Premiere: Camp Werewolf Astound With Depth On New Album, Soft Sculptures
Permanence is such a curious word. Never changing. Indefinite. But does anything in reality truly exist this way? Just recently, a bridge that can trace its origins back to ancient Rome crumbled under a flash flood in Spain. Other remnants of that ancient civilization have decayed over time in various forms as well: art pieces that have lost their hues and luster, colossal structures shedding pieces from top to bottom. Even concepts like democracy seem to be nearing their expiration. If anything seems constant, it’s time itself… though, in its very nature, it moves forward, cycling through itself. Yet even time, as we understand it, can be distorted by the extremes of the universe. Gravity then, another universal constant? Well, that too can warp like time, something that shows how little we truly know about the observable universe despite the progress made in scientific research.
Knowledge, it seems, shatters this illusion of permanence. How can we claim to know something is forever if we don’t fully grasp what forever truly means? This isn’t just a question for the cosmic scale; it applies to our own personal psyches. Phrases like “set in stone” offer us an image of finality, but in reality, they’re just comforting mirages. Every part of us is constantly evolving, on a cellular level and within our consciousness, making us perpetually shifting and growing. These thoughts teeter on the edge of existential dread, but really, they tantalize with the idea of what words like “ephemeral” and “fleeting” try to impart. The idea that everything is cursory, no matter how rigid it may be at its core. It’s a profound notion, comforting almost in that no matter how steadfast something may appear, it is, ultimately, temporary. This perspective can help weather the ups and downs of life, letting us fully appreciate brief moments of joy while also chipping away at the cemented notion of “rock bottom.”
That emotional expanse is captured in rich detail on Soft Sculptures, the new album from Richmond emo quintet Camp Werewolf. Exploring this idea of malleable durability, the album grapples with a fractured sense of growth, a messy process marked by stark moments of anxiety, doubt, and a quest for clarity. Lyrics come across philosophically incisive while the music envelopes with cerebral finesse, engrossing you in the empathetic tremor of each track. Set for release on Friday, March 28 via Fisher King Records, this new record is powerful in its scope, yet effortlessly engaging, capturing both the obvious and subtle emotions of the mind and heart. Today, The Auricular is thrilled to premiere this album with an exclusive stream below, accompanied by a deeper dive into its stunning sound.
Camp Werewolf is comprised of Patrick Allen (bass), Nate Cox (guitar), Kian Khalilian (guitar), Charlie Best (guitar), and Aloe Cruz-Lemus (vocals, guitar). Originally conceived as a solo project toward the end of the 2010s, Cruz-Lemus began recording at the onset of a new decade, driven by a need to create during a particularly dire time. “During quarantine [in] 2020, I set a deadline for myself to self-record and release a collection of songs,” Cruz-Lemus stated. “I felt like all I had was idle time and told myself that I would release whatever I had finished or not.”
That collection of songs found its way online under the name Soft Sculptures//Spring Demos in March 2020. These demos captured a nascent, abstract sound gradually taking shape while drifting through bedroom pop and ambient. Fulfilling Cruz-Lemus’ goal of a tangible release, the music acted as a stepping stone, and soon after, Cruz began fleshing out Camp Werewolf as a full band, joining forces with Allen, Cox, and drummer Sam Partridge. This early line-up led to the 2022 release of I, a four-song EP that expanded on the themes and sounds of the 2020 demos. Shortly after, Partridge departed, and Best replaced him, with Khalilian coming on board as the third guitarist. This lineup solidified, and the band began to gain a following in Richmond.
While building a reputation as a stunning live band, the band focused on their debut album, which was teased in 2023 alongside a partnership with the local label Fisher King Records. As they worked on the new record, the name from Cruz-Lemus’ original demos lingered in his mind, quietly guiding him through the creative process. Once the band reached the finish line, that original name felt as valid as ever. The concept of Soft Sculptures, it seems, was not just to be reshaped, but to be reused, continuing that solitary conversation in a new, dynamic environment. “All at once the release of this work feels like both a celebration and a departure,” Cruz-Lemus remarked. “We’ve entered a new period of intentionality and experimentation with our new music and we’re excited to share that with everyone soon.”
