I wanted to be in a rock band so badly during my college years. It would have been hefty post-grunge alternative with indie flair, strong guitars, and stronger rhythm section. I tried two different bands with college classmates to no avail, both failing due to creative differences. At one point, my brothers and I started a band – even landing a few shows at church youth group functions – but we ultimately didn’t practice enough to make things work. While it was a frustrating experience at times, I simply enjoyed playing music with friends. Hence, few things in rock criticism make me feel both old and alive than hearing new bands make that sort of music now.
And Smut is definitely one of those bands.
Born in Cincinnati, OH and currently based in Chicago, IL, this talented quintet creates absolutely ripping guitar rock pulled right out of ‘80s and ‘90s college rock radio stations. The group’s newest album, Tomorrow Comes Crashing, brings together Pixies, Hole, Sleater-Kinney, and Veruca Salt, courtesy of robust anthemic energy and snarling lead licks. Released on Bayonet Records, this 10-song record delivers righteous levels of guitar noise and in-your-face punk aggression.
Think of Smut as anti-bombast and pro-rocking-out. The snarling guitars of Andrew Rodgers and Sam Ruschman provide a huge, overdriven presence in the mix. However, they also showcase clean hooks and clear melodies without being overwhelming. The pinpoint drumming of Aidan O’Connor meshes divinely with the resonant bass work of John Steiner, lifting the clever pop formatting with some thoughtful syncopation.
The voice of Taylor Roebuck sends the tremendous music crafted by Smut beyond the stratosphere.
She possesses an immaculate soprano that is both keening and sultry without ever going over-the-top. Her piercing clarity offers a strong tonal counterpart to the enormous guitars. This ramps up into high gear when you factor in the profound lyrics about feminism, creative agency, and fighting the patriarchy.
“Godhead” opens the album with riotous passion and the declaration: “When I’m guaranteed defeat but I / keep trying one day I might reach it / and I know it won’t end like this.” On “Syd Sweeney,” we hear a furious ode critiquing the media machine in lines like, “She tried it all and climbs the ladder / acts her heart out, split in shatters / She connects to the youth and the girls in the water / All she amounts to is someone’s daughter.”
With “Touch & Go,” the band gives us a touching tune about broken relationships, with sentiments such as “Went to your room / After the party moved along / Took down a poster when I’m over it feels wrong when you / touch and go.” Rounding out the album, “Sunset Hymnal ends things with searing guitar work and painful memories: “I wonder what my family did / The pain is generations deep / This funeral’s just the latest.”
Tomorrow Comes Crashing feels big, but it’s also relatable.
The ultimate genius of Smut lies in the group’s ability to balance poignant lyrics with aggressive arrangements. The words are well-crafted, but they’re not dense or hidden in metaphors. The band wants to process their emotions, not wallow in them. To me, that is the mark of an outfit with a true future. They could be oblique and hide behind their big sound. Instead, they talk about their feelings openly while still making kickass music with teeth and heart.