The Sampler: Pickle Darling, Protomartyr, This Is The Kit

Tony Stamp reviews Ōtautahi bedroom pop, Detroit post-punk, and banjo-led Parisian folk.

Laundromat by Pickle Darling

For the past six years, Ōtautahi resident Lukas Mayo has been crafting diminutive bedroom pop opuses, and for an artist whose persona is so tied to their hometown, and indeed, their home, the release of their third full length has been given a notably international reception. 

Pickle Darling performed at South by Southwest in Austin Texas in March. Their album is available on a Californian record label, was mastered in New York, and features liner notes from UK-born writer Sammy Maine. Rough Trade NYC singled it out as one of their favourite new releases, and it received glowing reviews in Mojo magazine and Rolling Stone. 

The focus of all this attention is called Laundromat, and on it, Mayo is as musically humble as ever, despite their songs connecting with a pool of like-minded fans around the globe.

Laundromat is a further refinement of Pickle Darling’s homespun sound, which has gone up a notch in fidelity on each release. During writing they posted on social media that it’s an attempt at making something uncluttered and not fussed over, and this aspect is impressive: the songs are straightforward but full of unobtrusive details upon closer inspection.

Mayo manages to straddle several musical worlds with ease. Their music has been labelled ‘twee’, but most songs feature distorted drum machines. They employ Autotune without evoking RnB or making it a joke. It just suits the tunes.

The main clue as to the writing process is the brevity of many of these tracks: eight of the twelve are around 90 seconds long.

The album mixes old with new musically - banjo alongside sequencing - and lyrically, with lines about scrolling on their phone and visiting the laundromat that gives the album its name. This analogue/digital fusion is omnipresent, as is their great skill at making the mundane feel poignant, undergirded by a sly sense of humour.

‘King of Joy’ ends on the line “I wish you had a friendlier face, then I could take your complaints”, an example of the knowing cynicism threaded through these tunes. That title may be ironic, but the song is undoubtedly joyous.

'In Good Health’ fills its duration with a multitude of ideas: synth arpeggios and rapid acoustic riffs dot the margins, but the focus is on Mayo’s voice, much more present here than on past releases. 

Their social media is often focused on other people’s output more than their own, and this devoted fandom to music in general is apparent, I think, in their songwriting, which feels effortless in the best way.

In fact, Laundromat is, in part, an album about this. ‘Choruses’ is entirely about Mayo’s admiration for another musician, with the line “I wish I could write choruses like you”, and running throughout are a series of voice memos from Bedbug, Port Lucian, and Elora Driver, each talking about their process.

In the album's liner notes, Mayo alludes to the pressure that accompanied an increase in attention, saying they tried to put aside any sense of expectation and write for the sake of it.

That can be felt in Laundromat’s overall effervescence and a sense that any idea is worth pursuing. ‘Marcie’ is mostly made up of acoustic and voice, but other tracks relish the possibilities of musical tech, pitching Mayo’s voice up or down to great effect.

Despite this, and each track’s relative shortness, it’s brilliantly sequenced to make one satisfying whole, musically and thematically. 

One song has the lyric “Disclosure: my fists are made of feathers”, a neat summation of Pickle Darling’s amiable type of sarcasm. Another that stands out is on ‘Invercargill Angel’, a repetition of “I hope he makes you feel at home”, exemplary of the way they can make something ordinary feel open to interpretation, and the nature of their music, which is, above all, generous.

Formal Growth in the Desert by Protomartyr

Some years ago I saw Detroit band Protomartyr perform at Auckland’s Whammy Bar, and at the time I described them as “A more polite Jesus Lizard''. If you’re not au fait with that band, they mixed razor-sharp riffs and musical precision with singer David Yow’s completely unhinged approach behind the mic, with thrilling results.

My comparison was meant as a compliment, but it was reductive, as a wealth of influences power Protomartyr’s music, post-punk and otherwise. Vocalist Joe Casey shares common ground with Mark E. Smith from The Fall, who he’s a fan of.

But after ten years, the band has outpaced their influences and honed their sound into something more distinct. On their sixth album Formal Growth in the Desert, they match rock dynamics with brooding restraint, and while they might not take this as a compliment, it’s an unmistakably mature work.

