Wishy shoot from the heart and hip

Kevin Krauter and Nina Pitchkites began writing songs together in high school, then took root in Indianapolis’ local music scene. At long last, the grind paid off: the band toured the country, crossed the pond, and, by publication, will have just played São Paulo’s Balaclava Fest alongside the biggest names in left-field guitar music: DIIV, Dry Cleaning, Wednesday.

Triple Seven draped face-melting reverb and tongue-in-cheek quips over a backlog of old songs. In the two years that followed, Pitchkites and Krauter experienced breakups, new love, and major career shifts. When it was time to write again, the band needed an album that reflected who Wishy had become and who they wanted to be. The result, Nature’s Pill, retains the same grungy textures and dream-pop levity while remaining optimistic even at its most cynical. The two vocalists aren’t chasing the thrill. They’re challenging themselves to see life’s ups and downs through while enjoying the ride.

Pitchkites reflects, “I don’t know if any other older songs made it onto this album, which might be another distinguishing factor of Nature’s Pill. This one was more intentional. A lot of the songs we had written for Triple Seven were songs that Kevin had written years prior during the pandemic, whereas for this album, we’ve written most of them within the last two years.”

Krauter and Pitchkites don’t fight the state of things. They notice, let go, and operate from a hypothetical mindset, crafting infectious, vibrant tracks that distill lessons about relationships, frustrations, and inner turmoil. Rather than trying to change the world or retreat to a simpler time, they’ve embraced a more grounded goal: growing as musicians and becoming the best they can be. After years spent deliberating over poignant, soul-stirring lyricism, they recognise that a song’s power does not hinge on a string of lyrics or a change in key.

Their anthemic choruses evoke the communal innocence and boundless possibility of the 2000s: the optimistic pep talk of “Sensational”, the sunny riff of “All The Rage”. They yearn for a time before social media algorithms and networked surveillance, but they know even the sharpest hooks cannot overthrow the system.

Romance and politics have been mined for meaning. Another album about love in an age of fascism and doom risks feeling lofty at best and trite at worst. Wishy tosses out the playbook, letting their gift for sticky, saccharine hooks lead. It’s “an album about nothing,” Krauter says with a laugh. Their Seinfeld album, if you will. “I don’t think we were trying to really make any sort of statement with this album other than to make some bangers. Nina and I are both kinda like romantic delulu folks, but we’re also pragmatic. We’re pretty salt-of-the-earth, good old Indiana folks. We wanna be yearning but realistic.” 

Beyond the technical division of labour – “Kevin’s really good at writing the actual music on the guitar” – their songs cohere naturally. “The album came together organically. We weren’t really planning a certain songwriting structure of who writes what. We’ll noodle around and land on something, and there you go. That’s usually how it works.”

That organic process draws on their shared experience creating, releasing, and earning acclaim for Triple Seven, along with the downtime they spent mining everyday life for something bold enough to build an album around. Both now live in their childhood homes before they move to Los Angeles next year. Within the band and between albums, the music always begins from a shared point, putting their hivemind at a clear advantage.

When Krauter finds himself too far in the weeds, he returns to the first moment music moved him. The meaning he drew from it might not have matched the artist’s intention, but it stirred something in him all the same. Every track on Nature’s Pill brims with nascent curiosity.

“In my earliest experiences of being struck by music, I was probably totally misunderstanding what the song was about. I know a specific lyric hit me in such a way that made me feel something very deeply. When I actually focus on the rest of the song, I realise it’s not what I thought it was about, but it doesn't matter.”

He continues, “I carry that with me when I’m writing – just not really worrying about whether everything makes sense together. I feel like I used to worry about it a lot, and now I'm trying not to worry about it as much. The hook is the point; the lyrics are more for decoration than anything, and the message should happen by accident.”

Pitchkites establishes each song’s mood long before wrestling with its lyrics. “I don’t start with lyrics most of the time. I think about what just sounds good. I love to think of a really good hook. I’ll sit down and try to think of words that flow together effortlessly and have a central theme. Maybe some people might think that’s void of meaning and whatever, but I think there’s implicit meaning in writing music at all. It’s an expressive outlet.”

As the band works through each track, new observations and alternate narratives emerge. Pitchkites explains, “I’ve personally never been someone who wants to write music about a thing. I think it would be disingenuous to really try to write something profound. If you’re trying to be profound, that is conversely not profound. If your heart is pure, the meaning will come through.”

The band knows the clichés and optics of being a twee pop band in 2026. They’re not trying to reinvent the wheel or cultivate a daring public persona. Instead, they nourish what feels intuitive and cleansing. On the closer, “Party World”, Krauter shouts, “Life’s a game where nothing’s out of bounds / And love’s a circus / Everyone’s a clown / It’s no big deal cause everybody knows that / Heaven is a state of mind.” Take it at face value, or extrapolate to your heart’s content.