Matt Korvette has only been to Big Gay Ice Cream in South Philadelphia once before. It’s 8 p.m. the evening after Valentine’s Day and the only patrons appear to be couples. Lady Gaga plays loudly when he enters the room. Korvette’s dressed in all black—an amusing juxtaposition against the shop’s rainbow interior. The entire scene couldn’t be further from anything his sludge punk outfit Pissed Jeans serve to represent—perhaps with the exception of the sadistic humor in eating ice cream when it’s below freezing outside. A few hours ago Korvette was working the same job he’s had for over a decade, handling workers’ comp insurance claims. It’s a surprising gig for the Pissed Jeans frontman whose band has always been vocal about the pitfalls of office life. “It’s like a purgatory of college degrees,” he says of his corporate days, placing a small spoon into a chocolate cone. “Working in an office is the worst shit.”
Pissed Jeans’ primary shtick has been to scream about mundanity, creating drama out of the ordinary for the sake of not dying from boredom. On their last album, 2013’s Honeys, Korvette sang about the death of an imaginary coworker in “Cafeteria Food”: “People walking around looking sorry. Someone’ll even cry. I’ll be rosy ‘cause you’re dead. You died.” It’s emblematic of the dystopic punk that has made Pissed Jeans successful: bleak as hell, and funny.
For a while, Korvette kept his musical aspirations hidden from his colleagues—no one wants to be the guy at work who brags about his band, or the guy whose successful band’s repertoire consists of songs about finding joy in his coworkers’ demise. He now works from home, though office environments have always been a place for Korvette to unpack humdrum truths in partial anonymity. In the past, Pissed Jeans have treated that invisibility with an introspective tone. On their latest album, their fifth full-length, Why Love Now, it’s more of an outward observation that settles on a critique of manhood, of understanding certain privileges that have made even the most soul-sucking situations for them, a band of white cis straight men, less soul-sucky.
That feeling resonates most on the record’s first single, “The Bar Is Low.” In the video, Pissed Jeans work out in a gym, quite literally aspiring to some sort of bar, a male ideal of fitness. They’re wholly unsuccessful and wind up mocking the situation along the way. It’s not so much that they fail, but that their system was flawed in the first place. The song’s inspiration is even darker. “That’s from finding out every other week, some celebrity or local scene guy: ‘Oh yeah, he drugged a few girls’ or ‘He dropped date rape drugs in people’s drinks’ or ‘He’s been harassing his girlfriend for three years,’” Korvette says. “It’s always this disappointment.”
Pissed Jeans’ want for male enlightenment—a certain sensitivity to victims of shitty dude behavior along with the acknowledgment of their own faults within it—is not new. On Honeys, in “Male Gaze,” Korvette considered himself to be one of the men he’s criticizing: “It’s just the male gaze, it’s in me, I know it / I feel it all around me, I wish I could destroy it / Yeah it’s the male gaze, I’ve had it forever / And I know I’m no angel, but I’m trying to kill it.” On Why Love Now, he’s not immune the socio-behavioral expectations of maleness, but he—and his band—are trying to be better. Korvette says simply, “I want to have my woke-ness and eat it too.”
The Pissed Jeans story starts more than a decade ago, but the band’s members have known each other twice that long. Most of them—Korvette, guitarist Bradley Fry, bassist Randy Huth—met at Nazareth High School in Allentown, Pennsylvania. Fry and Huth have known each other since they were four years old. “Myself, Matt and Randy have essentially been playing in a band together for 22 years,” Fry explains. “I did not like Matt at first. I thought he was an asshole. He just moved to town. ‘Who is this nerd?’ I thought”
“‘Nerd?’ Strike that from the record,” Korvette interjects.
The trio met drummer Sean McGuinness a year after their original percussionist moved to North Carolina, right after the band recorded their debut LP Shallow. “I was in a record store on South Street called Space Boy.” McGuinness recalls. “Someone said something about Pissed Jeans: ‘Oh, they need a new drummer!’ I was like, ‘That should be me!’ I emailed Matt saying, ‘Hey, just looking to get in touch with [his other band] Air Conditioning to see if they need a drummer,’ thinking maybe he’ll put it together. Matt was like, ‘Yeah, here’s their email. Also, actually, Pissed Jeans needs a drummer.’ The way I remember it, the first time I played with these guys in Allentown, PA, I remember instantly feeling like, ‘This is totally going to work. This feels like how it should be.’”
“The original drummer of Pissed Jeans moved back like a year later and was like, ‘Oh, you guys are on Sub Pop now?’” Korvette jokes. “Here’s the thing: he missed out on us signing to Sub Pop and now we’re totally rich,” Huth adds.
The members of Pissed Jeans like to talk about Sub Pop, their home label. It’s partially because of the innocence of how their signing came to be—a story left untarnished by feelings of selling out. “I think people were impressed because in my scene of friends, no one would sign us,” Korvette explains. “I would’ve never dreamed of it. We didn’t submit a press thing to Sub Pop, we didn’t do it to any label. The guy that signed us, [Andy Kotowicz] sadly died in like a tragic car accident six years ago. He heard us on [New Jersey radio station] WFMU and looked into it.”
A few months later the band, which the New York Times once referred to as possessing a name “that lies just outside of what’s printable,” became labelmates with Sleater-Kinney and The Shins, the very same record company that launched the careers of Nirvana and PJ-faves Mudhoney. “Sub Pop will never be ‘flavor of the month-y’ in who they sign,” Korvette assures.
I want to have my woke-ness and eat it too.
The discovery of acts that exist beyond what’s buzzy in a given moment is a pursuit Korvette has always identified with. Since early 2009, between his day job, recording with Pissed Jeans, and touring infrequently, he runs Yellow Green Red, a punk blog that serves as an epicenter for well-considered reviews of music typically ignored by major media outlets. “Coming from my white dude perspective, you just need to share your opinion,” he says. “It’s ingrained in us, so I might as well do it on something that I get moderately positive feedback about. If there were a bunch of places out there like Yellow Green Red, I wouldn’t feel like I need to do it. I see so much writing on the zero budget level, that’s like ‘Thanks for the free promo! This is great punk!’ There’s no actual thought.” He tempers this mission by recognizing the blog’s limited perspective: “I don’t wanna be the old curmudgeonly dick that hates everything, either. This isn’t an infallible text, this is one excited person’s perspective.”
Philadelphia has become a place of influence. It’s not hard to see why: the city has been an epicenter for the underground rock Renaissance. In a world where guitar-based music has fallen out of fashion, Philly offers a home for progressive activist musicians unwilling to give up the six-stringed instrument, and it’s often women who are at the forefront.
“Philadelphia is getting woke, myself included,” Korvette explains. “I still yell at stuff but with a more considered thought about where my place is in the scheme of things. Every year, my top ten, there’s so many more women than men. I’m not doing them favors. Guys have kind of fallen into this rut of being really good at a specific reenacted sound. That’s boring. Maybe women don’t feel as obligated to be traditional.”
“Whatever any man can do to be better is cool,” says Tina Halladay, Philly musician and Sheer Mag frontwoman. “White straight guys are the ones who have the resources to be heard more than others. It’s great that people are recognizing that, but it’s not always the case. There’s the younger hardcore scene that is making more efforts to be diverse and inclusive, and then there’s the aging white hardcore dude scene that’s just never going to fucking change. Every punk show I’ve been to since January has been a benefit. This is what we have to do. People are picking up the slack and supporting those who need it most.”
For Pissed Jeans, it’s a balancing act. They’re veterans in Philadelphia—older dudes with day jobs that prevent them from frequent touring but can’t stop the band from paying attention to the inequalities around them.