Recorded with Grammy-winning producer Stuart Sikes (The White Stripes, Cat Power, Loretta Lynn), “I Learn To Love” began as a mantra before taking shape spontaneously in the studio. Its raw collision of punk urgency, psychedelic atmosphere, and unruly rhythm introduces the punchier, more uplifting direction of Tejas.

For the video, frontman Carson Barker and the band sought to capture a side of their hometown rarely reflected in polished portrayals of the city: “For the video, we wanted to do something really trashy—like an old Captain Beefheart video mixed with VHS-style
visual effects. We also wanted something that represents Austin from a born-and-raised Texan’s point of view.

There’s definitely a grittier, more maniacal side of Austin subculture that often gets overlooked in the media, and we wanted to pair that with clichéd Texas themes. There are also some throwbacks to filmmakers we love, like Jodorowsky.

“The song was half-written on the fly in the studio with Stuart Sikes. It felt like a chaotic Bo Diddley song with a dash of punk and psych, so we went with it.”

⇒ Read our review for the EP here.

Written partly during a winter Barker spent isolated in a one-bedroom cabin in the Colorado mountains and partly in the studio with Sikes, Tejas trades some of the darkness of The Schisms’ previous album, Moon, for music intended to lift its creator—and its listeners—up. The EP also marks a creative departure for Barker, who wrote and recorded each instrumental part himself before sharing the songs with bandmates Goose McCollum and Michael Stockton for their input.

The title Tejas reflects the friendship at the heart of the record as well as its deep Texas roots. Barker, McCollum, Stockton, Sikes, and Barker’s brother, who created the artwork, are all native Texans. The three members of The Schisms grew up in the same town and knew one another for years, but never played together until the band’s current incarnation brought them into the same orbit.

Partially funded by the City of Austin Live Music Fund, Tejas arrives October 2.

That world — nocturnal, emotionally charged, philosophically grounded, and entirely her own — deepens with every new release. “Hallow” is no exception.

Aronieme is a jazz-trained vocalist with an extensive background in performance and recording, now channelling everything she has learned and felt into a solo project that answers to no genre convention and no expectation other than her own atmospheric, philosophical vision. The result is music that exists in its own atmosphere — shaped by darkwave, gothic, and experimental influences but refusing to settle comfortably inside any of them.

NYC music blog Obscure captured the essence of her approach in their review of her debut single, describing it as a “chillingly nocturnal dream-pop aesthetic, shaped by dynamic harmonic layers, stylish electronics, and shadowy rhythmic textures” — music built around “vulnerability, mystery, and an invitation toward the unknown.”

“Hallow” extends that invitation further. Following the emotionally fiery “Cut Me Into Pieces” and the breakthrough debut “Take the Ride,” it marks another step forward from an artist who arrived fully formed and has not slowed down since.

This is not a record that wants to be comfortable. It was not designed to be.

BARREN MOTHER OF ALL takes its title from a quote by Indian guru Nisargadatta Maharaj: “Consciousness is only a concept. Therefore, I call the entire manifestation, ‘The child of a barren woman.'” That paradox — something vast and undeniable built from something that cannot exist — runs through the album’s entire conceptual architecture.

Moore tackles the all-consuming void, the catastrophic path humanity is currently on, and the unflinching honesty of someone experiencing a genuine depth of despair, shapeshifting, and rebirth. The album serves as anarchy — aimed at provoking an inner uprising, an internal reckoning with the forces bearing down on all of us from outside and within.

“The musical approach is meant to act as anarchy,” Moore says. “I wanted to be really brazen and reflect the inner spirit. Most of the vocals are one take and many of the songs were written and recorded within an hour. I wanted to capture the energy of the moment. Iggy Pop is one of my heroes — I take inspiration from him being so incredibly loose and free.”

Equal doses of industrial, trap, witch house, post-punk, gothic rock, noise, metal, 80s horror soundtracks, and dystopian psychedelia combine into a devilish brew that refuses to stabilise or settle. The album blurs industrial abrasion with witch-house murk, post-punk tension with goth-rock theatre, blown-out noise with metal heft, synth-horror camp, and chemically altered psychedelia — all moving in the same dangerous direction.

“I’ve got a living womb and a buzzing hive. You want to kill the Queen, yet I’m still alive. My babies all in formation. There’s no contemplation. If you approach the hive… that’s a SITUATION.”

