Pigeon Pit

Led by Olympia-based songwriter Lomes Oleander, the band recently released Leash Aggression, a raw new record that pulls its songs closer to the surface. Oleander has long described Pigeon Pit as a kind of journaling practice. Where earlier releases leaned into dense arrangements, Leash Aggression is more stripped-down yet immediate, built to reflect how the songs feel when played live.

In this conversation, Oleander talks about writing without filters, the intensity of sharing grief onstage, and why art can’t be separated from the world it’s made in. Rather than offering easy answers, Leash Aggression sits with discomfort and connection at the same time, asking what it means to keep showing up for each other when things feel bleak.

Analogue: I feel like I can identify so many threads woven through the music—this vulnerable side, the punk leanings—which made me curious about your early listening experiences? What’s the sonic well you feel like you’re drawing from?

Lomes Oleander: I mean, there’s just so much, you know? I think some of the biggest songwriting wells I’m drawing from are The Weakerthans and then Gram Parsons in terms of the country elements, Lucinda Williams and The Replacements. And yeah, there’s also so much punk I’m listening to that’s really not sonically connected but energetically a big force, like Big Boys and Japan. It’s a mix of wells.

For me, it’s like journaling, you know? Lyrically, it feels like going from one thing to the next, not always in a linear way, but connecting things that naturally link together because of how memory works. That webbed-together feeling across time.

Analogue: You mentioned journaling. I think a lot of songwriters feel that way privately, but not everyone lets that level of rawness translate so directly. There are filters or restraints that tend to shape things. How much do you think about that tension?

Lomes: I feel like so much of writing is editing down, but for me, I owe it to myself to be as raw as possible and not overthink things. Sometimes that means things become confusing or less clear or less legible because there’s so much going on. But I think in order to express how confused and contradictory the experience is, the music has to reflect that when it needs to. So I really try to make it as unfiltered as possible.

Analogue: When you release that publicly, how does that affect you? Has that changed since your early days?

Lomes: It’s definitely interesting going from “I’m just putting this on Bandcamp” to releasing something where I’m expecting a certain amount of reaction. I really try to resist considering that at all. One, I think you make better art when you’re not worried about what people think, and you’re more tuned into what’s going on internally. And two, if I’m making art because I want people to like it, that’s not really what I’m trying to do. I’m doing this because right now I’ve figured out how to do it full-time. That’s awesome. If people like it, that’s awesome. But that’s not the reason.

Analogue: Some of these songs make really direct political statements about the state of the world and the powers that be. It made me wonder: what do you believe about the power of art in the face of all that?

Lomes: I feel like the best art is a reflection of the human experience, and it’s also about trying to express the beauty of that experience. I don’t think you can really be tapped into humanity right now without feeling an overwhelming amount of grief and anger. So if you’re making art and it’s not reflecting that, then that’s a statement about what your experience is right now as a human, and I think that’s pretty disappointing.

I think there’s a false separation between the artistic and the political, where we treat art as something that can be political but isn’t inherently political. Historically, so many forms of protest have been straight-up works of public art. People living their lives artistically are also living politically. Expressing the humanity you feel inside—that’s art, but it’s also mutual aid. It’s also feeding people. It’s also seeing something happening, whether it’s far away or right in front of you, whether it’s a genocide in Gaza or neighbors being taken off the street by ICE, and responding with empathy. That impulse to act as a human being is the same force behind art: trying to connect and elevate the human spirit. To me, it’s all the same.

Analogue: Is there someone who stands as a pillar for you—someone whose honesty or political clarity resonates with what you’re trying to do?

Lomes: A lot of the shit I'm saying is stuff I learned from this guy Ben Morea, who was part of this revolutionary group in the ’60s called Up Against the Wall Motherfucker. He still does book tours and talks and is an amazing artist who really broke down the barrier between art and protest. He’s not a songwriter, but he’s an incredible visual artist and movement figure.

And in writing, James Baldwin is huge in my mind for bridging that gap and making it clear that the motivating force behind protest isn’t duty but love for other people. Baldwin is huge for me.

Analogue: When you’re that honest, how are the new songs landing in a live setting? What are you experiencing when you share them?

Lomes: Especially with the new stuff, it’s so fun playing any new music live. Getting to tour right after putting something out is the most fun thing ever. But it’s also really intense. With songs like ‘Thread the Needle," I find myself crying while I’m playing, because it’s about friends who’ve passed. It’s intense to experience that publicly, in a way where people are almost consuming it as an audience sometimes.

There are a lot of different kinds of interactions at shows. Sometimes people are reacting as an audience—you look out and see hella people holding up their phones, recording and putting it on social media—and that shit is draining and hard. It feels like a barrier. But at a lot of DIY shows, or depending on the energy, it can feel like you’re just in a room with a bunch of people, experiencing something collectively. It doesn’t feel like people are consuming your art; it feels much more collaborative. I’m always trying to figure out how to more skillfully curate that vibe and shatter that separation.

Analogue: I would imagine there are moments where it feels like you’re an exhibit on display. Shifting gears a bit: what does support look like moving forward? What’s on the horizon for you into 2026?

Lomes: I don’t have anything I can formally announce yet, but we’ve got a bunch of international stuff in the works that I’m really stoked about. That’s awesome. And I’m really trying to grind next year, not just to get the music out there, but because it’s the most fun thing ever.

Analogue: Even in the middle of the challenges you’ve talked about, it sounds like you’re having a lot of fun too.

Lomes: Yeah. And hearing people, especially young trans people, say this music is important to them is huge. With everything happening in the news and everything feeling so gnarly, I don’t know how helpful the music is, but people tell me it is. So if it’s helpful, I’m there. Let’s go. It’s fun and it’s important.

VISIT: Pigeon Pit