No Expectations 120: Feel Free
The joy of discography deep dives, revisiting classic records, and doing your musical homework. Plus, a 15-song playlist of new music.
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Headline song: Jeff Tweedy, “Feel Free”
Thanks for being here. After last week of what seemed like non-stop shows and socializing, I took it easy. I saw two gigs on Wednesday and Thursday, but spent my Labor Day weekend doing nothing beyond reading and running errands. It was needed, but I think I relaxed too hard because I didn’t listen to many new releases. This newsletter’s bread and butter has always been current LPs and under-the-radar artists, so writing this thing week in, week out has primed my listening habits to be on the lookout for fresh albums. That didn’t happen this go around.
The reason I skipped my usual routine is that I just didn’t feel like it. I was deep in the book zone. Over the weekend, I finished Jon Wiederhorn and Katherine Turman's Louder Than Hell: The Definitive Oral History of Metal and decided to reread Michael Azerrad’s essential indie rock opus Our Band Could Be Your Life. Listening along as I read to albums mentioned in both those titles dominated what I checked out this week. While I’m a little embarrassed to not have a handful of recommendations for you this Thursday, I’m glad I gave myself the space to return to older music. I frankly had a better time revisiting the Replacements and the Minutemen than figuring out if the new Blood Orange record or whatever is worth blurbing for No Expectations. (I’m sure it’s great).
I first read Our Band Could Be Your Life in 2013 as a 21-year-old starting out in music journalism. It’s one of the few things I’d recommend to anyone interested in independent music. As someone who didn’t know as much as I thought I did about music history at the time, it was so formative. It’s even more eye-opening now that I’m well over a decade into my career. While I already loved several of the 13 bands featured when I initially picked it up, I wasn’t aware of the various local scenes, the distinctly ‘80s context, and the near-Herculean efforts to release, tour, and make money off these classic albums pre-internet and without a major label. Each chapter is riveting and unique to the artists profiled. Revisiting it in 2025, being more immersed in the indie music ecosystem, is arguably more inspiring than it was as a wide-eyed neophyte.
If you’re here just for the new tunes, there’s still a 15-song playlist worth your while below as always. Next time I publish (I’m hoping it’s next week, but with my show calendar stacked as ever, it might be the week after), I’ll have an expanded roundup of LPs to check out. As a general rule, I try to listen to an album at least a half dozen times before I write about it here. It’s better this way for a handful of reasons: for one, it’s not fair to the readers to be recommended something that a writer only casually spent time with. It’s also unfair to the artists who put months (sometimes years) of hard work into crafting and releasing an album. By the metric, the only two new full-lengths that would’ve made the “six listen” cut are Chicago art-punks Ganser, whose latest effort, Animal Hospital, is a brooding, knotty stunner, as well as Texas’ Shallowater, who are putting out the pummeling and fantastic six-song LP God’s Gonna Give You A Million Dollars tomorrow. I’ll include my thoughts on those, along with a handful of other releases, next time.
Here’s the spiel for new subscribers: Each week, you get a wildcard main essay (often new album recommendations, but not this week), a 15-song playlist, as well as updates on what I’m listening to, watching, and reading. Sometimes you’ll get an interview with an artist I love, and other times it’ll be a deep dive into one band’s discography. Since I’m a Chicago-based writer, this newsletter is very Midwest-focused. So, if you live in this city too, you’ll also receive a curated roundup of upcoming local shows to check out at the bottom of the newsletter.
Here’s where I politely ask for money: No Expectations is something I write in my spare time after work. It’s unpaywalled and remains that way thanks to my readers’ selfless and heroic generosity. I am not in the business of gatekeeping. If you have the means and like what you read, I’d encourage you to sign up for a paid subscription. If your budget is tight, telling a friend about a band you heard about here is just as good. It’s still $5 a month—the cost of one Old Style plus tip at Rainbo Club. Every bit helps, keeps this project going, and allows it to stay free to read. It’s rough out there, so it means the world you’re reading and supporting this writing project.
In Defense of the Deep Dive
A couple of weeks ago, I talked to Meg Duffy of Hand Habits for a Taste Profile interview, and they brought up how important Garden State was to them growing up. Like most things you loved when you’re young, they eventually felt self-conscious about it as they got older. “I remember going on dates with people, or being at parties, and being asked, 'What's your favorite movie?' and replying with Garden State,” they told me. “As I got older, a couple of people kind of made fun of me for it.”
