All aux cords are equipped with an alarm system in order to warn users of my approach — or at least they would be, in an ideal world. Since it’s the exact opposite, welcome to my column. Here, you at least have the option to turn it off.
All the noise around the final season of Stranger Things (which, frankly, you should not be counting on me to watch) has brought something very dear to the middle schooler living within me back into focus: Finn Wolfhard’s first band, Calpurnia.
Both It (2017) and Stranger Things dominated the late 2010s tween culture by reinvigorating the coming-of-age story through the lens of pre-pubescent kids—an age group that had become under-utilized in cinema. Watching these at relatively the same age as those onscreen felt like a sort of beacon: no matter how young you are, you can do brilliant things. These characters had a complexity that I found most adolescent characters to be bereft of, an observation that lead me to consuming more media geared towards adults, especially in literature; Finn Wolfhard’s films in particular allowed me to find a sense of solace and freedom in my youth, bridging the intensity of heftier subject matter with the authenticity and purity of childhood zeal.
After developing an interest in these films, I discovered Finn’s first band, Calpurnia: a short-lived indie rock quartet formed by Wolfhard and three childhood friends. They exhibited perspicuous classic influences of The Beatles, Bob Dylan, and Fleetwood Mac, supplemented with a healthy dose of novelty and the teenage angst of emo-leaning groups like Weezer and Nirvana.
During my peak Calpurnia listening years—more accurately, a year before I got way too into The 1975—I was, like any other twelve-or-thirteen year old girl, utterly confused and invigorated by the slow formation of an identity-rooted conscience, both enamoured with and distraught by it all. It was the age when I began to lose childhood’s most quintessential quality: limitlessness, gradually eroded by the adoption of social constructs and behaviours. As the anxious, undiagnosed autist that I was, I always cared about these things, but never to a degree where it became terribly detrimental.
I began pursuing the ‘why’ behind absolutely everything, deconstructing every element of life as I knew it through the nubile lens I possessed at the time, then turning my conjectures inwards. Having the guidance of characters I could resonate with bridged many gaps that could not have been filled by perspectives that didn’t meet me where I was. That matters for children. Strong role models offer an introspective experience that’s frequently overlooked as a benefit to media. Media becomes so intrinsic to self-concept and one’s relationship to the world that periods of life—seasons of selfhood—function as encapsulations of feeling and experience, allowing you to revisit earlier versions of yourself through the media that once defined them.
Calpurnia released one EP and a few singles, most notably a Spotify Sessions cover of Weezer’s ‘Say It Ain’t So.‘ Scout arrived in 2018 with six tracks spanning a 23-minute runtime. Thematically, the EP orbits a feeling of liminality, frequently touching on loss through the raw, unadulterated lens of youth. Wolfhard and his bandmates were only teenagers when they made this record, which lends it a sense of artistic purity— and, crucially, eradicates the sour taste in the mouth evoked by nepotism babies and industry hopping profit goblins. Each song offers a different perspective on a similar situation—possibly the same situation—and when interpreted as the exploration of heartbreak and perseverance, is the unfolding of a story about growth. It’s a coming-of-age EP released by an actor coming-of-age while starring in coming-of-age films. What a strange, postmodern mouthful that was.Calpurnia’s strongest suit is, without a doubt, their instrumental prowess. Lead guitarist Ayla Tesler-Mabe really brought these songs to life; her sense of rhythm and tone is phenomenal. If nothing else, they guitar riffs are consistently interesting. Scout blends bluesy textures with lighter garage-rock essence, a lovely contrast and keeps things from stagnating. I appreciate the loose uniformity of the songs when taken as a set, as well. Albums leave room for a lot of sonic variety; EPs work best when they explore a single facet of a band’s sound without collapsing into sameness. While the lyrics occasionally falter, they never render the thing unlistenable—and considering Wolfhard’s age at the time, I can forgive the shortcomings.
‘Louie’ is one of the best tracks on the record. What makes it stand out is the clear dichotomy between the lyrical and instrumental tones. On one hand, it’s very 70s, with sliding, jangly guitar riffs oscillating throughout the track in varying intensities, drifting along in sync with the vocals as if being used as a method of punctuation. The mood reads as very bittersweet to me; especially during the subtle solo about a minute and a half way through, which adds to the purgatorial feelings I get from the song. Lyrically, it’s super simplistic, but that doesn’t negate the efficacy of the verses. The repetition of “I feel cold” feels lazy at first, but the more I listen to the song, the more I can appreciate it as a useful device for the feelings evoked by the piece. The usage of a physical sensation really hammers in the transitory period vibe—the acceptance of loss.
‘Greyhound’ makes me sad. But it’s good! This is another track that relies heavily on Tesler-Mabe’s guitar to fully breathe life into it. The way the instruments coalesce with the vocal melody is so beautifully harmonized, and this song, again, brings up that sense of liminality that I loved so much about Calpurnia when I was younger and honestly still do. It’s about going to a concert without the person you intended to go with—a small absence that feels enormous. It stings, but mostly just captures the lingering sadness of moving on, which I think is really what this EP is about: kids learning to deal with loss.
‘Blame’ is a breakup song with perhaps the most interesting musical progression on the EP. I love how this song speeds up gradually: one guitar mimics a horn, the drums carry the momentum, and the tonal shifts mirror the emotional arcs of the lyrics. Initially, the riffs are very lulling and droney, the energy upheld only percussively. As the song goes on, though, there is a marked shift in intensity, followed by a repetition and another change, which captures the feeling of processing an emotion and the subsequent growth of realization.
I don’t care for ‘Wasting Time,’ however. The lyrics are, quite frankly, annoying, and whatever Finn was attempting vocally falls very flat. Instrumentally, the song is alright, but the guitar solo feels rushed and unnecessary, à la ‘Island in the Sun.’ This track reads to me as filler: a vacant, one-dimensional portrayal of something that could have been expanded upon much further. Still, I respect the experimentation, and at least the bassline is great.
‘City Boy’ is the most upbeat track on the EP; a sappy unrequited love song with a catchy chorus and a comforting Beatlesque sound. There’s an element of the ‘in-between’ to their sound that is done really well, and it is most vividly apparent on City Boy. Something about it sounds so modern and then something else feels oddly aged and familiar—like new stories being told in old formats, stretching the boundaries and ultimately uniting both sides to create something fresh and digestible. The chord progression is especially pleasing, grounding the song’s sweetness without tipping into cloying nostalgia.
‘Waves’ is the most unique song relative to the rest of the EP. It’s slower, softer, and sees Wolfhard approach his vocals differently—higher-pitched, pushed further into the mix, layered with harmonies that feel almost spectral. As much as I adore the raspy singing voices that defined the brief indie rock revival of the 2010s, the shift away from that here comes as a pleasant surprise. The song feels very lo-fi, very soft, very soothing—sentimental, tragic, a quiet lament to surrender. Its longevity and the understated instrumental supplementations evoke the unnerved sensation that follows life’s seasonal volatility. The xylophone, in particular, is a very clever addition, cultivating subtle momentum throughout the song’s otherwise uninterrupted melodic trajectory.
Scout is a well-produced EP overall, and my only real complaint is that the vocals occasionally sit too quietly in the mix—though that could just as easily be due to a stylistic choice, or the quality of my speaker. Either way, I’m not docking points for it. There’s a clear vision here, and while this release was by no means groundbreaking, it doesn’t need to be. I am able to appreciate it for what it is contextually: four teenagers making music together. It captures the beauty of the mundane at a moment when those feelings are still raw and unnamed. As far as actors-turned-musicians go, Finn is pretty good. I give Calpurnia’s Scout a 5.5/10.