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Breaking out of Silicon Valley’s tech bro hellscape comes Oakland’s queer-fronted, twee, indie rockers Super Cassette. Their new album Continue? poses the question, “is life worth living?,” through the lens of electro indie-rock at its most danceable and celebratory. Primary songwriter Max Gerlock (they/them) employs the tried-and-true tactic of juxtaposing joyous pop arrangements against dark lyrics, tackling difficult subjects.
They’ve shared bills with No Party for Cao Dong and Scott Klopfenstein (Reel Big Fish), and have been added to Spotify editorial playlists like Indie Brandeu. Their 2020 single “Be Gay, Do Drugs, Hail Satan” went viral racking up over three million streams on Spotify alone, hundreds of TikTok videos, and over 2,400 upvotes on the prestigious r/listentothis subreddit.
Max and their brother and co-writer Nick Gerlock (he/him) embrace the theme of obsolete media and tech, including their namesake, the failed 1984 Japanese video game console The Super Cassette Vision.
While Continue? started as a collection of songs that Max produced themselves in their vine-infested garage, the album came to life through collaboration with producer and engineer Cole Williams (The Hails, Bobbing, Tobias Dray), who helped replace the album’s solitary overdubs with live performances from the rest of the band. They reworked the album for nearly a year, bouncing between Max’s Oakland home and Cole’s 8th Street Recording studio.
“Making this record was a real time journey through a depressive episode,” says Max. “I’m out of that now, but it was a frustrating and hopeless time. I was genuinely questioning everything. Should I continue to make art? Should I continue living at all? This story ends with a really positive message. Yes, I should continue living. Yes, I should continue doing music. I need to find that compassion in myself. There’s beauty in the world. This album confronts the idea, ‘to be or not to be.’ It’s Hamlet-core.”
Continue? opens with its title track, a guitar driven anthem with arcade-game synthesizers, asking whether modern life as an artist is even worth living. Max sings, “Insert a quarter / To sing your blues to the Windows voice recorder / A tree in a forest, falling on purpose / With no one there to hear.” It’s gentle lo-fi indie rock builds into a stadium-size pop-punk kaiju of rock. Its grandiose pop chorus contrasts with lyrics about triumphing over anxiety disorders and suicidal ideations. It’s ultimately a song about not just surviving, but making the conscious decision to thrive.
“Path Through the Past” gives us Vampire Weekend sized mega-hooks and uncanny, not-quite-electronic drums. This hybrid electro indie rock banger entices us with a pentatonic melody and satisfyingly long chord progressions, similar to the songwriting style of James Mercer of the Shins. Max’s defeatist lyrics about longing and confronting the choices we’ve made in our lives are bathed in cheerful melancholy. “Every path through the past reaches a dead end / My ex-girlfriend’s dog is probably dead / Every road through the snow leads to crooked bends / And no matter how fast you turn, you always crash in the end,” Max sings.
“When I was teaching computer science,” says Max, “I’d think about algorithms for finding paths. I’d think about my life and its branching paths. It all leads to this, or that, or death. I wrote this song while on a bike ride up to Grizzly Peak. I took an edible, was pedaling up the hill, then found myself missing my ex-girlfriend’s dog. I thought about how that dog probably isn’t around, and isn’t that how things go? The line, ‘When I see your face / All I can see is how you will age.’ There was a time in my life that whenever I looked at someone’s face, I’d imagine them old. Life is fleeting.”
Sonically, “Bones’ ” Mac Demarco, ear-bending tremolo guitar feels like it’s giving you a hug, even as Max sings, “I don’t wanna be alive / But I don’t wanna die / And there’s nothing I can do.” The driving dropped-D guitar and bass line of “Ember” leads us to explore the things that brought us joy in our childhood. The anti-capitalist “9 to 5” is about rejecting a lifestyle where you spend the majority of your time doing something you hate, and making time for the things you love. “Ulcer” comes across like an indie-rock anime theme song about stress, anxiety and sobriety. Leading into the 22-second “Interlude” that’ll end side-A of the vinyl with an endless loop.
The eat-the-rich anthem “Bastille Day” is a shining gem on the record that was written in a 24-hour songwriting contest. It rebels against the idea that money is power with a propulsive call for systemic change against the greed that makes this an ugly world. The silver-lining optimism of “Someday” is emphasized with Strokes-like jangle pop as Max sings about being kind and forgiving to yourself, especially when you make mistakes.
Max wrote “Ghost” after being visited in a dream by a friend who had recently passed away from an overdose. The dream pop first half has the delicate and floaty essence of Beach House, periodically exploding with the frustration and guilt that Max felt with the terrible situation. Max’s singing voice can be as bombastic and catchy as Billie Joe Armstong, or they can turn around and sound as delicate and gossamer as Thom Yorke. The tender verses and exploding choruses of the power ballad “Sliver” explore how to continue to find joy and self-compassion as one gets older.