I related to that. As a kid growing up in suburban Michigan, I felt cool for watching Garden State, knowing about all the bands in its soundtrack, and having a newfound interest in independent film. That all changed when I moved to Chicago for college and realized my new friends had much cooler tastes. They all had extensive and encyclopedic knowledge about movies and bands I had never heard of. One time, freshman year, I mentioned that I had only heard The Very Best of the Smiths because it was the only record from their catalog available on iTunes. I still see the disappointed look I got then in nightmares. It was pretty humbling.
If there’s one thing about art, it’s that so much of it is context-dependent. An album that would be life-changing to someone who’s never heard might sound pedestrian to a more seasoned head. One person’s “hidden gem” is another’s “obvious shit.” Everyone’s on a different journey, and no matter what, someone else will always have more voracious and adventurous tastes and will inevitably know more about the genres, scenes, and musical history that you love. This is an intimidating realization that’s knocked me on ass countless times in my life, but it’s also been freeing. The more you learn about music and the more you listen, the more you’ll realize how little you know. This is all art’s magic. It rules.
At my first music writing gig 13 years ago, I desperately wanted to prove that I belonged. Pretty quickly, I realized that I could never really match my older colleagues’ expertise and carefully cultivated tastes. That didn’t stop me from trying: I read everything I could, crammed as many new-to-me LPs through the Spin Record Guide, and attempted to develop some sense of critical voice and competent prose. I knew I had to eventually find a niche that felt unique to my experiences and perspective. That ended up being the burgeoning Chicago hip-hop and indie communities that I covered for outlets like RedEye and Vice in the mid-to-late 2010s. While my beat was local, I still tried to discover novel things, expand my musical vocabulary, and learn about the city’s various cultural histories. Basically, I just wanted to do right as a budding arts journalist.
As someone who writes about music, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I weren’t relentlessly curious about it. Critics need to carve out their own lane, but it’s just as important for them to be well-versed in genres and scenes they don’t regularly cover. That way, they can draw connections they wouldn’t think of otherwise and find common ground with what they’re not already familiar with. Even if you’re not a music journalist and have no plans to start a blog or work for Pitchfork, it’s honestly a blast to approach music the same way a critic would. You can listen to something totally new, read a book on your favorite band, ask yourself why you like the things you do (or why you think something sucks), and interrogate your taste. Writing the Discography Deep Dive series for No Expectations gave me such a deeper and more holistic appreciation for the bands I featured, and it always makes me think about their catalogs in new ways. That kinda exploration is a thrill, even if you’re not writing a weekly indie rock newsletter.
If you’re fascinated with music, and you probably are since you chose to be subscribed to a blog about under-the-radar acts, you realize that this art is more than just entertainment. Streaming and social media algorithms have decontextualized music from its local scenes, the circumstances of its creation, and how the artists want it to be heard. This is not window dressing, something to put on in the background, or a tool to sell advertisements. Rather, it can help you make lasting friendships (go to enough shows and it’ll happen naturally), learn about your community and feel more connected to it, and discover things about yourself that can only be unlocked by being moved by a song. More than that, it allows you to generate empathy for other people: the artist you love likely comes from a totally different background, channeled their own idiosyncratic tastes and life experiences into something totally theirs. It’s real art made by humans for humans: not something to be cheapened by an algorithm, an LLM, or lifestyle brands. Music has enriched my life innumerable times and will continue to do so in ways I haven’t even considered yet.
When it’s something as rewarding and beguiling as music, doing your homework never feels like work. It’s not a race: You should go at your own pace and realize discovery is the fun part. So, instead of checking out a bunch of new LPs I would’ve written about in a normal newsletter, why not listen to an album you’ve never heard before from a longtime favorite? Why not choose a band you heard is good but know nothing about and run through all of their albums in order? Even if you know you’re gonna come across a dud, ask yourself why that particular record doesn’t hold a candle compared to their standout effort. Heard a book is awesome, but it’s about an artist you don’t care about? Try it out and see if your mind changes. If there’s a main thing I’ve learned in 13 years of writing about music, it’s that tastes aren’t fixed and music will always surprise you.
