Bedridden – Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs

The indie underground has long been a breeding ground for the most visceral, urgent, and emotionally raw music. Enter Bedridden, the Brooklyn-based quartet whose debut album, Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs, is set to release via Julia’s War Recordings—a label revered for its dedication to the restless and the reckless. Bedridden are the latest torchbearers in this lineage, carving out their own niche at the intersection of shoegaze, punk, and ’90s alt-rock.

Helmed by frontman Jack Riley, Bedridden have been steadily building a reputation for their unfiltered sound and intensely personal lyricism. Their 2023 EP, Amateur Heartthrob, was a glimpse into their chaotic world—blown-out guitars, lo-fi production, and anthems for the disaffected. It was enough to catch the ear of Douglas Dulgarian, the mastermind behind Julia’s War Recordings, who promptly brought them into the fold. Fast forward to 2025, and Bedridden’s lineup has cemented into a formidable four-piece: Riley (vocals/guitar), Sebastian Duzian (bass), Nick Pedroza (drums), and Wesley Wolffe (guitar). Their combined influences, ranging from jazz to hardcore, infuse Bedridden’s sound with a dynamic, unpredictable energy.

The album title comes from a mysterious missive Riley received on astrology app Co-Star.

Let’s get right in amongst this!

If there’s a mission statement buried anywhere on Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs, it might be ‘Gummy’. From the first clatter of drums, it’s like being flung into someone else’s memories mid-chaos—no warning, no easing in, just full-body impact. The guitars are serrated, slicing their way across a rhythm section that lurches like a panic attack in real time. Is this grunge? Is this gaze? The answer is yes and what a great blend of the two it is. As an opener, it’s a gutsy move. No room for polite introductions or easing the listener in. Instead, it grabs you by the collar and drags you through the emotional undergrowth. If you’re still standing after ‘Gummy’, you’re ready for the rest of the ride.

There’s a distinct shift in temperature next with ‘Etch’. Less about chaos, more about the kind of slow-burn resentment that builds behind gritted teeth. Sonically, it’s hostile but hollowed out; the band dial back the immediacy just enough to let the tension breathe. It captures that sensation of spiralling through an imaginary argument, reliving each hypothetical punchline or sharp comeback you should’ve said. It’s a haunting, uneasy track and one of the album’s most emotionally articulate moments.

‘Chainsaw’ follows. Clocking in like a three-minute eye-roll set to distortion, it’s Bedridden at their most sardonic, most wired, most fed up. This one kicks all sorts of ass, and it does so with purpose: it’s petty, it’s specific, and it’s gloriously unhinged. Inspired by an argument over the purchase of a lamp (yes, really), ‘Chainsaw’ transforms domestic squabbling into pure sonic carnage. It’s fast, furious, and fuzzed-out, chasing that Lemonheads-meets-Jawbreaker sweet spot, but without the bittersweet gloss—this is more like being chased through IKEA with a power tool.

From the jump, ‘Heavens Leg is heavy. Not just in tone, but in sheer weight. The guitars are monolithic, layered like geological strata—thick, feedback-laced slabs of sound that hit like concrete. Wolffe and Riley go full tectonic here, trading dense, chugging riffs with dizzying melodic fragments that flicker and vanish like stained glass catching the light. The Smashing Pumpkins parallels are there but with added sneer. By the time the song hits its soaring climax, walls of guitar blazing, drums thundering like a church collapsing—it’s clear: this is Bedridden at their most anthemic, their most emotionally charged. And yet, it never feels grandiose. It’s grounded in dirt and doubt, in awkward conversations and uncomfortable truths.

‘Philadelphia, Get Me Through’ is the deluded geography-as-salvation anthem none of us asked for, but all of us need. It thrashes, it burns, it sweats desperation. Right from the opening snare crack, the energy is feral. Pedroza’s drumming is completely unhinged—nervy, stuttering, relentless—while the guitars explode in this messy, slightly out-of-tune swirl that sounds like someone trying to outrun their own brain. The production leans into the mess too. Everything’s a little too close, a little too loud, like it was recorded in a moving vehicle that’s on fire. Utterly compelling and leaves you breathless.

