About G Flip:
Acclaimed singer, songwriter, producer, and multi-instrumentalist G Flip has cemented themselves as one of Australia’s most exciting musical acts, riding a wave of global momentum behind their ARIA-nominated album Dream Ride. The Melbourne-born, LA-based musical polymath’s single “Bed on Fire” has become a runaway hit after its sync placement in Prime Video’s Off Campus, exploding across Instagram and TikTok with over 30k creates and propelling the track to nearly 20M streams with over 800K global streams daily streams. Dream Ride saw G Flip step into a bold new character they’ve coined as Butch Springsteen: an ’80s-inspired blast where no drumbeat is too big and neon signs flash over a raucous Sunset Boulevard. The Dream Ride World Tour was highlighted by G’s largest shows to date, selling out arenas in Australia and selling over 50,000 tickets around the world. Named one of Out Magazine’s 100 Most Impactful and Influential LGBTQ+ People of 2025, G Flip continues to unpack their experience as a queer, non-binary artist with both vulnerability and unbridled ambition. Their most recent release, “LEZ GO” with The Beaches, keeps the momentum blazing. This November, G will be supporting Robbie Williams in stadiums across Australia. G has received recognition both home and abroad with 3 ARIA awards (10 nominations), 3 MTV EMAs and a 2 GLAAD award nominations and has been featured in Rolling Stone, Billboard, 60 minutes, Variety, NME and more. Due to overwhelming demand, G Flip has added additional shows in Europe and across the US. G Flip isn’t just leaving a trail of flames in the rearview, they’re setting the whole road on fire.
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
About Ceremony:
Ceremony can’t stop. Can’t stop pushing forward. Can’t stop changing shape. Across two decades, the California-born hardcore outfit has earned its standing as one of punk’s most adaptable and unflinching bands, always ready to meet the moment without surrendering its principles. True to form, Ceremony’s seventh album, Tell Me Your Dream pushes the group’s punk-forged intensity all the way to the fore, capturing the quintet at its most expressive, most expansive, and most timely.
“We’re living in an era of mass uncertainty,” says Ceremony vocalist Ross Farrar. “In punk, I don’t see how you can’t respond. It’s taken over our lives in so many different ways — economically, politically, spiritually. We want people to wake up and get into what’s happening.”
Ferociously alert, Tell Me Your Dream reunites Ceremony — Farrar, guitarist-keyboardist Anthony Anzaldo, guitarist Andy Nelson, bassist Justin Davis and drummer Jake Casarotti — with producer John Reis for ten songs of searing breadth. That means everything from bristling hardcore to moody post-punk — all while taking fundamental inspiration from Discharge, Crass, and other anarcho-punk troupes that first helped certain members of Ceremony find their own political voices back when they were teenagers. The result is a culmination of the band’s 21 years together, if not some kind of riddle: Ceremony knows how to make a return-to-form sound like evolution — and vice versa.
Equally loud and clear is the fact that Ceremony isn’t hesitating to raise its voice at a moment when the underground has grown strangely quiet. “Why aren’t punk bands actually saying the word ‘Palestine’ on their records?” asks Ceremony guitarist Andy Nelson. “We didn’t want to make anything that felt light, or empty, or apolitical. Our intent is to not waste anyone’s time, and to encourage people to think about what they settle for.”
On Tell Me Your Dream, you’ll hear Palestine cited over the ferocious bounce of “Madness,” a post-punky indictment of war’s obscenity — and the obscene amounts of cash required to wage it. But if you listen closely, you may also hear Farrar working to reconcile issues of broadscale sociopolitical violence with his most intimate personal struggles. “If you write a political song, it can have this black-and-white effect,” Farrar says. “I think Ceremony is good at walking the line on that. This album is very much about the inside and outside battling, and trying to find a way.”
