B-Side Guys

Allisyn Snyder sings recovery like a mantra that’s already starting to crack. “California Sober” takes aim at the peculiar Los Angeles mindset where abstinence gets redefined into something more palatable, more social, more manageable—and therefore more dangerous. The cosmic rock outfit, fronted by Snyder alongside husband Dylan Snyder and composer Steve Arm, approaches addiction’s gray areas with both gravity and the kind of dark humor that comes from knowing exactly how thin the ice is.

The production maintains an unsettling brightness throughout most of the track, matching the false confidence of someone insisting they’ve got things under control. References to maiden, mother, crone, rebirth cycles suggest a belief in endless second chances, in the possibility of transformation without the messy work of actual change. When Snyder repeats that she hasn’t lost her mind, the repetition itself betrays the claim—this is someone trying to convince herself as much as anyone listening.

Then Allseeingpharaoh’s bridge arrives like a reality check, shifting the perspective entirely. His verse strips away the cheerful self-deception, admitting to feeling imprisoned by his own mind, to being fed bitter lies, to recognizing that half-measures won’t nourish anything real. It’s a jarring tonal shift that exposes everything the rest of the song has been carefully papering over, revealing the desperation beneath the casual attitude toward substances that permeates LA’s entertainment industry.

The accompanying video—Snyder wandering Los Angeles in a hospital gown with silver hair and glitter tears, shadowed by ominous figures in scrubs—makes the subtext text. Despite the lyrics’ insistence on recovery and control, the imagery suggests someone who hasn’t escaped anything, just temporarily outpaced it. The visual choice to have her looking dazed while being followed contradicts every claim of having it together.

What Sensor Noise captures here is the specific danger of recovery culture that treats sobriety as negotiable, where marijuana and psychedelics at networking events become as normalized as wine at dinner. In an industry and city built on performance, the gap between appearing fine and being fine can become fatal. That qualifier “at least ’til October” lands with devastating honesty—a recognition that this version of control has an expiration date, and everyone knows it.