What if I told you the internet—a vast, algorithmic labyrinth designed to keep us hooked, anxious, and endlessly scrolling—could also be the birthplace of something transcendent? That’s the paradox Toadchurch, a 21-year-old Orlando artist, is wrestling with in his latest album, Summer of Guns. It’s not just music; it’s a manifesto for a generation that’s simultaneously addicted to the digital void and desperate to escape it. Personally, I think this tension is what makes his work so compelling. Here’s an artist who’s not just critiquing the system but weaponizing it, turning the very tools that erode our attention spans into a sonic rebellion. What makes this particularly fascinating is how he doesn’t just lament the state of the world—he channels that despair into something vibrant, chaotic, and undeniably danceable.
Let’s unpack this. Toadchurch isn’t some reclusive genius hiding from the internet. He’s of the internet, a product of its endless scroll, its dopamine hits, and its capacity to make us feel both connected and utterly alone. In an interview, he admits, ‘The internet is designed to make you, as an individual, upset constantly.’ But instead of succumbing to that design, he’s using it as a canvas. His sophomore album, Summer of Guns, was born from a one-week album jam with his comedy collective Bogo. Originally meant as a throwaway experiment, it’s now a stark reflection of our times. What’s striking isn’t just the music—it’s the audacity of creating something meaningful in a world that’s constantly pulling us toward distraction. This raises a deeper question: Can art thrive in an environment that’s engineered to kill focus? Or is that very struggle what gives it its edge?
The album itself is a masterclass in juxtaposition. On the surface, Summer of Guns is a plunderphonic feast, sampling everything from hip-hop beats to street-level grit. But beneath the funky rhythms and sticky grooves lies a haunting undercurrent. Christenson describes it as ‘haunting and sinister but still sticky and danceable.’ That duality is what makes it so gripping. It’s like a party where everyone’s wearing masks, and the music knows it. I find it fascinating how he’s able to blend the grim realities of our world—war, social decay, digital alienation—with the euphoria of a dance track. It’s not just a commentary; it’s a confrontation. The album doesn’t just reflect our worst impulses; it forces you to confront them while moving your body. What many people don’t realize is that this isn’t just about music—it’s about survival. In a world where the internet constantly tries to numb us, Toadchurch is using sound to wake us up.
But let’s talk about the cultural implications. Plunderphonics, as a genre, has always been about sampling the cultural zeitgeist and reassembling it into something new. Toadchurch takes this a step further by weaving in the ‘cultural ether’—the collective anxiety, the viral outrage, the endless news cycles—that defines our era. This isn’t just a nod to past artists like the Handsome Boy Modeling School; it’s a direct line to the present. The result is an album that feels both nostalgic and futuristic, like a time capsule from a world that’s already collapsing. If you take a step back and think about it, this is what digital-age art should be: a mirror held up to the chaos, reflecting it back with a twist of irony or defiance. A detail that I find especially interesting is how the album’s darker themes are amplified by its rhythmic precision. It’s as if the beats are the only thing keeping the chaos at bay, creating a fragile balance between despair and dance.
What this really suggests is that creativity in the digital age isn’t about escaping the noise—it’s about mastering it. Toadchurch isn’t just making music; he’s curating an experience that forces listeners to confront their own complicity in the system. And that’s the real genius of Summer of Guns. It’s not just an album; it’s a social experiment. By blending the grim with the groovy, he’s asking us to question whether we can find joy in a world that’s designed to make us miserable. This isn’t just about art; it’s about resistance. In my opinion, the future of music—and perhaps even culture—lies in artists who can turn the noise into something meaningful. The internet may be a trap, but Toadchurch is showing us how to turn it into a ladder. The question is: Will we climb it?
