Naked Giants – Shine Away bio

When Naked Giants formed in 2014, the Seattle trio—vocalist/guitarist Grant Mullen, bassist/vocalist Gianni Aiello and drummer Henry LaVallee—were all eighteen years old, and full of the reckless, restless energy of youth. A decade on, both they and the world have changed immensely. Shine Away—the band’s third full-length, following on from 2018’s SLUFF and 2020’s The Shadow—is very much an acknowledgement of that. It’s an album that doesn’t just reflect on the personal life and times of the three of them and the world at large, but casts a discerning, self-reflective eye on what it’s like to be in, and be, Naked Giants. It’s the sound of a band coming into, and becoming, themselves. Of course, that’s a never-ending process, but for the first time in their career, Naked Giants are taking stock of their journey—who and what they were, are, and want to be. 

“Our first record was still running on fuel from starting the band as 18 year olds with a rock’n’roll dream,” says Mullen. “Since then, life has changed. We all got day jobs or went back to school, and really grew into ourselves individually.  Before, we were anxious to express ourselves in whatever way we could through music. Now, we have more to say, and I think we’ve made a record with more meaning and purpose.”

Despite these personal changes Shine Away contains the same sense of impetuous urgency that defined SLUFF. and the band’s preceding 2016 debut EP, R.I.P., and was still to be found within the fabric of The Shadow’s songs, too. So while the band might be removed from their younger selves, there are still traces of those people in these nine songs.

“I’ve realized that being an effective communicator is such an important part of being a musician,” adds Aiello. “We’re carrying the typical garage-rock ‘throw it at the wall and see what sticks’ ethos with us to this new phase of life. This time around, there’s room in the music (and in ourselves) not only for the young raucous kids we used to be, but also for the fully emotional people we’re becoming - people with hearts that love and break and ache and all that kind of stuff.”

All that kind of stuff takes place, of course, within the context of being in the band. And that’s the other thread that runs through these songs—they’re about what LaVallee calls “living that art life.” It’s a pure and honest expression of why they do what they do, a tangible manifestation of who and why they are, as well as an expression of the deep bond between the three of them.

“We’re only on this earth for a little bit of time,” says LaVallee. “Grant, Gianni and I are all such great friends, and we’ve grown to trust each other in a unique and special way where we can speak this certain Naked Giants language with each other. So, for me, this record really feels like a story told by Naked Giants about our life, in and out of the band, and our outlook on it.”

“Every thought connects to everything else,” adds Aiello. “It connects to our musical journey, which connects to our life journey… So much of our approach was coming to terms with the rock thing again. Having grown up on classic rock and then through the indie rock hype, and seeing so many idols who turn out to be deeply troubled or abuse the power dynamics of the industry, a part of our job on this album is reckoning with this and getting back in touch with rock music authentically.  This is clearly a valuable art form to us. Because we keep doing it for some reason, and we have to figure out why.”

 The very existence of this record is the answer. From the angular awkwardness strains of opener “Apartment 3” to the lackadaisical catchiness of the title and closing track, Shine Away demonstrates the musical chemistry the trio have, as well as their shift into making music with more meaning, consideration and intention. In between, these songs take the listener on a journey of emotional (self-)discovery via a slew of sounds that range from deliberately awkward indie-rock that takes influence from (among many others), the likes of Jonathan Richman, (good era) Weezer, Joyce Manor and even Daniel Johnston. At the same time, these songs sound less like anyone else than just the current iteration of Naked GIants, and of where and who they are these days. It’s certainly a more positive place–even on the more delicate and gentle anti-ballads, these songs radiate with a fuzzy, sunlit warmth. Indeed, even just the concept and image of shining is in direct contrast to the overriding themes of the previous record, and the troubles the band encountered both in the run-up to making it, and after.
“With The Shadow,” says Aiello, “we started having to deal with our real world problems—addiction, trauma, mental health—and at that point we really questioned why we were doing this at all. We were channeling all our anxieties about the world and  our lives into this thing. But Shine Away is the turning of the cog again. We’ve come back to making music that speaks to our hearts, and we’re doing it for the joy of it. We’ve come to trust that following and nurturing that joy makes room for others to participate and find themselves as well. And I think that’s what Shine Away ultimately means—you’ve got to turn your light on so that it might reach someone else’s.”

