THICK

Chatting with Nikki Sisti, Shari Page, and Kate Black of THICK feels like being at a slumber party. They laugh and talk over each other, rehashing stories of drunken memories and past relationships around an assortment of chips and beer. Mismatched clothes are strewn about Black’s bedroom for a makeshift photoshoot. “Would you rather be a really awesome live band that not many people know or a really shitty recording band that everyone knows?” Sisti asks the room. “Definitely a better live band,” Black responds immediately. Page agrees. Nodding, Sisti continues, “OK, would you rather be a croissant or a dolphin?” - Stereogum

Our bleary-eyed, ear-ringing week of seemingly non-stop live music in Austin, Texas has ended and we're back one last time to reflect on the 2018 South by Southwest festival and play some of our favorite discoveries.

Hosts Bob Boilen and Robin Hilton, along with NPR Music's Stephen Thompson and Rodney Carmichael, convene in the NPR studios to share the most memorable stories and songs of the festival, from the gritty rock of Brooklyn's THICK and Afro-electronic soundscapes of Sudan Archives to the mumble rap of Tierra Whack, the soaring pop of G Flip and much more. - NPR

Thick is a badass pop-punk/garage band that’s based in Brooklyn, NY. Their style is a combo of classic Blink-182 and 90’s Riot Grrrl bangers. Their music induces some serious head banging and moshing—-so keep an icepack handy for sudden black eyes or sore muscles! - BTR

THICK are quickly becoming Adventures Through Audio favourites. Those of you who check out the site on a regular basis may remember that we pretty much fell in love with the Brooklyn trio’s Every Weekend. The track was a bold, noisy pop song reminiscent of Potty Mouth and, on reflection, Vivian Girls. In short, we were left chomping at the bit for new material from the band.

And now we have it, and boy is it good. Tell Me is THICK’s second single from the bands untitled EP, and serves as near-perfect counterweight to Every Weekend. The sugary-sweet harmonies that created the tounge-in-cheek, roguishness on Every Weekend are replaced by a guttural back and forth evaluation of whether a relationship is worth it – a feeling summed up by the heartbreaking line of “Don’t say that you love me, don’t say that you need me.”. But one the beautiful things about Tell Me, and what we’ve heard of THICK’s music in general, is that there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. In Tell Me’s penultimate moments the band develop a steely resolve, as the track breaks down into a near dirge tempo.

If Every Weekend was THICK at the cheeky, scoundralesque best, Tell Me is the band in the doldrums – the existential, head-in-hands moment we have all experienced. Either way, THICK exhibit the ability, drive and talent to tackle both ends of the emotional spectrum with energy, honesty and power. - Joseph Emmet

As a female, there’s often these super shitty rules or ways that society feels you should confirm to. I often experience the pressure of acting, being or existing in a way that’s considered normal or appropriate. The great thing is though, that doesn’t mean we always have to obey, and in the music of THICK we all can find the freedom to be ourselves.

The Brooklyn trio just released Dammit Shari - an EP of intensely blown out punk jams that will have you shouting for your independence, or at the very least declaring your right to “Be Myself.” It’s an album of gnarly, boot-stomping encouragement, a not so gentle shove to embrace your wild side - whether that includes partying with your clothes off or pissing off you parental unit remains entirely up to you. THICK even closes out the release with a nod to the beau we’ve all accidentally fallen for when the haze of cheap beer takes the reigns. Dammit Shari is all about knowing that nothing stands in your way of being you, and sometimes we just need a gunning punk soundtrack to remind us of that. - Lauren Rearick

Other than being randomly selected to win year-round access to a zoo at your own desire, I can not imagine anything more exciting and overly-optimistic than day one with your new band. You’re going to take over the world and you know it. Banality aside, the band is undoubtedly your oyster to which you have every opportunity to create and brand. Hell, you can even pet it if you really want to. But creative obstacles linger, eager to snatch your prize.

Yes, our area has been spoiled with unparalleled national acts including the Goo Goo Dolls & Every Time I Die, groups whose impact is not only absorbed right here at home but also on an immense international level. But what about those armfuls of bands who had every opportunity to do the same but rather opted out based on the inevitable sense of vexation that comes with being in a band — the erosion of personal funds, the push & pull between personal and creative relationships, the shows you promised yourselves would have gone better but just didn’t.

