The Films Are the Greatest Band No One’s Ever Heard Of 

I only heard about The Films because of Billie Joe Armstrong’s failson. (The older one, that is). To be more precise, his failson’s band. Getting to find out about The Films was part of why so many girls loved, well, SWMRS. They spoon-fed us a lot of our favorite music, right alongside Tweets about educating the Gen Z of America or whatever. (Read: ‘we are just so much better than you.’) As pitiable and embarrassing as it is, they gave us songs that no one from the suburbs of nowhere had a fair chance at hearing on their own. Because of SWMRS, myself—and other sheltered teenagers who believed the most underground thing you could do was not be “part of a redneck agenda”—learned there was music that wasn’t on the radio. 

This included a lot of bands that are too embarrassing to admit you heard about because of SHTTRS. But also stuff everybody knows, back before it was cool—PUP, White Reaper, Destroy Boys, The Garden, et cetera. Or music that’s been forgotten about, like Jay Reatard or The Only Ones. But mostly, it included music not very many people have heard of, period: Meat Market, SKATERS, The Exploding Hearts, The Shrives, and my favorite: The Films.

SWMRS played The Films’ biggest single, “Belt Loops,” before shows sometimes. (It was on their “Secret Recipe” playlist, too.) You can tell from the heavy groove of just the first few bass notes that the band was special—hearing it for the first time is electric. Before the first verse is even over, you can see yourself making plans to see them—wherever, whenever. Even if you have to fly. They must be the next big thing, after all. 

Except somehow, they weren’t. Despite their sound melting fairly well into the “alternative scene” of the time, which consisted of a lot of Gidget-era surf rock and lo-fi emo revival, it was released in 2006. And, despite “Belt Loops” being one of the best songs I’d ever heard, they only had about ten thousand monthly listeners and (at the time) that single EP on streaming services, plus more music hidden around YouTube. Then—and even now—it’s nearly impossible to believe their EP didn’t “come out yesterday.”

Granted, save for the fast-paced and guitar-heavy sound, there were some notable differences between The Films and the more contemporary indie-rock scene SWMRS existed in; The Films’ LPs in particular were folkier, more Atlantic. (The ocean, not the label.) Their EP, however, was harder, glitzier, cleaner—just so Killers. And The Strokes. 

Even still, they fit right into the anachronistic-Americana backdrop of the “scene” at the time; perhaps better than any of the actual Burger bands ever had. If anything, they certainly figured out the whole Western-inspired thing way before The Frights took their hard pivot away from surf rock and the members of FIDLAR and Together Pangea put on bolo ties. Meanwhile, The Films’ “Holliewood Getaway” pulled off the Kill Bill pictorials in a way that probably sounded better than anything by The Orwells. And the filtered hedonism of SWMRS’ “Figuring It Out” felt juvenile in comparison to the tipsy kick-line of “Tabletops;” and they tried the whole “Midnight Cowboy” thing way before Surf Curse ever did.

Concurrently, their lyrical work held the lovers-lane feel that The Growlers strove for, but The Films’ vocalist Michael Trent’s “pained, Southern-tinged yowls” felt more grounded and skin-to-skin than the spacey, buzzing drone of Brooks Nielsen. (Not to mention the clothes—though The Films felt more “moonshine” than “plantation.” {And a little Pretty. Odd before Pretty. Odd.}) In the same vein, lines like “Well, baby don’t act smart; I don’t go for that” and “You never do anything you’re told” off “Completely Replaceable” or “I’ll make concessions for your attitude” off “Number 1” fit right in with sax-heavy crooners like the Buttertones’ “Shut Up, Sugar.” Meanwhile, the crestfallen thematics of “Me and the Thief” and “Number 1” squared with the most disconsolate of FIDLAR’s Elliot Smith-inspired early demos (especially “Untitled.”). And, unlike SWMRS’ proclamations about their own songs, you could actually dance to The Films. (Maybe squaredance, but still.) 

In short, The Films were a jukebox rock wet dream, full of tragic cigarettes, sawed-off shotguns, whiskey on the rocks, narcotics, and weeping small-town teenage pinup queens. It sounded like losing your virginity on the smoke-stained brown leather backseat of a classic Impala instead of to a Presley impersonator in a heart-shaped three-star motel hot tub. They were to die for. 

(And they sounded fantastic live, too.)

Though their music stayed on loop for most of college, it took a long time for me to dig deeper into the mystery of what became of the band. It was easy to assume that The Films—like so many others— were merely a flash that had never panned out. Until one day, I finally investigated—and to my surprise, I realized that me—and pretty much everyone else on earth—did know about The Films. Kind of. Not really. But we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here. 