The Queen metaphor runs throughout — Moore sending his baby bees to battle against random chaos, positioning himself as a figure of radical, reproductive, unstoppable force. Confrontational. Theatrical. Completely sincere.

The Covers and the Only Guest

BARREN MOTHER OF ALL includes covers of PJ Harvey, Tom Waits, The Doors, and Rage Against the Machine — and the highlight is a raucous reimagining of Beastie Boys’ “Looking Down the Barrel of a Gun,” among Moore’s favourite songs and one he has long wanted to properly reclaim.

The album’s only guest is Shenzie — Moore’s black cat — who can be heard chirping on “District 8.”

IN ALL MY NIGHTMARES I AM ALONE established the trilogy’s template — 30+ songs of uncensored chaos, frustration, and outpoured beauty, a tour through danger, mental illness, and the darkness we avoid. GRIST deepened the philosophy — named for Ram Dass’s concept that all of life’s experience, trauma, transcendence, and suffering is “grist for the mill of awakening” — hunting, laughing, mourning, and challenging listeners to step into their true selves without fear.

BARREN MOTHER OF ALL completes the arc. It is the void at the centre of all of it, stared at directly and documented without blinking.

Musically, Endless Road advances with a steady, motorik-like resolve. Guitars stretch into dark, patient figures, while synths glow faintly in the background, like roadside lights glimpsed at speed. The rhythm section never overreaches, choosing propulsion over drama. Tom Radar’s vocal delivery is grounded and controlled, carrying lines like “No light above, no peace below / Just the cold embrace of the road” with a calm that feels earned rather than performed.

The lyrics favor images of transit and detachment, “Gas station coffee, bloodshot eyes,” “another town fades in the sky,” small details that quietly stack into a larger emotional weight. Even moments of reflection resist sentimentality: “I’ve learned to love the silence / More than mercy, more than shame.” Here, endurance isn’t framed as victory but as adaptation, a conscious choice to keep moving through uncertainty.

By the final repetitions of the chorus, Endless Road feels less like a loop and more like a vow. It doesn’t promise transformation, only continuation. In that honesty lies its power. Hellkern Warriors turn Endless Road into a companion for the long stretch between who you were and whoever you’re becoming: unresolved, relentless, and still rolling forward..

“GRIST” is the second in a new series of 30 song double albums, following up “IN ALL MY NIGHTMARES I AM ALONE”, which was itself just released on June 30th. Fans of Swans, 90’s and ‘blackstar’-era David Bowie, Sonic Youth, Skinny Puppy, Ministry, Nick Cave, Portishead, Chelsea Wolfe, The Stooges, Faith No More, Tom Waits and PJ Harvey should enjoy this strange yet cohesive collection. 

“GRIST”  hunts, laughs, mourns, challenges and inspires others to step into their true selves without fear. The themes are wide but related, with philosophy, mental illness, death of loved ones, addiction, spirituality, surrealism and dream language all playing strong roles. With themes like rallying baby bees for the swarm, the artist positions himself as the Queen, ready to move through chaos, come what may.

“Ram Dass famously stated that all life experience, trauma, transcendence, joy, suffering, is all just “grist for the mill of awakening”. That being said, here is the GRIST.”

GRIST stands as a beat-heavy, noise heavy riot crackling through the heart of the city, while also a testament to life, survival from nothing, a celebration, and statement for those abused or undermined, yet who posess an inner power that none can reach.

“This is a pure offering to my baby bees, my ones who know code red, my cubs who climb the mount, my bears who hold their post, my hyenas who crawl under dark of dark. This is for you, who face the weaponry, the cheap bravado, the false while grinding your teeth. Sharpening. This is GRIST. What we are is GRIST. OMEN.“

Born James Douglas Morrison on December 8, 1943, in Melbourne, Florida, to a strict military family, Jim’s childhood was a whirlwind of relocations across the American Southwest. His father, George Stephen Morrison, rose to admiral in the U.S. Navy, commanding forces during the Gulf of Tonkin incident, while his mother, Clara, provided a veneer of domestic stability. The family denied Jim’s rock stardom until his death, prompting him to claim in interviews that his parents were dead—a mythic reinvention that fueled his Lizard King persona.

