“Go back to Philly,” someone was yelling at Tampa-based Sun Organ, third on a four-band lineup on a modest weeknight at TV Eye. (16-47 Weirfield St.) Wearing an incredibly earnest baby blue sweater and serious Trotsky-adjacent glasses, their singer was putting on a valiant effort, only getting mogged occasionally by the group’s far taller, far more bespeckled bassist, himself wearing cameo pants and one of those cheap sports coats that come outfitted with bright reflective strips. It was all very Earth or Sleep-esque—one of those planets—though I wasn’t really there to see them.

A publicist with Jim Merlis’ old shop was trying to make some noise for the local headliners: the even more austerely-titled group Ringing. This was the project of one Colton Walker, whose face betrayed years spent stomping pedals in difficult Brooklyn. The music had required work. Per the provided bio, Walker recorded the group’s first outing in “a single session back in 2024, capturing the band’s instinctual use of dynamics and space.” Nevertheless, he later “scrapped the lyrics, finding himself to not be singing about anything particular—caught up in the demands of playing loud and being unspecifically sad.” I liked that idea and wondered who thought of it: being unspecifically sad. How neatly it evaded meaning. I had read the provided blurbs too. Flood Magazine called Walker’s group “thrashing and reflective,” while the purportedly different Glide Magazine called their album another cycle in the cosmic wash (in lower case) both “valiant” and “vulnerable.” It was a noble effort, finding a home earlier this month on Philadelphia guitarist Douglas Dulgarian’s novelty record label. Live, it was nice to see the now three-piece band have fun with songs with titles like “incandescent” that are repeatedly, as Walker sings it, about being “misconstrued.” He says that word so nicely that I can practically feel the narrow four walls of the bedroom it feels like it was written in.

I was sad only that Walker & co. did not appear to be playing album opener “datamosh,” which begins with the catchy chant: “digital echo chamber, tell me what you mean, I want to hear.” But what he did play, he did with a kind of punky scrawiness, either behind or beyond his years, theatrically bending over and over again, hitting that whammy bar with religious fervor, seemingly encouraging bands of small men to ignore TV Eye’s ‘No Moshing’ signs, and move, independent of the sound around them. What an inspiring sight. 

another cycle in the cosmic wash is out now via Julia’s War Recordings.

Photos taken by Andrew Karpan.