Comprising vocalist/lyricist Tay Roebuck, guitarist Andie Min, bassist John Steiner, guitarist Sam Ruschman, and drummer Aidan O’Connor, Smut is an indie rock band from Cincinnati, Ohio now based in Chicago, Illinois. Roebuck, Min, and Steiner spent years honing their sound in the Cincinnati DIY scene before relocating to Chicago, where Ruschman and O’Connor joined the band. Catchy and aggressive from the get-go, their music softened on How the Light Felt, their second LP and first for Bayonet, where catharsis was tinged with melancholy and draped in various shades of shoegaze. They cut back on the haze on their latest album, Tomorrow Comes Crashing, still well-versed in the nuances of dreamy music but dialing the intensity back up when necessary – earnestly vacillating between the confidence and self-doubt, even when the latter fuels some of their most visceral performances. Invigorated by the new lineup and a keen-eared producer in Aron Kobayashi Ritch (Momma), Smut recorded the album in Brooklyn just shortly after Roebuck and Min got married back home – and they play their hearts out. However much nostalgia is still baked into Tomorrow Comes Crashing, the future is what keeps them pulsing.

We caught up with Smut’s Tay Roebuck for the latest edition of our Artist Spotlight series to talk about the origins of the band, moving to Chicago, recording Tomorrow Comes Crashing, and more.

It’s been over a decade since you first started Smut. What memories come to mind when you think about you, Andie, and Sam getting together to play music?

I feel very grateful that the three of us have been in it the whole time, but it’s so different to think of when we started versus now. Thinking back to the beginning of the band, we still do everything pretty DIY. But back then, it was playing in a lot of people’s basements. And when we would go on a tour, it was just us and some friends, like, two cars and a dream – sleeping on  everyone’s floors, sleeping in cars, just eating McDonald’s every day. [laughs] I love those memories. It sounds like more of the struggle time, but it wasn’t at all. It feels so sweet and nostalgic to think of those smaller shows and how exciting every single aspect was of being in a band for the first time. And that’s in part what ‘Touch and Go’ is about on the album. The end of the song where it’s like, “The basement flooded, the coffee burned, the van was broken down, we’d all take turns” – it was a little bit of me referencing our lifespan as a band. I like to say that a really bad experience is a really good story later on. Anytime we popped a tire or played in a really weird area or all got food poisoning – yeah, it sucks while it’s happening, but in retrospect, I look on those memories very fondly.

You’ve talked about the Cincinnati scene not feeling like a great fit for the band that you were at the time, and that being a catalyst for moving to Chicago. I’m curious, though, if that was something that made you pull inwards in terms of your songwriting or your dynamic as a band.

Yeah, I think we were a slightly different band than what was going on in Cincinnati at the time. It was very punk-centric, post-punk. We would play these shows with these other bands, it just never felt like we were a perfect fit with any of them. But we loved being a part of that scene. I’m literally visiting Cincinnati right now, and it seems like the music scene has gotten better in that, like, bands are actually getting paid to play shows. Because when we played in Cincinnati, it’s fun, but we got paid for a show maybe twice in the seven years we were there because you’re the local and you don’t get paid. But now it seems like post-COVID, they’re really trying to sort of foster that sort of music community. And it seems a lot less competitive now than it used to. Everyone was together, but it felt like everyone was also competing for the same shows. I do think that influenced us – we were pretty introspective and just like, “Well, we’re just gonna make the kind of stuff that we wanna hear.”

It seems like since we’ve left, the music scene has diversified a lot too, which is really nice. We visit quite often because a lot of our family and family members live here, and I feel like every time I go to a show, the vibes are just amazing. Everyone’s really excited. Maybe it’s because we were in it, but in the past, it was a lot of, like, everyone’s crossing their arms, that kind of stoic crowd that you can’t tell if they like you or not till after. But now everyone’s jumping around and having a great time. I don’t know if that speaks to just people who didn’t like us that much or if the community is a lot more enthusiastic now. I like to think they’re just really enthusiastic.

How did the reality of moving to Chicago compare to your expectations?

