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After a half decade slog in the Gilman Street punk scene as The Vagrants, Brian Jay, Nick Gancheff, Craig Miller, and Dave Henwood resurfaced with a new name and a new sound. Their mid-punk crisis in full bloom, the quartet abandoned dissonant guitars and garbled glass vocals in favor of a jangly, albeit introspective mood. Neither shoegaze nor emo, and sonically exiled from their Lookout Records peers, Pot Valiant carved out their own corner of the East Bay, releasing two singles and a brilliant LP before imploding in mid-1994.
By early 1994 Pot Valiant had graduated from brooding high school punk band to young adults with an ever widening spectrum of influences. Gone were the palm-muted guitars and downcast lyrics, replaced with a modern rock sensibility and command of the subtleties of the loud/quiet dynamic. The group’s sole LP was tracked in early 1994 for the Benicia-based Iteration Records, and released via famed distribution black hole Dutch East that summer to heady critical praise. The 10-song Transaudio was awash in dense, ringing guitars, powerful drumming, and a hushed vocal approach more at home in a bar than an all ages club tucked into an industrial part of Berkley.

"Real Emo" only consists of the DC emotional hardcore scene and the late '90s Delaware Valley screamo scene.... Frail were at the epicenter of that vibrant straight edge youth gaggle, screaming their throats bloody in baggy pants. Discontent with the metallic hardcore format, the quintet pursued Gen-X's ferocious, noisy rage against everything at San Diego's galloping pace. No Industry—the band's first and only vinyl compilation—includes vital singles for the Yuletide, Bloodlink, and Kidney Room labels, plus rare comp tracks from across their '93-95 run. This 17-song limited run of 300 LPs is housed in a hand-silk screened chipboard jacket and includes a 24-page 'zine chronicling the band in notes, quotes, photos, flyers, and revolutionary literature. Make Your Own Noise.
Originally released in 1998, Boston emo outfit Jejune's shoegaze-inspired second album has been given the Numero treatment with a long overdue remaster. RIUYL Rainer Maria, Superchunk or Karate.
Jejune were only around for four years, but they left behind them a subtle trail of influence that's exemplified on their milestone sophomore album. Unlike their debut 'Junk' (that Numero remastered and reissued earlier this year), 'This Afternoon's Malady' began to subvert the emo template, shoring up Arabella Harrison and Joe Guevara's fragile, cracking vocals with thick, wall-of-sound production that betrayed the influence of MBV's 'Loveless' and Catherine Wheel's 'Ferment'. The band were saddled with accusations of being "emo" when the album originally emerged in the late '90s and the term had become a slur, and now we can visualize their influence a little more clearly. They were emblematic of the genre's refined, ultra-melodic second wave, and since they splintered in 2000 they've been referenced constantly online. Dashboard Confessional's Chris Carrabba called them one of his favorite bands, and Jejune neatly bridge the gap between hardcore punk and indie rock, foreshadowing the '00s boom.
Capturing the raw, melodic sounds of 90’s second wave emo - Jejune’s 1997 album Junk is anything but. Blending dual vocals, massive drums, and riffs stacked on riffs, this is the blueprint for indie bands to follow.
Originally released on Tiger Style in 2003, Two Conversations stands as The Appleseed Cast’s crowning achievement. Arriving during the second-wave emo backlash, the Lawrence, Kansas band sidestepped genre clichés in favour of widescreen indie rock shot through with atmosphere and emotional depth.
Dreamy keys and synths drift over intricate steel-string guitars, carrying lyrics that explore love, loss, and the spaces in between. It’s an album that favours reflection over angst, unfolding with a cinematic sense of space and texture.
Hailed by Pitchfork as sounding “trapped on Polyvinyl Records circa 1996,” Two Conversations remains a landmark — a soul-baring, beautifully constructed record that has only grown in stature with time.

Under the right conditions, half-remembered dreams can meld seamlessly into hazy present moments. Time spent alone can be an emotional blank canvas, and an opportunity to deconstruct sense and feeling; a patchwork of snippets both rooted in memory and abstracted from reality. The title of ‘quilted lament’ perfectly captures the way Gretchen Korsmo and claire rousay’s overlapping missions come together to do just this. Worn polaroid melodies and snatched everyday noises seem overheard through windows onto the street. They feel emotionally twinned, claire and Gretchen, it’s not always possible to tell where one ends and the other begins. Their musical thoughts and DNA are sewn together into a mini symphony of warmly embracing movements.
Built remotely between pre-existing friends in the underground music scene, the duo layered ideas onto audio files, and sent them back (and forth). And these luscious instrumentals truly do feel assembled by intuition, casually crafted with little need for guidance. “claire and I are both emo,” explains Korsmo. “We are both former texas-dwellers [too] and relate over both the woes and beauties of being in the American DIY experimental music scene.” Buoyant piano keys and hushed layer vocals tracks sit alongside a humming field-recorded scrapbook; a neighbour caught in a moment of private inspiration while street noise elevates; a private hymnal in the bathroom while the washing machine ends its cycle. Both artists take field sounds from a wealth of Zoom and Tascam recordings made in the last half-decade in Santa Fe, San Antonio, Los Angeles, Kamakura, Japan and elsewhere – from a baseball game announcer in Santa Fe, to the sound of a friend eating a juicy peach. At times, the bedroom walls seem to grow thin amid atmospheric creaks and disembodied whispers. Despite its very emo core, this is a recording engulfed in an intense sense of bliss, more at peace than we’ve heard either artist before.


Unhinged, damaged art-punk from San Diego's mid-'90s Gravity scene. Gathered here are Clikatat Ikatowi’s three albums—Orchestrated And Conducted By..., River Of Souls, and a first time vinyl pressing for their 1993 demo, all remixed and remastered from the original analog tapes. The accompanying 24-page book pairs Tony Rettman’s colorful essay with dozens of period photos and flyers, an in-depth history of a city and scene that defined the shape of noise to come.
The final recordings by Annapolis early emo pioneers the Hated, Flux compiles their 1989 acoustic and electric sessions, home demos, and live shards from their extensive archive. The accompanying 24-page book outlines the last year of the band with essays from founders Dan Littleton and Erik Fisher, a track-by-track oral history, photos, flyers, and lyrics from this vital post-hardcore unit."Hostile and magnetic—like perfume wafting through a barbed wire fence."— Washington Post