The Films originally began in the very early 2000s in Denver, Colorado as Tinker’s Punishment, and were once referred to by German publication Lax Mag as “The Most Underrated Rock Band of the Year” (translated). The group was composed of Michael Trent (vocals), Adam Blake (drums), Kenneth Harris (guitar), and Jake Sinclair (bass). In 2003, the four-piece—all in their late teens— moved to Charleston, South Carolina, and signed a deal with Warner not long after. 

Their MySpace page described their musical influences as: The Beatles, The Zombies, The Kinks, The Velvet Underground, The Beach Boys, Elvis Costello, Weezer, The Pixies, The Violent Femmes, The Clash, T. Rex, and Elliott Smith. This explains their timeless, Tom-and-Summer sound (but then again, maybe that’s just Trent’s looks talking). Regarding Costello specifically, Trent would later tell American Songwriter—who described The Films as “brimming with Elvis Costello-indebted snarl”—that he was “really attracted” to Costello’s “fearless delivery and use of lyrics.” And now that they mention it, The Films do bear a slight resemblance to The Fratelli’s Costello Music, also a product of the mid-to-late 2000s.

Also according to their MySpace page, The Films’ first release was the self-produced “Zero Summer” in 2002. (This appears to no longer be available online, though it has been described as “the single most Muse sounding album ever made by someone not Muse.”).

Their next EP, Being Bored, was released on October 10^th, 2006, and features some of the weirdest album art I’ve ever seen (I think it’s supposed to be a nude girl caressing a horse). It’s a bit difficult to determine if it this is when it was actually recorded, as the band reportedly got into conflict with Warner over the release of the album and had to put the record out independently later.  

In any case, Being Bored’s opening title track starts with fast-paced folk-rock that perhaps belongs more on their LPs. The lyrics serve as an apt introduction to the narrator of The Films’ work; a kid drinking in a “lousy corner bar,” sneering at “show-off Bedford artists,” picking fistfights just to feel something, and finishing it all off with a cigarette. (So Palahniuk, but younger, cuter. Boyish.) 

With “Belt Loops”—a track detailing bitterness towards a succubus that’s left the narrator for another man—the band moves into something so clear, hard, and irresistible it’s obvious they’ve found their footing. The track is packed with slick rhymes that form a crystalline visual of bitter sexual jealousy, three hallmarks of the band’s lyrical work; it also includes possibly the first-ever instance of comparing the female orgasm to an exploding soda bottle (predating Lana Del Rey’s “My pussy taste like Pepsi cola”). 

In Being Bored’s next track, “I’m Not Gonna Call You,” The Films move into a too-drunk-to-ride rhythm fitting for a “midnight cowboy” as Trent remorselessly muses about his current flavor-of-the-week: a girl who he doesn’t bother to call and doesn’t think is particularly bright, but is always down to fuck after he hits the bars. With this song, it becomes wonderfully clear to the audience that our narrator is completely self-aware; he simply relishes in being a good-for-nothing anti-hero, radiating even more of the arrogance that made “Belt Loops” feel so glamorous. 

The EP’s final track, “Holliewood Getaway,” also appears on their first LP, Don’t Dance, Rattlesnake. The Being Bored version is vastly superior, featuring the same slinky piano that’s on “I’m Not Gonna Call You.” The comparatively slow and dark drip of Trent’s vocals makes the scene he is describing—something set in Hollywood Hills and involving jealousy, a cocaine overdose, murder-suicide, or everything all at once—feel downright sexy. While the DDN recording features a twangier guitar that feels more alive and true to the essence of the track, parts of the vocal line sound hurried and incomplete, squishing too many syllables off-kilter into a melody that seems to have been written separately. (Perhaps paradoxically, a belting guitar solo alongside Trent’s spitfire-cadence are part of what made “Belt Loops” their best single.)

The band’s 2007 record, Don’t Dance, Rattlesnake definitely sported the best album art of their trio of releases, featuring a girl in dark lipstick peering out from under an old West hat, wrapped in ribbons and a rattlesnake, the first and last letters of the band’s name dragging down to frame her. I thought it was an oil painted poster from some old C-movie until I saw an alternate cover with a photo from the same shoot—the lighting on this one proved it was a photo, and a painfully late 2000s one. Also worth noting is the fact that the band reportedly lived in an “eccentrically furnished” and Lynchian Brooklyn warehouse during the recording of Don’t Dance, Rattlesnake (translated from German).