When we first moved to Chicago, it was in the middle of COVID. So everything was closed, but the reason we moved next time was because we were all broke, and we all got a stimulus check. And we’re like, “This might be the only time we have this much money. Let’s use it to move to a slightly bigger city, and maybe we’ll get some better opportunities there.” We had also just signed with Bayonet; they’re a New York label, but we were like, “It’d be nice to be a little bit closer to them as well.” So we just packed up and moved, and I feel like we only had a vague dream of, like, opportunity. [laughs]

When we moved to Chicago, it was very much COVID, so it’s masks on, limited capacity, not really any shows happening. So the first almost two years, I think we were all a little bit anxious, like, “What are we doing?” The music industry during COVID was just very stunted. But as soon as certain things were lifted and people could start playing show again,  it was a huge wave of relief. Like, “This is why we wanted to move here.” We immediately did start getting really cool opportunities. Every band you could ever want to see plays in Chicago, so that was exciting just from an audience perspective, to know that you don’t really have to travel to see any artist you wanna see. And then we would be crossing our fingers, like, “Maybe we could open for this person or that person.” We also met Aidan and John in the band in Chicago, and they’re just wonderful people. I don’t think any of us have any regrets at this point.

Part of Tomorrow Comes Crashing does revolve around your journey as a band, or just sustaining yourself as an artist and taking stock of what that means for you. Is that reflective of the emotions you were going through collectively at the time?

Definitely. Looking at the record as it is now, I can listen to each individual song and kind of place how we were feeling as a band in that moment, because it did feel like we were being very honest with ourselves. If we were frustrated, the song was frustrated. If we were elated and excited about an opportunity, then the song was going to be more exciting and optimistic. It’s really interesting to listen back and be able to pinpoint those feelings, because I think we ran the entire journey of every emotion you can feel about being in a band. Feeling like, “We’re not good enough. Oh, but maybe we are. Oh, but it’s really hard and we’re all poor.” But then we get this really cool opportunity and it’s like, “Let’s dream as big as possible. That’s a silly thing to do.” We were just on a pendulum, and I think doing any kind of art is that experience of self-doubt and confidence back and forth forever. Sometimes playing a certain song live will feel kind of silly because I’ll be in such a good mood, but then the very next day I’ll be like, “No, that’s exactly how I feel right now. I’m so frustrated.”

The most explosive songs on the record are purely fun, but they’re also the most direct examples of leaning into that frustration. When you were making songs like ‘Spit’ or ‘Syd Sweeney’, was there something that excited you about the direction you were taking them in, even if they rose out of those negative emotions?

I felt like writing those songs, I was really excited to let myself openly feel what I considered to be negative or ugly feelings. I felt this weird pressure to just forever be grateful, be optimistic, be appreciative for what you have. That’s all good advice, but I started to realize that that’s unrealistic. Not everyone is in a positive mood all the time. So when writing those songs, I was really excited about just the concept of expressing dark feelings that people maybe tell you that you shouldn’t be outward about. I feel like we live in a very modern internet age where you feel almost monitored – everything has a subtext and a context. We live in an era where musicians are leaving Easter eggs and sending secret messages, and it’s become this weird puzzle for fans to listen to and dissect what people are feeling. So for me to be like, “No, I just wanna be very outwardly pissed off and tell people exactly why,” just felt good. In my mind, these are universal feelings, and it might make someone feel good and not alone.

In the context of the band, how important is it for you to be open about those feelings?

I feel like when we’re writing music, I am incredibly emotionally open with how I’m feeling and what songs are about lyrically. I feel like we discuss it a little bit, because the way we write songs is generally Andie or Sam will come to the table with a guitar riff, and everyone just starts piling on their instruments, and then we take away and build up again. The discussion sort of happens about halfway through. Because at first, we’re just trying to make something and build on it and just see where it goes. But once it starts to take shape, then it’s like, “Oh, this one sounds like a particular feeling.” And I will say, “I wanna write about this.” So I’ll write a bunch of lyrics, try and figure out the contextual, lyrical direction, and I’ll present it. Usually, they’re really enthusiastic, and they’ll just want to add even more of that emotion. It’s half actual talking about it and half just sussing out the vibe and being like, “Whatever we’re feeling, let’s amplify it as much as possible.”

