Stoner Will & The Narks
TR-08 (Tape #1)
Bots Like My Band
Released: November 27, 2018
TR-09 (Tape #2)
A Narxist Critique
Released: October 15, 2021
TROLLING FOR CLOUT
what makes a stoner will and the narks song? catchy melodies, funky beats, sweet and sometimes strange harmonies, sardonic lyrics, undertones of earnestness, a dash of flute, and the best kind of guitar solos—the kind that don’t quite make sense and refuse to “rock.” combine these ingredients and you have a sonic tonic for our absurd times.
as playful as this music is, it isn’t exactly escapism, because it takes you straight into the confounding heart of contemporary capitalism. and man, it is an odd place. crossfit, digital surveillance, seltzer, craft beer, landlords, tiny houses, militarism, anti-trust policies, crystals, climate change, solipsistic self-care. “we’re gonna get an airbnb and do ayahuasca in a sweat lodge, ‘cause i don’t like the energy of my morning commute.” i bet you’ve never heard anyone sing that before.
these songs are wordy and worldly. but even as they take on our failed economic system, invoking distant places like the brazilian amazon and borderlands of peru, the narks remind us that all politics are local. northampton residents likely know that narks spelled with a “k” is a reference to mayor david j narkewicz, a regular target of investigative reporting by the shoestring, an independent media outfit where guitarist will meyer and bassist brian zayatz are co-editors. together with drummer steph jacco and vocalist anya klepacki, they make music laden with journalistic detail; the hometown specificities imbue the lyrics with a wider resonance. the “bidwell class” referenced in the opening number, “windy rhetoric”? the phrase shouts out a former city council member by name, someone ostensibly on “our” side, but actually not—we all know the type (“let’s break it down, get convoluted, misinformed and oh so stupid”).
it can be heavy stuff, but it’s never heavy-handed. the band makes it feel light. they sing of liberal hypocrisy on tap at the nearby bar, of homesteading hipsters buying up land like 19th century colonialists, of a police chief’s foiled plans to train overseas, and a seasonal resident who doesn’t want to pay her taxes (“i don’t want to see my home underwater but i’d rather have a great white shark for a neighbor than have a beverly nelson”). the album is undeniably cutting, but somehow feels hopeful; its juxtapositions both disorient and delight. stoner will and his comrades have channeled just the right amount of abrasive weirdness to complement their ultimate sincerity, without sacrificing any style. don’t be surprised when “dolphin attack” or “neocolonial self-care in the anthropocene; or the vibes at goldman sachs” get stuck in your head.
this is a narxist critique after all, and narxism has hooks. like marxism, narxism is all about tragedy and farce and, ultimately, transcendence. no matter how astutely it communicates the contradictions of our time, a record can never be the revolution. but it can make you laugh and allow you to dance—dance while the investment bankers speculate and the pundits bloviate. written and recorded during a pandemic and spiraling economic and ecological chaos, this music feels like release. just because everything is shitty, doesn’t mean our art has to be. —astra taylor