The Pittsburgh rock quartet’s newly reissued debut is a relentless, intentionally chaotic document of twentysomething existential dread.
If “I Wanna Be Your Dog” encapsulated Iggy Pop’s fleeting, acquiescent lust, then singer-bassist Lydia Slocum and guitarist-producer Sebastian Kinsler take the trope of romantic possession to full surrender. On “Dog Song (Wet Jeans),” originally released in April 2021, the future Feeble Little Horse bandmates admit defeat in an imbalanced relationship: “I get sick with every touch/Spill it out, I’ll lick it up/I just let you piss on me/Lifted your leg, I was your tree,” Slocum murmurs over a tinny beat and twisted guitar riffs. It’s messy, unexpected, and hypnotic—an early indicator of the group’s bizarre noise-pop appeal, revisited as a bonus track on Saddle Creek’s new reissue of the Pittsburgh quartet’s debut, Hayday.
Feeble Little Horse first released Hayday in October 2021, just months after the current iteration of the band materialized. After Kinsler, guitarist Ryan Walchonski, and drummer Jake Kelley invited Slocum to add vocals to their gnarled mixes, an album swiftly took shape, galvanized by Slocum’s frustration with a recent breakup. Within 24 hours of their first proper writing session, they’d already outlined nearly half of the record. Devised from the band members’ shared love of Alex G, dream-pop experimentalists Sweet Trip, and loud as hell local guitar bands, Hayday is a relentless, intentionally chaotic document of twentysomething existential dread.
One of the first songs Feeble Little Horse wrote together was the album’s centerpiece, “Chores,” where Slocum bemoans a partner’s domestic shortcomings by way of rousing, discordant riffs. “Don’t you know manners, big boy?” she asks with a jeering lilt, dissing his fashion sense and his habit of looting her leftovers. While “Dog Song” illustrated Slocum’s self-effacing side, moments like “Chores”—delivered deadpan, with a snarky laugh—set her back up on two feet.
The peculiarities of Feeble Little Horse’s music tend to draw focus, but their lyrics are often just as perturbing and wry: On “Kennedy,” they channel the song’s grisly namesake curse as Slocum recounts a picnic ravaged by ants and envisions peeling off her skin layer by layer. Walchonski and Kinsler’s distorted chords lend a sense of unease to “Drama Queen,” where Slocum flirts with the idea of settling a dispute with a brawl: “Take a little hit, it’s alright/We could use a heavy fist fight,” she sings, as if through a villainous grin. Some of her most vivid imagery comes packaged in the deceptively saccharine melody of “Termites,” where she likens heartbreak to watching the world rot. Insects are swarming across her body, she can hardly eat without vomiting, and—worst of all—words of affirmation have lost their meaning: “I suck on old compliments to see if there’s still a taste/‘You could have anyone’—you were lying to my face!”
Despite all Hayday’s oddities, Feeble Little Horse understand their limits. “The goal is always to make these songs as weird as we can without destroying what makes them cool,” Kinsler has said, and the band roots that balance in melodic pop structures and an unflinchingly sardonic perspective. On the sweeping “Tricks,” Slocum evokes the anxiety of navigating a pool party and arrives at a hopeful personal revelation: “You are too cool to take a swim/But I look so dumb I already jumped in,” she coos. It’s not self-criticism—it’s that she finally feels secure enough to take the plunge.
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