A pivotal “shamanic” moment came around age four, when Jim witnessed a car crash involving Native Americans on a New Mexico highway, believing their souls “crawled into” him—a haunting image echoed in songs like “Peace Frog.” This event, whether literal or symbolic, instilled a lifelong fascination with death, Native American spirituality, and the occult. By his teens in Alexandria, Virginia, Jim devoured Nietzsche, Rimbaud, Kerouac, and William Blake, blending philosophy with a rebellious streak that saw him expelled from school for truancy.

At Florida State University, Jim dabbled in theater before transferring to UCLA’s film school in 1964, where he met keyboardist Ray Manzarek. Graduating in 1965 with a short film, The Hitchhiker (inspired by a real murder he read about), Jim dropped into Venice Beach’s bohemian scene, sleeping on rooftops and scribbling lyrics like “Moonlight Drive” amid acid trips and LSD-fueled visions. Influences ranged from Elvis and Frank Sinatra’s crooning to bluesmen like Howlin’ Wolf and jazz poet William Burroughs, forging his baritone growl and shamanic stagecraft.

In July 1965, a chance Venice Beach encounter with Manzarek sparked The Doors—named after Aldous Huxley’s The Doors of Perception. Manzarek, impressed by Jim’s poetry, urged him to sing; they recruited guitarist Robby Krieger and drummer John Densmore, forming a no-bass quartet where Manzarek’s keys mimicked bass lines. Signed to Elektra after a Whisky a Go Go residency, their self-titled 1967 debut exploded with “Break On Through (To the Other Side),” “Light My Fire” (No. 1 hit), and “The End”—an Oedipal epic clocking 11 minutes.

Strange Days (1967) delved deeper into psychedelia with circus-like sounds and tracks like “People Are Strange,” while Waiting for the Sun (1968) yielded “Hello, I Love You.” Jim’s lyrics—surreal, shamanic, laced with sex, death, and rebellion—paired with the band’s jazz-blues fusion, made them counterculture prophets. But Jim’s antics escalated: arrested onstage in New Haven (1967) for “lewd behavior,” and infamously in Miami (1969) for allegedly exposing himself, leading to obscenity charges, tour cancellations, and a $50,000 bond.

Albums like The Soft Parade (1969) experimented with orchestration, while Morrison Hotel (1970) returned to blues roots with “Roadhouse Blues.” L.A. Woman (1971), recorded amid Jim’s decline, birthed “Riders on the Storm” and “Love Her Madly.” The Doors sold millions, headlined festivals like Woodstock (where Jim skipped the mud-soaked set), and embodied the ’60s’ dark underbelly—hedonism amid Vietnam’s shadow.

Jim’s life offstage was a vortex of passion and peril. He shared a volatile, open relationship with Pamela Courson, his “cosmic mate” since 1965, whom he called his soulmate despite infidelities. They opened the short-lived Aquarius nightclub in L.A., but drugs—LSD, heroin, cocaine—and whiskey fueled Jim’s blackouts and brawls. Affairs with figures like journalist Patricia Kennealy (a Wiccan handfasting ceremony) and Nico added layers of scandal.

A voracious reader and filmmaker, Jim self-published poetry collections The Lords and the New Creatures (1969) and recorded An American Prayer (released posthumously in 1978). His UCLA thesis on hitchhiking as a metaphor for life’s journey mirrored his nomadic soul. Yet, as the ’60s waned, Jim’s weight ballooned, his voice rasped from abuse, and paranoia gripped him—fearing Nixon’s FBI surveillance. Convicted in Florida for the Miami incident (six months hard labor, $500 fine), he appealed and fled to Paris in March 1971 with Courson, seeking anonymity to write.

The Doors’ swan song with Jim unfolded on December 12, 1970, at The Warehouse in New Orleans—a gig promoting Morrison Hotel that devolved into pandemonium. Bearded, bloated, and blackout drunk, Jim mumbled incoherently through “Back Door Man” and collapsed mid-set, slurring pleas for the audience to “keep it going.” Enraged, he smashed his mic stand into the stage, splintering the floor, before storming off, ending the show early. Bandmates Ray, Robby, and John, exhausted by his unreliability, agreed it was over—Jim’s spirit, as Manzarek later wrote, had fled his body.

The performance, captured in grainy photos but no full recording, symbolized The Doors’ unraveling: a poet reduced to a “madman,” his Dionysian fire consuming itself. Just four months later, Jim was gone, but the gig’s raw fury—cheered by 1,400 fans who mistook chaos for genius—cemented his mythic exit.

