Eraser are choosing to make good trouble

They’re aware of how it feels to be from a small town, to be the only person in your scene like you, or to not even be part of a scene at all. “I just know how meaningful it feels when a band comes to play your stupid city and barely any people go,” says singer and synth player Sonam Parikh, “but it means everything in the world to you.”

“ We’ve had some really meaningful experiences connecting with people who maybe wanna make music but don't feel access to it,” drummer Juliette Rando adds. “It does mean a lot to motivate younger people or people of identities that aren’t often given access, and encourage them to also be making art.” 

“We played this festival in Rennes, and this younger kid came up to us and wanted to buy our T-shirt,” Parikh recalls of their visit to the French city. “The kid was really, really shy, and we were like, ‘do you think you’d ever wanna play music?’ And she was just blushing and emphatically saying yes. We were like, ‘okay, one day we’re gonna play with your band.’”

Years in Philadelphia’s punk scene led the members of Eraser to a natural collaboration on their 2025 mini-album Hideout, whose eye-widening synth lines cut through a pounding atmosphere. As a band, they burst through the brain, fully formed and unafraid. It hasn’t been long since that last release, but a lot has happened: touring Europe, playing festivals, and prepping the world for their latest release, Operator!. 

But between writing songs and being local icons, the place where Eraser finds the most clarity is on tour. “Sometimes when you work really hard and don’t ever have time to go out, it’s hard to know what other people are doing and thinking,” Parikh says. “So when we’re on the road, it’s nice to link up with peers and hear that they are also working two jobs to go on this tour, or that they are also making ends meet in crazy ways, and that they also miss all their friends, but for some ridiculous reason, this is something that they cannot help but pursue.”

The change in perspective applies outside the punk community as well, as guitarist Pier Harrison notes: “ It’s novel to play to completely different sets of people, and it’s really validating when people enjoy the songs. You’re like, oh, really? This is your first time seeing us?”

“ We had a meaningful experience in this seaside town in France called Douarnenez,” Rando remembers. “While we were playing, no one was moving, and the crowd was a lot of older gentlemen, so I wasn’t sure if they were enjoying the music. But at the end, several older gentlemen came up and spoke about how meaningful this performance was to them.  One man started crying, right?”

Parikh nods. “He was a salty dog with weathered skin and rubber boots, but there were tears in his eyes, and he was like, ‘do you think you'll ever come here again?’ And we were like, ‘we really hope to.’ And he was like, ‘I'll be waiting. I’ve never seen anything like this before, and I didn’t realise how much my heart likes it.’ Stuff like that has been significant.” 

Harrison laughs: “We’ve got the grandparents and the young children. It’s interesting how you’re being appreciated by these people who aren’t necessarily, in their day-to-day lives, thinking of themselves as music critics. But they’re still engaging with your creations on this deep level. A really human level. It feels kind of egalitarian.”

And with a new album, the band is only bound to court further connection. But what is it about the Eraser sound that conveys universal meaning? Could it be within their unique songwriting process? “All of Eraser is really improv,” Parikh explains. “When we go into the basement, we don’t come in with anything pre-planned. And that’s not by design. I just figured stuff would come out, and I’m so insanely lucky that’s actually what happened. It’s as though me and Juliette and Pier were one collective mouth, and we just finally opened it and screamed.”

On Operator!, the improvisational qualities of Eraser’s music have become more refined. Rando’s drums and Harrison’s guitar dance against each other in patterns, living somewhere between collaboration and a battle. Parikh’s innate emotionality speaks full messages even through songs built on phonetics alone (“Hahahaha”). And then there’s the stability of Kat Bean on the bass, never wavering when the sounds around them twirl in flames, not stagnant for a second too long. Together, their rhythm and repetition speak a language translated by the heart. 

Individually, Parikh credits their musical sense to a childhood removed from Western music: “ I would say a lot of the phonetic stuff is somewhat Bollywood-related. There’s a lot of repetition and eye work even in the movement and just drawing out of a sound. But all of this is very instinctual to me; it comes out because that's what Juliette and Pier elicit from me, like that kind of safety to be really vocally silly and also very experimental.”

But from her perspective behind the kit, Rando has another theory: “Your vocals always feel very akin to drumming to me, so  I always wonder if your vocals are informed by your past as a drummer.” 

“And people say the synth also sounds percussive,” Parikh agrees. “I think it’s just because I have no concept of how to play a string instrument. Harrison adds, “It’s cool when we’re writing music to see you find the shapes for the words in the song. How you want the words to fit in with the drum, guitar, and bass, but then you're also synthesising the meaning behind the words and the ideas that you want to express.”

Eraser’s music holds narrative elements as well. Take the introduction to Operator!, “Main Menu”, which serves as a faux phone tree. Complete with hold music and instructions, it guides the listener through each song on the album with a metaphorical press of a button. And there’s a new character behind every door. Lead single “Crindy” follows an urban legend about an orphan who lives in Kat Bean’s dresser. 

“ For me, Crindy’s a scapegoat for stupid shit,” Parikh explains. “So it’s like, why aren’t the clothes dry? Crindy did it. Or like, why didn’t the trash go out? Crindy was sleeping in it. It takes the edge off things cos nobody really means to make little mistakes ever, and it’s really nice when you have somebody like Crindy to blame it on so you’re not directing strange energy towards somebody who you love but has annoying habits.”

“But poor Crindy!” Harrison cries. “She’s never fully understood. She’s always perceived as a menace. She gets all this stuff put on her, and it’s her in rage.  So the way that the lyrics are set up is really like an ode to Crindy.”

“‘Innard Skynyrd’ is  about this robot  monkey guy that just kind of dances when you tell him to, cos he’s your musical puppet,” Parikh says. “ I like to think of the person that’s in ‘Innard Skynyrd’ as Uncle Richard,” Harrison says. “He’s this, like, wily gross-out man whose intestines are coming out and has insomnia.”

And then there’s “Imp”. “The imp is all of us,” Rando says. “When we first wrote that, I think multiple of us simultaneously started doing this weird little dance. We were picturing these little goblin men around the fire.” 

“It’s about when you decide to do good trouble,” Parikh adds. “When you’re just a little menace.”

The deeper meaning behind this new batch of songs only enhances their pre-existing energy. As Rando puts it: “ I feel like some of our best songs were us spontaneously thinking of a concept and then it just is that song.” If only we could all create with such clarity.