called out band members between songs, teasing them with challenges like, “it’s your turn to say something.” At one point, Cohen interrupted himself mid-count off to say, “Wait, sorry, I forgot how it goes.” We all laughed. It’s refreshing when a band makes a mistake, especially when they don’t take it too seriously. He then went on to slay the beat once he remembered it.

They kicked off their set with the hard-rock anthem “Don’t Choke,” which opens with the lyric, “Hey audience, here comes the show / your favorite band that no one knows.” The meta acknowledgement of who and when we were alluded to GUPPY’s cheeky nature; this was a band who liked to get silly. The song’s repetitive guitar served as an entry point to their punk-inspired sound. Their next song, “Burrito,” unleashed their love for doo-wop. Babcock and guitarist Kabir Kumar harmonized with Lebow’s laments for a burrito they squeezed too tightly. The romantic lyricism and vintage vocals complemented GUPPY’s satirical snark, showcasing the band’s deviations from the punk genre that make their sound special.

The rest of their setlist (likely curated by Cohen, according to his “setlist-writer” credit on Instagram) featured hit singles and bops from each album. They surprised us with a new track, “Looking Right At It,” which I didn’t film out of respect for their release schedule. But, I must say… GUPPY fans are in for a treat. I wish they played “Aliens” off their third album Big Man Says Slappydoo, but at least I got to hear snippets of it during their soundcheck. I don’t care what the Elvis poster says—arriving early pays off.

GUPPY sounded surprisingly clean. Each of them nailed the hard breaks and slammed their respective instruments at the exact same time. Babcock’s dynamic bass complimented Kumar’s flowing guitar, resolving their individual pieces into a unified whole. Not a single one of them competed for air time. I love it when you can hear musicians listening to each other, and at this show I could see it too. GUPPY communicated through passing glances and mutual body language. After their intro to “I’m Fighting a 10 Foot Tall Nancy Pelosi,” Lebow and Kumar bounced from side-to-side in perfect sync. Babcock ran around the stage as he played, taking breaks only to face off with Cohen on the drums. Someone needs to sign that man up for Strava, because he must have clocked at least 2 miles on stage that night.

I anticipated Lebow’s performance the most. They were just as maniacal and spirited as their studio recordings suggest. At the end of “A Voicemail to the Mayor,” they screeched “you can’t make me” into the mic like a 5 year-old mid-temper tantrum. Later in the set, Lebow took a guitar solo that ended with them practically seizing on their back on stage. They rose up afterward and said, “If anyone got a video of that, post it with the caption, ‘the guitarist doesn’t need to be doing that much.’” This matched the self-deprecating theme in many of their lyrics, but in a way that makes bitter reflection fun and low-stakes.

And fun, my friend, is the best word to describe GUPPY live.

Sometimes I have to force myself to dance during a set, but this was not the case that night. I stood up front and swayed through the first song until the very last. Since ambivalence is currency in Brooklyn, the front of the crowd was spacious, despite the nearly sold-out event. But when GUPPY played “Smooth Jazz,” (my favorite song of theirs), the audience’s engagement skyrocketed. The crowd pushed forward when the song broke down into a ragtime bridge. Our kinetic apex hit when they played “American Cowboy,” and I couldn’t help but scream along to the chorus.

GUPPY’s show exceeded my expectations after all. Not because it turned into an impromptu college reunion, but because the band knows how to deliver on their promises. They’re clean, relatable, and buzzy, and they are far too talented for the size of their fanbase. After a successful East Coast tour, their next single release is in the queue. Could this allude to an upcoming album? I sure hope so. And I’ll blast it from the rooftops when it’s out. GUPPY’s originality is matched by their consistency, and it’s beginning to pay off. Soon, they will outgrow their “favorite band that no one knows” lyric and I will be proud to have seen them before their rise.

»»»»»ANNIVERSARY PARTY 8/15«««««

dont miss our 12 hour show anniversary party on august 15th, get your tickets here:

paid subscribers of GUNK get a 15% discount on day passes. :)

wanna volunteer?

wanna donate to the raffle? thegunkyard@gmail.com

see you there <3333

ceci and hannah

happy July everyone, thank you for joining us for 36 gunks, wow that means three years of gunks and how we have come a long way… we now have four thousand subscribers and next month is our third anniversary! SAVE THE DATE for 8/15, we’re planning a 12 hour show at Secret Riso Club, holler if you wanna get involved, or if you wanna donate to the raffle :0

your july shows…..

<ANONYMOUS SHOW REVIEWS, SUBMITTED BY YOU...>

<rakskala>

We caught beloved Richmond VA based song-witch Sun V Set for an intimate show at the tiny Hart Bar Garage. Sun V Set was dreamy and ethereally beautiful as always. A truly excellent singer who is able to blend faerie core and grounded emotionality through intricate guitar, elegant lyrics and acrobatic vocals. She is an exceptional writer on acoustic guitar, and with lyrics and melody. And I’ll say again - exceptional talent as a vocalist. I hadn’t heard the other artists on the bill going in, and was deeply taken in by Otracami and Youbet. Otracami’s voice was rich and true and rang through like a bell. Youbet’s intricate guitar work drew me close and their voice knocked me back out to space. Sadly missed part of the show (ducked out to watch some of Knicks game 2...) so can’t speak to Steady Lean’s performance. If they’re anything like the others they’re well worth a listen. Overall an exceptional evening of prog-influenced folk-forward songcraft.

<sillygrrrl123>

total bummer fest (5/31) at knockdown center was anything but (a bummer). the knockdown team, despite lacking an ideal sound system for rock music (mic the drums!!!!!), has mastered the art of the lineup, showcasing new talent with the giants that inspired them. on the outdoor stage, local band starcleaner reunion put on an amazing performance - it feels like they get better every time i see them. shoegaze icons drop nineteens stole the show under a perfectly clouded blue sky. indoors, tik tok darlings julie brought an incredible raw energy, and the legendary jesus and mary chain rounded the night out with classic ballads, and brought on jo from starcleaner reunion for vocal support, uniting the multigenerational crowd.

<skullring27>

In may, I saw By Storm at Elsewhere, and it was one of the most electrifying shows I have ever been to. As the duo played, they bounced between autotune crooning to complete noise freakouts. The show was also packed, however there was a sense of community, as a massive hug came at the end of the show and noise poured out from the speakers.