What I listened to:
The No Expectations 120 Playlist: Apple Music // Spotify // Tidal
1. Greg Freeman, "Rome, New York"
2. Lawn, "Pressure"
3. Chris Lyons, "Talking Blues"
4. Angela Autumn, "Garbage"
5. Way Dynamic, "The Others"
6. Devin Shaffer, "All My Dreams Are Coming True"
7. Jeff Tweedy, "Feel Free"
8. Jessica Risker, "City Hours"
9. Ganser, "stripe"
10. Gelli Haha, "Normalize"
11. Sharp Pins, "(I Wanna) Be Your Girl"
12. Ry Jennings, "Rollin in Her Grave"
13. Elizabeth Moen, "Love Takes Miles" (Cameron Winter Cover)
14. Jordan Patterson, "Racecar"
15. Shrunken Elvis, "Marina pt. 2"
Gig recap: JP Harris at Judson and Moore (8/27)
When I included East Nashville’s bearded country bard JP Harris’ JP Harris Is a Trash Fire in the No Expectations’ Best of 2024 list, I wrote, “His lyrics combine everything I love about the genre: self-awareness, cutting satire, decency, and heart. It can be laugh-out-loud funny and gutting in the same song.” All of these winning qualities were on full display at Judson and Moore on Wednesday. Friend of the Newsletter, Alec O’Connell, an Illinoisan in Nashville who’s also performed in Erin Rae and Sean Thompson’s bands, was on bass for the gig. There’s no better place in Chicago for a weekday show than Judson & Moore.
Gig recap: Old Crow Medicine Show, Turnpike Troubadours at Salt Shed (8/28)
I don’t know why, but my buddies from Nashville all seemingly decided to route tours through Chicago over the last few weeks. Either way, I’m glad I got to see Friend of the Newsletter and fellow Deadhead Mike Harris play banjo and guitar with Old Crow Medicine Show, who were opening up for Turnpike Troubadours at Salt Shed. I had a blast: OCMS maintain their old-timey-inspired roots with a ripping set full of fantastic picking, genuinely hilarious comedy bits, and a near-cartoonish punk energy almost 30 years into their career. While I didn’t catch their entire set, headliner Turnpike Troubadours were fantastic. For whatever reason, they’ve been a bit of a country/Americana blind spot for me, but it all clicked live: undeniable pros who can write an airtight song.
What I watched:
You Weren't There: A History of Chicago Punk, 1977–1984 (watched on Tubi)
I really should’ve watched this when I was starting out in music journalism. I’ve met a handful of the talking heads featured at various places in Chicago (and have interviewed some several times, like Jason Narducy). Since all this took place years before I was alive, it would’ve been cool to see a documentary about famed long-defunct venues like Oz, La Mere Vipere, and other spots alongside profiles of bands like Naked Raygun, Big Black, and the Effigies, alongside lesser known local punk acts Strike Under and D.A. Thankfully, I learned a lot of this stuff through osmosis drinking at punk-friendly bars like the Gman Tavern throughout my twenties. While I enjoyed watching this, I should note that this 2007 documentary is clearly of its time: there are a lot of word choices, attitudes, and jokes that wouldn’t fly today.
What I read:
Louder Than Hell: The Definitive Oral History of Metal (by Jon Wiederhorn and Katherine Turman)
Whenever I pick up a book about a musical genre or a band that isn’t already totally familiar to me, I always come away with a newfound respect or appreciation after reading it. While that’s true for Jon Wiederhorn and Katherine Turman's exhaustive Louder Than Hell: The Definitive Oral History of Metal, it also solidified why I stopped being a metalhead as I exited my teens. A lot of these guys interviewed just suck. Their music is often silly, most of them look like clowns, but somehow they’re still dripping with self-importance and lame-ass macho posturing. Have some self-awareness! Some, unsurprisingly, seem to be only concerned with drugs and sex more than any artistic accomplishment. Of the 768 pages here, it felt like at least 100 were devoted to crude and mostly depressing retellings of groupie encounters. That’s fine in small doses, but it got exhausting to the point where you could practically envision the artist begging for a high five from the interviewer. Many of the other parts were illuminating and allowed me to rediscover killer records, like those from Rage Against the Machine and Chicago doom pioneers Trouble, to name just a couple. That said, I wanted to learn more about acts like Sleep, High on Fire, ISIS, and others who were only mentioned in passing rather than, uh, Avenged Sevenfold and Disturbed, who populated the final chapters. Still, I’m happy I read it: it’s well-written and a masterclass of the oral history form. I learned a lot. Your mileage may vary. I just wish it had less of the hedonistic antics and more of the music.
The Weekly Chicago Show Calendar:
The gig calendar lives on the WTTW News website now. You can also subscribe to the newsletter I produce there called Daily Chicagoan to get it in your inbox a day early.
I don’t think I could count the number of times I’ve read Our Band Could Be Your Life over the past twenty-something years. The values those bands shared shaped the person I am now in a lot of ways, and hunting down those albums in the pre-streaming era was an ever-rewarding breadcrumb trail that led me from one great record to another.
Did JP Harris do the Devo cover? (I hope he did the Devo cover)