Billy Peake holds to hope while navigating these ‘Manic Waves’

There’s a tension that exists at the core of Manic Waves, the new solo record from Billy Peake, which finds the Columbus musician torn between an awareness that our society is being driven into the abyss by the cruelest among us and a deep-seated belief that there exists still a light at the end of the tunnel – a sense of optimism that stems in part from raising two young children whose futures continue to hold infinite promise.

It’s an idea that crystallizes most fully in the heart-swelling “Annie You’re a Lightning Bolt,” a song in which Peake addresses his daughter, cautioning her against the misogyny and sexism she will undoubtedly encounter while simultaneously expressing confidence that these “scared boys pulling power plays” won’t stand a chance going toe-to-toe with her. “Annie you’re a lightning bolt, brilliant and powerful,” Peake sings, his vocals buoyed by a surge of bounding power-pop guitar.

“I feel like I’m a good guy, but I’ve had really shitty moments in my life, and I’ve regretted the things I’ve said towards women and the ways I’ve acted. And I think it’s important for me to acknowledge those things and to try to be better, but also to prepare her,” said Peake, who will be backed by drummer Jason Mowery, bassist Adam Dowell, keyboardist Leah Wahlin, guitarist Brian Hake, and trumpeter Brandon Barnes for an album release show at Natalie’s Grandview on Saturday, Feb. 7, supported by openers Holiday Lions and Nervous Verbs. 

Elsewhere, songs linger on the assorted creeps and bullies who make up a swath of our political and corporate leadership (“Grandad Was a Demon”), the extended tentacles of pandemic isolation (“Manic Waves”), and the elected officials who routinely weaponize the culture war against our most vulnerable people in service of the powerful (“How Can You Sleep?”).

“I’m trying to find out what drives people to be so hateful. That’s the thing I don’t understand. And then I’m also trying to figure out where I can find joy,” Peake said. “Because even in this crazy environment and in these crazy times, I feel like a really fortunate person, because I love my family so much. And so, I was just trying to juggle those two emotions, where half the record is what the hell is happening? But the other half is love.”

Befitting its title, Manic Waves flits between these poles, Peake railing against corporate grifters and white male privilege at one turn and then pivoting to see the future “hopeful and bright” through his son’s eyes on the rhythmic “Little Glow.”

While a majority of the songs could have emerged from this political moment, the bulk of them were written as the pandemic first took hold more than five years ago, with one track, the deeply resigned “Age of Dumb,” dating to the morning after the 2016 presidential election in which Donald Trump first assumed power. “That one was actually on a fucking microcassette … where I had to go searching through the attic, like, ‘I know there’s a song up here somewhere,’” Peake said, and laughed. “And then there were songs I started writing ideas for during Ferguson and Michael Brown, and then [the Unite the Right rally in] Charlottesville. And shit just kept happening.”

Early on, Peake envisioned Manic Waves as a deeply solitary project, intent on making “a bleeps and bloops record” that relied heavily on looping and would fall at some remove from the driving indie-rock he created first in Miranda Sound and later with Bicentennial Bear. “I just wanted to change the dynamic a little bit. … So, I told Bi-Bear, because we were struggling to find time to practice, that I was going to do this little thing and maybe we should chill a little bit,” said Peake, who will be supported at Natalie’s by a majority of the band’s lineup. “And then Jason Mowery … was like, ‘I’m coming with you to play on it.’ And it was like, ‘You know, you kind of fucked this up, because it was supposed to be this little, lo-fi thing.’” 

Thanks in part to Mowery’s contributions, the tracks gradually blossomed into something more robust, Peake and Co. crafting a series of lovingly rumpled songs rooted in 1980s pop and the rougher-edged indie rock bands the musician idolized once he began to take the guitar more seriously in college. “I was just trying to make stuff I wanted to hear, and I love pop music, but I love running things through my shitty filters,” Peake said. “Justin Hemminger said this once to me in college, he said, ‘You’re just slightly off the beaten path,’ and I liked that.”

The decision to open up the process to outsiders had additional impacts, combining with age to lead Peake to reflect more on his surroundings than his interior world. “I think really early on I wrote a lot of personal stuff, and I lament being so hard on my dad as a songwriter when I was a younger guy, because he was a hard-working dude with mental health challenges that I probably couldn’t capture or understand,” Peake said. “Now, as an older man, seeing how tough it is to be a dad, and seeing how the world weighs on you, it was like, man, I probably shouldn’t have dragged that guy as much. … But also, I started writing songs at 20 and I didn’t have a grand understanding of anything, so I wasn’t ready to speak loudly. … And I’d never really thought about it, but I guess I am looking more outward, because there’s not a day goes by where I don’t think, ‘What are these kids going to inherit? What are they going to get? What are we doing?’”

And yet, Manic Waves sends listeners off on a purposely hopeful note – both musically and lyrically – in the form of the gratitude-rich “There’s Not a Punk in the Universe.” “There’s not a man in the universe who I’d trade places with,” Peake sings, his words landing amid richly surging horns, a loose-limbed volley of drums, and scruffy guitars that gradually arch skyward.

“There’s still a ton of hope. And I’m grateful to have a reason to go, to do the thing,” Peake said. “And it’s them, my family, my life. They’re what drives me.”