You can always gunk in the wild for free, at one of our partner venues (Mercury Lounge - LES, Arlene’s Grocery - LES, Wonderville - Bushwick, 7th Heaven - Bushwick, Pioneer Works - Red Hook, Brooklyn Brewery - Williamsburg, L&SD - Greenpoint), or become a paid subscriber to have it sent to your doorstep. Paid subscribers get extra perks hint hint we have a big anniversary coming up

GUNK CLASSIFIEDS:

Hi from Good Sport NYC: An indie media project dedicated to the culture of women’s sports in our city. We’re looking for a community of readers who care about the women’s game and local media. Join our newsletter at goodsportnyc.com <3

Drum Lessons with Kid Millions! Beginners welcome! Age 5 and up. In-person next to the Knockdown Center or remote. Kid founded Oneida and has played w Spiritualized, Royal Trux, Laurie Anderson and more. Write to kidmillionsdrums@gmail.com

with much love, ceci and hannah

21xii24 

edifices many empty

remain in lengthening nights

on this level where we

again meet to agree

on starlight and vacuum

in the form realm

24vi21 

not trying to cry that question felt

sounded at adequate depth any wave

moved it across shore despite

crosscurrent and undertow

boots on sandy expanse recalled

you and here you are summoned

present beside our mourning

by Chris Billias

For the Wonder: On Ava Mirzadegan’s For the Light

by Hannah Bonner

I listened to For the Light for the first time with my daughter asleep on my chest. She’s three months old, and her preferred sleeping position is still nestled under my clavicle, mouth arrowed toward my heart. She’s just learning how to use her hands, and they flutter for my shirt, my bra, my hair with the fiercest of grips. I will never be able to hold her as tightly as she holds me. These are my first experiences of motherhood – the long stretches of night, the frantic feedings, the elliptical sense of time that contracts and expands. Everyone told me these months would be punishing and hard, but no one adequately conveyed the wonder. Even when I’m so exhausted the world mottles over, it’s the wonder I feel the most.

Ava Mirzadegan’s second album, out from the tape label Vital Records that Mirzadegan co-founded with Jason Calhoun, is about the death of her mother, the grief that accompanies such a staggering loss, and what it means to be a daughter alone in the world with only one’s memories and the ghosts of one’s past. Mirzadegan’s lyrics, parsed to the core, illuminate another facet of wonder – the way a person can continue to astonish us, long after they have left.

There’s a kind of bareness to the opening song “Pavement” whose austerity belies emotional depth. “She is gone,” Mirzadegan sings over and over, her voice, barely above a whisper, rising in pitch. Mirzadegan’s repetition, its accumulation, can not fill the absence she describes. Had I listened to this song last year, I would’ve only anticipated my own grief as a child. Now, looking at my daughter’s downy head, I ache anticipating hers.

In some ways, For the Light is about the failure of language in the face of personal and political devastation. The digital-capitalist pressures of hyper connectivity can often lead to a glut of information which is not synonymous with material change. Throughout her album, Mirzadegan utilizes plaintive refrains (“is it her,” “who will hold me,” or “we’re all alone”) that underscore how saying very little can actually say a whole lot. Her laconic approach is a welcomed antidote in our hyper-accelerated information age. In her native tongue of Farsi, “Ava” means voice or song. As the US continues to murder mothers and children in Iran with impunity I am reminded: even if grief is inexpressible, I’m grateful for Ava’s scintillating, and necessary, attempts.

The overlay of the synthesizer with the guitar and Mirzadegan’s luminous voice evokes an intimacy with the listener. The title song “For the Light” is stripped to only Mirzadegan and her guitar. I experience this song in particular as if I am in Mirzadegan’s bedroom, overhearing her recording. Reclining in my daughter’s nursery, there’s a sensation of proxy to Mirzadegan in these songs that both comforts and soothes. It is only when I hear the chorus:

Is it her

Is it her

Or is it the wings of a bird

Against my window

Is it her

Is it her

Or some other ghost

Someone I don’t know

that my initial read of “soothing” shifts to a more melancholic hue. The impossible hope that the mother will manifest flares up, then extinguishes, like a flame in an open window.

There’s a moment in “Not There” (my favorite from For the Light) where layers of keyboards swell, an influx of organ, rhodes, synthesizers, along with bright bells that rattle across the stereo image, too. I love the melody here for its affective potential, how music can evoke something deeply felt that language can only ever hope to touch. I experience this melodic shift in Mirzadegan’s song as a rising in my chest. Something close to soaring.

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another month closes and we are 1 stretch closer to GUNK’s 3rd year anniversary in august. mark your calendars for a big event coming 8/15/26. all day kind of thing. if you are someone that would want to be involved in our annual raffle to help raise funds for the continuation of GUNK and donate something to give away at our birthday party, please email us at thegunkyard@gmail.com. it is our one big fundraiser of the year and helps us tremendously. hope to see you there.

Subscribe now

until next time,

xoxo

Hannah and Ceci

Q&A with K. Porcelain

by Jojo Sommer

Since 2021, K. Porcelain, a.k.a. Carlo V. G. Soriano, has been self-releasing bite-sized iPad-recorded pop songs from his Throgg’s Neck bedroom. His work is unmistakable—a delicious layering of doo-wop background vocals with sticky, unexpected melodies about anything from the uses of water to porn addiction, all sung in his signature whisper-tone and backed by fervent finger-picked acoustic guitar. The first time I saw Carlo play I was immediately infected by his obvious joy, his hips swung and his mouth imitated a trumpet with natural flair. It’s music that makes me giggle with amusement, but that doesn’t mean it’s not serious.

I met up with Carlo at dusk in Central Park, and by the time we decided to stop talking it was dark and the weather dropped enough to shiver. He kept warm by pacing while answering questions about his work, rambling due to the homegrown weed we both smoked. Below is an excerpt of our conversation where we gushed about Liz Phair, the intention behind performance, and how everyone should buy K. Porcelain releases on Bandcamp.

What were some of your earliest musical influences that you feel lasted?

When I was young, it was Maria Callas, ABBA, and radio pop. Movie musicals, like Fiddler on the Roof, My Fair Lady.
When I started writing songs as a teenager, it was Girlpool, Alex G, Frankie Cosmos. When I started writing for this project, huge were R. Stevie Moore and La Sonora Matancera, which is a Cuban guaracha band. I think that band was the most important, because they wrote about literally anything.

What attracts you to that approach?

I think it has to do with the image for me. Oh my god,
I forgot fucking Liz Phair. I’d say in 2020, she was one who super influenced me. Also Dear Nora. I love the image of the neurotic, weird, sage-like writer.
I wanted to be like that.

What is the experience performing live for you versus writing?

I love it a lot, it’s one of my favorite things to do. I started performing by busking at the parks here. I feel like there are skills that I’m bringing to the communities that I’m in that are rare, and I feel good because I know that when I perform I stick out. [Performing] is an opportunity for me to be very vulnerable and move the way I want to in front of a bunch of people, and have them tether me to the feeling of being safe. I see performing as an opportunity to go all out the way I would if I was by myself in my room dancing.

What do you love about writing that you can’t get from performing?

What I love about writing is there are so many times I’m doing something that I can’t do live as only one person, like using multiple voices and storylines. I could never talk to myself on stage with one of those fucking DJ voiceovers. I would sound crazy and annoying. Those are things I have to save for when I’m by myself. Everyone loves to hear new songs and I feel like when I’m writing songs, I’m making songs that I want to hear. I’m fulfilling my own craving to hear a new song that I like.

Why have you decided to keep your music off streaming?

I haven’t returned to streaming services because it’s so pointless and unnecessary. I would like it if you could only listen to my music if you bought it from me. That first time that I took everything off [streaming], that was annoying as fuck. People were texting me... basically, no one had bought the music. They had all streamed it, and they were all really mad at me because I had taken something from them. Actually, I had given them something, and now they’re mad at me because they want more.
What feels really good is now that I’ve been alone with my music and enjoying it, that when I put it back out on Bandcamp I feel so secure. Like, I don’t give a fuck what boundaries need to be up, but they will be up. I don’t feel desperate with my music, I’m perfectly fine with whatever pace this goes. If I end up never making money from this music, I’m okay with that because I just feel so good with the music itself.

