It started with a flute, a trumpet, and a drum set that got evicted for a bar.

Before they were Marty, they were just three friends trying to make noise in New Jersey.

Julia played flute. Harry played trumpet. Mel was learning guitar. And when a coworker offered up a full drum kit because her son moved out and she wanted to build a bar…everything clicked.

Suddenly, the trio had a reason to stop messing around and start making something real.

They learned covers from every genre they could get their hands on. They jammed in living rooms with borrowed gear. And when they applied to a local music festival just to see what would happen, the jamming turned into a band. Their second show ever?

A two-hour cover set. No plan. No problem. Just music, friendship, and a shared instinct to keep going.

We were all new to our instruments. But the joy of figuring it out together is what made us want to keep doing it

What started as a joke between Marties, (yes, that’s what they call each other), turned into a band that’s now six members strong, with a sound that blends orchestral swells, bedroom-pop harmonies, and kazoo solos you didn’t see coming.

Equal parts grief and glitter. Goofy and silly, with moments of profound sadness.

And that’s just life, isn’t it?

HOW MARTY BECAME A BAND (AND A MINDSET)

At first, “Marty, I’m Afraid” was just a SpongeBob joke.

More specifically: a line from the episode where Patrick’s fake parents visit and his fake mom gasps, “Marty, I’m scared!” That line? It stuck. So much so that Mel and Julia started calling each other Marty. Then they started calling everyone Marty. And when the trio finally needed a name, “Marty, I’m Afraid” just felt right. (Plus, copyright.)

We printed coloring pages of the screencap and gave them out at shows.

But somewhere along the way, Marty became more than just a joke. It became a title. A rite of passage. A badge of honor for anyone who stepped into the group’s orbit long enough to harmonize or hold an instrument. It’s how Em — who first met them at a show at Big and Tall in Wood Ridge — went from second guitarist to full-time Marty. It’s how special guests like Thea, Curtis, and Sergio became fixtures.

Maybe people just heard us calling each other Marties…or maybe it’s just very convenient. But somehow, everyone has become Marty.

There’s something kind of perfect about that. Because Marty, at its core, isn’t just a band name. It’s a worldview. A shared understanding that life is chaotic, music is sacred, and community is everything. Being a Marty means letting yourself feel things deeply, even if you laugh about it later.

It’s a little silly. A little sacred.

And totally unstoppable.

Harmony, Chaos, and Kazoos

What do you get when you cross a conservatory-trained violinist, a kazoo solo, and a toy monkey drum? A Marty song, obviously.

From the jump, Marty, I’m Afraid has never been interested in fitting into a box. Their sound, much like their origin story, is layered, nonlinear, and packed with joyful contradictions. It’s part folk ensemble, part experimental theater, part queer cabaret, and part inside joke between best friends.

Most of their songs begin alone, written by Julia or Harry in a quiet moment. But once they hit the Marty room, things start mutating. Harmonies stack. Flutes and violins sneak in. A pedal steel winds under a kazoo solo. One song — “None of the Guts” — began as a humble verse and guitar part. By the time they were done, it had morphed into a swirling, orchestral harmony-fest inspired by boygenius, with contributions from nearly every member.

And then there’s “Love/Money/Kazoos,” the song that might as well be a Marty thesis statement.

We used a lot of old voice memos from the original Marty trio days...plus silly toy instruments like the slide whistle, kazoos, monkey drum, egg shakers…and we added the Squidward steps.

That irreverence isn’t just funny, it’s functional. Their music leans into chaos because life is chaos. And Marty, more than most bands in the NJ underground, makes room for that mess. For the grief and the joy. For the Broadway-trained woodwinds and the $2 party-store percussion.

Because Marty, I’m Afraid isn’t just a band. It’s a constellation.

Julia (bass, vocals, songwriting) and Harry (drums, now rhythm guitar, vocals, songwriting) — the soul of the project
Mel (guitar, vocals), now in California but still a permanent Marty in spirit and on record
Em (vocals, guitar), whose buttery harmonies and multi-instrumental talent filled the Mel-shaped gap seamlessly
Curtis (woodwinds) and Thea (violin), whose classical training elevates the arrangements beyond typical indie fare
Sergio (lead guitar), a friend-turned-bandmate who adds texture and edge to their evolving sound

It’s a sound that doesn’t apologize for being eclectic, it thrives on it. You can hear Joni Mitchell’s introspection, Paul Simon’s melodic precision, and Sly Stone’s funky defiance, but also the cheeky charisma of Doja Cat, the layered storytelling of boygenius, and the cinematic flair of a band raised on cartoons, folk records, and post-punk.

