This album has been over 30 years in the making. Well, not literally, at least I assume – this stuff was probably written within the last few years like most, if the trail of singles and an appetizer EP leading up to this moment are any indication. What I mean is we don’t get to Minnow by Tonguecutter without first going through Hole, DRI, maybe a little Soundgarden and Cave In, definitely a bit of Kathleen Hanna and Bikini Kill.
From the first couple tracks of the album, you can feel the soul within it. This is the kind of shit you only get after basking in dense musical influences for decades starting at your most impressionable age, stewing on complex emotions while hearing tons of artists bare theirs on records, then living your own life and discovering what’s important to you. The reality tracks – singer and guitarist Chantal Roeske was in bands as a teen while I was just five years old, nary a thought in my head as to what a riff was… or taxes. I may have been a ’90s kid, but Roeske was a ’90s teen, forming her own way through life in whatever capacities she could or chose to.
As such, Minnow smacks of all that influence at different times, but the collective piece isn’t just past bands and genres at their peaks grafted together like some flannel-wearing monster made by Dr. Frankengrunge, yarling to anyone in earshot. There’s such a sweet identity to it, punk to the bone and defiant, yet still sitting cleanly on the rails to be ridden by anyone looking to be taken somewhere. It’s flanked by other, more contemporary elements like the groovy Whores.-esque stoner rock in the title track that ends up making it the best, most catchy song on the album. The transition from Roeske’s powerful singing of the second verse to the main melody of the song being played on the guitars in what sounds like bolded font is A1. Bassist Addison Eilers really helps fill in space and support with tactile low end that rattles the floor, and drummer Cam Polidan is out here playing lightspeed whack-a-mole with awesome staccato fills and accents that pack fun into the song.
As songs pass the baton to one another, you start to realize that Tonguecutter may have superhuman levels of ADHD – they never settle for long into one sound or type, staying as diverse as rock has proven to be over the decades without losing sight of who and what they are, artistically or personally. Single “Dust Collector” is a lovely ode to a neighbor of young Roeske named Mary Beth who kept an empathetic eye on her, dulling out lifehacks and advice, and being a unique personality among unique personalities. That’s something I feel resonates so well with working class folks who grew up in communal neighborhoods that looked after each other, even if it meant enabling some people’s more rambunctious and wild tendencies. I love the flutes in the track – makes Mary Beth feel whimsical, like a fairy godmother who comes and goes via a cloud of Marlboro Red cigs.
Shuffling Minnow around further like a deck of cards makes you believe less and less that it’s a debut album as well. Everything just feels so worn in and deliberate, like Tonguecutter sell the most stylish distressed denim jeans that fit perfectly – economic too! This fucker’s just a hair over a half-hour long and the sheer variance on display is dizzying. “Tupperware Party” (remember those? Probably not) is a boiling calm cascading over into a raucous grunge malaise, sticky and dark. “Do You Play Leads” practically trips over itself in its devotion to riot grrrl explosiveness with extra splashy drums on the chorus, a descending bassline for the verses, and vocals that soar well above it all. The vocals are weighted differently in “Antipode” which brought me back to James Hart in Eighteen Visions or Something Is Waiting and their frontman Eddie Gobbo with his unique cadence until I realized, oh, that is Gobbo on the track. Good to see my intuition isn’t totally fried yet.
In many ways, Minnow feels like an album written for Roeske’s younger self, or maybe just the current youth looking for the type of guiding light that she found and held close growing up, a heart-on-sleeve monolith of rock that feels like a reflection on almost 40 years of musical history without coming off like a dry-ass, sauceless podcast on the subject or trite trip through nostalgia’s dank sewer pipes. It’s clear this trio is very learned, not so much in the academic sense (though I’m sure that too), but in the MTV sense, where an encyclopedic knowledge in this context is more about capturing various vibes and moods at will than recalling the name of Alice In Chains‘ second EP on command (it was Sap released in 1992, all right?).
Can you feel it? That’s that soul I was talking about earlier. Tonguecutter build their walls high not to exclude people, but drape a Saran Wrap-like protective coat over all they adore and love. Among chants of bodily autonomy, lamenting the loss of environmental security, and more, you start to get a keen sense of the kind of people that make up this Michigan group. Minnow is the wood paneling in your childhood home. It’s the smell of cat piss when you went outside to play as a kid. It’s reruns of Roseanne soundtracking your family dinner through your old CRT TV. Fuck it, it’s also your first kiss somehow. For something to so expertly call back to memories and the past without getting lost in itself is praiseworthy alone – stack fierce and emblematic writing and performances on top of it and you have an album representing the best 2025 has to offer.
Band photo by Vickie Stark