Coming in hot like a DIY hardcore demo left too long in the microwave, ‘Mainstage’ is mean, messy, and over almost before you realise it just set your eyebrows on fire. The backstory’s classic Bedridden lore: a New Year’s Eve show in the suburbs, Riley misfiring internally while everything around him goes pear-shaped. There’s no resolution here, no redemptive arc. Just flailing limbs, bad lighting, and the kind of drunk emotional intensity that leaves dents in drywall and friendships. Musically, this is a full-blown sprint. No intro, no easing in—just snarling guitar stabs and drums that sound like they’re trying to break out of the kit. Wolffe’s guitar work here is more weapon than instrument, screeching and gouging like nails across a whiteboard, while Duzian’s bass pulses with the kind of punky defiance that dares you to stay on your feet.

Forget tenderness. ‘Snare’ is a blast of full-frontal rejection, a punk anthem with a bruised emo undercurrent that cuts deep because it’s fast. This one barrels in with a wiry, impatient urgency, like it’s trying to outrun the shame of showing up somewhere you shouldn’t be. And honestly? That’s exactly what it’s about. It’s is a whiplash-inducing sprint. The guitars are jagged, melodic in that punchy kind of way. Wolffe’s leads scurry around the edges like they’re avoiding eye contact, while Duzian’s bass holds everything steady in that classic “barely-holding-it-together” emo-punk fashion. Pedroza is locked in on drums—tight, aggressive, but with just enough swing to give the whole thing that scrappy, heart-on-fire energy.

With its jangly, melancholic guitars and that unmistakable air of theatrical self-loathing, ‘Uno’ might be the most Smithsian moment on Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs—and not just musically. It’s bitter, wry, and delivered with a wink so crooked it’s practically a twitch. Riley’s vocal delivery is sly but exhausted, like he’s trying to maintain a smirk while the room spins. “I guess the big finale of that song was my response to dealing with this recurring experience of feeling like I wasn’t good enough by getting really into whippets,” he confessed in a recent interview—and that pretty much sums it up. ‘Uno’ is the sound of spiralling inward with a sad little flourish, masking pain with detached irony and just enough glammy sparkle to pass it off as cool.

Well,  if there was ever a track that truly earned its name, it’s ‘Bonehead’. This one’s got all the rawness and deliciously messy simplicity of classic nu-metal, wrapped in a self-aware, tongue-in-cheek bow. Think Deftones, but with the messy emotional fallout of a cringey dinner turned full-on disaster. Yeah, it’s ridiculous—but it’s also strangely effective. The real gem here, is the self-awareness. The name ‘Bonehead’ isn’t just about the argument; it’s a nod to the almost delicious simplicity of the track itself—because sometimes, the best songs are the ones that don’t overthink it. The guitars grind away with a satisfying, almost stoic repetition, while Pedroza’s drums crash along like a dude who’s just lost his patience. Riley’s vocals bring just the right amount of self-deprecating bite.

After all the chaos, the flailing, the self-loathing, and the messes we made—Bedridden finally take a step back, wipe the sweat off their brows, and point their gaze toward the future. ‘Ring Size’ may be their answer to the question that hangs heavy through the whole record: What now? Musically, this one’s a whole different beast. The jangly guitars glide in, immediately giving us that shimmer of hope—the kind of radiant, crisp texture you’d expect from a band that’s ready to leave behind the distortion and find some clarity. It’s effortlessly dreamy, yet tinged with that uncertainty that defines their whole journey. You can almost hear the sunshine peeking through the clouds—only, like Riley says, it’s hard to see clearly when you’re still trying to figure out what to do with your life.

Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs is a fiery, cathartic journey through the chaos of self-doubt, messy relationships, and the angst of growing up. From the fast-paced, punk-infused urgency of ‘Snare’ to the jangly, hopeful uncertainty of the closer ‘Ring Size,’ the band blends raw, emotional honesty with a punk-rock defiance, creating something both cathartic and relatable.

Through it all, Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs feels like a messy, imperfect attempt to understand what it means to grow up. It’s not about neatly tying up loose ends—it’s about embracing the uncertainty and finding beauty in the struggle. Bedridden make it clear that this is only the beginning of their journey, and if this album is any indication, the road ahead is bound to be just as thrillingly messy.

Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs is out digitally and on cassette Friday 11 April via Julia’s War Recordings. You can also source it from the Bedridden Bandcamp page.

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