7. Sept. 2025 — 21:00

Eintritt frei.

Degenerate posturing. The Sophs’ frontman Ethan Ramon  knows what he’s singing is wrong — but how else do you get those impulses out?

“Sometimes it’s important to write from the perspective of the worst part of yourself so that version of yourself can live through the music rather than exist in your day-to-day life,” Ramon  said.

It’s not him, but it’s not not him.

And he’s going to places most people wouldn’t dare.

The band’s brutal honesty, flamingly intrusive thoughts, and broad genre-spreading caught the attention of Rough Trade founders Geoff Travis and Jeannette Lee immediately. When Ramon sent a demo reel out to his favorite indies, he wasn’t expecting any replies. But Travis and Lee were in his inbox the next day, asking if he’d hop on a call.

Rough Trade heard the sort of creativity and variety — and “don’t expect me to act pretty” sentiment — that could get The Sophs — including Ramon, Sam Yuh (keyboards), Austin Parker Jones (electric guitar), Seth Smades (acoustic guitar), Devin Russ (drums), and Cole Bobbitt (bass) — a slot on nearly any stage. They heard a five-song seed of their debut record GOLDSTAR, out TK.

At any moment, The Sophs are entering pop-punk; blazing through funk; talk-singing to the audience. Their enthusiasm for every iteration is evident, and Ramon’s rich, full voice deftly nestles into endless categories, utterly chameleonic.

“We never try to be as versatile as we end up being,” Ramon said. GOLDSTAR has a Delta Blues-style song; it has a ZZ Top-inspired tune. To some degree, The Sophs see song creation like pop art: they’re focused on the idea of reproducing something over and over again until it’s meaningless.

“I want to steal and plagiarize and borrow,” Ramon said. “At the end of the day, the music is going to sound incredible.”

The genre mix comes on the heels of sparks of inspiration: Ramon will bring Yuh a song and pull out a piece (e.g., “I want drums like that”) and they’ll create something altogether new. Take the vaudevillian “THE DOG DIES IN THE END.” In an aughts pop-punk croon, Ramon takes listeners through a laundry list of intrusive, cruel thoughts, cresting over Yuh’s accordion. On sunny-rock “DEATH IN THE FAMILY,” he’s similarly disaffected, with the tongue-in-cheek refrain “I need a death in the family” seeking pity and attention that covers up any misdeeds.

“You are so scared of taking accountability and being perceived that the only way you find to gain some sort of emotional leverage is to garner sympathy,” Ramon said.

That’s the only way to quiet criticism.

But the album’s voice isn’t huddling in the corner, afraid of perception. The record asks, where’s my gold star? Where’s my validation? Why am I not being rewarded for how much of a good person I am? Am I doing mitzvahs for the right reason? The titular track — which kicks off with flamenco-style fingerpicking — wrestles with the philosophy of really being good and what that looks like.

“SWEETIEPIE,” which kicks off with a palm-muted guitar and count-in reminiscent of Bright Eyes’ “At The Bottom of Everything,” veers quickly into what can only be described as emo bluegrass. At first, it sounds like a love song, but as you tune into the verses it becomes clear that the narrator’s being rejected, and he’s drunk, and he’s kind of awful.

On ‘90s rock, Radiohead-reminiscent “SWEAT,” eerie verses of gentle warning explode into pent-up rage. Like most of The Sophs’ songs, it doesn’t let you relax — mostly because you never know what’s coming next. The band has a passion for sudden and complete destruction, for playing with the tension between pulled-back silence and total explosion.

In emo-leading “BLITZED AGAIN,” as the grunge dissolves into Ramon’s falsetto, and then what can only be described as a nigun — the entire band joining in an utterly joyful, near-spiritual chorus. In practice, they’re bouncing through the room, slapping a tambourine, bending backwards as their voices soar.

That’s where you hear The Sophs members’ as they really are: explosively positive, happy, collaborative. Think of the “degenerative posturing” instead as a “jester’s privilege.” When they’re playing together in a room, you see nothing like the character they’re putting forward. Instead, you feel a bombastic, thrilling energy that underlies the sextet’s creative power.