Minneapolis punk band VIAL grew up (kind of), but never gave up
December 05, 2024
In-person and online, Minneapolis indie pop-punk trio VIAL are charming, impish, and giggly. Long before this past year’s “brat summer,” they embodied brat punk in their attitudes and artistry. During a recent illness-induced virtual interview with the group, bassist and vocalist Taylor Kraemer was laughing, throwing up peace signs or metal horns with their hands, and pulling sideways faces with their tongue out.
The band’s Instagram is full of the expected promos and tour footage, but is also peppered with videos of Kraemer, drummer Katie Fischer, and guitarist KT Branscom running around, goofing off, and generally having fun on their own terms. Similarly, some of their songs have whimsical themes, like soup or wanting to mack on your dad. Don’t get it twisted, though. There’s a lot of honesty, vulnerability, and valid anger going on underneath. VIAL’s output includes lo-fi, indie-rock, and abrasive punk stylings with ear-worm hooks and sweet-and-sour vocal harmonies.
“The difference in genre of each album or EP is reflective of where we were at in our lives and what was going on,” says Fischer.
In the spring of 2024, VIAL released their third album, burnout, which garnered them national press. “If Olivia Rodrigo ever played the dive bar circuit, then VIAL should be first in line as her tour opener,” is the opening line from a very positive Pitchfork review. burnout is an album borne from healing and catharsis. It’s a relatable means to process big and painful hurts, the existentialism of growing up, post-breakup apathy, and even life’s literal aches — “broth song” sprang to life because Branscom was sick and wanted soup.
A shared sense of humor and unhinged playfulness brought VIAL together in the first place. Five years ago, Kraemer and Branscom conducted a search for a drummer by creating a Tinder profile. “We stood up against my studio apartment wall with big fur jackets and sunglasses on, holding a skeleton that was supposed to represent the drummer, and we just made the profile really aggressive and threatening,” says Kraemer. It was here that they connected with Fischer, who says their pickup line involved saying their name was “Katie” so they’d fit in, and the rest is history.
Their debut, Grow Up, is seven songs spread over 17 minutes, and has a lo-fi, garage-y sound in part because it was recorded in a garage. “When we first recorded Grow Up, we had no resources, we had no cables,” Fischer says. “I didn't have a drum kit, we had no money. And so we recorded it in two days, I think, in a garage and a bud recorded it, mixed, and mastered it for us, and that was it.”
VIAL recently announced a five-year anniversary re-release of the album under the name Grow the F*** Up. “The intention with this re-recording was to give these songs the love that we always wanted to give them,” Fischer says, “and add all of the layers and the bells and whistles that we always wanted to be there, but we weren't able to do at the time.”
“It definitely feels like a love letter to our younger selves,” Kraemer adds. “Even though we didn't change a lot in the performance aspect, it still sounds so much different because we are fundamentally different people and instrumentalists. We are still playing on gear that we got off Facebook marketplace and hand-me-downs from family members. It still has that soul of the garage band [with] five years worth of lessons — in music theory, performance, and songwriting, and lessons in life, quite frankly.”
While Grow Up was written “in a bubble” before VIAL had played shows, their 2021 sophomore album, LOUDMOUTH, was a response to their experiences as an all-femme band reacting to the politics of the local scene. Another whiplash album of 12 songs in just 31 minutes, LOUDMOUTH is measurably angrier, reacting to pessimism and gatekeeping they experienced locally and online. The album retains the band’s signature sugar-coated snakebite lyrical and vocal combo. Sonically, you don’t know what’s hit you, but by the time the lyrics sink in, you’re a goner.
When prodded about their influences, they name-dropped a few legends — local and otherwise. “It can all point back to [X-Ray Spex lead singer] Poly Styrene, who was the original, don't give a flying f***, screech your f***ing lungs out until you blow a g**damn vocal cord,” says Kraemer. “After that, the ’90s were so big for that ethos, specifically Kurt Cobain obviously, he walks the walk and I respect the f*** out of him. Babes in Toyland, obviously. Lori Barbero is a mother of DIY and supporting musicians. And then the bands most recently that were the generation before us are Baby Guts, Kitten Forever, Bruise Violet, and Tony Peachka. [They] are all locals who really paved the way for a band like VIAL.”
While VIAL are not an overtly political band, their intersecting identities do inform their writing. During our conversation, they describe seeing the ways that their bodies are politicized as well as witnessing expanding patriarchy that takes on characteristics of misogyny, misogynoir, transphobia, white supremacy, and colonization. “There's a lot of things that we obviously cannot speak on in music,” says Kraemer. “I think [it has to be about] what we experience ourselves. And that's where a lot of our lyrics tackle subjects like misogyny and bodily autonomy. Those are experiences [in which] we have firsthand knowledge.”
VIAL remain a firmly-rooted Minneapolis band — due mostly to the love of their mothers, who have sold painted “punk rocks” at the band’s merch table — but they’ve toured the U.S. extensively, played festivals, and shared the stage with acts like FIDLAR and HUNNY. It’s easy to see why their magnetic energy and sound has captivated so many listeners.
Local adoration for a cover VIAL plays every night has even birthed an annual event, Pissfest. “Whenever I have to explain to someone that the show is called ‘Pissfest,’ I say that it’s an inside joke that got out of control,” says Fischer with a laugh. “It started with us doing a cover of ‘Territorial Pissings’ by Nirvana, which we've done since the start of the band, and we play at every show, and then it became a thing. I don't remember how, but people would chant ‘piss’ before we played that song. We very much leaned into that and thought it was hilarious.”
After realizing their audiences’ affection for the cover, they decided to record and release it along with a celebratory festival in March of 2023 with a corresponding name, Pissfest. After the raucous show sold out, fans asked if it was an annual event.
Fully willing to commit to the bit, VIAL agreed. Pissfest is back for round two on Saturday, Dec. 7, at Varsity Theater. Along with New York’s queer punks Sorry Mom and Virginia punks Destructo Disk, two Twin Cities acts on the bill are trans-dance artist Anita Velveeta, and indie jazz-punk trio Dial Tone. There will also be drag shows to round out the unabashedly pro-queer lineup.
As a band with a lot to say, VIAL are hinting they already have new music in the works. Especially now after many hours, miles, and new memories under their belts after touring, it’s only a matter of time before we hear more from this powerful, introspective, intelligent, and hilarious three-piece. “We've been in the next era for a while,” says Kraemer.
