If you were a certain kind of sad teenager in the mid-2000s, you probably had a very specific relationship with a song called "Broadripple is Burning." It was one of those tracks that felt like it was written in the back of a van, smelling of stale beer and desperation. The band behind it, Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s, was always a bit of an anomaly. They were too big to be a typical indie folk act, often packing eight or nine people onto a stage, and too weird to ever truly "make it" in the way their peers like The National or Arcade Fire did.
Honestly, they’re one of the most misunderstood bands of that era.
Some people remember them as a "chamber pop" group because of the cellos and trumpets on their debut, The Dust of Retreat. Others know them as a gritty, distorted rock band that seemed to be actively trying to alienate their audience by the time Buzzard came out. But the real story is a lot messier. It involves a massive fight with a major record label, a lead singer who almost died from a rare stomach disease, and a discography that feels like a decade-long nervous breakdown caught on tape.
What Really Happened with Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s
The band started in Indianapolis around 2004. Richard Edwards, the primary songwriter and focal point, was—and is—a guy who writes songs like he’s exorcising demons. The name itself came from Margot Crane in the Wes Anderson flick The Royal Tenenbaums. It fit. They had that same aesthetic of curated, high-art misery.
They got signed to Epic Records after their debut started making waves, and that’s when things got complicated.
Most bands would kill for a major label deal, but for Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s, it was a disaster. The label wanted a radio hit. Edwards wanted to make something dense and difficult. This led to the famous "dual album" release in 2008. The label won, in a sense, releasing Not Animal, which was the "pop" version of the songs they’d recorded. The band released Animal! on their own terms, featuring the more experimental, darker takes of that same material.
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It was a confusing mess for fans. Which one was the "real" album? Depending on who you ask, Animal! is the masterpiece and Not Animal is the watered-down corporate product, but the truth is usually somewhere in the middle.
The Shift from Folk to "Trash Rock"
By 2010, the "chamber" part of the chamber pop was gone.
The band moved to Chicago, trimmed the lineup, and released Buzzard. If you go back and listen to it now, it sounds like a different band entirely. It’s loud. It’s mean. There’s a song called "Tiny Vampire Robot."
Richard Edwards basically told anyone who wanted another "Broadripple" to go kick rocks. He started leaning into themes of addiction, decay, and the general grossness of being a person. This wasn’t "indie folk" anymore. It was what Edwards called "panic pop" or just straight-up rock and roll played by people who were tired of being called "precious."
The Richard Edwards Health Crisis
You can’t talk about why the band stopped without talking about C. diff.
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Clostridium difficile is a brutal bacterial infection. For Edwards, it wasn't just a stomach bug; it was a years-long nightmare that saw him lose 50 pounds and nearly his life. During the recording of Sling Shot to Heaven in 2014, he was often literally lying on the studio floor because the pain of standing was too much.
He’s talked openly about how he would vomit between takes. You can hear that exhaustion in the music. Sling Shot to Heaven is a quiet, hazy, druggy-sounding record, but it’s not druggy because of partying. It’s the sound of a man who is physically falling apart.
By the time the tour for that album was supposed to happen, it was over. He couldn't do it. The band played their final show on Record Store Day in 2014 at Luna Music in Indianapolis. It was a quiet end for a band that once aimed for the rafters.
Why Do They Still Matter in 2026?
Indie rock has changed a lot, but there’s a raw honesty in Margot’s catalog that most modern "sad girl/boy" indie lacks. Edwards wasn't trying to be relatable. He was often writing characters that were deeply unlikable—cheaters, addicts, losers.
- The "Lost" Discography: Since the band ended, Edwards has been a machine. He’s released solo records like Lemon Cotton Candy Sunset (which is basically the sixth Margot album) and The Soft Ache and the Moon.
- The Reissues: Through his partnership with Joyful Noise Recordings, he’s been painstakingly reissuing the old Margot records, often including the demos and "lost" versions that the label suppressed back in 2008.
- The "Songbook" Project: Recently, he’s been re-recording old Margot songs in a "quarantine" style, stripping them back to the bare essentials. It’s a way of reclaiming the songs from the big-production era of the mid-2000s.
If you’re just getting into them, don’t just stop at the hits. Sure, "Talking in Code" and "As Tall as Cliffs" are great. But the real meat is in the weird stuff. Go listen to "Prozac Rock" or "A Journalist Falls in Love with Deathrow Inmate #16."
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Where to Start with Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s
If you want to understand the arc of this band, you have to listen in a specific order. Don't just hit "shuffle" on Spotify.
- The Dust of Retreat (2006): This is the entry point. It’s the sound of Indianapolis in the fall. It’s melodic, lush, and deeply sad.
- Animal! (2008): Skip the label-approved Not Animal for now. Go for the band’s preferred version. It’s murkier and more rewarding.
- Buzzard (2010): Put this on when you’re angry. It’s the sound of a band burning their own house down.
- Lemon Cotton Candy Sunset (2017): Technically a Richard Edwards solo album, but it’s the spiritual conclusion to the Margot story. It’s the sound of the aftermath.
The legacy of Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s isn't about chart success or "best of" lists. It’s about a songwriter who refused to stay in the box people built for him, even when that box was paved with gold. They were messy. They were loud. They were frequently "too much."
And honestly? That’s why people are still obsessed with them two decades later.
If you're looking for something new to listen to, skip the curated playlists and find the Satan, Settle Down demo collection. It’s the most honest look at how these songs started before the industry got its hands on them. Sometimes the rough draft is better than the final copy. That was always the case with Margot.