On July 3, 1971—two years after Brian Jones, nine months after Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin—Jim Morrison was found dead in a Paris bathtub at Courson’s apartment. At 6 a.m., the 27-year-old was cold, clad only in underwear, with no signs of violence. French law required no autopsy; a doctor ruled heart failure, possibly from respiratory distress or embolism. Courson claimed he’d attended a Marianne Faithfull concert, partied with heroin (which Jim allegedly snorted, mistaking it for cocaine), complained of chest pain, and retired to the bath.

No foul play, no overdose traces—yet theories abound: heroin OD, voodoo curse from a Miami fan, faked death to escape fame (sightings persist), or even CIA hit tied to his father’s Vietnam role. Buried hastily in Père Lachaise Cemetery (now a pilgrimage site with 3 million annual visitors), Jim’s simple tombstone reads “Kata Ton Daimona Eautou”—”True to his own spirit.” Courson, inheriting his estate (estimated $400,000 at death), died of a heroin OD in 1974, buried as “Pamela Susan Morrison.” The absence of closure only amplified his myth, joining the “27 Club” as rock’s ultimate enigma.

Jim Morrison’s influence is seismic, his baritone a prototype for gothic rock’s “deep, heavy alloys,” inspiring Layne Staley (Alice in Chains), Eddie Vedder (Pearl Jam), Scott Weiland (Stone Temple Pilots), Ian Curtis (Joy Division), and Patti Smith. Iggy Pop credits a Doors show for birthing the Stooges; David Bowie and Siouxsie Sioux echoed his theatrical shamanism. The Doors pioneered “rock theater”—blending poetry slams, happenings, and rituals—paving the way for punk, grunge, and alt-rock.

Posthumously, An American Prayer (1978) fused his poetry with band music; inducted into the Rock Hall (1993), The Doors earned a Lifetime Achievement Grammy (2007) and Hollywood Walk star. Oliver Stone’s 1991 biopic, starring Val Kilmer, revived interest, while The Collected Works of Jim Morrison (2021) spans 600+ pages of verse. His estate, managed by Doors royalties, generates millions annually, funding poetry prizes.

Morrison embodied the ’60s’ dark romantic—hedonistic yet philosophical, railing against conformity via Nietzschean duality. As Simon Reynolds noted, his voice birthed goth; his fashion—leather pants, untamed hair—influenced Westwood and Sui. In a conservative age, he remains the radical hero, granting “permission to miscreants” to embrace chaos. Albums like The Doors rank in Rolling Stone‘s 500 Greatest; his grave draws pilgrims seeking the infinite.

Happy birthday in the beyond, Jim.

You broke on through—and left the doors forever ajar.

“GRIST” is the second in a new series of 30 song double albums, following up “IN ALL MY NIGHTMARES I AM ALONE”, which was itself just released on June 30th. Fans of Swans, 90’s and ‘blackstar’-era David Bowie, Sonic Youth, Skinny Puppy, Ministry, Nick Cave, Portishead, Chelsea Wolfe, The Stooges, Faith No More, Tom Waits and PJ Harvey should enjoy this strange yet cohesive collection. 

“GRIST”  hunts, laughs, mourns, challenges and inspires others to step into their true selves without fear. The themes are wide but related, with philosophy, mental illness, death of loved ones, addiction, spirituality, surrealism and dream language all playing strong roles. With themes like rallying baby bees for the swarm, the artist positions himself as the Queen, ready to move through chaos, come what may.

“Ram Dass famously stated that all life experience, trauma, transcendence, joy, suffering, is all just “grist for the mill of awakening”. That being said, here is the GRIST.”

GRIST stands as a beat-heavy, noise heavy riot crackling through the heart of the city, while also a testament to life, survival from nothing, a celebration, and statement for those abused or undermined, yet who posess an inner power that none can reach.

“This is a pure offering to my baby bees, my ones who know code red, my cubs who climb the mount, my bears who hold their post, my hyenas who crawl under dark of dark. This is for you, who face the weaponry, the cheap bravado, the false while grinding your teeth. Sharpening. This is GRIST. What we are is GRIST. OMEN.“

 

Following the critical success of 2024’s “Veil Lifter”, a doom metal/grunge album that achieved features on Doom Charts, Metal Devastation Radio and recognition from several ‘Best of 2024’ year end lists, Stephen Moore decided on a fresh direction for the next release. It ended up taking form far sooner than he has anticipated.

