The Montréal duo Some Became Hollow Tubes drop their fourth full-length, Seed Weed Freed Breed Lead Deed Greed, on August 7th, with vinyl via We, Here, & Now Recordings (Stratford, Ontario) and Echodelick Records (Atlanta, GA).
If you’ve spent any time in the drone-and-amp-worship corners of the underground, you already know half of this duo. Guitarist Eric Quach runs thisquietarmy, Tempête Solaire, Pangea de Futura, and Hypnodrome Ensemble, piling up dronescapes like a man trying to outrun silence. The other half is Aidan Girt, who you’ve heard locking into hypnotic, long-form grooves behind Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Exhaust, One Speed Bike, and Set Fire To Flames. Put those two in a room together, and you get something that’s been quietly detonating since 2019: amp-lit, improvised drone meeting motorik, propulsive drumming, the whole thing pummeling forward in waves.
This one was tracked, mixed, and mastered by the duo themselves between 2021 and 2023, bouncing between Montréal’s Mile-Ex and the Lower Laurentians, then handed off to Harris Newman at Grey Market Mastering for the vinyl cut. Three years of gestation on a record built almost entirely out of real-time chemistry. That tells you something about how patient these two are with a feeling before they let it go.
If you know thisquietarmy’s brooding, fuzzed-out loops, or Aidan’s reliable, almost geological groove-making in Godspeed, you’ll recognize the raw materials immediately. But the magic here isn’t in either guy’s solo vocabulary; it’s in the seam between them. Quach fills the space Girt leaves open. Girt locks the turnaround right where Quach’s riff needs it to land. The two stop sounding like two and start sounding like one massive, continuous organism, gathering momentum the longer a jam runs. You keep coming back to industrial-process images trying to describe it: a kiln stoked to a thousand degrees, a ship’s propeller rechanneling seawater into thrust, molten ore slow-cooking into steel. This is music that wants to become something else by the time it’s done.
Girt’s track titles do a lot of the heavy lifting, too, and they’re not subtle. They’re apocalyptic on purpose. This isn’t pessimism for its own sake; it’s reportage. The album plays like a soundtrack to armored drones raining death on people, to the heavy machinery tearing up the streets of their own quiet river-island city, to the low, ominous hum of unrest that creeps in every time you draw the blinds and look outside. Hollow Tubes aren’t writing protest songs in the literal sense — there’s not a lyric in sight — but the dread and the defiance are right there in the sound.
And from everything I can tell, this is a band built for the stage. The push-pull between the two musicians, between band and crowd, between the political weight of the material and the physical fact of standing in front of a wall of amps, it all locks into place live in a way a record can only point toward. They’re proving it too, taking these songs on the road with stops in Montreal, Arnprior, Stratford, Wendover, and Gatineau.
The new record is a massive, blackened wall of sound that fits the dreadful mood of 2026 like a glove. Listen to it with headphones, and dissolve away.
The pre-order for the vinyl from Echodelick and We, Here, & Now isn’t live on Bandcamp yet, but you can find the digital version on Some Become Hollow Tubes’ Bandcamp page here. Enjoy.
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