Videos

No idea who this dude is, but damn. During my weekly dive into the unread SYFFAL Music Submissions this dude's throat hit me with a "hold up, start it over and give it your complete attention". Justin Forrest sounds like a less contemporary Gavin DeGraw, but who'd probably walk out of a street fight as the victor. Dude seems comfortably grimey, and I mean that as a fucking compliment. I've known people throughout my life that just have that look about them, where regardless of their strengths and talents, you're absolutely certain they could kick ass if need be. Justin Forrest has that confident posture to him that even though he's showing vulerability through sharing his music with us, he'd be able to pull a straight razor to your neck faster than you can write him off. City Life...

Let's play look what I stole from the press release: Fireships, the new band founded and fronted by Andrew Vladeck, veteran solo artist and the founder of The Honey Brothers (the band that notably features The Entourage's Adrian Grenier)." Fireships whole indie Americana thing borders on canned gentrification, but then you can't deny that you're fucking smiling! There's a part of me that wants to hate them, but I can't deny that I am in love! Countdown Time is the fucking jam! Even if that jam is canned with medicinal herbs by the loving supple hands of a millennial SAHM from where white people are. It's a great song! Fireships are genuine in that they are what they are, and with Countdown Time, who they are, quirky, sweet, adorable, fun is a lot to be. The video,...

The first time I heard this song I got caught up on one fucking line. "The holes in the roof are made from stars..." Whether that's just the epitome of poetic or it reminds me of doing drugs, I can't completely decide, but I'll tell you hearing that one line, delivered in the way Ha the Unclear delivered it, well, it made my fucking week. Once I stopped sniffling and staring off into space, I knew that I had found a song I could toss into the introspective bank forever. For those that don't know, that's sort of like a spank bank, but instead of things to masturbate to later, it's for things to hold comfort in just knowing they exist. Pretty equal in the grand scheme of things, sure, but I can legally access one whenever I want. YOU DECIDE. Whoever the Fuck Ha the Unclear are, I'm...

The ambiguously great duo, Eric Mount and Ike Peters of The Coasts, have put out a split single with the frightening Jesse Alexander & co. of battle ave. On Your Own is a-side to battle ave.'s new track called 'THE SUN'. Both are dope. Both are sex in a hot tub trimmed out in neon lights. BUT what you'll find above is the world premiere video of On Your Own. So, get ready to EXERCIIIIIIIISSSSE the demons. I have no idea where The Coasts found this clip, in which they spliced their song into, but it's gold. It's like the 70's version of Fox and Friends or perhaps an inspiration behind Dana Carvey's Church Lady. The squareness of these people perfectly juxtapose The Coasts raunchy, yet bright, brand of garage rock. Still The Coasts win the panel over in the end because...

I love it when I immediately don't hate something and then I look off into the distance and start writing my grocery list in my head and then I keep starting the song over and over and over until I'm completely fucking in love with it. Band of Rascals, whoever the fuck they are, have taken a simple rock melody and made it intimate as fuck. I don't just want to stare up at singer dude's delicious face from a seated-on-the-grass position, but I sort of wanna find one of their shows in Canada and take pictures of each members' hands and print them in black and white and set up a pop up art show and go full on artboy I love this song so much. If being Canadian wasn't so illegal in the US, I would totally advocate for crowdfunding getting these shitdicks a show in my tiny city so I wouldn't...

Here he is folks. Ecid. The Pizza/Yoga/Rap Based God, and Minnesota resident wizard of wondrous word play and wild imagery. I'm trying to say guys that my dude Ecid makes some really great music and loves to tell the under dogs story any chance he gets, and he's one of my favorites doing it. Counterfeit Dreams has a slumping wonky synth line to accompany the story of a struggling artist who can't seem to get a break, that is until he drinks some draino and dies, but rises again. SOOOOOO Romero bros! Dead flesh, fresh beats, and Ecid with his smooth gravel growl rapping his warrior posed ass off. His new album Pharemone Heavy drops March 3rd, but you can pre-order it now in various bad ass formats.It was Directed, Shot and Edited by Mercies May (Young Tarentino)

The Naked Heroes was a band that Timmy Bakin' Bacon Baker was all into because he felt a strange sense of refreshment when they name dropped Max Headroom and referenced slap bracelets as a masturbatory aid and shit. I always kept quiet because I just liked the music, pop culture meets masturbation aids references be damned. While I do appreciate learning about new ways to masturbate, I wasn't sure I could really compete with slap braceleting myself, but The Naked Heroes sent over their new video for Tonight's In Your Pocket and I've managed to assume it is ALSO referencing masturbating because I am the textbook definition of creep. The Naked Heroes are an odd mix of weird for the sake of being weird, funky for the fucking sake of FUNKY and that one band that seems to put the...

I am not familiar with Jilk. But I am more than familiar with Haiku Salut. Haiku Salut have been sending me instrumental music to skin poultry to for the past few years, and while I'm normally appreciative of their strange sense of beautiful dread in their compositions, today's video is completely different. Periscopes is a playful prance through a backyard playground, in both the video and the song itself, but what's fucking unreal about this entire shits is how I started to get choked up watching the video even before the part where I realized I should totally get choked up. I won't ruin this video for you, but seriously, this is a Friday afternoon video if there ever was a fucking video to watch on Friday afternoon. You've kicked ass all week. You wiped your brow only after...

These past few weeks I've been on a JUST GIVE ME THE DAMN ROCK kick. I've about had it with fucking synths. All of these "producers" pitching their shit as "about to blow" is driving me fucking insane. Don't even get me fucking started on rappers. And since when did sending people teaser-emails with teaser-videos about a fucking SINGLE become the norm in music? RECORD AN EP, DROP AN EP, SELL AN EP, TOUR. That's it bros. Maybe 2015 is the year we finally realize all of those machines will one day glitch the Fuck out and leave us with nothing but a guitar, a bass, an amp or two, some fucking drums, and a throat. WHEN THE MAD MAX TYPE LIFE DROPS, ALL THAT'S LEFT WILL BE THE ROCKTH BRUH! Peep this band Hooka Hey, this fucking song Nasty is nothing but bar chord hell yea. All I wanna...

Who the Fuck are The Cunning? This band sounds like quarter drafts, wooden bowls of mixed nuts, a jukebox so limited it's only stocked with Merle, Cash and Orbison, and a bathroom with a trough pisser. It's everything you fucking need, nothing else. Out of all the SUAP (show up and play) bands that have graced the pages of SYFFAL, I think The Cunning might be my fucking favorite. And to think, all day I've been sifting through shitty band submissions and that fucking dirty ass bassline grabbed me by the balls and gave em a slight twist before grazing my puckered green bay packer. You can't Fuck with that fucking bassline. Here's to obsessing over becoming best friends with these fuckers and becoming more and more comfortable with the idea of wearing boots year round.