Following the critical success of 2024’s “Veil Lifter“, a doom metal/grunge album that achieved features on Doom Charts, Metal Devastation Radio and recognition from several ‘Best of 2024’ year end lists, Stephen Moore decided on a fresh direction for the next release. It ended up taking form far sooner than he has anticipated.

“You see all the voiceless, abandoned and sick
Forgotten the beacon….I light the wick
I heard the screaming from the derelict farm
Where tongues were silent….A MONOLITH OF ALARMS

Ring them out”

“VENUS IN FURS” is an appropriately subversive interpretation of Velvet Underground’s dirge classic. “WHEN THE WORLD IS BURNING BRIGHT” is a taunting 3 am gothic post-punk piece that lyrically confounds. There are no rules in Moore’s musical world. “FAST APPROACHING RADIANT LIGHT” once again jolts the pace along with a frantic breakbeat and an explosive, rousing performance. “SOMETHING STIRS”, also recorded in May 2025, is a song of mourning, partially based on the children’s campfire story “Who Has My Golden Arm?”, and partially based on Moore having his kittens stolen in the middle of the night and whole family robbed by an ex. Yes, truth is often stranger and more twisted than fiction, and this album is an uncensored walk directly through intensive trauma. “WE FALL”, simple as it is, can be a downright upsetting listen, even for Moore. Anyone who has lost someone they felt were integral might relate to this devastating, and very short, track.

“HYPNOTIZER” riffs on Led Zeppelin’s love for Eastern melodies that intertwine with solid hooks while delivering a message about lack of media, social and emotional literacy. “RIVER MAN”, an earnest cover of Nick Drake’s subtle classic, is very much a happy accident. Imperfect, yes. Moore recorded this himself in his apartment in 2010 after discovering he loved Nick Drake’s level of sensitivity and knack for communicating dark things through surreal lyricism. This is one of those cases where the performance just works better than a studio take and stands alone as it is. It could be the centerpiece of this release. “FINAL DAYS” is full-on punk rock with a rockabilly insanity to it, imagining the end of the world in a slightly comedic way and honoring both Refused and Swing Kids with it’s vicious energy.

“Reckless Fever”, “Oversoul”, “Start This Over” and “Surrender” are moody acoustic tracks with a similarity in their sense of existential longing. Both were written after Moore discovered his love for all things Leonard Cohen.

“CRAWLING KING SNAKE”, recorded in May 2025, delivers an altogether unpredictable take on The Doors and their stellar version of John Lee Hooker’s classic blues expression. “HYPNOTIZER” riffs on Led Zeppelin’s love for Eastern melodies that intertwine with solid hooks while delivering a message about lack of media, social and emotional literacy.

“God’s Away On Business” is another of Moore’s favorite Tom Waits tracks, and is has a new groove, as it would be inappropriate to attempt to impersonate the man. Passion runs all of this process. “What’s He Building In There?” is newly recorded in 2025. It is one of Stephen’s all-time Tom Waits favorites, although there are many of them. This is the ultimate take of the nosy neighbor.

Post Death Soundtrack‘s 5th full-length album “IN ALL MY NIGHTMARES I AM ALONE” is an eclectic collection of bastard children, some who have survived far too long on a diet of scrap. Having grown up loving albums like Nirvana’s ‘Incesticide’ and the Smashing Pumpkins ‘Pisces Iscariot’, Stephen Moore has always had a love for b-sides, outtakes, covers, and raw new expressions. He merely asks himself ‘Is it good?’ Although this album has both brutish output and beautiful pieces, the themes are difficult to unpack. “TREMENS” was finalized when Stephen Moore was literally in the middle of the dreaded Delirium Tremens. There is a 15 % chance of death. He called emergency at the peak of the experience, and was told nobody would want to help him. Maybe just brave it and go back inside. So he and did just that. As of today, he is still around, and so is stigma surrounding addiction.

During the promotion of 2024’s acclaimed ‘Veil Lifter’, Moore discovered the bones of a forgotten album, most of which had been recorded between 2009 – 2011. Some are on the experimental industrial and noise side of the sonic realm, while many are acoustic-based, a few of which were almost too pretty to be included. There are also new expressions that make up half of the album, both originals and covers alike.