![]() Snõõper, which began during the first lockdown in 2020, was originally envisioned as a two-person project between Tramel and guitarist Connor Cummins. The band’s first long-player is sequenced like one of their live shows, broken into mini sets of songs that bleed into one another. There, you’ll find a mix of puppetry, 8-bit animation, dumbbells, whistles, and dadaist punk reminiscent of Quintron and Miss Pussycat. At their live shows, Snõõper encourage an audience of all ages. She clearly, and quite enviably, has retained the mischievous glee of childhood, suffusing the band’s music with an irrepressible energy, contagious enough to make even the most fed up parents dance along with the kids - both literally and in spirit. Perhaps it comes as no surprise then that Blair Tramel, the band’s lead, works as an early education teacher on the side. Flitting fast between garage rock, surf rock, alien synths, drum ‘n’ bass, field recordings, and samples lifted from a bodybuilding competition, the band’s ecstatic musical chops and nonsensical changes are like picking up a fuzzy snake, then a shiny purple ball, then a box of magnets, then a choo-choo train, and discarding them within seconds. ![]() Right from the get-go, with opener “Stretching” - a dusty 8-track recording of rubbery, wiggly basslines that stop and start with abandon - Snõõper’s debut is the sonic equivalent of a fidgety kid spilling toys from a toy box. With songs that explode like a nailbomb and travel at a breakneck speed while retaining the precision of a Formula 1 driver, Snõõper’s debut album Super Snõõper, out this Friday on Jack White’s Third Man Records, feels as extravagant and lawless as child’s play. When the world’s spinning too fast, outrun it. When the world’s feeling too stupid, outdumb it. of Snõõper, Nashville’s greatest new punk band: Don’t think about it, just do whatever makes you feel giddy. ![]() It’s a sentiment that perfectly matches the M.O. ![]() Collectively, we’ve had our fill of introspection, and in its absence we’ve rediscovered fun. Three years have passed since the first lockdown, and there’s never been a less appropriate time to be so self-serious. 2023 is the year for himboism, bimboism, escapism, and play - a year of Barbie, bad horror, and impersonal pop. ![]()
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