Produced by Dylan Wall—who, in a full-circle moment, recorded the band’s first ever EP—at Seven Hills Studio in Capitol Hill, Seattle, Shine Away does that throughout. Even more solemn, pained songs like “Missed Out”, “Bad Guys Win” and “Oh Michael” are full of light—and, at times, even levity—that acts as a counterweight to some of the subject matter on this album. It’s the latter song that perhaps captures that best, as well as the multifaceted, layered themes beyond the surface. Because while, on the surface, the vulnerable “Oh Michael” is an ode to a friend of Mullen’s who’d been going through a particularly tough time, and who thankfully made it through, it’s also Mullen reckoning with himself and his vices.

“The first line of that song is ‘Terrified, waking up the son’,” he says. “I realized I had kept a core part of myself hidden away over many years. I pushed it down to cope with life’s woes, which became really destructive for me.  And it was terrifying to wake that part of myself up– I had to show him all the failures and mistakes I had made, and really feel the weight of them to move forward and grow.”

That self-aware epiphany feeds into this album’s next layer of meaning, and the one at its core—the death and rebirth of the rock’n’roll dream, and the distance between what that dream was when the band started compared to today.

“The rock and roll dream of my youth had to crash and burn out on the road” continues Mullen, “It just wasn’t real, and I was heading toward a dead end.  Once I let go,  I realized I already had what I had been searching for in that fantasy - the love for writing and playing music, and getting to share it.”

“Grant actually put it this way once, the spirit of rock’n’roll is choosing life,” adds Aiello. “It’s choosing to continue. There’s so much in this world that makes you want to roll over and give up, and everyone’s struggle is so intricate and unique that it can be rather isolating. But that spirit of choosing to continue, choosing to find what still brings you joy and sharing that as far and wide as you can - that’s what ties us all together.” 

Scream from New York, NY, the first album by Been Stellar, is a remarkably brutal debut – bruised and volatile, it captures an image of ‘20s New York that’s unrelenting and harsh, where tenderness is a finite resource burned up by the machinery of the city and human connection is a luxury product. Leaving behind the driving shoegaze of their early recordings, the NYC-based five-piece tap into the disaffected sound and spirit of New York luminaries like Sonic Youth and Interpol, as well as the nihilistic, yearning cool of Iceage and Bends-era Radiohead, striking upon a sound that’s fearsome, buffeting and beautiful at the same time – a tidal wave as viewed from underneath.

As its wry title implies, Scream from New York, NY, is a record about what happens when language fails – between friends, partners, a city and its citizens – and the primal scream you might let out when words just don’t work anymore. Guitarist Skyler Knapp, vocalist Sam Slocum, Brazilian-born guitarist Nando Dale, bass player Nico Brunstein and drummer Laila Wayans met as undergrads at NYU, bonding over a shared sense of humor and forming a motley crew based more on emotional compatibility than any rigid ideas of shared artistic sensibility. Finding that last vestiges of the city’s famed 2000s and 2010s DIY underground had been ground down to nothing, the band put on their own shows, renting spaces and collaborating with friends to build the world they wanted to inhabit.
 
Determined to break new sonic ground, the band embarked on a relentless practice schedule, even renting scrappy studios on days off during tour. After befriending him at SXSW, the band tapped producer Dan Carey (black midi, Wet Leg) to help coalesce the disparate elements of their sound that had been percolating: forceful, driving physicality; pop classicism; gnarled beauty; and a rich emotional core. The resulting 10-song album announces Been Stellar as gimlet-eyed chroniclers of contemporary youth, staring through noise and confusion into the dark heart of modern life. These songs embody the spirit of a city that makes and breaks its inhabitants on a daily basis - an irony befitting the album’s tone: Been Stellar’s preternatural ability to capture the disconnection that haunts New York with photorealist detail might just be the thing that vaults them into its pantheon.