Casey told Stereogum recently he worries about Protomartyr albums becoming too portentous, and songs like 'Let's Tip the Creator' certainly tip in that direction. Greg Ahee’s majestic guitar lines work to lift it out of the dark, without getting too grandiose. 

A lyric about “The beauty of outsider art” jumps out, and knowing the band’s fixation on capitalism, its title clues you into what it’s about: modern musical culture, built around pay-what-you-like downloads, Kickstarter campaigns and so on. 

The sentiments here are often scathing, but there’s an effort to intersperse some fun, as on ‘For Tomorrow’, which sounds like NYC band The Walkmen, when they had some fire in their belly. 

In between albums, Ahee dabbled in scoring short films for the first time, and the influence of Ennio Morricone and Mica Levi has bled back into the band, with haunting splashes of synth alongside the guitar fury. There’s also diversity in the way he uses the six-string, leaning into texture on songs like ‘Graft Vs Host’, as drummer Alex Leonard fills the space with tom hits.

On that one Casey drops his speaking voice altogether and just sings, coming across like a slightly punchdrunk Elvis Costello. Along with capitalism, his lyrics are often about death, and on this album that became a bit more specific, as he grappled with his mother’s passing.

He sings “She'd want me to try and find/ Happiness in a cloudless sky”. In Stereogum, he relayed a trip to Sedona, where awe at the scope and longevity of the landscape put his own problems in perspective (it’s a safe assumption that’s what the album’s title is referring to).

Reading interviews it sounds like its creation was initially tough for the whole band, but eventually cathartic. And those blasts of fun keep cropping up. ‘3800 Tigers’ is partly about a baseball team, and its scuzzy bass and pseudo-funk bring to mind the Mike Patton projects Faith No More and Mr Bungle.

The album does frequently dip into the gloom, but those blasts of energy keep its head above water. It’s eclectic within a limited palette, and if, like me, you just like hearing toms bashed over distorted guitars, you’re in safe hands.

Joe Casey often lets himself sound vulnerable, and those moments, along with some melodic flourishes, are the ones that stick out. The final track ‘Rain Garden’ features riffs that are downright pretty, and the singer’s repeated request to “Kiss me before I go” sounds hopeful and defeated at the same time: a good summation of the band’s modus operandi.

Careful of Your Keepers by This Is The Kit

It’s impossible for your interaction with an artist to not colour your opinion of their art, and when I think of the time I interviewed Kate Stables, who makes music as This Is The Kit, the thing I remember most is how often she laughed, and how enthusiastically. This is despite recovering from COVID at the time. 

Her music isn’t funereal, but it is serious enough that I was surprised at all the frivolity. Over six albums now she’s mined similar polite, banjo-led territory, and it’s surprising in how the novelty of her tightly-controlled sound hasn’t worn off. In fact, each release is better than the last.

Like most of these songs, ‘Take You To Sleep’ is led by Stables’ steadily-picked instrument of choice, but when I listened to the accompanying drums, bass, and guitar I realised: played and sung more forcefully this could be a rock song.

Her music often brings to mind folk dirges or hymns, revolving around simple repetition and similar chords. Despite the consistency between albums, her formula hasn’t gone stale on the latest, Careful of Your Keepers, partly because she invests it all with such depth of feeling.

The album is thematically concerned with change, and resolving conflict through empathy. On ‘More Change’, the idea is articulated in the line “If we’re holding hands will we walk at the same speed”.

Stables’ sense of humour creeps out in tunes like ‘Inside Outside’, where she seems to be quoting The Simpsons in the line “I choo choo choose you”.

There are aesthetic elements which link This Is the Kit albums. A lack of reverb means everything feels close, including the busy drum rhythms shuffling over most songs. Jazz often creeps into frame, usually through syncopation, and its influence is strongest here on the title track, which immediately stands out as different: a steady rhythm, descending bass, and gorgeous, lush piano chords.

Kate Stables has been endorsed by established musicians throughout her career - championed by Elbow’s Guy Garvey on his BBC6 show, albums produced by Aaron Dessner of The National and PJ Harvey collaborator John Parish, and she’s now inspiring offshoots of her own: bassist Rozi Plain recently launched a solo career.

Careful of Your Keepers was produced by Gruff Rhys of the Welsh band Super Furry Animals, but honestly, his input is hard to detect. This is a clear continuation of what’s come before, earnest, slightly eccentric and always engaging.