If K. porcelain could be on any four band bill, who would the other three acts be?

R. Stevie, Lead Belly, Liz Phair

What are 3 of your current obsessions?

I’ve been a little bit obsessed with looking at paintings online. Listening to new music, specifically familiarizing myself with all the different branches of Latin American music, and also lots of ‘60s music. And I’m always obsessed with Nabokov. I’m going to read “Pale Fire” next.

Another reminder that we are looking for album reviews! we are looking forward to reading your submissions. some reminders:

• We are able to support one 750 word review in our print issue each month (with modest compensation).

• Priority will be given to reviews of new albums and DIY NYC-based artists.

• We also will support “late” reviews of older albums, as we would like to help steer away from the algorithm-minded attention-shifting world we live in today.

• A review can look un-traditional in GUNK.

If you or any writers you know of would be interested in submitting a review for GUNK, please submit your pitches to thegunkyard@gmail.com

Find GUNK in the wild, become a paid subscriber and have it mailed to you, or find it at one of our partner venues: Mercury Lounge (LES), Brooklyn Brewery (Williamsburg), Arlene’s Grocery (LES), Wonderville (Bushwick), and Light and Sound Design (Greenpoint), Pioneer Works (Red Hook), Seventh Heaven (Bushwick). If you are a venue that wants to partner with GUNK, hit us up!

NY VOTE REMINDER::::: (thanks to our friends at soft power vote)

Primaries in New York decide who will be on the ballot in November. Since NY has closed primaries, only voters registered with the democrat or republican parties are allowed to participate.

What’s on the ballot for the Midterms Primary Election 2026:

*Depending on where you live

• Congress - House of Representatives

• State Comptroller

• State Senate

• State Assembly

• District Leader

• County Committee

• Civil Court Judges

• Delegate to Judicial Convention

• Alternate Delegate to the Judicial Convention

• These seats won’t be on the Primary ballot because there isn’t a Democratic challenger, but look out for them in November:

• 🔹Governor and Lieutenant Gov

• 🔹State Attorney General

PRIMARY ELECTION DATES AND DEADLINES

Election dates and deadlines! While you’re here, check your voter registration HERE.

• 06/13 - 06/21 Early Voting

• 06/22 Mail Ballot Request Deadline - In Person

• 06/23 Mail Ballot Postmark Deadline - In Person (aka Deadline to MAIL your ballot!)

• 06/23 Election Day

Find your Poll Site

Remember: Early Voting and Election Day Poll Sites may vary!

Check if you’re registered

THANK YOU FOR READING GUNK FOR 35 ISSUES! ALMOST 4K SUBSCRIBERS YAYYYY

ceci and hannah

Alchemizing absurdity: a night at Lip Critic’s DIY show series, Theft Saga

by Alyssa Curcio

What do a Chinatown basement, a Bushwick laundromat, and a Williamsburg wrestling ring have in common? Other than probable sticky floors and mysterious odors, each of these venues has been home to the unbridled chaos of Lip Critic’s latest show series, Theft Saga, which promoted the release of the band’s sophomore album, Theft World.

New York City’s hardcore scene is no stranger to DIY shows. Whether it’s the New York Dolls playing in an abandoned subway tunnel or Suicide flyering for squat shows around the Lower East Side, New York’s punk and hardcore musicians have a time-honored tradition of hosting raucous shows in unconventional locales. But Theft Saga, unlike its pop-up predecessors, invites the audience to do more than mosh, dance, or scream. It invites them to leave all sense at the door and step into the absurd.

I immersed myself in the madness of Theft Saga at the final show of the series, set in a wrestling ring off Frost Street. Beyond a maze of dark tunnels that comprise the venue’s entryway, Lip Critic is screen printing its merch on the spot. Attendees were encouraged to bring an item of their choosing to the show to get stamped with an “I survived Theft Saga” graphic. To promote this printing, the band posted a slew of suggested items featuring the graphic on Instagram: a black t-shirt, a stallion, a video game villain. “100% cotton is best,” the caption reads.

Eccentricity is in the band’s very DNA, apparent in Lip Critic’s unusual arrangement: dueling drummers, Danny Eberle and Mikey Sandvig, and producer Conner Kleitz populate the ring alongside lead vocalist, Bret Kaser. There is no guitarist in sight, a rarity for a noise band. But what the group lacks in its rhythm section, it provides twofold in its buzzing, almost manic stage presence.

The set rips open with “It’s the Magic,” a hazy-to-headbanging track off the band’s 2024 debut album, Hex Dealer. Kaser immediately jumps up on the ropes of the ring, presiding over a wildly moshing crowd. During “Jackpot,” the second single off Theft World, faux 100-dollar bills rain down from the ceiling. I snagged a couple for kicks. From the sidelines, the lighting technician directs the pulsing lights from a gaming controller. His head bops along with his fast fingers, keeping time with the music as he delivers back-to-back strobe sequences.

By the midpoint of the show, there is an adrenaline driven, church-like resonance vibrating through the room. And in this moment of reverence, Kaser takes the opportunity to address the crowd. “New York, we are here for one reason and one reason only,” he says. The audience nods along, hanging on his words. “And that’s shaking ass!” He finishes, voice pitching into a scream. The crowd echoes his shriek back at him.

This refrain appears a few times throughout the show, reminding the audience that Kaser and crew are not here to impart any great meaning on us or to lead us towards some lasting release from life’s nonsense. Rather, with a very Camus-inspired insistence, Lip Critic asks us to walk through life’s unfairness, its cruelty and ridiculousness, and to realize that in absurdity lies freedom. At Theft Saga, punk music isn’t about burning down the house, it’s about realizing the house never made sense to begin with. Kaser and his bandmates invite us to make a home out of it anyway.

This logic tracks with Lip Critic’s greater project: music and lyrics obsessed with teeth-grinding nonsense and the way we’re forced to build meaning inside it. Theft Saga turns that obsession outward. The audience isn’t just watching absurdity being performed, they’re drafted into it, disoriented on purpose, encouraged to lose the plot together. Attendees are crowdsurfing. They’re climbing up the walls of the venue and jumping into the sea of bodies waiting below. They’re rushing the stage, commandeering the mic from Kaser and taking a crack at playing lead vocalist. The band is cheering them on.

Theft Saga, and the Theft World project, ask us to muse on the point of life, of art, of the shit we get ourselves into. Maybe there is no point. Maybe that’s precisely the point. Maybe we could all get a little freer if we willingly ran headfirst into life’s nonsense instead of trying to wrestle it into a tolerable shape. And while Lip Critic won’t hold our hands on this quest, it most certainly will provide us with a blueprint on how to happily lose ourselves in the madness.

happy summer everyone &thanks for reading gunk for 35 issues, lots more coming your way….

xx Ceci and Hannah

Mountains, Mammoths, & Music: Living Earth Revolutionizing Soundscapes Within the Peaks of the Boulevard

An Interview with Lia Braswell and Noah Klein

Los Angeles is known for being the hub of film and television, but it is also one of the most beautiful cities in the country. We have everything from mountains to oceans, valleys to forests, and even an ancient tar pit in the center of the city that is still being scavenged for ancient artifacts. While the weather is shifting around the globe, the general vibe of the city is to be outdoors as much as possible. You can find hiking trails in nearly every neighborhood, and most certainly cultivate native wildlife that thrives on a minimal amount of water in your homes or neighborhoods. You can pick the cumquats off of trees on your morning walk and there are likely free lemons on stoops from homes that are in abundance of citrus.