I was wondering how much of that energy you felt like was transformed or redirected when you were actually recording the album, being in the studio, being in New York – and also, you and Andie having just gotten married.

Yeah, it was very weird. Getting married is obviously only happiness and really positive feelings, and the band was the wedding party, so we’re all so excited and feeling positive and happy – and then just immediately had to switch gears and go make this emotional album afterward. It was a little bit strange to go into that situation and be like, “Everyone get pissed off really quick.” [laughs] But I felt like working with Aaron, he got it immediately. We had had discussions about it before we got to New York with him, where he was very good at locking us in to a moment and adding certain elements in, effects and ideas he had, even as far as cutting a verse completely so it feels more to the point. He was very open to making the big suggestions, and we were really open to trying them out. Once we were on like day two, I felt like we were all ready to go and had a lot to prove, so we were having a good time but a really intense time.

How immediately did you have to switch gears? I knew you were recording for ten days, but how many days before that did you get married? 

I think it was exactly two weeks after the wedding that we were in New York. And we recorded for ten days, which we realized very quickly, that’s not a lot for a whole album. [laughs] There was so much planning that went into the wedding, and then we were in Ohio for three days to do the wedding, because me and Andie kind of DIY-ed the wedding as well. We were building wedding arches and stapling and flowers to things and making everything ourselves. And then we had two weeks before we recorded, but all of us went right back to work for those two weeks. So it wasn’t like, “Now we get to take a breather.” It was like, “We all need to get as many hours as possible before we take off more time.” So it really felt like we were just grinding away, to the point where when we finally got to New York, it felt like that was the break. That was the relaxing moment for exactly one day when we first got there. And then we were like, “Alright, we’ve really gotta get to work again.” We were at the studio, I think, ten to twelve hours a day. We were there all day long and would just send one person out to this grocery store across the street to get lunch for everyone.

We never stopped recording, and I blew my voice out by the last day. We still had a whole song to record. I was chewing raw ginger and then chugging little bears of honey before every take and being like, “Let’s go.” There was no time to rest. And then, we were sleeping on a friend’s floor. Honestly, I think that it contributed to the emotions of the album because we were having the time of our life, but it was also so exhausting. We looked nuts, and we probably acted nuts. We all were so tired where it’s like, you get the giggles and you’re laughing for nothing, being kind of delusional and delirious. But maybe that helped. [laughs] I like to think that helped the overall outcome be even better. After we finished, we all just went straight back to work again. There was no real reprieve for a while. But it was worth it. I wouldn’t change it at all.

What was that last song that you had to sing?

That was ‘Touch and Go’, the last single we just released. Which was also the hardest song, and it’s still the hardest song for me to sing. I don’t know why we saved it for last because I hit the highest notes on that one, so my voice was just completely blown out. We actually sort of changed the structure of the song to accommodate the fact that my voice was gone. It was a happy accident in a way, because the song did sound a little bit different demo-wise. We had to work around a lot just to be like, “This is the capacity for what I’m capable of doing.” But listening back, I think you can hear the fatigue in my voice, and I think it almost makes it a little bit more impactful.

The first song you released from Tomorrow Comes Crashing, ‘Dead Air’, feels like the perfect transition from the airier, more melancholy sound of How the Light Felt to the grungier catharsis of the new record. How conscious were you of keeping that sonic balance? 

When we wrote ‘Dead Air’, we didn’t really intend for it to be the first single. But you’re correct in that we did notice that it felt the most like a transitional piece the last record to this one, because it starts and kind of sounds like something that would be on the last record and then amplifies itself by the end. When we were trying to sift through and pick which ones we thought should be single, that one seemed like it could be a nice reintroduction, letting people know that we are starting to shift gears a little bit. But when we wrote it, it was just one of the songs. I feel like when we were writing this album, we wanted to lean into what we feel that we do best, which I do think is two pretty opposite feelings: these dreamy, sad, melodic things and then  just really aggressive. We were really, throughout the entire record, trying to find ways to balance those two things that didn’t feel jarring, which got really fun when it came to sequencing the album.

Jo Shaffer and Spencer Peppet from the Ophelias – another great band from Cincinnati – directed the music video for ‘Syd Sweeney’. How quickly did you decide to go for a horror film aesthetic with that one?

