On lead single “Myself in the Way,” Brendan Yates of Turnstile provides vocals. We don’t know when we’re going to be able to go on tour.’”įor the first time, a Turnover record welcomes outside collaborators into the fold. We don’t really know when we’re going to be able to go in and record. “We didn’t have a timeline, because we were like, ‘Well shit, man, there’s no end in sight. “I think we were all a little bit less fully consumed with the band, almost by necessity, but I think we were happy for that opportunity and embraced it,” Getz says. After years touring with pop-punk and post-hardcore acts like Have Mercy and New Found Glory, Myself in the Way is an electronic disco record, which feels like an unfathomable destination on a trip that began with blistering 2010s alt-rock riffs.Īfter consistently churning out an LP every two years, Turnover took extra time for themselves and put their own personal lives into focus before making their fifth record. They’re making records about the fears of not being meaningful partners and providing for your loved ones, no longer hiding behind the tropes of universal sadness. It’s the holy text of danceable melancholy, arriving like a deluge only for Turnover to harness it into a heart-stopping aesthetic. Now, seven years later, Turnover are releasing Myself in the Way-a continuation of the sonic blueprint they’ve harvested as their own, a full adoption of how the foundations of pop music run like electrical currents through the wires of emo lyricism. It felt really natural, and it felt like something we hadn’t felt in a while.” “We were just writing and having a good time. I can’t believe the effect it’s had on people.” “It was definitely a huge surprise, and I’m still surprised seven years down the line. “I was just like, ‘Holy shit, what is happening?’” Getz recalls. But when Turnover embarked on a European tour in the fall of 2015, every show was sold out and the crowds embraced the new material with a warmth the band had never experienced before, as if in only a few short months the songs had changed-or even saved-their lives somehow. The initial reaction to the record wasn’t imminent, as internet culture had not yet parlayed into the instant gratification machine it’s now become on record release cycles. “, ‘It’s a coin toss: People might hate it, people might love it, but it’s fun for us to play, so we’re gonna do it,’” Getz says. There was hesitation involved, worries that the transition might not stick the landing among their audiences. It wasn’t a deliberate detour from the heaviness of their 2013 debut Magnolia, but rather Getz, his brother Casey, and Danny Dempsey harnessing their interests and making music that sounded like what they were stoked about as a collective. Peripheral Vision became a modern classic that still doesn’t fit into a singular box. ![]() We were at the tail end of making alternative rock and none of us were feeling super inspired by it anymore.” ![]() It was college time, and everyone was going in different directions. ![]() ![]() “Both of our previous guitarists had just left the band. “It was such a tumultuous time,” lead vocalist and guitarist Austin Getz tells me of how the future of Turnover was flirting with the uncertain in those years. The album saw the Virginia Beach quartet take the schematics of their emo lyrics and translate them into an ethereal, dream-pop architecture. If you’ve ever fallen down a rabbit hole of emo or indie rock content creators on TikTok, you probably have a For You page that every so often brandishes a video praising Turnover’s 2015 breakout record Peripheral Vision.
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