Cut Worms, the project of Max Clarke, announces his fourth album, "Transmitter," to be released via Jagjaguwar. Produced by Jeff Tweedy at Wilco's Loft Studio, "Transmitter" showcases Clarke's continued development and the convergence of two artists seeking grace amidst uprootedness. Together, they conjure the ecstatic spirits of power pop and alternative rock, expanding Cut Worms' vintage palette while reaffirming his talent for timeless songwriting. Ideal for fans of late 70s and 80s power pop and rock 'n' roll (Big Star, Replacements), Australian/New Zealand bands of the era (The Chills, The Go-betweens), and 90s and 2000s alternative slacker pop/indie rock/folk (Elliot Smith, Wilco). These are places steeped in the myth of self-reliance, where people who sold the idea of connection through technology have been reduced to silent transmitters—data points bought and sold, manipulated and measured, their lives distorted by the very networks that were supposed to connect them. The first signs of "Transmitter" emerged when Cut Worms toured as Wilco's opening act in the summer of 2024. At the end of the tour, Tweedy invited the band to record at the legendary Chicago loft, and plans were soon made to begin in the fall. In the cozy chaos of guitars, amps, and books in the loft, Clarke and Tweedy quickly found common musical ground and a shared penchant for complex songs. While Clarke's vocals and lyrics provided the framework, Tweedy's guitar and bass lines sketched out the spaces in which the songs reside. Tweedy's presence as a producer wasn't evident in rigid decisions, but rather in how he colored spaces and continually offered new textures. Their shared sensibility bridged a generational gap, allowing them to create something more nuanced than either could have achieved alone. If previous Cut Worms releases were defined by the decadence of the Brill Building and frenetic Americana, the sound on "Transmitter" is darker, richer, and more saturated with the anxieties of modern life. "Long Weekend" accelerates time, possessing the melodic urgency of Big Star or Dwight Twilley. "Evil Twin" grapples with bitter disappointment, its chatty guitars reminiscent of the clanging heartbreak of The Replacements and The Go-Betweens, while "Windows on the World" leans toward the sun of the future with a melancholy that hovers somewhere between Elliott Smith and Miracle Legion. The final track, "Dream," brings us back to a familiar level: Clarke alone at the piano, delicate and hesitant, brooding over the fate of dreams and the risk of falling short or getting lost along the way. "Transmitter" shows Clarke in full swing, writing with the conviction of someone who has made peace with uncertainty. These songs grapple with the cost of comfort and return to the idea that beauty, connection, and love are not luxuries but necessities for survival. Clarke is drawn to paradoxes—the friction between intimacy and escape, faith and doubt, shadow and light. His forgiveness, like that of the severed worm, comes through transmission: through the act of releasing something fragile into the noise and trusting that it will still be felt.