To expand on this diverse bioregion, Noah Klein from Living Earth curates events in public spaces that highlight the deep resonance of this land. He not only brings music and art to beloved places like Tree People, the Audubon Center, Debs Park, California Botanic Garden, the LA River, the Angeles Forest, and even at a Nike missile test site, but he does it with the intention of cultivating an educational, reciprocal, and communal way of living in relationship with the earth and those who preserve the sacred natural spaces.

In a conversation we had, Klein said, “We are doing what we can to be in dialogue with the birdsong, with the wind going through the western sycamore tree with the simulated riparian zone, where the bees and the turtles are hanging out. Everything’s in conversation. Music isn’t a dominant force in the scheme of things.” The events are curated with the practice of fostering relationships and inspiring the community to participate in engaging with Los Angeles from a more holistic place than an extractive one.

In an era where musicians are exploited and persuaded to curate a platform that is hard to bear authenticity, these shows captivate something that is rare but refreshing. Klein says, “We all have stories and we can find creative ways of sharing that. It doesn’t really have to do with how we are packaging and selling ourselves.” Living Earth reminds us that there are more intimate ways to connect with one another that are not all about social media or streaming interests.

LB: What inspired Living Earth to exist, and how’d it start?

NK: There’s a growing amount of people who don’t know how to engage with bioregion in Los Angeles. There are a lot of misconceptions of what Los Angeles is at its core. As someone born and raised here, it’s a spectacular place where we’re one of two cities in the world with a big cat living in the center of it. The other one is Mumbai, where it’s the only transverse amount of range in their country that bisects a city. The only other one is in Salt Lake City. There are all these incredible natural geographies. Also growing up here, you start to take things for granted, like the La Brea Tar Pits. There’s an Ice Age phenomenon being discovered every single day in the middle of our city on a street that was paved with stones taken from the Santa Monica Mountains. One of the pathways that the woolly mammoth stomped out was modern-day Wilshire Boulevard, which is crazy to think about it as this ancient street. Living Earth is a place where we can explore what Los Angeles is and can be, why it’s such a special place, and ways that we can collaboratively steward our city through art and culture, utilizing music as the storytelling vehicle for that. The natural way I understand the world, getting friends together and sharing music and art in places that inspire like Tree People, the Audubon Center, Debs Park, California Botanic Garden, along the LA River, deep in the Angeles Forest, or at a Nike missile test site is being able to encourage people to see the city differently and reconnect with the region in a way they wouldn’t otherwise.

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LB: What makes Living Earth (besides everything that you just elaborated on) so unique to Los Angeles?

NK: It’s unique to LA just because it’s where it is. LA is the only city I can think of where we could do this at the rate that we do it, given the weather. Last year we did a bit over 90 gatherings, and the only one that I needed to change because of rain was the very last gathering of the year on December 27^th. We shifted indoors a mile away. It’s remarkable that it hadn’t been an issue. I would love for it to be more of an issue, it would be great if we had more rain, but it was still wild that we could do this pretty much every single week, highlighting local artists. There’s always a handful of touring musicians that come through, and its mostly people I’ve met over the years who want to be a part of this. For the most part, it’s highlighting local musicians and local grassroots environmental organizations, nonprofits and conservation organizations, or unique land projects that tell a great history of LA. We had a long-running series at Zorthian Ranch until the fires. It was incredible to be able to share the story of Zorthian with thousands of people over years because it’s a place where art really did plant its foot in the dirt. We’re taking a liberatory stance, divesting from the city of Los Angeles, divesting from dominant culture and exploring what happens when art can be a form of separatism, building the world that we want to be a part of. They were doing that by raising animals, permaculture, farming, and they had their own largely consistent waterway. They owned this large plot of land with a lower and upper ranch since the 40s. There was this culture that was brewing that’s special to get to witness when putting on a show or event at any of these spaces. A lot of conversations like these aren’t about venues that are available for rental. They are relationships, and relationships take a while to build. Going through a nature certification helped. I’m taking it seriously. I want to have these conversations and engage in the educational aspect of it, chat about the native ecology and not purely be like, ‘hey, my friends and I need a place to play music’, which could often play out in various communities as something that feels more extractive than reciprocal. I hope that this can illuminate ways that we can be working together as a community. I remember when Pehrspace closed, I was having a lot of conversations with Pauline [Lay] about decentralization because I had also been a part of Silent Barn and a lot of other community organizations and venues that had shut down. We needed to stop paying rent. We can do this in collaboration with one another, or if we are going to pay rent, we need to work with other civic organizations or band together in a space. Fast forward 3 or 4 years from that conversation, you have 2220arts, which is a consortium of a dozen arts organizations. A big part of why this works is that it’s a decentralized way of getting together. It takes the idea of space, and it gives it away. Rather than paying rent we’re providing material support for conservation organizations that could also use it, in addition to bringing people in on a regular basis who wouldn’t otherwise be coming in for maybe a service day, or a specific film night. It nurtures that sense of reconnection with spaces that should be a part of how we’re all engaging with the city to begin with. Oftentimes I see people at service days at other gatherings that happen within these parks, gardens, and land projects. It’s less about people not wanting to be a part of something, and either just not knowing about it, or not feeling a sense of invitation or access. One of the biggest examples of that was coming right out of lockdown. We began working with a Philosophical Research Society, which did not really have a history of community programming, or a history of having music whatsoever. I began booking concerts in the courtyard with an occasional one in the amphitheater. There was a new director at the time, and they were ready to figure out how to make it feel like it was a place that was as welcoming as it is because everyone who works there is such an angel. It felt like the programming that I had started there inspired the director to hire specifically programming and events people. They began having concerts on a regular basis. I would assume it’s a legitimate percentage of their monthly revenue that helps keep the place operating. More places have been tapping into seeing the importance of what intentional programming can be, and that it’s not like, ‘cool, we’re a garden, we don’t need music,’ or ‘we’re a writing institution, we don’t need music’. It’s becoming overlapping dialogues and one giant kindred form of art.

LB: It seems like it’s just an interwoven mycelium route that’s taking over Los Angeles in a positive way.

NK: Yeah, and I feel like as anyone who’s doing creative labor, whether we look at it as creative or not, we’re all having the same conversation about what aspect we are approaching the conversation from, and how we find those points of intersection where we can actually do something that feels as meaningful, as intentional as it can, rather than how do we lay what we’re doing on top of what’s already happening and dominate the conversation. We do sound in the same way. Our whole system is a solar-powered system. We have an array of Goal Zero and Jackery batteries. Often a lot of folks rent them for projects they’re working on. I wouldn’t do something sound-wise in the Audubon Center that would cover up the natural soundscape. We are doing what we can to be in dialogue with the birdsong, with the wind going through the western sycamore tree with the simulated riparian zone, where the bees and the turtles are hanging out. Everything’s in conversation. Music isn’t a dominant force in the scheme of things.

