Jesse Thorson has spent most of his life building bands that burn fast and bright. With The Slow Death, he wanted one that wouldn’t break. Over the course of fifteen years, dozens of members, five LPs, and countless tours—America, Europe, Japan, Australia—the mission hasn’t changed: stay on the road, keep the songs alive, and find meaning in the noise. No Light to See, out April 11 via the new label Don’t Sing Records, might be the clearest expression of that yet.
Thorson describes it bluntly: “This song is about me. Everything I hate about me. As if I was a different person. A person I hate. It’s a purge. I’m unable to let go. I have to throw it at someone. I have chosen myself.” That’s “Last One to Know,” one of the record’s starkest moments and a track that feels like the emotional center of the album—sung alone in a bathroom lit like a gas station, backed by everclear and fluorescent dread.
The record opens with Desperately, where the protagonist sits on a front porch with black coffee and no mirrors, judging the hollow beliefs people use to stay upright. I’ll Be Fine follows with cheap whiskey in a dark bedroom. Anxiety doesn’t whisper; it parks itself at the edge of the bed and lights a cigarette. Later, Obvious takes the attic, where an old Bruce Holstein shirt and hair metal records haunt with memories of a dumber, freer self.
And in the album’s final track Hard Time, the lens zooms out. “Life is hard. It’s getting harder. Maybe you’re the empathetic one, or maybe you’re the one who makes jokes and tacos. Either way it’s bleak,” Thorson notes. The message is blunt but not hopeless—“Tell sorrow to eat shit,” he adds. Even in the cold light of this record’s realism, there’s an insistence on showing up for each other.
The current lineup—Jack Gribble on drums, Luke Lechler on organ and guitar, and Alex Bammel laying in studio guitar leads—brings heat and heart. Guitars soar. Drums crash straight through. The arrangements make space for vulnerability without polishing the edges too clean.
Don’t Sing Records
The release also marks the launch of Don’t Sing, a new label run by Thorson and his wife Annie Sparrows (Panel, The Soviettes).
The idea came as they struggled to find a home for their newest recordings—his with The Slow Death, hers with Panel. “Neither record was straight ahead punk enough for punk labels, pop enough for pop labels, rock enough for rock labels, or arty enough for art labels,” they said. “The songs were like, all of those things at once while being none of them at all.” Don’t Sing is meant to house music that’s smart, loud, and unforced.
Hitting the road
The band will tour the UK, US, and Canada in the coming months, with stops including Manchester Punk Fest (April 18), a hometown Minneapolis release show (May 10), and a return to Pouzza Fest in Montreal (May 16–18). More dates in New York, Massachusetts, and Ohio follow into summer. In 2025, they’re heading to Japan and Vietnam—“and anywhere else that will, as our boys in D4 say, give us $50 and a plate of spaghetti.”
“My last band, Pretty Boy Thorson and the Falling Angels, broke up a little over 15 years ago and I decided I wanted to start a band that couldn’t break up and would never stop touring. Enter The Slow Death… We have had 69 members, and we have not slowed down at all.” – Jesse Thorson
The full track-by-track commentary—paired with suggested drinks and ideal corners of your house for maximum effect—is available below.
Desperately
Black coffee, no cream, as bitter as possible on your front porch
This song is about all the slogans, ideas and beliefs people cling to in order to accept the depravity that is modern life and on your front porch you can sit and judge these people and ideas in comfort. The front porch also has the benefit of having no mirrors to look at yourself in and thus you can’t see the dumb shit you tell yourself.
I’ll be Fine
Cheap whiskey in your bed in your bedroom, shades drawn, lights out.
An anxiety anthem, a self doubt soliloquy, a self sabotage song to sing with your entourage. That voice in your head isn’t gonna let you get outta bed so why not start there and you don’t deserve anything delicious do you? I mean, I don’t.
Tough to Admit
Lemonade (with vodka and red bull) in the basement.
You’ve made mistakes. You’re still making them. You can’t stop. I mean you can but people would notice. Then what? Plus, you’re kinda having fun. Crank the tunes, get loose!
They Were Lying
Tea
Just kidding tea is gross.
Maybe just water
I wrote this song as an apology to the slow death, to music, and to everything I’ve had the opportunity to do and that I didn’t treat as good as it treated me. Every cool thing in my life has been touched by music/ playing music and sometimes I have taken it for granted, and some show will be the last show. Sorry to be so serious. I actually just wanted to call Mick Jagger a liar! I stole a line from Guy Clark in this tune. Here’s to the four people that catch it.
Last One to Know
Everclear in the bathroom, whichever bathroom has the worst lighting and best mirrors.
This song is about me. Everything I hate about me. As if I was a different person. A person I hate. It’s a purge. I’m unable to let go. I have to throw it at someone. I have chosen myself. Honestly, it feels good. I love this song.
Obvious
Hi – C in the attic
Looking at pictures and thinking about how dumb you used to be. How easily you were talked into stupid shit. How much better looking you were when you didn’t know so much. What a cool Bruce Holstein shirt you had in the 4th grade, and a mullet? Those 4th grade girls were fools not to see your natural charms. You look great! You listened to hair metal and were sad. You still do. You still are.
Till the Next Time
Sweet vermouth or absinthe or whatever goth people drink, in the drawing room( if you don’t have a drawing room, your biggest closet)
I’m not spooky. I want to be, but likeThe Cramps kind of spooky. I came up with this after playing guitar for a long time. The organ really spookied it up. Do I think too much? Yeah. hasn’t helped yet. The drums absolutely being crashed all the way thru conveys all the frustration I meant to put in this song. The rest of us are hanging on and Jack is leading us. If was a better lyricist it would have been easier on him, but he can take it.
Little Ghost
Champagne in the kitchen
This song is deeply personal and emotionally important. It crashes, it bashes & it will burn your shit down to ashes. What do you miss? What did you barely get to see? What did you catch a glimpse of and love forever? Fuck you, thats what. Get over it they say, and YOU. NEVER. FUCKING. WILL. It’s a pretty good song.
Just a Little Blood
Cheap beer in your garage.
There’s a shit load of tools out here. A great old stereo. Your grandad used to drink out in his garage, you should too. You have some of his old tools. You have beer. This shit’s a banger! Hell yeah! That cut might need stitches. Fuck it. Wrap an old bandana around it. Laugh. No, really laugh. You’ll be fine. It’s just a scratch. Try listening to jazz again. Maybe you’ll like it this time. Nope. Oh well.
Hard Time
Brandy manhattan on the deck with your person.
Life is hard. It’s getting harder. Maybe you’re the empathetic one, or maybe you’re the one who makes jokes and tacos. Either way it’s bleak, those tacos aren’t that good and you have to be there for each other, and everyone else you know. Everyone needs help. Everyone needs understanding. Even the weirdos. Especially the weirdos. Even the people that always seem fine. Have as much fun as you can despite everything. Tell sorrow to eat shit. When was the last time you did the twist? It has been too long.
