Songs Never Heard
A craft podcast that spotlights some of the best songs you've never heard.
Songs Never Heard
S2E4: Drive (Love? said the Commander)
One take, one September day, and a neighborhood that didn't know it was performing.
"Drive" on Bandcamp: https://lovesaidthecommander.bandcamp.com/track/drive
More Love? said the Commander music:
Robert Howell:
My name is Robert Howell, and in this series I share, and dig into , some of my favorite songs that I've come across while in and exploring the underground songwriting scene. Songs written by talented people who are creating music that deserves wider recognition. Songs that, unfortunately, most of the world may never hear.
Welcome to "Songs Never Heard."
We are used to studio recordings that try to isolate the artist from the world. We build soundproof booths and scrub away every stray hum or breath to ensure that the only thing captured is the music itself. This episode's song takes the opposite approach. It opens the windows, literally, and invites the world inside.
Let's hear "Drive" by Love? said the Commander.
Love? said the Commander:
Come on get in
Don’t think about it
Time is slipping away
Against the wind
We’ll drive ‘till morning
Our thoughts blending in
He won’t say much
We won’t talk about it
Our eyes staring straight towards the hills
We’ll sit in silence
Your hand in mine
As we leave it all behind
On the inside I’m gone
On the inside I’m gone
On the inside I’m gone
On the inside I’m gone
On the inside I’m gone
On the inside I’m gone
On the inside I’m gone
On the inside I’m gone
Robert Howell:
If you were listening closely on a good pair of headphones, you likely noticed that the silence in this track isn't actually silent. The space between the notes is filled with the hum of a humid September afternoon.
I initially thought the background noise was largely accidental. The unavoidable result of recording in a kitchen with the windows open on a hot day. I assumed that if the band could have controlled the environment better, they would have. But I was surprised to learn just how intentional this really was. It wasn't just a happy accident captured by Kate Hall and Chris Bishop, the musicians who make up the duo Love? said the Commander, they literally set up a microphone on Kate's front porch to capture the neighborhood sounds as clearly as possible.
This decision speaks to their dynamic. Kate, who handles the vocals and lyrics, and Chris who handles lead guitar and production, often embrace what they call "maximal minimalism," using constraints to their advantage. But inviting the neighborhood onto the track raised the stakes immensely. It turned a standard recording session into a high wire act, where a single uncontrollable sound could ruin a perfect performance.
Kate Hall:
I remember specifically in the middle of the take, I think it's like maybe the second hit of the intro, you hear like a "vroom" of somebody coming through the intersection. And I remember specifically having way more pressure loaded on because it was the perfect take, we're in the middle of it, and now I'm like just focusing on not making a mistake, because it was all live.
Robert Howell:
It creates a moment of serendipity that you simply cannot manufacture in post-production. That motorcycle passing by instantly anchors the track in reality, placing you in a physical space before a single word is sung.
The humid afternoon Kate mentions isn't just background texture. It becomes part of the song's emotional architecture. That motorcycle isn't passing by the house, it's passing through the song itself. The ambient layer creates an intimacy that almost feels invasive. You're not listening to a performance, you're eavesdropping on a private moment.
And because they recorded everything live in one take, with that microphone running outside, every moment had to be perfect. There was no safety net. No second chances if a car horn honked during a delicate vocal passage or a neighbor shouted at the wrong moment. They were betting everything on one September afternoon.
By treating the environment as another instrument, they created a sonic fingerprint that belongs to that specific day and no other. It's a bold production choice that turns a potential distraction into the song's foundation.
Before we get further into the track, we have to address the band's name. Love? said the Commander is not only unique, it's nearly impossible not to dwell on. Clearly this wasn't the output from some random band name generator. It sounds literary. Almost like a line of dialogue that's been lifted out of context.
And it turns out, that's exactly what it was.
Chris Bishop:
So it actually comes from “The Handmaid's Tale” by Margaret Atwood. I was reading it one night before bed and there was a scene where the Commander asked Offred what they got wrong or missed about the way things used to be, and she said, " Love." And he responded "Love?," and it looks so good on the page.
Robert Howell:
While the name comes from fiction, the lyrics for "Drive" come from a much more personal reality. When I listen to them, I get this sense that some sort of large important event has happened. The imagery of "driving against the wind" and "leaving it all behind" implies a flight from something heavy.
I asked Kate about the story behind these lyrics, whether they were based on a specific event or something purely fictional. Her answer revealed deeply personal motivations regarding how she uses music to handle her own life experiences.