Anyway, some parts of the record (“Call It Off”) dragged or felt lackadaisical. “Jealousy,” too, felt like it might’ve been stalling for time—that is, until the explosive, cathartic wail of the end. However, the stand-outs on Don’t Dance, Rattlesnake included the panting shimmy of the chorus of “Talk, Talk,” and the way that “Tabletops” transports you outside a gin joint after last call, right down to the barely-audible, “Girls, Girls, Girls”-esque whistle at the start of the second verse. And, of course, “Black Shoes” was rightfully the band’s second biggest claim to fame (behind the million plays of “Belt Loops” on MySpace), earning a spot on The Sims 2’s “College Rock” radio station. 

Maybe my favorite DDR-exclusive track, though, is “Strange Hands.” The song features a man getting handsy with the narrator’s love interest in a club, leading to a bizarre confrontation in which he pulls the unwilling narrator into an equally erotic dance off; the story seems to end with the narrator so terrified he is “Shaking like a little girl…. So [he] got down on [his] knees… and started begging and begging and begging, begging, begging.” The album’s last track, “Bodybag,” is another great one, perhaps especially because it hints at what’s to come on the band’s next album, 2009’s Oh, Scorpio. The song switches from the record’s fast almost-swing into something slower, softer—but a little more “sweet” than “bitter,” in spite of the morbid lyrics. 

Given The Films’ fate—and their next record’s absence from streaming services—I fully expected their final LP to bear all the hallmarks of a band that was on the brink of coming apart, like a “noticeable downgrade in production quality,” or just, well, quality in general. This was doubly true when I heard they’d had a falling-out with Warner and signed with an independent (the Germany-based Strange Ways records). Triply so when I saw the depressingly low-budget and distressingly low-effort video for single “Belt Loops.” (Though I must admit, the gloves Trent sported in the MV were pretty cool.) And quadruply so when I saw some old German TV clips of the band performing that appeared to be lip-synced. 

But I was wrong. Oh, Scorpio was the band’s best release yet—better, even, than the EP.  It sounds like it’s late September, and someone’s left a porch light on in Oklahoma. 

The record opens with a single small-town piano before the full band breaks in. Trent’s narrator begins proudly declaring he’s still the same swaggering, licentious mercenary he was on Don’t Dance, Rattlesnake, and he’s not even the slightest bit sorry—something that starts to waver on the next song. This feeling carries through the rest of the album as it becomes apparent our narrator is older, more world-weary—but still not quite apologetic. 

The harmonica on this second track (“Holiday”) is another high point—and the album just keeps getting better. Song three (“Fingernails for Breakfast”) is a favorite—it’s full of The Films’ signature rhymes and shot-by-shot imagery, but this particular vignette is more vivid, surreal—dreamlike, even. And it’s all too easy to to picture Trent performing “Pour It Out” live, drunk, soaked in sweat, leaning into the microphone stand so hard it’s tipping. “Amateur Hour” is another stand-out (I think half this album is “my favorite”), doing the whole fantasy-muse thing better than anyone except Alex Turner. It’s enough to make you flush a little just listening. 

Conversely, the ham-fisted metaphors proselytizing against makeup in the first half of “Number 1” were way too cringe to take seriously. The laughably embarrassing first verses, however, were quickly counterbalanced by the more authentic chorus and lilting guitar trills. The third verse also gave the song a “preacher’s daughter” (Maxine, specifically) feel that worked in its favor. And the curious way the narrator seemed to be exploring the same memory that’s shown in “Belt Loops”—but this time from an angle that’s more misery than spite—also helped redeem the track. 

“God Bless Your Heart” is great too—the deceptively soft opening flips into gritted-teeth complaints in perfect meter. And the rhymes—have I mentioned the way Trent rhymes yet? It’s so quaint it’s charming. The next song, “Hold On To Me Tight” might’ve stood out more on Don’t Dance, Rattlesnake, but it’s a more unremarkable track in comparison to the caliber of the rest of Oh, Scorpio. Especially squished between “God Bless Your Heart” and “Me and the Thief.” The latter is (yet another) one of the album’s best tracks, a cheerless, high-drama anecdote explained so matter-of-fact that you completely believe it. Instead of spotlighting the histrionics, it focuses on the familiar feeling hidden in the melody: someone you love is headed somewhere not-so-good, and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it.

The final track, “Something Familiar” (featuring backing vocals by Cary Ann Hearst) ends Oh, Scorpio on a similarly soft and sad-but-somehow-sweet sonic note as “Bodybag” ends Don’t Dance, Rattlesnake. And that appears to be the end of The Films’ discography. 