LB: Is there any fond memory of an event that you can share?

NK: There’s so many. Everything feels so special. I immediately think of high-risk, high-reward situations, where it’s more of a one-off. This was several years back but I had reached out to Fode Soco who lives in Riverside but teaches in Limert Park. He comes from the longest family lineage ever of kora players. He will tell you these incredible stories about his family’s history and the Dinka empire in modern-day Senegal, coming from a lineage of griot jelly musicians where they use their oral culture and history and share music. He has more than 20 brothers and sisters. He builds koras, balafons, and djembes. He’ll do local or college performances. When I stumbled across what he was up to I was blown away, so we asked him to come on a hike to the Wisdom Tree, which is a one-mile, vertical hike. It’s in the middle of the city, two peaks over from the Hollywood sign. About 80 people joined us up there. It was a ‘we’re meeting here at this time, but you have some wiggle room, so head-on’ pace. He played music for 90 minutes until sunset. He was telling stories, and it was such a wonderful way to share a day. When someone is so rooted in what they know they’re doing on this planet, and you go to a natural place where you don’t see any kind of tech or urbanization unless you’re looking for it felt like a truly timeless moment, and to be able to share that with people who are more used to going to bars and clubs to engage in art. Also, how often do you get to bring your kids to a concert? I hear from parents who say, “this is my child’s first concert”, or so many musicians say, “I’ve been a professional musician for 30 years and my kid’s 12 years old. This is the very first time they’re seeing me play music outside of practicing at home.”

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LB: That’s so beautiful. I went to concerts with my parents when I was a kid, and the aspects of it that I’ll never forget are still potent in my life, so anytime I see someone bring a kid to their first concert, especially considering the environment and the scope of everything is so special.

NK: I feel like so much of the time when it’s all-ages programming that the city does, it can be pretty cheesy, so it’s kind of fun just to be like, Karan Jahed’s experimenting on a synthesizer with Sharda, or the Pan-African Peoples Orchestra is doing something, there are 50 kids under 10 who are running around getting to experience this. It feels fun to be able to say we’re not getting grants and we’re doing what we want to do on our own terms, so let’s make it worth it.

LB: How has Living Earth grown and evolved in the last few years after post-pandemic, post-fires?

NK: I honestly don’t even know. I feel like I’m just enjoying it. I’m in the weeds, setting up and organizing. I truly don’t know what it looks like from the outside, but if I was thinking about growth, it would be in terms of a sense of trust. It’s been special to feel a sense of trust from so many musicians and artists where a venue model might think, “what’s the guarantee?” Everyone thinks ‘this sounds like a special experience, let’s do what we can to make this happen, and we’ll figure out the rest as we go.’ Or the sense of trust coming from the different environments that we gather within. We’ve been holding our partnerships with the Audubon Center now for close to 5 years and that’s something that I never take for granted. I still come into these shows feeling like every month might be the last, even though I’m sure that’s not the case. It’s being able to have had the chance over these years to have proved that getting together outdoors sharing art and community is not only natural, but how art has been experienced for tens of thousands of years. It’s really the last hundred-ish years that we really got derailed over privatization, and marketing music as a way of selling alcohol, real estate speculation, or any number of other tangential pursuits that have nothing to do with communal forms of expression. That’s the biggest sense of growth. I have no way of gauging the audience or people. I’m grateful that we get to do this whatsoever. It’s a great way of being able to share music that’s made outside of dominant forms of marketing as well as the amount of times we booked artists who don’t have a Bandcamp or Instagram. People still show up to support even though they have no idea who this person is and have no idea to even do their own research if they’d like to. That is powerful because it is how I grew up going to shows, seeing people play, supporting friends and immediate community but seems like something that’s so ancient nowadays. Even today, the musician we had performing at Tree People doesn’t have a Bandcamp, SoundCloud, or YouTube. He is a council member and the former mayor of Bell Gardens. His internet presence is more about the civic leadership that he does. Music is something that he’s always done and loves to do as a form of getting people together in Bell Gardens, so he’s coming up to share that with a quadraphonic synthet. We all have stories and we can find creative ways of sharing that. It doesn’t really have to do with how we are packaging and selling ourselves.

LB: So cool. I wish that all politicians would do that. My last question is there anything that you’re particularly excited about that’s coming up?

NK: I’ve been helping to run the stage at the LA Art Book Fair since 2014, so we have that coming up that we’re helping with. It’s the first time since 2014 that I haven’t also booked it. I’m excited to show up and support them. We’re working on the reading room as well so we’re gonna have a few of our live performances from our archives be something that people can go in and listen to, which I’m really excited to think about more because so far pretty much every recording just lives on my hard drive, and isn’t something that’s been shared except for the Saul Williams meets Carlos Nino and Friends record that came out last year. We’ve been doing so much every single month throughout the city that right now May is mainly just our recurring residencies, and I am excited to keep it. They’re all so beautiful. I feel like sometimes it gets lost in the mix of what we do every month with Arlington Garda, Audubon, Storrier Stearns, and Tree People. It would be nice just to focus on that and move a bit slower.

may was a special month highlighting the beauty and depth of the Los Angeles diy music scene and its commitment to mutual aid and its connection to the land. thank you to those of you who came out to el prado and our LAABF event at Zizou. it was sweet to celebrate another issue of gunk and a special collab issue in big part brought to you through the hard work and dedication of our friend Lia Braswell, our eternal favorite partners at Secret Riso Club, and friends at LA’s Punch Kiss Press. <3

we are excited for a New York City hot summer of live music and will see u next month for some June GUNK.

xoxo

Hannah and Ceci

There is nothing unique about the ICE raids going on across the country. Each day is another menacing moment of living under a regime that is directly attacking our communities. While it is terrifying, especially for those who stay dormant in fear of making any sudden move that could put them in a detention center, jail, or killed, there are people who are doing the groundwork to prove how mutual aid, community support, and direct action creates the change we are all in need of.

Araceli Veroz is part of the LA Tenants Union which has been a powerful force in helping tenants either fight evictions or ICE raids since 2015. She joined the East Los Angeles chapter in 2020. We spoke about what the Tenant’s Union is doing to help their neighbors and what communities can do to build more trust in one another.

LB: What is the main objective of the LA Tenants Union?

AV: To build more collective, political and popular power in the neighborhood. We’re not a housing rights organization, we’re a tenant’s rights organization primarily focused on the tenant. The reason people come to us is because they’re in a crisis related to their housing. Our goal is to turn those individual problems into collective problems, and develop a shared analysis about real estate capital and how that impacts the most vulnerable people through gentrification and displacement. Yes, we organize buildings and build collective power in buildings to enforce our rights, but we also establish a community that has potential to push back against this clause of real estate capital accumulation.

How has the LA Tenants Union evolved?

