Stickers

Photos by Frank Correa: one, two, three

Stickers write songs that will prick you bloody then stick in your head. The dissonant four-piece is empathy punk, communicating the space between anguish and ecstasy in a no wave expansion of elegant darkness. Stickers protect the world from the dangers of their overactive imaginations by rocking out with the martyrdom of motherly love, the terror of the soon-to-be-murderer, and shapeshifting potential of the orgasm, all to the whipping rhythm of schoolyard double dutch. It’s fucking intense.

Gabi Page-Fort’s vocals are an arching, flexing megaphone of object lesson and horror story, a raw outcry straight from the earth channeled through her insides to disperse our universal demons. Her saxophone doodles and skronks out where her vocal range cracks out, soaring straight from the balls. Emily Denton’s pummeling, shoulder-shifting drum-boom grounds the sound and frames the visual, creating a deep pocket with Troy Ayala’s ripping bass ditties, embellished with a broad range of where’s-the-keyboard effections. (While they were three, Troy’s pedals lived on skateboard pedal board and Stickers self-released the Thanksgiving 7” and Buy My Nightmares EP.) The Fourth Sticker, alias Cobra, aka Colin Sticker — also of Haunted Horses — brought an encyclopedic breadth of guitar harmony and compositional excellence to balance the zeal of self-taught Stickers. With their gnar pyramid of post-care stabilized and spit-shined, they settled in to record their first full-length.

Swollen is an epic journey from the hospital bed to the Jersey Shore, around the sun and back to the Northwest, where you’ll soon see the beauty in your own shit and enjoy the wiggle of your inner human swan. The rocket ride finds emotional peaks with the sacrifice of Sacajawea, the true romance of Ryan Gosling, and the cathartic rage of sweet dreams so lovingly commanded you’ll stay up all night to play them on repeat. Howling, swaying, heaving, and thrusting, Stickers sift through the debris of the storm, simultaneously reverberating in your earlobes and psyche.

Stretch open your heart and let Stickers bang it swollen.

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Releases: Swollen LP

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“Gabi Page-Fort and the gang take you as their captive, leaving you bruised up, blown up, broken down, and still smiling.” — IMPOSE

“[Stickers’] rhythm has the same proto-industrial grind as early Throbbing Gristle, chewed through by furious, feral guitars.” — Wondering Sound

Swollen is exactly as righteous as you’d expect.” — The Stranger

“An art-damaged mess of deep, distorted bass lines, sung-spoken diss lyrics, minimalist punk percussion, and saxophone hiccups.” — Portland Mercury

“Gabi Page-Fort commands [“Outlet”]’s blast-off into galaxies and into existence’s outer edges and crevices.” — IMPOSE

“Remember that late-’70s no-wave band Teenage Jesus and the Jerks? Lydia Lunch with saxophonist James Chance? Stickers very much remind me of all that sonic chaos—except Stickers’ lead singer, Gabi, has a waaay better punk-rock-whiskey-soaked-voice than Lydia Lunch does.” — The Stranger

Features: The Stranger | Gimme Tinnitus | Seattle Weekly | Impose

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