The Milwaukee music scene is a kaleidoscope of art that encompasses the entirety of this city. That’s the kind of diversity you can expect from DIY — a cultural phenomenon that applies to more than at-home crafts. It’s also intrinsic to the very survival of local musicians, regardless of the city.
But survival requires evolution, and not the gradual Darwinian kind. Scenes like Milwaukee’s shift on the regular, due in part to the ways in which the people within it care for each other. Bands and their individual members intersect, adding twang or scuzz or both to their sonic thumbprint.
Then there are the bigger changes — genres exploding from the bellows of an acoustic guitar or the wires of an amp head. And if you’ve been paying attention to the scene recently, you might be asking the same question I did:
Are we in a new era of Milwaukee music?
From studio to stage
The evolution within a local scene typically pushes the boundaries of people's lives rather than necessarily creating a new sound. Then there are the true innovations that start in the studio and practically burst from a new record, like the recently released EP from Milwaukee’s in shining armour.
The five-track spirit hound from the duo of Seth Kaplan and Aidan Hoppens has embedded in it a level of professionalism that can only be found through constant trial and error. With some Rocky Mountain production help from Corey Coffman of Colorado alt outfit Gleemer and Deep Down Studio in Fort Collins, the record redefines the band’s potential, layering dozens of bells and whistles that would be difficult for a two-piece to recreate on stage.
Somehow, though, the experience of actively listening to the music creates a new perspective, whether you’re pressing play on the EP or going to one of in shining armour’s live shows.
Does that mean being a part of this proposed new era of Milwaukee music coming out of basements and bars requires a trip to Colorado? In the eyes of Kaplan and Hoppens, the answer is complicated.
“There is a similar set of influences coming from ’90s emo bands to the current scene,” Hoppens remarked from the band’s warehouse studio. “The ethics of the scenes back then are influential with a lot of people in this scene, moving past the content-ification of art.”
Music comes first
They’re trying to leave behind what’s become the standard blueprint for jumpstarting a successful career: pump out viral social-media posts.
An assembly line exists in the digital world that tries to maximize the potential for a short reel to get sucked into the algorithm. There are thousands of 20-second videos of an artist lip-syncing to what they deem is the catchiest part of their newest song, hoping it becomes a hit. It’s a tactic that works for some, but it’s a one-in-a-million chance.
Obviously, there’s nothing wrong with an artist trying to make money off their vision. The trap is sprung, however, when they start creating with the algorithm in mind and thus fundamentally change the spirit of their art.
Artistic integrity and the music business rarely go well together, so artists actively rejecting the power of social media to focus on just making good music is a strong sign of authenticity.
“We’ve talked to other bands about the double-edged sword of having an online presence,” Kaplan said, “and it feels like bands are taking it less seriously because there are so many artists making fun of themselves through their content. I feel like a lot of bands we look up to don't take themselves seriously, but they take their music seriously, and that resonates a lot with us.”
For in shining armour and other bands around them, the music comes first.
Evidence of this is all around the city, and you don’t need to look that hard to find it. The DIY ethos and resulting collaborations are why most stoplights in Milwaukee are full of show flyers. It’s an actual, physical community not hidden behind screens, and it’s serving as the topsoil for local bands to take root and blossom.
Tending the garden
So maybe there isn’t a musical trend changing the Milwaukee sound, but rather an ideological one — a push to help each other become better artists and in turn curate a community based on art instead of algorithms.
In essence, it’s the orbit of people surrounding the scene that creates that collective shove to improve. It’s not that bands like in shining armour are the sun giving life to the scene; they’re more like individual drops of rain watering the garden.
That metaphorical garden has an actual name: Pierhead, an artist collective started earlier this year that consists of dozens of bands and individuals pooling their resources to create art.
The initiative sprung from the simple fact that running a band can get expensive fast. Studio time, merch, production — it all requires a lot of energy and money. Alternatively, it requires a curated list of individuals who can make cassettes, shirts and zines, or who know production tools like Logic Pro like the back of their hand. And if the work is pro bono? Even better.
“It’s less of a record label and more so a function for helping people make tapes, art, merch or help people record music and distribute it,” explained Henry Hopton, co-founder of Pierhead and guitarist of Milwaukee-based band Forktail.
His fellow founder Max Juedes, drummer for Frantic Repair, likens the collective to Numero Group, an archival record collective that showcases underground music via compilation mixes.
“A band isn’t going to sign on to Pierhead for a four-album record deal,” Juedes noted. “Instead it’s a platform that can benefit everyone. It’s kind of a rip-off from what old emo bands were doing like Eldritch Anisette or BoySetsFire.”
All for one, one for all
Pierhead’s mantra is built on altruism, which immediately sets it apart from your standard music industry record label that signs bands they believe will make them a profit. They provide the necessary resources to make a record so the artist can then sell out a national tour. In an ideal scenario, the artist makes enough money to pay back the label and take some home.
For Pierhead, money isn’t even a factor.
“Let’s say [Pierhead band] Human Ant Farm goes on tour with Camping In Alaska out in California,” Juedes said. “Somebody who sees them for the first time at a show can look at their bio, see Pierhead and then see a list of bands they’re affiliated with.”
Notoriety for one means notoriety for all. Everyone benefits from each other's success, which means everyone pushes each other to succeed. The strategy isn’t to build up one band with the hopes of them going viral, but to instead share resources to build up as many bands as possible to thrive in localized scenes. The buy-in is simply showing up and helping out however you can.
Artists have been providing mutual assistance forever. That’s the easy part. What’s difficult is building an entire ecosystem to reward that passion for helping each other. Pierhead is building it because the people behind the collective saw the potential in having those support systems in place.
It’s more than music, too.
“As a photographer, my goal is to capture moments that represent our scene and understand how that can impact the generations after us,” said Nati Rodriguez, a visual artist deeply embedded in the music scene who represents the synthesis of art within Pierhead.
Each individual in the collective brings a unique skill set that meets a need within the music business. After all, shirts, show flyers and album covers have to come from somewhere.
Their ability to produce high-quality promotional work alongside merch demonstrates the necessity of collaboration within DIY music, which typically requires a musician to wear a lot of hats. With the Pierhead approach, spreading the work it takes to pursue a project exponentially grows that project's potential.
A launching pad
There’s this idea that music made on the cheap has to sound cheap. But that’s not the case. It comes down to the quality of the individuals involved with a project and their willingness to push limits. That’s how you end up with a great record like in shining armour’s spirit hound and the next great record from … whomever.
“If somebody wanted to start their own band,” Hopton said, “they could reach out to someone in Pierhead and practice in an hour.”
Pre-existing relationships and dynamics can be tough to break into, but the collective provides a social safety net anyone can tumble into.
“Back in the earlier days of Frantic Repair when this wasn’t a thing, we’d go to shows, play and then leave. It got very isolating,” Juedes recalled. “Pierhead is rebelling against that to create a community where everyone can feel welcome.”
What’s new in the city’s music scene isn’t a sound, but rather a perspective. Sure, this batch of Milwaukee artists could bet on becoming the next big thing. But they’d rather bet on each other.