AV: We are organized in local chapters- neighborhood-based and community organizing involving groups in different neighborhoods that come together for local meetings about issues related to gentrification, displacement, neighborhood issues, food distribution, or collective trash cleanup. We also do rapid response for illegal evictions or landlord harassment. That made it possible for us to jump into neighborhood watch because we already had these established relationships with our neighbors. We’re in networks of communication with each other. In the last year, those structures really grew, and we’ve been able to respond to a moment of siege and occupation in LA.

Can you tell me a story that reflects that contribution to the community?

AV: My neighbor, has lived in her home for 50 years. She came to the union because she had a new landlord in 2022 who started trying to evict her from her home. We went to court with her and won four times against these eviction attempts. Recently, her landlord is trying to evict her again through a process called the Ellis Act. In connecting with other members, we’ve been able to form a committee against the Ellis Act in Los Angeles. A group of tenants across different parts of LA are fighting the same type of eviction. This committee has started to raise awareness and frame the conversation around this as a larger narrative about this loophole law that’s evicting long-term residents. It’s an example of how her situation is not unique. Through collective work you can build more power. I am hopeful that we’ll win. Her win doesn’t just mean something for her, it means something for everyone in our local. It means something for every tenant that’s in this citywide committee fighting the Ellis Act.

Have there been any victories since the most recent ICE raids?

AV: It’s been an incredible moment of organizing and mobilization. We have a strong network of community defense. Rather than a momentary response to a direct crisis, it’s been the establishment of long-term networks of community defense and security. There are many instances of people being able to protect themselves and their families due to these networks.

What’s something people could do to help fight ongoing violence and oppression against immigrants?

AV: Get to know your neighbors. Talk to people where you work or live. Start establishing those relationships. Find out what’s going on in your neighborhood through an org. Talk to the neighbors that you live with and create a safety plan. Everything starts at the level of trust and building relationships. It’s easy to organize something. If you have a group of friends, inform each other about what the federal enforcement activity in our neighborhood looks like, and what existing groups are doing. Do you have the phone numbers of your neighbors? Can you create a group chat in case anything happens? Or join the LA Tenants Union!

Madeline Babuka Black of the band Slippers is an Atlanta-born animator and musician living in Los Angeles since 2020. Her new album “Slippers 08,” is being released through K Records on June 5, and on the same day she’s beginning a tour of the West Coast with the queer punk band Hunx and His Punx, both as drummer and opening act. Slippers began when Madeline was nannying in New York City during her 20s, starting off as a project to write silly songs with kids in mind. Later, when she began recording the songs after she moved to LA, that joyful spirit remained but with more edge, like the cozy twee punk of early K Records acts like Tiger Trap and Heavenly. We talked over the phone during the midst of her final weeks of graduate school at CalArts in a conversation that has been edited and condensed for clarity.

How are you feeling about the upcoming tour?

I’m really excited. Seth [Bogart of Hunx and His Punx] is a big fan of Slippers and has become a friend of mine through the music community in LA. I’m so inspired by him because he’s also a visual artist and does music. He just wears a lot of hats, but does so with such levity and he’s so nice and gracious. I just feel really lucky, it’s cool to have role models, you know?

Do you have other role model figures who are practicing musicians and visual artists?
Mark Mothersbaugh comes to mind because I watched the Devo documentary recently. I think he adapts to the times and I find that inspiring, to be teachable and changing. The early Devo stuff is so silly but also political. The two don’t have to be mutually exclusive, and I think sometimes bands get kind of stuck doing either one; it’s a difficult line to tow. There’s this girl Corrinne James, and she has a band called Naomi Alligator, but she’s also an animator, and my friend Cissi Eframisson. It’s hard because I don’t know what the end result of all this is. People say, ‘What do you want to do with your life? What’s your perfect job after grad school?’ I’m like, my perfect job is to not have a job, but that’s not realistic. So I have to look at these people and be like, ‘Okay, well, what are they doing? What can I do that they do?’ and then I’ll see where that leads.

How did working with kids influence your approach to making art?

It makes me think about myself as a kid, and then thinking about myself as a kid reminds me of things that I really liked and still like, and then I’m like, ‘Oh, that feels really right to pursue.’ A lot of the Elephant 6 stuff and the Cardigans is what I grew up with and remains. I feel like as an animator there is that crossover also. A lot of people at CalArts want to make a kid’s show or are inspired by what they watched as a kid, so having that in mind, I was like ‘Oh, I feel like marrying these two things.’

Do you feel the music scene in LA feels different from New York?

I don’t know how it’s different in a practical sense of how everything operates, like there’s an equal amount of DIY venues and good venues and some great venues. Musically, I only know what’s really happening here right now. I feel like [when I moved to] LA was when I started seeing bands that had a more ‘60s pop influence, and there’s just this pop sensibility in LA.

I mean, it’s so unserious here, you know? I think in New York, I took myself so seriously, partially because of my age. I feel like when I was younger, I just did not have any humility at all. But in LA, there’s this silly, like, postmodern ridiculousness to both the architecture and the landscape, and the people you see, and it’s got a very charming thing to it.

If Slippers could play on any four band bill who would be on it?

M: The Lemon Twigs, Todd Glass, Peel Dream Music (my sister’s band).

What are your three current obsessions?

M: Banana Nutella Latte (sugar in general), director Walerian Borowcyzk and his experimental animation “Mr. and Mrs. Kabal’s Theatre,” and this cunty little tote bag I got in Japan (the Co-Knitty bag)

Upcoming NYC shows we missed & or we’re excited about :)

• 5/14 Baby’s All Right 7PM Hiding Places x Sluice

• 5/16 Night Club 101 7PM Nara’s Room x Raavi x Wulfer

• 5/21 Bossa Nova 7PM Primordian x ethereal.mvp x tormenta x trap burrito x martine x kyxm x Mausam x leo.nerd x Radicchio x antron x o.negative

• 5/20 Reading 101, @ Nightclub 101 ~ a quarterly reading series hosted by Maria Robins-Somerville and Alexis Nowicki 7PM, May readers: Avigayl Sharp, Rachel Yang, Clare Austen-Smith, Nik Slackman, and Rachel Stone

• 5/29 Substance Skatepark 8PM The Fictionals x Honeysucker x Speed.FM x DJ Gogonutz x K-RNDY

Los Angeles: The Sunshine That Never Sleeps

by Lia Braswell

Los Angeles! The multitudes and swirls of songs written by this city all get jumbled up in mind as I reflect on its significance in everything ranging from architecture to film, music to art, scholars to astronomers, and hikers to buff bodies on the Venice beach boardwalk. It’s one big stereotype with more depth than my fellow east coast dwellers are aware of from afar, and understandably so. We tend to get a bad rep for the woo-woo and the Erewhon smoothies and the New Age meditations, but we have an abundance of community and diversity that care not about crystals but about kindness.

I grew up in the San Fernando Valley. Yes, the valley. In the 90s when Clueless came out, the mall scene where Brittany Murphy is hung upside down off the second-story rail against her will was filmed at a mall called the Fashion Square. It’s where I got my ears pierced and wandered around in between school and practicing drums or playing softball. It wasn’t until high school that I explored other malls in the valley and realized how small the Fashion Square was in comparison. It is still there but they’ve upgraded the name of it to The Westfield Mall. My valley girl instincts have nothing to say but LAME.