Kate Hall:
I feel like each one of our songs are based on personal experiences of mine, and I've always used songwriting as a form of therapy. I feel like I tend to grieve along with the songwriting process and then try my best to let go and move on after it drops. And I guess once it's out into the universe, it no longer matters what happened to me. It's now for you and your story.
Robert Howell:
That intentional ambiguity is woven throughout the lyrics. "Against the wind," suggests resistance. Struggle. "He won't say much, we won't talk about it," implies an understanding that goes beyond words. The kind that only exists between people who've been through something together. Even the directive that opens the song: "Come on, get in. Don't think about it. Time is slipping away," feels urgent, without explaining why.
Kate constructs the narrative like a slowly developing Polaroid. You see shapes and shadows before the full picture emerges. And maybe it never fully emerges. That's the point. The song invites you to project your own difficult moment onto its framework. Your own late night drive. Your own unspoken grief.
One of the boldest decisions in "Drive" happens when the song refuses to do what you expect it to do. Instead of a bridge that explains the narrative, or a catchy chorus that resolves the uncertainty, Kate repeats the phrase “On the inside, I'm gone” eight times in a row.
It's not a hook in any conventional sense. To me, it sounds like disassociation. Someone present in body, but unreachable. It captures that specific shock when you're so overwhelmed by an event that you can't find any new words to say. You just keep repeating the one truth you can currently grasp.
But this repetition isn't just an emotional portrait, it's also creative rebellion.The duo is actively looking for ways to escape the trap of standard song structures. They don't wanna just play verse-chorus, verse-chorus. They wanna see what happens when they do things in an atypical way.
Kate Hall:
I think we're always trying to break the songwriting norms, especially since it's just the two of us. I think things could get pretty stagnant quickly. And like why have two lyrical verses when you can have one with lyrics and one instrumental? I feel like we love that stuff. It keeps it interesting and allows us to sort of forever experiment.
Robert Howell: That philosophy is what gives the track its unique identity. Even though they reject the standard roadmap, trading a second verse of lyrics for a verse of pure melody, it never feels jarring. It remains accessible and comfortable sounding, anchored by a strong melody and that memorable lead guitar riff. It proves that you don't need to follow the rules to make something that feels exactly right.
That mention of 'one verse with lyrics, and one instrumental' is the key to understanding the interplay between Kate and Chris. Chris doesn't sing, but his guitar work essentially acts as a second vocalist. In "Drive," the guitar isn't just providing a rhythm, it's a character in the car.
Chris Bishop:
And then the solo. I wanted to compliment her lyrical verses.
Kate Hall:
You like a good call and response.
Chris Bishop:
Love a good call and response since I don't sing, that's my…
Kate Hall:
That's your, that's your voice
Chris Bishop:
...closest I can get
Kate Hall:
That's your voice
Chris Bishop:
Exactly. To express myself.
Robert Howell:
You can hear his "voice" clearly in the instrumental sections. The guitar lines feel like a physical manifestation of the drive itself. There are builds that feel like an ascent up a hill, and relaxed roomy riffs that paint a picture of a lonely winding road. It creates a call and response structure where Kate sketches out the emotional landscape with words, and then Chris applies additional color with his guitar. It allows the listener to ruminate on the lyrics during the instrumental portions, staring out the window of the song, so to speak.
The duo operates under a philosophy they call "maximal minimalism." It's the idea of embracing the constraints of being a two piece band, rather than trying to hide them. In an era where digital production allows you to layer infinite tracks, adding drums, synths, and orchestras with the click of a mouse, choosing not to add things becomes a bit of a radical act.
Chris Bishop:
There's so much good music out there, but there's a lot of overproduced stuff that you can keep adding things to, and you kinda lose the humanity sometimes. So we're very intentional about that at this point.
Robert Howell:
"Drive" is a testament to that restraint. It doesn't need a drum kit because the rhythm of the guitars provides the forward motion. It doesn't need a string section because of the ambient noise provides the atmosphere.
By stripping away the safety net of studio production, they achieve something that feels incredibly vulnerable. As they put it, there's nowhere to hide. And in a song about leaving everything behind that exposure feels exactly right.
"Songs Never Heard" is created and produced by me, Robert Howell. It's a tribute to all the seldom heard music that, in my opinion, rivals what you'd hear on the popular charts.
Until next time, keep writing.