Phonetics On and On

Ah, Horsegirl, bless 'em. They were just kids—barely out of high school—when they set about recording *Versions of Modern Performance*, a debut LP that hit like a slap in the face. A glorious mishmash of ’90s indie rock, as raw and untamed as they come, crafted to sound as though they’d just stepped offstage, sweat still glistening. The kind of record that made you want to throw yourself around a room, loud and unrelenting. But that was just the beginning. Fast-forward, and this scrappy Chicago trio—Nora Cheng, Penelope Lowenstein, Gigi Reece—find themselves in the throes of transition, not just geographically but emotionally, as they became a New York trio, leaving behind their teenage selves in pursuit of something altogether deeper.

Their sophomore effort, *Phonetics On and On*, was no longer about how loud and fast they could play. No, this one was personal. This was their coming-of-age moment, the kind that arrives when you’re finally out on your own, figuring out who you are in the city that never stops. Lowenstein and Cheng had just started their first year at NYU when they began writing the album, and as Lowenstein herself says, there’s a kind of loneliness in moving, in being uprooted—something they all felt. But it wasn’t just that—the move, the tour, the making of a band—what it brought was something close to family. A bond, an intensity, something that goes beyond friendship, wrapped up in a sound both intimate and unsettling.

That feeling, that intensity, made its way into the minimalist pop of *Phonetics On and On*, an album that feels like a snapshot of a moment in time, captured with the steady hand of Cate Le Bon, who lent her own delicate touch in the production chair at Wilco’s *The Loft*. Gone were the jagged edges of Sonic Youth and This Heat, replaced by a newfound love for the directness of Al Green and The Velvet Underground. They realised that vulnerability didn’t mean weakness—far from it. It meant embracing your truth, but never at the expense of your sense of humour or play. Lowenstein, in particular, discovered the magic of *Loaded*, that sweet spot where emotional songs met accessibility. Songs that made you feel something familiar, something that spoke to your own life. It was a revelation for her. What if, as a songwriter, she could reflect on her own experiences—really dig into what it meant to be alive, in all its confusion and clarity? It wasn’t about power anymore. It was about honesty. And so they leapt.

That, my friends, is Horsegirl. Not just a band. A moment. A revelation.