If not for Scary Stories To Tell in the Dark—Alvin Schwartz’s infamous anthology series of folk stories that have haunted grade school book fairs for decades—The Garden as we know them might not exist. Ever since twin brothers Fletcher and Wyatt Shears began releasing their brand of sun-bleached, goofball punk rock in the early 2010s, they’ve cited the book’s influence on their work with Biblical reverence and referenced its nightmare-inducing illustrations in the cover art of side projects. The true parallel, however, is structural: Where Schwartz’s writing was succinct and vernacular, so too is the twins’ output across The Garden’s six studio albums and various EPs (and sprawling network of alter egos).
In recent years, the typical Shears song has cloaked descriptions of paranormal encounters in hardcore distortion and cartoon sound effects, fleshing out the twins’ strange world while hinting at weirder mysteries beneath the surface. Bootleg, their latest release, is the most stylistically diverse entry in their catalog; it’s also the first to fully realize their attempts at creating their own compendium of folklore. Bouncing from slobbery hardcore to breakbeat-infused rap-rock, each cut feels like an entry in a monster-of-the-week narrative à la The X Files or the early seasons of the twins’ beloved Yu Yu Hakusho.
Bootleg’s production deepens the sense of mystery, cranking the reverb and scuffing the surfaces. In opposition to the punchy, in-your-face timbre of their prior releases, the new record sounds like it’s coming from a venue’s PA system, replicating dusty theatre acoustics and imbuing the music with a looser, roomier feel. They take advantage of this spaciousness to pursue bigger melodies, the kind you’re more likely to find in their work as Enjoy or Puzzle. Chiming post-punk leads lift the twins’ hooks to new heights on the opening one-two punch of “Ugly” and “Pin Drop,” projecting color into what would otherwise be a monochrome dustup of bass and percussion. Even the experiments in junglism and club music, which have been a staple of Garden albums since 2015’s haha, are more vivid, with Badalamenti-esque chords and canned haunted-house organ patches undergirding the breakbeats. It’s all saturated with juicy echo that mirrors Scary Stories’ dripping, ink-splattered effects: The music’s pop at its core, but there’s a constant unease that’ll keep you looking out for booby traps and trick doors.
The samples scattered throughout the album, borrowed from ghost-hunting TV programs and direct quotes from Schwartz’s audiobooks, heighten this tension. Images of shape-shifting witches and cursed doors blur the lines between reality and the twins’ childlike imagination. On the title track, the twins describe these flights of fancy with the escapist romance of a road novelist: “Always wonder what’s out there/I’d like to get me a piece,” they sing, pining for “empty towns” and shadowy figures “peeking out from behind the tree.”
Many of these tracks depict their narrators driving around the American Southwest until they stumble on cryptid corpses or possessed dolls, but these jumpscares are surrounded by more personal sentiments—frustration, anger, despair—that seem to reflect the struggle of making a living as an artist. “I am one of the creators, but I’m also a culprit,” Wyatt sings over the cute, canned keyboard riffs on “Banned from Paradise,” “Is it even worth saving?” On “Ugly,” they direct their rage at those who’ve “squeezed the fun out of it all”; on “White Cadillac,” they “don’t care about your self esteem/Your prestige.” In these songs, paranormal encounters are less scary to The Garden than the machinations of an industry that allows them to create but threatens their individualism.
Ironically, with songs that may well be about creative frustration, The Garden have produced their most focused and impassioned work yet. Squealing thrashfests like “Duck and Cover” and “Down Doggy,” which evoke the rabid art-punk of classic SST acts like Meat Puppets and Minutemen, have real stakes, as if the band’s waging a tactical defense of their individuality. It seems fitting that The Garden have been pictured lately without the signature clown makeup that had been a major part of their brand for a decade. They finally feel like the true heroes of their horror stories, not just comic relief.
