Fading into twilight
Humming right along like the month of July
I’m by your bedside
Running fingers down the length of your spine
Two Point Oh might have started in a speeding car on the Jersey Turnpike, but their roots run deeper…straight back to a high school brawl over a My Chemical Romance shirt. Henry Heissenbuttel still laughs at the memory:
“I saw Cameron getting his ass kicked after high school. A bunch of football players didn’t like Cameron’s handmade T-shirt, which read: ‘If you don’t like My Chemical Romance, forget you.’ I jumped in and helped him out—we’ve been friends ever since.”
Years later, after cycling through bands that never quite hit the mark, fate intervened one crisp autumn afternoon in 2022. Henry and Cameron were on the road, disillusioned and aimless after their latest project collapsed spectacularly. Somewhere in the Garden State, they spotted two hitchhikers, one clutching a Les Paul, the other sporting a battered Soundgarden shirt proudly proclaiming “Louder Than [Heck].” They knew immediately: these were their people. The hitchhikers, brothers Paul and Matt Rose, were seasoned musicians looking for their own turning point. By the time they rolled into a Jersey gas station, a new band was inevitable. Two Point Oh was born.
Today, their sound crashes through speakers, blending the dense, dark heaviness of Soundgarden with Alice In Chains’ hypnotic weight, wrapped neatly in the sharp-edged style of early 2000s Brooklyn bands like Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Interpol. Henry’s gritty vocals battle Paul’s wild, fevered guitar riffs, with Matt’s drum work pushing everything forward. Cameron anchors the madness, his bass lines slyly orchestrating the chaos.
Smile dives deep into the messy business of wrestling trauma and mental illness, especially the kind of anxiety that turns everyday tasks into towering hurdles. Making art that truly connects, that genuinely touches those who walk similar paths, feels nearly impossible. Yet, Smile is precisely that kind of music: forged from chance encounters, wounded egos, and the quiet camaraderie of those who always feel just a step outside of everything else. It’s music born from serendipity, bruised pride, and the unspoken bond of the outsiders.
“I write what I know,” Cameron says. “I live in Brooklyn. My whole world’s a mess—drug addicts, street preachers, poets, scammers, latchkey kids, lovers and loners. People call it ‘indie sleaze’ or whatever. To me, it’s just my reality—made loud with a backbeat.”
Jackie Smile cracks open the record with an untamed howl, then barrels headlong into a raw-edged guitar frenzy. Vocals ring earnest, carrying echoes of midnight college-radio sets, steeped in shoegaze nostalgia and authentic ’90s alt-rock glow. Wet Dreams veers toward heavier territory, pairing fuzz-laden riffs reminiscent of Smashing Pumpkins with the layered, dreamy distortion of My Bloody Valentine. Screams punctuate the atmosphere, vocals surging brilliantly through each swell of sound.
On Fading, which follows an instrumental interlude, the band settles into emotional intricacy; a heartfelt push and pull through fleeting closeness and quiet despair. It navigates the fragile territory of uncertain love, caught in a suspended dance of longing and loss. Each lyric brims with subtle acceptance, a slow unraveling toward inevitable twilight, bringing to mind late-90s sound reminiscent of The Verve Pipe.
The music video, directed by Aleko Syntelis, captures Two Point Oh performing in a desolate, cavernous space defined by crumbling walls and towering columns. Its ambiguity (is it an abandoned gymnasium, a forgotten church basement, or a deserted warehouse?) perfectly reflects the band’s echoing themes of memory and the emotional gravity they grapple with.
Finally, Swallow, opening once again with an instrumental interlude, gently closes the album, bringing introspection to the fore. It’s a softer revelation, a quiet confrontation of personal heartbreak, offering acceptance as the balm to life’s unexpected blows.
Listen to Smile below.
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