Grumpy
ARTIST BIO
Grumpy’s EP Piebald is a lopsided grin with a knife behind it — a shimmery gut punch that turns the grotesque into glamor and heartbreak into theater. Anchored by a voice that wavers between charming villain and sad clown, Piebald invites the listener into a world where ugliness isn’t just embraced — it’s the source of Grumpy’s power.
Rooted in DIY ethos and wrapped in Goosebumps-style theatrics, Piebald plays with the idea of ugliness as performance. It’s “clown logic,” exaggerating what is meant to be hidden for the listeners’ amusement. It’s not about being the hero. It’s about being the lovable malefactor, the main character who refuses redemption but demands attention. Grumpy isn’t embarrassed. They peel off the polish, slap on their tophat, and let the pain strut around in heels. Think Beetlejuice with a bleeding heart, Old Gregg in a spiral of ex-lovers and unmet needs. Heaven, the songwriter and front person of the band, doesn’t flinch, even as they offer themselves up for gawking. Pain is packaged with color, humor, and flair — it’s safe to look, but only because they’re in control of the spectacle.
Released at the end of 2024, Wolfed earned Grumpy coverage in Stereogum, Paste, and the New York Times. The band crashed into 2025 with a series of collaborative singles, including "Lonesome Ride" with Sidney Gish and Precious Human, and "Harmony" with Claire Rousay and Pink Must. Piebald follows these playful experiments with even more delectable grotesqueries. "It’s honesty in drag," Schmitt says of the music: not covered up but accentuated, exaggerated, liberated, stalking the stage in chiffon and top hat.
In theory that's Schmitt on the cover of the EP, photographed on the beach of Fort Tilden Park. The band's synthesist and creative director Anya Good smeared the image in the computer until she'd turned them into a carnivorous ungulate -- not a horse, despite the hooves, but a beast made up of every kind of beast, hideous and staggering, grinning with long, pointed teeth.
It's the same with the music: It devours everything. It's got a real big mouth. It doesn't take long for the drain to get unstopped on opener "Bird Parts," when a disgusting, delicious gurgle breaks up the breezy chords. "Crush" is all sugar: "Baby, what's your screen name? Let's hold hands online," Schmitt sings. "Proud of You" and its Y2K sample chops might make you think of Smash Mouth, and I mean really think of Smash Mouth -- like, you might go back to "All Star" and marvel at the C-sharp diminished chord tilting the chorus askew. These songs breach with the delight of new love and then they wallow in the disaster of love disintegrating, and they're so incredibly into it all, starving for it, reeling with every kind of intensity, until the edges between desire and pain start to fuzz.
Grumpy plays into the idea of irresistible monstrosity. I’m drawn to ugliness laced with charm," Schmitt says. "My whole songwriting ethos is about how ugly can I be, how much can I admit, how much can I perform the things that have been most painful in my life. The Grumpy character is a villain who wins over the listener with his acceptance of pain and sense of humor. He's creepy, brash, and, somehow, charming. He's got bravado and prowess. He’s inviting an audience to be entertained by his ugliness. And I think that’s what songwriting is: performing your pain for entertainment or catharsis."
The band produced the EP all together, projecting a laptop screen onto a big TV and taking turns tweaking the tracks in Ableton. "We’re like the pit crew of a beast," says Schmitt. "I feel grateful all the time that people are willing to help me with my lab-made monster." Most of Schmitt's bandmates are also their exes, a fact they wear as a point of pride. "I have so much comfort with my exes. I love to laugh about being dumped but remaining very close," they say. "I’m not ashamed of going through rejection. And I’m proud to deepen these bonds even after the romantic relationship has ended."
Piebald flings itself open into an invitation to really love the ugly stuff: not just accept it, not just endure it, but wrap your arms all the way around and drink in the scent of its fur. "Bird Parts" opens the EP with the thesis, “My girl isn’t mine / I’m a bottom feeder / I can’t kiss her but she calls me when I really need her.”
"That’s Grumpy’s ethos in miniature," says Schmitt. "It insists on dignity in the midst of humiliation, on connection despite rejection. It’s about remaining indispensable even when discarded. Piebald doesn’t ask for pity. It casts a spell and dares you to look away."
DISCOGRAPHY
GRUMPY STORE
CONTACT
BOOKING
chris@anniversarygroup.com
LICENSING
syncteam@terrorbird.com
LABEL