Illiterate Light: Arches Tour + Liz Cooper

From the venue:

Event Description

It’s dangerous to put Illiterate Light in a box, especially with the release of their new album, Arches. Are they a guitar-driven indie rock duo? Kaleidoscopic neo-psychedelia? Synth-kissed, harmony-laden folk? What does one do with an album beginning with “fake tits and diet coke,” then pivoting to train derailments in rural Ohio and never-ending black holes? These prolific farmers-turned-rockers have captured the energy of their live shows—fans crowd-surfing, moshing, crying, and crooning—and infused it into their latest release.
“We’ve always been shape shifters, moving between heavy, dark distortion and gentle sweet fingerpicking, writing aggressive songs, introspective songs, and love songs, exploding and embracing,” reflects singer-guitarist Jeff Gorman. “Smashing it all together used to feel strange, but now there’s a glue between everything we do. Our fans get it. They care less about genre. All they care about is feeling. And that’s all we care about. Are you alive or not?”
Illiterate Light’s third album, Arches, is not a passageway but an arrival. “We’re no longer striving to define a sound,” said drummer Jake Cochran. “We’re leaning into sides of ourselves that have felt off-limits, sticking to what feels right rather than concerning ourselves with comparison.” Out November 1 via Thirty Tigers, the record is bursting with thunderous anthems, biting lyrics, and lush harmonies.
The band originated in the Shenandoah Valley in 2015 when multi-instrumentalists Gorman and Cochran began playing music together while working on an organic farm. Eventually, they left the farm to focus on music, adopting the moniker Illiterate Light from a Wilco lyric. After several years of non-stop touring, they signed with Atlantic Records and released their eponymous full-length debut in late 2019. Two years later, they signed with Thirty Tigers and, in 2023, issued their critically acclaimed LP, Sunburned. Shortly after, they released two additional EPs, making Arches their fourth release in two years.
Arches was recorded in two very different locations: small-town Appalachia at Gorman’s home studio and Hollywood, CA at Sunset Sound with producer Joe Chiccarelli (The Strokes, Beck, The Killers). “We wanted the best of both worlds,” says Gorman. “We spent several days with Joe at Sunset. To record vocals in the same live room as so many of my heroes—Neil Young, Paul McCartney, Dylan—was unreal. I knew I was in a holy place.” The LA session was paired with sessions in Virginia, where Gorman and Cochran co-produced the bulk of the record with longtime collaborator Danny Gibney. In their hometown, they experimented with soaring instrumental journeys and had friends sit in on the sessions to keep things lively.
“Having our community stop by the sessions kept us on our toes—we haven’t been able to do that in the past. It helped connect us to the feeling of our live show,” recalls Cochran. Illiterate Light’s live performances, described by the Washington Post as “massive,” feature Gorman on one foot, hammering bass on a foot-pedal synth, shredding big guitar riffs, and spitting out song after song while Cochran matches Gorman harmony for harmony, dancing with his standing drum kit, teetering on the edge of the stage only to dive head first into his next solo. 
Arches is the closest you can get to their live show, with heavier songs like “I Ride Alone” and “Bloodlines” encapsulating the best of the writhing, uninhibited front-row experience. The keystone of the album, “Norfolk Southern,” crashes in with Gorman belting, “Here comes the Norfolk Southern / It’s off the tracks / and heading for you,” with Cochran chanting, “break, break, break, break” to the ghost of the train that derailed in 2023 in East Palestine, Ohio, releasing 10,000 gallons of hazardous materials into the atmosphere. The song also serves as a metaphor for Gorman’s own turbulent feelings. “I certainly wanted to shine a light on the environmental catastrophe. But strangely, some days I feel just like that Norfolk Southern, barreling out of control at warp speed.”
Gorman lets the lyrics take control. Showing up relentlessly, day after day, to his home studio dubbed “The Bookhouse” (a tribute to David Lynch’s Twin Peaks), he can’t predict what will arise. For the album’s first track, “Payphone,” the opening lyrics were a surprise to Gorman: “Fake tits and diet coke / Full of undefeated hope / You are the only one I trust.” The jangly and groovy album opener is a pep talk between a woman named Big Red and her man as he faces crippling self-doubt and is self-medicating. She comforts him during a time of despair on a phone call that continues to drop.
Another relationship study, “Montauk,” is a cold beachside dance under the full moon inspired by the central question in Gorman’s favorite movie, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. “Do we go for it again—even though we’re destined to fail?” he asks. “For me, the answer is a resounding yes.”
“All the Stars Are Burning Out” continues in that reflective vein. “It’s a throwback song, about getting high, going for a drive, dreaming up your future. You’re looking at that wide open black sky of bright stars, and they’re so beautiful and inspiring, and they make you want to follow your dreams. And yet all those stars eventually burn out. It’s a song about going for it even though life is impermanent and full of change,” Gorman said.
The saying goes, “arches never sleep.” Designed to distribute weight evenly, arches naturally rebalance as the structure around them shifts over time. Illiterate Light’s Arches exists within this metaphor in many ways. The album marks a period of artistic strength, a balancing act of identity and possibility. To listen to Arches is to plant yourself within the arch, to stand in the threshold between two worlds and gaze into Gorman and Cochran’s constant motion forward.
 
 
On the porch of her one-time Nashville home, Liz Cooper had a multimedia project that combined two of her loves: lips and cigarettes. She painted her own lips with red paint and kissed a canvas two or three hundred times, later dotting them with the detritus left behind in ashtrays by her friends. An overlap of intimacy, indulgence, cheekiness, and sensuality, the piece complements Cooper’s roiling second record, Hot Sass. Over jagged, frenetic guitar parts, Cooper sets expectations aflame with the record’s title track. Her songs unfurl like smoke spiraling off an incense cone late in the afternoon, with Cooper pushing deeper into psychedelic openness, punk ferocity, and beyond.Hot Sass marks multiple departures for Liz Cooper: from her nine-year home of Nashville, from her band addendum of the Stampede, from any genre-burdened expectations she’d accumulated over the years. After heavy touring in support of 2018’s Window Flowers, where her songs stretched out in live settings, she felt constricted by the Americana-adjacent associations that the Stampede carried. So with her bandmates’ blessing, she dropped the moniker, pursuing sounds and songs that let her chase the inspiration lent to her by the likes of Courtney Love, Lou Reed, and David Bowie.