The album ends with the one-two punch of “Island” into “Continent,” answering the “to be or not to be” question with unequivocal: “yes, but we don’t survive alone.” No person is an island. We’re communal animals who thrive when we support one another.
“Where I’m coming from / And where I’m going to are one / Both the island and / The continent will spend their time beneath the sun,” Max sings, and “A man’s not a point in a time but a line through his life,” was ironically written before they came out as non-binary.
The incredibly danceable “Island” comes at us with borderline EDM percussion, peaceful guitar licks and Max’s mellow and calming vocal delivery. It’s about continuity through one’s own life—your past self, present self, and future self all being the same person equally deserving of compassion.
“Continent,” on the other hand, is about continuity through others. It concludes the album with a positive message of defeating the misery and hopelessness of modern life with camaraderie and community. It’s a reaction to the idea that we’re lonelier than ever. We’re completely obsessed with ourselves, while at the same time hating ourselves more than ever. All this is exacerbated by the unrealistic expectations presented in social media feeds, particularly to younger generations. “Island” is a call for compassion, for yourself as much as for others.
It was recorded live with everyone in a room, mirroring the song’s thesis of the importance of fellowship. You can hear the room sound, the slightly out-of-tune piano, the folk-rock joy of playing music with your friends and family. Max’s question of should their life “continue” was once answered by a few wise sages who sang, “I get by with a little help from my friends.”
“The death of any human is a tragedy because we’re one big mass, a continent,” says Max. “ ‘Island’ is about the continuity of your past, present and future self. ‘Continent’ is about the continuity of you among others. Camaraderie, even among strangers, is important.”
Max and Nick began playing music together as children in semi-rural San Diego. Max on alto saxophone and Nick on piano. Max continued playing sax in their high school jazz band, but focused on learning guitar and drums to better follow in the footsteps of their indie-rock inspirations, and because they “didn’t want to be a nerd.” It worked. Max felt the prestige and attention that every teenage rocker wants. Folks actually listened to them sing and play guitar.
A burgeoning hacker-in-training, Max used pirated plugins and learned to write through recording with programs like Audacity and Reaper. They spent a few years at community college, but by this point all of their friends, bandmates and collaborators had moved away. Max was accepted to the University of California, Berkeley, where they (despite their love for poetry and writing) earned a degree in electrical engineering and computer science. They quickly found a computer job where the glowing screen slowly sucked the life out of them.
Burning out from the coding grind, Max returned to their first love and started a solo music project called Maximilian. But because they didn’t want to be pigeonholed as a solo project (and because a cease-and-desist letter forced them to change their name), Maximillian promptly changed their name to Super Cassette.
Shortly after their first show, they released the singles “Colorblind” b/w “Sober” (2016). “Sober” took off on Latin American YouTube, and particularly in Mexico City. It was featured on a Japanese podcast, and even high schoolers were covering it for battle of the bands.
“‘Sober’ was the early era,” says Max, “back when it was just me in my room. I had Nick and Devin play on it. Just simple four-piece rock arrangements. I constantly have a complex where I feel the need to complicate arrangements by adding textural elements or breaking chords apart. I could just strum Green Day songs. But with recording, I want to elevate it above a live experience. Set a scene in a world. We’ve struck a good balance with that on this new record.”
Cathode Ray Tube (2017) continued their love of obsolete tech and ephemera, and moved into a more collaborative band experience, rather than Max writing alone. “We toured the most during the Cathode Ray Tube era. After that, I’ve cynically released singles to feed the hungry beast that is Spotify.”
Max was shocked by the degree that “Be Gay, Do Drugs, Hail Satan” (2020) resonated with people during the isolated mayhem of the Covid pandemic. Its blatant honesty reminds us to be true to ourselves and that it’s okay to be different. Its ridiculously over-the-top lyrics and positive message of freedom gave Super Cassette an unexpected community of similarly-minded fans.
“I have to be grateful,” says Max “I’m happy how that song connected to people. More people are coming out to shows. It’s easier to connect with people who care, and we’re able to build relationships and a community. I feel a lot of hope moving forward. Our Twitch and Discord are very active which allows me to have sincere interactions with fans.”
Making Continue? was a life-affirming journey for Max. They got through it with the help of their brother and bandmates. Super Cassette is already planning tours for late 2023 and into 2024. More music is certainly on the horizon as they continue to write and record with Williams.
“More than anything, I want to connect with our online audience in real life,” says Max. “Shows. Meeting people. I hope that I continue to connect with our current audience, younger and queer folks. Queer people do struggle with mental health more often. We’re sensitive people. Sensitive people make things. I used to be ashamed to write hooky music, but now I want to write things that people can sing along to, while still having interesting harmonies, cool textures—things that give the music replay value. I want my music to connect with people in a meaningful way.”
“Oakland, California’s Super Cassette mix throwback splashes of early 90s indie rock with those of the early 2000s garage rock revival.” – Music Existence