For local show-goers, or even those who attend shows strictly out of social obligation, we time and time again see the same local talents, but once again, under a brand new identity, asking ourselves “Isn’t that the dude from that other band, what happened to them?” Common theme amongst our local music scene over the last handful of years suggests that bands in our area are exterminating themselves at an irrational rate for even more irrational reasoning.

Subsequent to similar action taken by myself (sharing the guilt), I spent a year propelling
myself to believe that every sour taste left in my mouth by the band was supported by the
backbone of rationality. The sad reality of that notion is that it simply is not true.

In early March, I attended a show at Mohawk Place that included Brooklyn-based,
female-led punk band, Thick. To be brutally honest, my attendance wasn’t completely accredited to social obligation, more so social intrigue as one of Thick’s members is a dear friend of mine, Canisius College graduate Christine Mulhivill: a truly ultra-genuine, exclusive human being — the type of girl they write indie movies about.

What I was able to assimilate from their set was an incredible sense of camaraderie as well as a spirit of enthusiasm that forced a dilution towards my brain. The band spit well whiskey all of over each other, and exposed embarrassing personal information about one another only to be followed by a shameless ear-to-ear giggle from the particular victim. Bottom line, Thick euthanized Mohawk Place that evening with not only their performance but also their reason for doing, ultimately smushing some serious tush. The band’s love for their own aesthetic purpose cut directly through all those in attendance while spiking every PBR served that night.

Following Thick’s set, I began to internally contemplate the manifests I once held as shrewd, the illicit generalities to “band life” I stubbornly held close to heart only to realize they were completely inaccurate. Case in point, love your bandmates; do not let the idea of someone throwing an orange peel at you for playing A Minor instead of C Sharp derail your shared purpose and allocate your attention(s) towards negative energy rather than sharpening your communication skills.

Within the visual perspective of a band exists ironic, quirky blindspots that often allow for
members to forget the conviction that their band may mean just as much to someone else as it does to themselves –maybe an individual you have never met or a stubborn older cousin, who you find admirable, but would never admit what you do is cool yet still slams your jams on their way to and from work everyday.

Do not quit your band out of frustration you have ever ability to overcome. Your band is
important and you are important to your band. Go ahead, allow for Thick to prove that to you. - Matt Cox

3 girls + 1 guitar + 1 bass + drums = pop punk goodness that will make you want to revive and relive all the Blink-182 albums once jammed into a giant CD travel case.

Based in Brooklyn, the three piece–Nikki (guitar, vox), Christine (bass, vox) and Shari (drums, vox)–pumps out party anthems. The beer-soaked tunes are as infectious as their attitudes. If you are able to make it out of a night of shows with these girls without a giant grin on your face–and probably a handful of bruises–you are not human. Click below to stream their upcoming EP. -

For years now, we, the pop music team of The New York Times — Jon Caramanica, Joe Coscarelli, Caryn Ganz and Jon Pareles — have wondered where exactly the guitars went. While there’s never been a shortage of quote-unquote traditional rock bands — say, a mostly male, mostly white four-piece — their cultural impact has continued to wane in the face of increasingly diverse musical tactics, distribution networks and messengers.

[ Listen to 25 bands that prove women are making the best rock music today ]

But as we’ve spoken among ourselves about the music that most excites us, we have consistently marveled at how much outstanding rock music is being made by female and non-binary performers who work just below the surface of the mainstream.

Indie rock, especially, has undergone an identity crisis this decade. Often, male-fronted indie bands have begun to feel rote or even parodic, as if they’ve run out of ideas or exhausted the passion to develop new ones.

But time and again, we’ve been heartened, cheered, inspired and, sometimes, astonished by a new generation of innovative female singers and musicians — punk in style or spirit, and coming from the all-ages warehouse and D.I.Y.-venue ecosystem — singing about tactile emotion, rousing politics and far more.

It’s time to take stock of this vibrant moment and honor these artists by spotlighting the force and elegance of their work. We spoke with them about why they make music, and what obstacles the music industry, and society at large, have thrown in their paths. - New York Times