Beyond malls and film locations, the SFV is diverse, multicultural, and dense with community. Plazas are filled with Thai restaurants and donut shops. My family used to host jam sessions at our house, ordering platters from either Jerry’s Famous Deli, or Mom’s BBQ, which was a small restaurant tucked into the corner of a parking lot with insane peach cobbler. Mom’s friends, dad’s friends, my brothers’ friends, and my friends all played music together in this makeshift studio in Van Nuys, teaching me about what a community would look like throughout my life.

There are friends I am still close with who work as documentarians and billboard designers, doing incredible work yet I can still talk with them as if we were five years old, only we got bills to pay and adult while talking about how fucked up the world is. We endure the heat of the sun trapped in the car while belting our favorite songs. We hang out late at night with the rebels, rejects, preps, and prophets, all of us coasting on one highway towards another. The smell of street tacos and hot dogs surround each corner of the county, making our culture rich with historic nourishment and sanctuary. We travel from sunrise to sunset, dodging potholes and incoming traffic like professional atoms racing through the anatomical structure of a dysfunctional system. We don’t accept it, but we adapt.

The DIY scene in LA is not only flourishing, but is fascinatingly intertwined. I learned everything through the many DIY scenes ranging from Reseda to Echo Park, Silverlake to Eagle Rock, Downtown LA to Frogtown, empty pools to horse ranches. I approach everything meaningful with a DIY ethos. The only times that I haven’t, the project flopped or the art was blatantly superficial. DIY culture taught me how to find people immersed in spaces that welcomed all walks of life. Growing up in the valley was a great lesson in sharing different cultures and value systems, but it was also hard to find people that motivated each other to embrace our expressions.. I went from being an ugly duckling trying to fit in with the pretty girls to finding music nerds who spoke my language and wanted to play music every day. My band, Peter Pants played sweaty rooms with outcasts who found solace in sharing love for art, creativity, and community.

I’ve watched my community take care of one another. Communities are organizing and protecting immigrants while others are teaching workshops to cultivate native wildlife and teach people how to compost or garden in their backyards. Breathing in the fresh air of 2026 only a few blocks from where I lived my entire childhood, I listen to the peacefulness of birds contrasted with the buzzing traffic. I close my eyes and think of all the great people that transplanted here, grew up here, thrive here, and how I would not be anywhere near the person I am today if not for their wisdom, eccentricities, and courage to fight the good fight. I wanted to devote this edition to them. I hope you get inspired by them the way that they have inspired me.

Venues

• Scribble

• Non-Plus Ultra

• The Smell

• 2220 Arts + Archive

• Healing Force of the Universe

• Club Tee Gee

• Oracle Egg

• Permanent Records

• Above the Bridge

• Zebulon

• Silverlake Lounge

• Lodge Room

• Moroccan Lounge

• Teragram Ballroom

Bookers

• Living Earth

• Space Agency

• Pretty But Wicked

• Road Dog

• Sid the Cat

• 2x2

• Minty Boi

• Pehrspace

• Folk Yeah!

• Black Editions

• Lightstruck

• Llévama De Gira

• Milkblood

DIY Spots

• Vintage Synth Museum

• Pony Sweat

• Little Secret

• Heavy Manners

• Bike Kitchen

• Remainders

• Braindead

• Vidiots

• Stories Books and Cafe

• WHAMMY!

• Oblivion

MAY LA SHOW LIST:::::::::

NY MAY SHOWLIST:::::::

Here at GUNK NY it’s true that we love Los Angeles. We made a Los Angeles MAY GUNK ahead of Printed Matter’s L.A. Art Book Fair (May 7-10). This special edition of GUNK features magazine-wide features celebrating the DIY scene and community of Los Angeles, California. If you have friends located in LA, send them our way for our special LA edition release parties on May 9th at El Prado (9PM on) and May 10th at Zizou from 8-10PM with Dublab and SRC<3 And we are also looking for folks to help collate and distro Los Angeles GUNK, if this is you or a friend please email thegunkyard@gmail.com. A huge thank you to Lia Braswell for pioneering a lot of this issue.

Ceci and Hannah

The Weeping Tree

Millie Tunnell

I can see it now, my grandmother’s large weeping willow resting on a bright summer day. You can’t miss it.

The fleeting breeze sways her tangled, endless hair from side to side. My siblings are nearby as I ride my bike around her again and again until I have no breath left. I pretend to be in a city, I pretend I’m someone else.

An erratic summer storm enters unannounced, a crawling darkness. Its clouds release heavy pelting drops. My favorite kind of afternoon. We run inside, lanky limbs scrambling.

The wind enters with swift violence. Despite some loss, the weeping willow remains steady, unbothered. She is invasive to humanity. With untouchable roots that consume all in the way of her unquenchable thirst. Meant to be untamed and wild.

Survival is her instinct. For us humans, it’s always been an inconvenience.

But, why does she weep?

The word “willow” is a representation of sorrow and mourning which can also be framed as a rebirth and vitality.

I always wanted to live in the country. The land of my mother’s family, yet stolen from others. Land I grew up thinking we were entitled to. Faces and spaces so deeply integrated into the fragmented landscape of my history.

Maybe all I wanted was to be known.

The same way New York City’s expansiveness now makes me feel. Anonymity, left alone to my thoughts and surounding observations.

There’s always a moment of purity before a summer, southern storm. The earth is silent in preparation for destruction. A rebirth.

I stretch out my hands to receive the rain like a communion as it enters my soft body. The willow’s hair is loose around me, swinging in a choreography only she knows.

Years go by, her skin begins to weather. I wonder if she’s okay. The light in her has dimmed. How can I get it back for her?

My hand strokes her bark like I now touch you. My salted tears fall. Everything has changed. I’ve moved, I’ve fallen in love, I’ve been broken.

All that is left of her is a stump. My grandma’s house barely remains nearby, decaying, as she approaches 90. These memories are now a haze, when innocence prevailed and real was what my body felt in that moment.

Time moves us forward. Like her roots, it doesn’t care what’s in the way. Objects deteriorate, humans grow wrinkles, move, and die. I want to bottle up time and keep it forever like an unused perfume.

I want to be rooted, held. I want my body to be so light, I float. The body can be a burden.

Her magnificent mane shakes while I dream of anywhere but here.

Now she lives in my dreams where we run free.

by Zalykha María

DIY o algo asi in Miami, Florida

I was born where the mouth of the Miami river’s rapids once poured into the Biscayne Bay near the shore of a mirage of a city that belongs to everyone and absolutely no one.

The bittersweetness of having a birth place that is in eternal transience is humbling: nothing is the same — but then when yr on the Biscayne Bay, or on some faraway edge of the beach, or among the endless suburban concrete waiting for a Metrobus that never comes, it’ll hit you: it’s the same as it ever was.

Hopefully in this little love letter, you can find glimpses of the seasonless tropical eternity that doomsayers predict will sink by 2060. It’s like what Gil-Scott Heron said, “you can go home again, but only to visit.”

Music Venues

I can’t pretend to be a jazz connoisseur, but any lover of jazz could stop by Lagniappe to have wine and listen to live jazz, but true love knows it’s gotta go to Churchill’s in Little Haiti for free Monday jazz jams. One time, a friend of mine got us both kicked out, but I’ll never hold that against what is undoubtedly the most sincere punk rock venue in the city.