And then there’s the harmonies.

My god, the harmonies.

Even as members have rotated, the group has prioritized vocal layering like it’s a spiritual practice. Em joining the band didn’t disrupt that chemistry, it added new electricity. Live, their voices melt into one another like butter on a skillet.

In the world of experimental folk NJ, Marty, I’m Afraid stands alone. A queer indie pop collective with an orchestral soul and a kazoo in its back pocket.

AVENUE C: The EP Born from Grief, Growth & Goofiness

Some records are concept albums. Avenue C is a coping mechanism.

It’s grief processed through harmony. Chaos molded into melody. A snapshot of a band trying to hold themselves together while life — and death — unravels around them.

We got Goose about a year into living together. She was a Bayonne street cat who bonded us all together and brought so much love out of us.

Goose, their beloved cat and emotional anchor, passed away just before the band officially formed. Her sudden death — paired with personal upheaval, identity shifts, and romantic fallout — lit the emotional fuse of this project.

At the same time Goose was dying, I (Harry) was coming to terms with being transgender at the big old age of 27. My 7-year relationship ended not long after. I lost a lot of relationships in the process of coming out, and I was starting over, feeling really weird and out of place.

That grief — raw, unfiltered, and deeply queer — became the blood in Avenue C’s veins. And yet the record isn’t bleak. It’s funny. It’s bizarre. It’s filled with kazoos, meows, and inside jokes that refuse to die.

“For Sure”

The emotional centerpiece of the EP. Written by Harry during a period of disorientation and loss, it’s a song about acceptance in the face of everything changing.

A lot of my music is about trying to make peace with change…and we all struggle with that, so that comes through a lot. It’s also hilariously overpopulated — a full Marty orchestra: Claire, Mel, and Sergio on guitars, Curtis on sax, Thea on violin, four vocalists, and a rhythm section that somehow keeps it all grounded.

“The Axolotl”

One of my personal faves! A song about the weird, the magical, the unexpected sweetness that survives us.

We now have six new cats, one of whom the song is about. They are the joy of our lives. I could’ve never imagined that before. Between the meows and pedal steel, it’s a glitchy little love note to the life that shows up when you think you’ve lost everything.

“Wasteland”

Julia’s ode to the slow burn of growing up and growing apart. A song that mourns and celebrates the same thing: change.

Your friends move away, people and animals die, parts of you die…But there’s also hope, love, and reprieve here.

Despite the depth of emotion, the EP still feels like a band goofing off in their childhood bedrooms.

That’s because, in many ways, it is.

With Mel in California during recording, the band stitched the EP together across time zones and iPhones. Claire (of Pillowinde) recorded, mixed, and mastered everything. Voice memos, remote vocals, slide whistles, and scattered Fridays were the glue. What could’ve been a logistical nightmare became a labor of love, one where the imperfections make the whole thing feel more honest.

It’s DIY bedroom recording at its best: unpolished, unpredictable, and unforgettable.

And for all its grief, Avenue C still throws a kazoo party in the middle of the wreckage because joy is just as radical as loss.

LIVE SHOWS: Goofy, Silly, and Suddenly Sad

Seeing Marty, I’m Afraid live is like watching a cartoon character give you a hug, then whisper something devastating in your ear. One minute you’re laughing at a kazoo solo or a well-timed SpongeBob reference and the next, you’re unexpectedly crying into your espresso martini.

We would say very goofy and silly, with moments of profound sadness LMFAOOO. Isn’t that life though??

The band’s chemistry on stage is unmistakable: a mix of musical skill, inside jokes, and the kind of raw harmony you can’t fake. Every member brings something distinct: Julia’s magnetic vocals and sharp bass lines, Harry’s emotion-soaked presence and rhythmic drive, Em’s buttery harmonies and softness, Sergio’s intricate guitar textures, Thea’s cinematic violin swells, and Curtis’ unexpected woodwind cameos that always hit at the perfect moment.

