We had a little thing, and one night he was like, “Come over, I really want to see you.” He called me like 10 times, until eventually I agreed. I was driving over and I kept hitting red lights. I thought, “This is a message from the universe.”

When I got to his house, he was really drunk. Things started happening and I told him to stop; he was like, “Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry.” But then he’d do the same thing and take it a step further. I’d go, “Stop. Don’t do that. I don’t like that.” And then he’d be like, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry”—but still do it again, go another step further. Finally he was asleep, and I was wide awake, just staring at the ceiling thinking, “I need to get out of here.” So I drove home.

Six months after that, he kept texting me being like, “You’re avoiding me. Did I do something?” And I told him, “You sexually assaulted me that night. I kept saying no, I kept saying stop, and you kept going.” He said, “Thanks for telling me.” Like, to not even say you’re sorry? I texted him back eventually: “If I ever hear about you doing this to anyone else, I will out you and end your career. Don’t reply to this.” He didn’t.

Many months later, I heard that he did something similar to someone else. I posted about it in a closed Facebook group for women. It rippled out from there, word of mouth in the scene, and he stopped playing shows. His band hasn’t played since. I remember walking into the pub and feeling ashamed, like, “All these people have lost this great musician that they can’t see play anymore, and that’s my fault.” I kept trying to remind myself it’s not my fault, he’s the one who fucked up.

After I outed him, he sent me a written letter being like, “I’m so sorry. I acknowledge what I’ve done. I’ll pay for your therapy.” And it just sounded like someone else wrote it for him. I burnt the letter on my balcony. An apology would have meant something when I first told him, but it doesn’t mean anything now that he got caught.

I wrote the guitar bit for “The Face of God,” and then words just started coming. I sent my bandmates a recording of it; I just wasn’t sure about it. I couldn’t see how this could become a band song. And I was scared of releasing it because I thought something bad was going to happen.

When [2018’s How to Socialise & Make Friends] got released, it just was so heartbreaking how many people related to “The Face of God.” I get DMs almost every day from people being like, “I listened to that song when I’d just left my abusive husband, I’ve got two kids…” The song’s got a life of its own, which is a blessing and a curse. If someone listens to it and they feel less alone, that’s the most important thing to me. But when it comes to a personal conversation with somebody, I can’t do it. I can’t take on other people’s pain more than I already am. I’m still coming to terms with my own experience.

I’ve been sexualized by men my entire musical career, my entire life. I’m hoping that the #MeToo, #TimesUp waves will make men fucking terrified, so the next generation of men won’t try anything, and that’s the end of it. But knowing that Pinegrove still sell out tours and all these fucked men still get away with shit, it’s made me realize that people just don’t care. Maybe once the Chris Brown documentary gets taken off Netflix, then I’ll have a bit more hope.

Palehound: “Killer”

“With every step he takes, an evil shakes in you,” whispers Palehound principal Ellen Kempner at the onset of “Killer.” The haunting song, off this year’s Black Friday, is of the “you hurt my friend, I hurt you” variety, but instead of gruesomely detailing what she’s going to do to the man who sexually assaulted her loved one, Kempner focuses more on how sinister and all-consuming abuse can be to those who endure it, even years later.

Ellen Kempner: It happened to me at such a young age that I didn’t really see it as sexual assault at the time. It took talking to friends of mine to really come out of my perception of it as something normal. I was road-tripping with one of my best friends, and at one point she basically just said, “Have I ever told you about my abuse?” It was extremely powerful because I thought I knew everything about this person, but I had no idea about this thing that shaped every move they make. We ended up talking for hours, and I came out about my abuse to her as well.