Churchill’s: 5501 NE 2nd Ave near Chez Le Bebe and Botanica Eshu Odara Lagniappe: 3425 NE 2nd Ave by the train tracks and the old New Times building

Las Rosas in Allapattah (meaning alligator in Seminole) is a venue that follows in the true Miami tradition of hot, loud and dark venues with overly enthusiastic audiences. I saw Metromover (great band name, btw) & even in a small crowd, a mosh pit broke out and between sets, you could sit out back to enjoy a joint.

Las Rosas: 2898 NW 7th Ave near where The Alley used to be

I’ve never been to The Boombox, but I’m just glad tropigoths still exist, so you should go on Goth night and then tell me what it’s like.

Boombox: 4447 SW 75th Ave near where Santa’s Enchanted Forest used to be

On Tuesday nights, if you quietly sit outside the Mount Zion Evangelical Baptist church near Little River, you’ll hear this quiet rhythm of live drums and song behind the closed

doors of the church. It’s best listened through beyond the beautiful damp layer of wooden doors.

Address: 6720 NE 5th Ave

If you want to find the best new records, find a vintage cassette and have an excuse to go back to Churchill’s (ffs, go to Churchills!!), then you need go NEXT DOOR to stop by Sweat Records, a sweet record store that truly is where all the lonely record lovers in a city full of other types of lovers exists. Get a t-shirt, pick up pro-abortion stickers and ask them what Miami band you should be listening to. Stay true, Sweat, tqm x siempre. Address: 5505 NE 2nd Ave near Churchill’s, go there.

El Más Allá en la Quinta China y El Carajo

I am going to frantically beg you to one day in your life, take the long drive while listening to 90.5 WVUM-FM, the student-run radio station of the University of Miami, to Robert is Here and drink maracuya batidos with the gringos that call them “milkshakes”. Then drive out to the edge of the world at Flamingo in Everglades National Park to get lost in bosquecillos, peel a gumbo limbo tree, stare at an alligator and scream into the abyss while the palms frame the starlit sky.

If you can’t make it to Robert is Here, which I will say that I didn’t do until I met a gringito, then go to the infinite empire of Palacio de los Jugos: order a true batido, eat the cerdo (I wouldn’t know, it’s haram) and enjoy a slice of life.

Robert is Here address: 19200 SW 344th St, Homestead, FL 33034 near the Everglades National Park entrance that isn’t on Tamiami Trail

Flamingo: 1 Flamingo Lodge Hwy, Homestead, FL 33034 near the edge of the world

Music, Bands, Songs

There is no way that any of this is fit to print or that I am qualified to list it in an order that wouldn’t disrespect someone that I love or respect, so here is a Spotify playlist: https://tinyurl.com/yrgirlinthe305, [and here is it on apple music: https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/palms-sucios-miami/pl.u-DdANX5NtaNKEKp?a=join&it=QoG8rv8sWJKAKrtzVWx5

Maybe one day, you can buy us pastelitos de guayaba, a cafecito and tell me everything that I forgot to include.

By Zalykha María IG:

if you have a city to submit to the next installation of our DIY America series, we want it! email thegunkyard@gmail.com <3

Ceci and Hannah

Punks in the Beerlight

by Jojo Sommer

Last spring, on an evening that threatened rain, I was walking around The Bowery with Jesse Rifkin, a musical historian who was bringing me to a few renowned spaces of musical exploration that a millionaire would now struggle to afford.

We began at the former CBGBs, currently a designer men’s clothing store, before Rifkin pointed me to where the Ramones, Blondie, and The Talking Heads had lived, all just a few blocks away. Decades ago, the buildings had been falling apart, but now they are surrounded by supper clubs and craft beer bars that label themselves as “rustic.”

“[The scene] was only possible because it was so cheap and so distressed that landlords would literally burn buildings down because it was more lucrative than finding people to live in them,” Rifkin said.

Rifkin is the author of “This Must Be the Place: Music, Community, and Vanished Space in New York City,” and owner of Walk on the Wild Side Tours, a music history walking tour he founded in 2017. Rifkin started the touring company as a pivot from being a musician when he turned 31 (“I did everything you can do as a musician except succeed,” he jokes), using the knowledge he gained through rabid record collecting to fill a tourist niche.

Though Walk on the Wild Side offers tours for a slew of genres and specific artists, Rifkin says that, without a doubt, the most popular offering has always been the “Birth of Punk” tour. It covers the 1960s progenitors like The Velvet Underground and Jayne County to the ‘70s explosion of Patti Smith and The Heartbreakers, offering a revisionist narrative to punk’s romanticized legacy. But even though punk heroes are often misremembered as anti-establishment figures who stumbled into fame rather than actively sought out rock stardom, there is still a broadly punk ethos that bubbles underneath the lineage of New York City rock music.

“I always describe punk as the weeds growing around the pavement, “ Rifkin says. “If the pavement is all the forces that are trying to stop you from making the art that you want to make, then you find a crack, wherever it is, and grow there.”

I asked Rifkin if he saw a continuous trend throughout the decades of artists finding a desolate, undesirable neighborhood and beginning a scene there until it was no longer affordable to stay. “I don’t think it’s just a trend, I think it’s a necessity,” he answered. He pointed to the new book by music presenter Ronen Givony “Us v. Them,” a chronicle of the indie scene in Brooklyn from 2004-2014, which was partially able to continue because of the 2008 financial crisis and the resulting real estate vacancies in the Williamsburg area.

This is why Rifkin believes the next frontier of DIY or ‘unofficial’ music communities is going to take place in abandoned office buildings whose leases won’t be renewed because of remote work and AI job replacement.

“If the US economy self-destructs, New York City is the center of the global economy, so it’s going to take the biggest hit,” he says. “That’s sort of gloomy to say, but at the same time, this stuff that we’re talking about, punk, and not just punk, but also the emergence of hip hop, disco, salsa, and free jazz, all this amazing stuff was only able to happen because New York City was uniquely fucked.”

Rifkin emphasized that if the economy crashes, the quality of life would be nothing short of inhospitable, but it would be conducive to creative experimentation. This is especially true considering the relative accessibility of artistic tools compared to decades ago.

In the interim, while we wait on a complete economic catastrophe, we can continue to build alternative spaces for music listening and community building, separate from the evils of Live Nation, streaming services, and private equity. Another book Rifkin recommended is “Uproot: Travels in 21st-Century Music and Digital Culture” by Jace Clayton, which examines the ways globalization and technology have transformed music. “I think a tendency in thinking about DIY, especially among a certain kind of rock listener, is being something that white kids who went to liberal arts colleges are doing. But [Clayton’s] talking about people in Morocco trading thumb drives,” he says. “It makes you think about this study in a much more holistic way.”

Ultimately, Rifkin says, using one’s resources is the way to evolve. “The best environment for the music that you’re making is just whatever environment is available to you,” he says.

CBGBs, he reminds, was truly disgusting, the bathrooms weren’t cleaned and patrons would have to literally avoid dog shit around the venue, but who cares? We got Television and Suicide, just to name a few. As far as I’m concerned, you can just scrape that shit right off your shoes.