They’ve built a name for themselves in the local NJ DIY music scene, playing crowd-favorite venues like Big and Tall in Wood Ridge and the now-closed (but deeply beloved) Fox & Crow in Jersey City Heights.

We played there twice before it had its untimely closing. It was such a hub for the Jersey City music community and supported artists and the arts. Amazing espresso martinis too lol. RIP Fox and Crow.

Last September, they made their Meatlocker debut, a full-circle moment since several members have performed there in other bands, but never as Marty.

And when asked about their dream venue?

The Stone Pony, that’d be sick. Show after a beach day and Talula’s after the show :D

NEW JERSEY FOREVER: Why Hudson County Raised Them Right

Before they were harmonizing about heartbreak and kazoos, Marty, I’m Afraid was just a bunch of Jersey kids trying to make sense of life in cities shaped by industrial backdrops, weird pizza orders, and buses that never come on time.

Urban industrial New Jersey is the backdrop of our lives. It deeply influences how I write music and perceive a lot of life.

Julia and Mel were raised in North Bergen and Bayonne, calling Hudson County home for their entire lives. Even through college — Rutgers for Mel, NJCU for Julia, Harry, Thea, and Curtis — they stayed loyal to the state.

I obviously reference wanting to leave the NJ area a lot in Wasteland and When I Leave New York lol, but I have a deep love for New Jersey, especially Hudson County. I’m proud to have a Hudson-County based band <3

Harry, meanwhile, grew up just across the border in New York, but New Jersey always had him by the throat.

I was basically raised by Chris Gethard’s creative output and knew I’d end up in New Jersey like it was a gross gut feeling. And I was right.

Now based in Bayonne, Harry calls the city “very weird and stubborn, and kind of great because of that.”

His writing often happens while wandering through parks, diners, and parking lots in a haze of “various states of freaking out.”

Even newer additions like Em and Sergio carry deep Jersey roots. The band feels like a patchwork of every NJ indie show, bodega run, and basement session that’s come before them.

Marty’s Favorite NJ Spots

— Arigato Sushi (Bayonne)

— Bayonne Bridge walking path

— Talula’s Pizza (Asbury Park)

— Riposo’s Coffee

— Big Brook Park

— Watchung Reservation

— Rutts Hut (because obviously)

New Roles, New Songs, New Marties

Just like their music, Marty, I’m Afraid is always shifting, not out of confusion, but out of evolution.

As life moves, so does the lineup, the sound, the heart.

Most recent change? Harry’s moved out from behind the drums and now plays rhythm guitar, a shift that opens new textures for their songwriting. Behind the kit? It’s a tag-team: Jason Morales (of Uncle Jay) and Super Jack will be rotating as live drummers.

We’re really psyched! It’s been fun to keep things fluid and see how the sound grows.

And then there’s a softer surprise: a kid-friendly version of “The Axolotl” is coming soon.

Harry and Julia are both teachers, and we’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback on the song from kids.

It’s exactly the kind of move only Marty would make, turning a niche folk song about a little amphibian into something classroom-friendly and still cool.

With more music already in the works, rotating Marties on deck, and chaotic joy as their compass, Marty, I’m Afraid isn’t just growing. It’s blooming in all directions.

Why Marty’s Music Matters

If you’ve made it this far, you already know: Marty, I’m Afraid isn’t just a band.

It’s a feeling. A makeshift family. A group project that actually works.

They harmonize like siblings and joke like old friends, but underneath the slide whistles and string sections is something deeper: a shared instinct that music can be tender and unruly at the same time. That grief and joy don’t cancel each other out, and sometimes the silliest songs come from the saddest days.

We want people to leave a Marty show feeling like we connected and if someone goes home wanting to make music, that’s even better.

Their shows are chaotic and cathartic. Their lyrics are honest, sometimes too honest. And their path — from cover gigs and cartoon screencaps to orchestral folk weirdness — is a Jersey story if we’ve ever heard one.

So if you see Marty, I’m Afraid on a lineup?

Pull up. Bring your heart. Maybe bring a kazoo.