Well, almost—dedicated searching uncovered a Japan-only bonus track entitled “Heartbreaker,” which was thematically consistent with “Completely Replaceable” and otherwise unremarkable—but still enjoyable. Plus a Christmas song and cute stop-motion photography video titled “It’s Christmas, (What’s the Difference?).” This track details the narrator longing for a possible ex and reminiscing on how their previous Christmas together turned sour after he commented to her family on how great she was in bed. 

The “It’s Christmas” track appears to have been recycled into Trent’s next project, Shovels and Rope—which brings us to the final part of this piece: what happened to The Films, anyway? I’m not the first person to ask this question—American Songwriter did, albeit eleven years ago. 

According to the piece—which interviewed Trent and his wife, Cary Ann Hearst, Trent says The Films fizzled out in 2010 due to “lack of momentum” as well as “running out of money and hope for the project” following the release of Oh, Scorpio and their earlier falling-out with Warner. (This is apparent in the Wayback Machine—while the band boasted over 27,000 friends on MySpace, their Twitter had less than 500 followers.) According to Trent, this was partially due to the struggle of the “transitional period” in the industry in 2009, a time when bands could no longer rely on record sales for income. (Their search algorithm-unfriendly name likely didn’t help matters, either.) 

Trent briefly worked on his own project, a solo album entitled The Winner; he said it “could have been” the next Films album, if things had turned out differently—though it would’ve had a different sound if the full band had been involved. (He described The Films’ sound as ‘Punk songs’ that would only sound country if you ‘slowed them down’’.) Ultimately, Trent formed a rock-driven folk-country duo with his then-future wife, Hearst. The project began as a “co-bill,” and ultimately became Shovels and Rope, which—to the surprise of Trent—took off more than The Films ever had despite comparatively less effort. (Majority of quotations and paraphrasing from Trent’s interview with David Inman of American Songwriter.) 

Though the above interview was conducted over a decade ago, Hearst and Trent are still active as Shovels and Rope, and released their sixth album, Manticore, in 2022 via Dualtone Records. 

And as for the rest of The Films? 

It’s unclear what became of drummer Adam Blake, though he did record on a few of Butch Walker’s EPs in the years immediately following the dissolution of The Films. 

Kenneth Harris is the now-ex touring guitarist of Panic! at the Disco, who began performing alongside Panic! in 2013 and was dishonorably discharged in 2018 following allegations that Harris (then 37) exchanged inappropriate messages with underage girls on social media. 

Jake Sinclair went on to briefly form Alohaha, a “break-up project” with poet Lyndsay Thornton. The water-drip slow Hawaiian hulu of the record probably explains whatever I initially heard in “Belt Loops” that I’m not classically trained enough to identify, but made me feel certain that The Films were part of the surf-rock scene. 

And—rattlingly— Sinclair’s fingerprints were all over the music that me—and basically everyone else in my age demographic—loved. Like Panic! at the Disco’s Vices and Virtues, Fall Out Boy’s “My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark,” and American Beauty, American Psycho, a lot of Weezer, New Politics’ “Harlem,” and 5 Seconds of Summer’s “She Looks So Perfect.” He even worked on Gin Wigmore’s “Black Sheep,” which was an integral part of any 8Tracks fanmix posted on Tumblr a decade ago. And, of course, other music everybody’s heard of, like Taylor Swift, Pink, Sia, and Train. 

Similarly, Oh, Scorpio was produced by Butch Walker, who served as “a mentor” to Sinclair; Walker, too worked a lot of my favorite music ever. Like Bowling for Soup’s “Girl All The Bad Guys Want,” Ida Maria’s “Bad Karma,” and “Black Sheep” again. Plus Fall Out Boy’s Save Rock and Roll (the most important album to me ever), and Mania and AB/AP, too. And Panic!’s Too Weird. And other music I loved, like The Academy Is’ Santi, a lot of Avril Lavigne, Pink, Katy Perry, and All Time Low. He was even featured on “You’re Crashing, but You’re No Wave,” which is quite possibly my favorite Fall Out Boy song. 

Anyway, maybe The Films came several decades too late to be truly appreciated. Or perhaps they were seven or eight years too early. After all, the stomp-clap centric percussion that introduces Don’t Dance Rattlesnake became so en vogue when the Arctic Monkeys released AM in 2013. And, like I started this off with, they could’ve done beautifully in the whole Burger scene. Or maybe they would’ve been a little too Southern to ride the wave.

Either way, The Films are—undoubtedly— the greatest band that no one’s ever heard of.

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By Sarah