Truck Violence’s Search For Resolution Continues
On The weathervane is my body, the band refines the havoc of their earlier work without sacrificing any of its intensity.
By Sydney Eliot
- Published on
The pair met in high school and subsequently bonded over death metal, becoming two likeminded friends invested in building a musical community of their own.
“He was one of two other people in the school band,” Lecours explains. “We motivated each other, we were constantly sending music we liked to each other.”
The duo took their penchant for heavy noise and DIY scenes to Montreal after graduating and met Thomas Hart and Chris Clegg, which is when the musical concept for Truck Violence started to become actualized. In 2024 they released their debut album Violence, which used post-hardcore, noise rock and folk to draw a forceful delineation between their lives in the prairies and their lives now.
During the day, Henderson and Lecours are suspended from Montreal buildings, working as high-rise window washers. By night, the band is preparing to release their second full length album: The weathervane is my body.
RANGE caught up with Henderson and Lecours after a long day of washing windows on an especially humid day, to talk through their process while making the record, which is out June 26 via The Flenser and Mothland.
“Well I think as a group we’ve just gotten better,” Henderson says, the duo sitting in front of a brick wall in their (non-air-conditioned) apartment. “But we’re also going into it with a bit more intention and a bit more structure. Not to say that the songs are structured in a certain way, but we understand more about what works and what doesn’t.”
Where Violence felt driven by instinct, the new record reflects a more deliberate approach, integrating its disparate influences with more confidence while still embracing unpredictability.
Henderson, who writes more poetry than lyrics, says that he writes in a way that earnestly tries to reckon with the complex experience of human feeling.
“The whole point is to come to some sort of conclusion… find some sort of resolution, which I obviously haven’t found,” he says, citing renaissance era poets like John Milton as inspiration for his prose. “I’m really aware of sensations and physical bodily reactions, especially in the extremities.”
The idea of feeling emotions physically is embodied in the album’s name and cover art and appears throughout the album as both a subject and a symbol. The body becomes a compass, reacting before the mind can fully articulate.
On the album’s first single, “New Jesus,” which was released in April, anxiety and anger pulses through the verses and crashing drums.
Henderson recalls feeling intense disgust about politics in North America, referencing corruption, abuses of power and the legal system.
“It’s obviously about Trump and MAGA and that whole group, but I am also so disgusted by the cult-like groups on the internet that influence people and spread misinformation,” he states. “The internet is a cesspool.”
Throughout the album, Henderson’s arresting and violently vivid metaphors seem especially stark against the backdrop of harsh drums and loud, snarling guitars. With verses like “I’m by the Sun’s enfilade of warm fists/ And my naked feet squint/ into the usual slush,” the band is simultaneously able to evoke beautiful images alongside grotesque ones.
Part of that contrast stems from Henderson’s literary influences and the band’s fascination with opposing dynamics.
For all of Truck Violence’s noise and abrasion, folk music remains one of the band’s deepest influences.
“We love folk music. It’s basically all we listen to,” They both exclaim.
Part of that connection stems fom growing up in rural Alberta. Henderson says that with time and distance, their relationship to their hometown has become more nuanced.
This synthesis is propelled by a softening of emotions towards their Alberta upbringing, Henderson says.
“I think that now that some time has passed we’re able to look back at those memories and see good parts of it. Folk music definitely harkens back to growing up in that kind of place,” he explains.
“Lyrically, I love the illusions that are made in folk.”
That softened perspective helped inform the sonic synthesis on The weathervane is my body, where folk and bluegrass feel more seamlessly integrated into the band’s heavier sounds.
For Henderson and Lecours, one of the most appealing aspects of both folk and metal has always been the dedication required to master them.
“What we both liked about the metal music we listened to growing up was how much practice it took to hone the craft.” Henderson says, resisting the notion that technical limitations somehow make art more raw and authentic.
“Nothing is original. You might as well refer to the source material and really study and practice to be as good as possible.”
A self-proclaimed pessimist, Henderson admits that the reaction to the band has surprised them, saying that they genuinely expected to be playing small bar stages for a long time.
Instead, they will take The weathervane is my body on a summer Europe and U.K tour supporting New York post-hardcore group Show Me the Body, who Lecours says are “high-school heroes” for them.
Still, they don’t linger on the success. Henderson looks back on their existing work and sees room for growth and improvement – a reason to maintain the creative momentum.
“I’ve had all the poems I want to use for the next record written for like a year,” he says. “I want to make something undeniably great.”
Towards the end of our conversation the subject drifts back to their day jobs.
Lecours explained that when they first moved to Montreal he looked for a “job that sounded cool,” and applied to be a high rise window cleaner. Henderson jokes about being a window washing nepo baby, because Lecours later got him the same job.
“I’m an industry plant in the window-washer world,” he jokes.
“And I’m also afraid of heights,” he casually adds.
It’s this kind of tension that runs through The weathervane is my body: the visceral fear of hanging in midair, the uncomfortability of knowing the ground is a hundred feet below and leaning into that feeling instead of escaping it.
Instead of shying away from primitive fear and discomfort, Truck Violence embraces it, examines it from every angle and tries to decode it.
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