The music of Soft Sculptures is expansive, both in its approach and its impact. The band’s emo sound shifts from gracefully tender to cathartically explosive, harnessing a despondent energy that softens their peaks and raises their valleys. Pensive observations fester. Outbursts of rage comfort. It’s a thorough exploration of emotional depth, complemented by the band’s tight arrangements, each shaped by the distinct approach of its members as well as their collective vision.
The album’s thesis of shapeable finality comes to life in the outro of opening track “No Harm.” “Isn’t growth anything more\ Than a brush or a sanding stone\ Does it break the mold?\ Does it dry in place?\ Does it firm the hold? Does it crack the face?,” Cruz-Lemus sings in a breathless rush, reinforcing the idea that growth is a force that gradually wears away at what’s set in stone, making room for the possibility of something new to always emerge on the horizon. “Pit” underscores the need for this transformation, embodying the titular realm of despair with an overwhelming sense of impending doom, as destructive tendencies echo through the lyrics (“I know this is it\ An end to the seer\ Come swallow the pit“). Forceful and expressive, it becomes a catalyst for the album’s exploration of emotional resilience and its ever-shifting capacity for change.
On “Rites,” the band expresses a longing for open communication (“So let me learn your language\ When you need love, I’ll translate“), yet begins the song with liturgical language (“Rites of reconciliation\ Love’s enduring glow“), creating a subtle barrier to connection within the track. “Dragonfruit” deepens that underlying tension with a calm opening that delivers the record’s most blunt and harsh observations, highlighting the band’s skillful use of contrast to emphasize its message. (“I know what you’re like\ Bundled up in spite“). When Cruz-Lemus belts “And now it haunts me” in crackling repetition at the song’s conclusion, the breakdown feels not only emotionally intense but physically purging, despite the lingering mental torment.
“Faded If You Forgot” follows the blunter criticisms of “Dragonfruit,” but points the barbs inward, delivering glancing blows and stinging realizations in the same breath (“How the time passes sooner\ Dick around and let myself down\ My tough times breed tougher luck\ Maybe I’m just a loser“). “Something To Scream About” carries that sentiment forward, embracing its title with vivid imagery that erupts from a deceptively soothing delivery, allowing its weight to settle deeper and hit harder (“Fractals on the grass\ They’re splitting my head in two“).
“SNK” invokes hypnosis at its onset, almost as a defense mechanism, offering its trance in the band’s twinkling bridge that turns into a blistering outro (“I’ll be your camouflage\ I’ll meet you where you are“). That shift from restrained to frenzied defines much of the record, but on the closing track, “A Whole Life Playing,” the band doesn’t just temper it; they let it go entirely, retreating into a simple, nearly solitary expression. It’s not that clarity is finally reached, but rather that it can now be glimpsed amidst the record’s breathtaking delirium. Everything culminates in a verse that signals yet another transformation: violent, uneasy, but undeniably forward-moving like all growth has to be (“And I saw your fears tucked in\ Born again\ Your courage split\ Your stomach spread\ Like a vision“).
As the album draws to a close, it feels like less of an ending and more like a continuation, a moment of pause before the next permutation, as Cruz-Lemus pointed out in what the band has coming next. Just as time erodes, reshapes, and rebuilds, Soft Sculptures acknowledges that every moment of collapse carries within it the blueprint for something new, something that will embrace the notion of impermanence in a world clinging for permanence. It’s a timeless narrative, cycling throughout history but also our daily inner monologues as we go through the motions and make sense of the senseless. Camp Werewolf doesn’t just explore this cycle; they surrender to it, leaving behind a record that feels as raw and real as the emotions that shaped it.
Soft Sculptures is set for release on Friday, March 28 via Fisher King Records, available digitally and on vinyl, with preorders now live on the group’s Bandcamp page. That same night, Camp Werewolf will celebrate the release with a special show at Cary Street Shakedown, joined by Shagg Carpet, Lichtenvol, and Floodwall, details of which can be found on the flyer below. Stay connected with the band on social media for updates on future shows and releases.