I am a massive horror movie fan, and I’ve always wanted to make a horror movie type of video. We’ve known Spencer and Jo for a very long time because we were both bands in Ohio. Jo and Spencer had been making short films and music videos, and they made a horror film. Spencer had also been talking for years about wanting to make a video with and for Smut, and I was really excited to be like, “It’s finally happening.” We get to do our horror movie, and we know exactly who to ask. Spencer specifically, because we had sent her the demos, was like, “Can it be for ‘Syd Sweeney’?” And I was like, “It absolutely is gonna be for ‘Syd Sweeney’. I felt like we all got exactly what we wanted out of that. Spencer and I talk a lot about movies in general and are fans of a lot of the exact same stuff, same with Jo and Andie and Aidan. It was just a perfect storm.

I don’t know if the horror movie that Sydney Sweeney was in, Immaculate, had come out by then, but I remember there being quite a bit of controversy around it, which seems to relate to the song.

When we wrote it, I wasn’t writing specifically about any particular movie she had done, but it was directly inspired by her. There’s this very specific pattern that keeps happening, and it’s most obvious for women in Hollywood, where you get this girl of the month and everyone loves her and adores her, and then everyone gets really tired of her and then hates her, and then she has to prove herself. And it’s like, these people just wanna be in movies. It happens to bands too. It’s just this really weird thing that happens with women in entertainment. Women in general in a lot of different job fields, where you can try as hard as you want to be good at something and have the passion for something, and it’s really weird that everyone chops it up to how you look and if you’re, like, the moment right now. I don’t think guys have to live up to the same standard of being perfect and sexy and cool and likable all the time.

I named it after her because she was making me think of all this, and because we were writing it and naming it after an actress, it was like, “This should probably be the movie-themed video.” And for me, if I’m gonna do a movie-themed video, it’s gonna be a horror movie first. Maybe we can explore some other genres later on, but there is a lot of horror in the idea of feeling like you are being judged for more than your art all the time. It’s really imposing and stressful. I was like, “Being a girl is kinda scary sometimes. Let’s just go all in.”

The idea of Tomorrow Comes Crashing implies, on the other side, a past that keeps haunting. I feel like that’s a throughline in your songs generally, and it feels especially potent on the song ‘Ghosts’. I love the line “can’t abide that you’ve grown infinite.” Do you mind speaking to it a bit?

Tomorrow Comes Crashing, I feel like you could take that title in so many different ways: tomorrow’s coming whether you like it or not; maybe I find comfort in the past, and I don’t want tomorrow to come. Maybe tomorrow comes crashing – it’s violent. Maybe it’s optimistic. Throughout the album, there’s a lot of comparison of where we were, where we are, and where we want to go.  ‘Ghosts’ feels a little bit of all of that. I love the idea, and I talk about it a lot in songs, of being haunted by things, which is pretty literal in ‘Ghosts’. I feel like that song was inspired by the last album, and there are certain inescapable truths, that once certain things happen in your life, they can’t unhappen.

I was inspired by that idea mixed with the myth of Narcissus and Echo. The idea of Echo as this nymph who’s in love with Narcissus, and he can’t see her because he’s trapped in his own thing, and she escapes to the cave and disappears into just an echo. That’s interesting to me – whether or not to hold on to the past, how much you should hold on to the past. If holding on to things that don’t serve you is worth it, if it’s destroying you, which I could relate to anything on the album. How much do we wanna hold on to being a band? Is it working? It’s what we love – is it worth it to love something that’s not, like, paying off? Is it paying off? We don’t know, but all we know is that we love doing it so much that we can’t stop. Which is a little depressing. [laughs] But I think everything I write is a little depressing.

It’s kind of beautiful conceptually to think of loving something and wanting to do something and wanting to be with people, just because you have the hope that things are gonna work out someday. And I think that’s what being in a band is, just trying and making something you love and having fun. It would be so awesome if one day we all could quit our day jobs. But at the same time, even if we didn’t, we’d all just be wanting to do this every day no matter what. It felt like a kind of sad love song for the idea of following your dreams, but I’m just really hammy and emotional.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.

Smut’s Tomorrow Comes Crashing is out June 27 via Bayonet.