As the lights of New York’s Brooklyn Paramount dimmed for the arrival of hometown band Been Stellar, opening for Fontaines D.C. this past October, there was an odd silence. This silence endured throughout the set, even as lead singer Sam Slocum fervently performed boisterous tune “Manhattan Youth” and SCNY, NY’s impeccable closer “I Have The Answer” with ferociousness and visceral honesty. His bandmates followed suit, each surrendering to the moment that only a handful seemed to have grasped onto.

Unaffected by uncontrollable factors such as this, Been Stellar has, from the development of trust and relationship-building with their audience to maneuvering through a media landscape impulsively classifying them, and others at a similar launching pad stage, under a specific genre or location-based category, intelligently played the long game.

Concerning the former, though the band cut their teeth opening for the likes of Fontaines, Shame, and The 1975, and have expressed admiration for seminal local acts such as Catcher and Voyeur, Been Stellar are not looking to be influenced.

“Listening to the music that I love, there’s a big gap between what they were doing and what we’re doing,” says Knapp. “There is a void that needs to be overcome in order to get to the place we want to be.”

On the latter issue, they have begun to kindly ask for distance from this narrative. “There is a distinct path and trajectory for all of these artists,” says Knapp. “Everyone is individually talented. It bothered us that people were saying, ‘You’re a Dimes Square band,’ when we never hung out there. That’s a group of people that would never embrace us, and we would never embrace them.”

On songs like “Sweet,” “Pumpkin,” and “Shimmer,” Slocum’s lower register reflects the curling, slender tone of the most distinguished and revered post-punk/grunge voices. Coiled like a snake in the grass, he narrowly grazes the vocal line and often gurgles his words to fit the aesthetic of the genre. Upon leaping to his upper middle chest voice on “Start Again,” “Passing Judgement,” and “Takedown,” the last of which accentuates his opulent soft palate dynamic, his tone is forward and stabilized, and his diction, forcibly so by virtue of proper technique, unfurls. Youthful, but fractured, as he sings of bearing witness to the horrors of those rag dolled by the big city of hopes and dreams.

“I’ve been told that it sounds like I have a couple of different voices,” says Slocum. “I grew up doing different styles of singing… opera, in church, and in bands. It has taken me a long time… to think of myself as a singer. I think it’s because I don’t make a living doing this. I think of myself as more of a barback, which, maybe, doesn’t do wonders for my confidence. I dedicate all my fuckin time to this, and it’s a full-time job.”

Knapp promptly provided additional context. “The roles are an afterthought,” he says. “When someone says anything… like, ‘the singer,’ or ‘the guitarist,’ it’s kind of inaccurate. That’s only the thing we do when we actually have to play the songs live.”

So, perhaps, would another member step up to sing lead? “Fuck no,” replies Slocum immediately, jokingly yet firmly. Knapp doubles down. “I think I’d just start a different band,” he says. “I respect it, but, when I’m reading a book, I don’t like when the narrator switches. I like a consistent story being told.”

This internal understanding of roles is unmistakably present in the onstage execution of the material. As the band neared the final moments of their Paramount set, Knapp stepped forward and laid his foundation for a lengthy guitar-powered prologue… an instrumental aria of sorts. He begins with a knowing cautiousness, makes his way onto the path, and is soon oozing with musical sweat and haze. As he does this, the other members can only stand back and wait.

“For me, it’s incredibly mechanical,” says Brunstein. “I wait for Sky to get to maximum speed, then I count seven seconds and cue Laila in.” He was to continue his statement, but was interrupted. “I didn’t even know that that’s what you did… that’s insane,” replies Wayans, bemused. “I guess that part has almost become spiritual for me. It’s at the end of the set, so it’s a good time to reflect.”

Wayans is vicious on the kit, playing with a staggering intensity as she largely regulates the movement of her upper body. The onstage relationship between herself and Brunstein is visibly evident and endearing, as he, fully mobile, frequently wanders up and down her immediate line of sight.

Fueled by tenacity and empathy, Been Stellar channels that viciousness and transcendent implementation of musicianship into their repetitions of SFNY, NY’s sensitive material. A scream in New York does not equal terror. For what could be everyday happenings, screams are directed at nothing and no one. Carried out by an individual lost in their own mind, aimlessly wandering.

If they could hear the picture, it’d sound like this
A gasping confirmation that they exist
It echoes through the city and passes on
I hear it every morning and every dawn
Morning in America

The record was inspired and crafted based on the observations of these occurrences by the scraggly group of 20-somethings behind it. All of whom, somewhat ironically, at the time of speaking, seemed to be navigating complex relationships with the city directly correlating with their professional obligations.

One admitted that existing without a concrete place in the city, “or anywhere,” is a serious test of their personal bandwidth. Another says that, due to the demand of their schedule, home is wherever they are in the moment. The next, currently in between New York homes, states they are playing a character in the form of a visitor.

“I think you just start writing songs… and then you piece together what it is you’re talking about,” says Knapp, on the unspoken free flow of musical genesis. “To me, the music we were writing felt very frustrated, or a demand to be noticed. It sounded like a group of people really trying to show that they exist.”

He passes the baton to Slocum. “The songs are like vignettes of the movie ‘Scream From New York, NY’,” he says. “All these little moments with characters… little windows into the idea. Musically, the process was kind of a mess. Like any artistic process, you’re just swept up in it and trusting yourself. When you’re working on it, it feels really scattered, but by the end, you take an inventory and think, ‘Oh, ok. This is what I was getting at the whole time.”

Walking down 1st, just past the 20
A man at the center, he drinks himself sick
“Yeah the money is good, but I’m killin’ my body.”
He’s in his shiny clothes, so he can’t get hit

From the rhythmic complexity of “Can’t Look Away,” the counterbalance of “Pumpkin,” and musical filth of “All In One,” each member offers their entire selves to these tunes. On “I Have the Answer,” Slocum, while certainly unable to do so alone, is tasked with verbally emulating its message and intentions, performing the song with a rigidness and a stoicism that encapsulates the extreme concentration and emotional vehemence that is necessary of him.

This responsibility is heightened further in a live setting. “Emotionally, there is a sadness and weightiness to it,” he says. “There is something about the verses that feels almost natural to have my eyes open, so I try not to close them too much. I feel like I’m looking out at people and trying to break through with the lyric, ‘This is just here now/ This is just happening.’ You’re trying to break the fourth wall and say, ‘We’re all here together.’”

He must also factor himself into the equation. “That is one of the harder points of the set to sing, so by the time I finish it, part of me is like, ‘Nice! I’m done, I can relax,’” he continues, with a broad smile. “Then, I slip into a trance state… like I’m dancing. When I come in with the tambourine, that part is so simple… kind of like, primal… and I stop worrying about what I look like. By the end of that, it’s a mix of exhaustion, pride, and honesty.”

SFNY, NY is a record of ugly truths both in its storytelling and its real-life implications. It is a record of exemplary quality. A record of acute specificity and obligatory lies within its lines. As the members of Been Stellar continue to elevate, even if they must fight to do so, they look ahead.

“For the next things we’re working on, we’ve had conversations about what the throughline is,” says Slocum. “I think the goal of each album, and each statement, that any artist makes is to get more distilled to what it is you’re trying to say. Even if the theme is different for the next one, the one goal for me is to see if we can get closer to what we have in our heads.”