The post-punk frontman takes us through the inspirations – Iceage, mix CDs, used car salesmen, and neo-liberal podcasts – behind his band’s great sophomore album.
“On-record, Greg Obis sounds like a man possessed on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The weight of late-capitalist hellscapes mining personal pain for social media clout, economic analysis shows normalising greedy exploitation, and healthcare systems jerking around the needy piling up on top of one another. Each one pushing him further and further into acerbic hysteria over the sick joke that is life. The band soundtracking this agonised despair – bassist David Algrim, drummer Tim Green, saxophonist Sarah Clausen, and Obis himself on guitar – meet his growing paranoia with music that swings between hooky semi-detuned grooves and antic punky freakouts. Stuck are at once deadly serious about how screwed everything is right now, but also bubble-burstingly goofy and a touch twisted in their delivery, as if laughter is the only real release any of us truly have.
On Zoom, Greg is disarmingly normal. Chipper, earnest, down-to-earth. A far cry from the characters he embodies throughout Freak Frequency, Stuck’s sophomore album which we’re on the phone to go through ahead of its release. As heavy and self-parodic as that may have sounded from my earlier description, the record is actually a hell of a lot of fun. Hooks for days, energy and a loose tightness that’s thrilling to listen to, a rock-solid rhythm section driving tracks along, and a captivating voice at the centre whose delivery totally convinces every step of the way. It’s the most I’ve outright enjoyed and been excited by a post-punk record in a long time, so I was overjoyed when Greg said he was willing to hop online and take me through the album track-by-track. Read on to discover how Iceage, mix CDs, used car salesmen, neo-liberal podcasts, and a whole host of other topics influenced what will likely go down as one of 2023’s best guitar records.”
Full article exclusively on Soundsphere Magazine (link).
Callie Petch’s fifteen seconds of shame.