INTERVIEW FEATURE: The Enigma That Is wht.rbbt.obj.

By: Joe Brunker

 My first introduction to wht.rbbt.obj was through following Chicago radio legend, James Van Osdol. I had heard him talking of this band, or overall entity known as wht.rbbt.obj. They were mysterious to me, on first glance. After listening to their music, I was hooked on their soulsy, bluesy, rock that was pumping through my earbuds. I didn’t know how to describe them, but I knew that I wanted to see them live. 

  So, I messaged them and asked them to play on the bill for my former project's album release show, at Soundgrowler Brewery in Tinley Park, IL. To say I was blown away, would be an understatement after witnessing this entity perform. I was drawn into the lyrical prowess, and the authentic performance of songs that were woven in each bandmate's soul. All of their sounds were converging to tell one awesome story. 

  I was glad to play one more show with them at Outtaspace, with the "rust belt soul" boys of Harlem Hayfield. I have always looked for ways to bring them to a new platform, and promote them whenever I have the chance. My personal favorite from their latest album release, "Oscar Bravo Juliet" is "Monsters of Nothing." However, their entire catalog is phenomenal and you should definitely give them a spin! I am thankful that they were able to interview for this article. I was able to get in touch with the dynamic couple, Frank and River Rabbitte for these answers. So, without further ado, the interview! 
 
JOE:
So, to start; how long have you all been creating these soulsy rock masterpieces under the moniker wht.rbbt.obj?
FRANK AND RIVER:
We’ve been operating as wht.rbbt.obj for a few years now — officially, anyway. Unofficially, the fuse was lit long before we admitted what we were building. The songs came first, like coded transmissions… or warnings. We didn’t pick the name from a hat; it arrived like an assignment. Once we heard it, we knew we weren’t just writing tunes anymore — we were opening a door we couldn’t close, and stepping through meant no safe return.  Time doesn’t run straight in this band. Some days it feels like we started last Tuesday; some days it feels like we’ve been doing this since before we learned to lie properly.

JOE:
Where did the name come about?
FRANK AND RIVER:
The name didn’t come from a baby book or a bar brainstorm — it came from inside the Rabbitte Systems, Ltd. mythos. In that universe, wht.rbbt.obj isn’t a band name, it’s an asset tag — the kind you’d find stamped on a black-budget crate no one remembers authorizing.  Every classified file has a codename, every codename has a consequence, and this one felt like the two-word key that unlocks the room nobody is supposed to enter.
If you need a pop-culture translation, think less “band name origin story” and more the command line that shuts down the park and quietly opens all the cages. Not to cause chaos… just to see what the world does when the gatekeeper falls asleep. So we kept it. We answer to it. And at this point, we’re not sure if it’s the name of the band… or the project we’re trapped inside.

JOE:
Are there any particular quirks from the mates that have become part of the performance?
FRANK AND RIVER:
We’re not the kind of band that builds a show out of cute habits or running jokes. Nothing we do onstage is planned, polished, or designed to “sell the moment.” We don’t do schtick. We do pulse and consequence.  If someone shakes, trembles, stares off, or looks like they’re about to burst — that’s not a trick. That’s the cost. We’re not chasing fun. We’re chasing the feeling you only get when you bleed for something real.

JOE:
What bands, whether local, national, or international inspired your sound and marketing?
FRANK AND RIVER:
We pull influence the same way thieves pull from unlocked cars — we take what we need in the dark, leave fingerprints only we can recognize, and never pretend we invented fire. Some of our compass points are obvious — danger, blues, cinema, soul, tension, analog ghosts — but the sound isn’t a tribute so much as a crime scene of every artist who ever made us feel something sharp.

JOE:
Since two of you are married, (River & Francis), did you guys start writing music before or after marriage?
FRANK AND RIVER:
We wrote together before marriage, after it, and through every chapter that didn’t make it into holiday cards. But the truth is, we don’t write like other couples “collaborate.”
We write like other people plan heists. Maps, codes, late-night whispers, stolen hours, alibis, emotional blueprints — the kind of work that could either save you or ruin you, depending on who cracks first. I’m actually typing this from O’Hare, on the way to Paris — and after hearing about that Louvre jewel heist, it hit me: some people steal diamonds from museums… we steal moments from the universe and try to smuggle them back in as songs. Marriage made us a team. Music made us accomplices. The rest is sealed until the statute of limitations expires.

JOE:
Being in a band; conflicts arise. Whether internal, or external, how do you guys navigate those sometimes turbulent terrains?
FRANK AND RIVER:
Bands fall apart over ego, silence, or the wrong person thinking they’re the sun. We’re not afraid to call it what it is: every band needs a structure or it becomes a slow-motion collapse. In our world, Frank’s the CEO — the one who keeps the ship funded, focused, and moving forward — and River is the CAO, the Chief Artistic Officer, the final word on the heart, shape, and temperature of the art. There’s a running joke in the studio that I have a one-in-five rule — one great idea for every five I throw on the table. And that’s fine, because we serve the song, not our egos. If the idea elevates the track, we chase it. If it doesn’t? It dies right there on the floor with no funeral. The only way that works is trust — the kind built over years, not weekends. We don’t avoid conflict; we let the art decide who’s right.

JOE:
If you had to compare your overall sound to any band, or fusion of bands; what would they be?
FRANK AND RIVER:
We always struggle with the comparison question, because we didn’t build our sound by chasing trends or trying to land somewhere between two existing artists. If anything, we were haunted by a band most people have never heard of — or insist never existed — Vera & The Low Fade.  According to rumor, they were a soul-noir group from 1968 who supposedly recorded one lost album above a pawn shop in Joliet before disappearing completely. No lineup. No photos. No credits. Just whispers, collector gossip, and a voice named Vera that people describe like smoke wrapped in silk and scar tissue. Half Motown midnight, half Midwest garage — the kind of music that sounds like it knows something you don’t. Whether they were real or a beautifully-told lie didn’t matter. They became the band we couldn’t find, so we became the band that might have grown from their ashes. If you need a modern map, sure — people say we land somewhere between Jack White’s electricity and Amy Winehouse’s soul-bruise, with a little Portishead static and Gorillaz-grade mood lighting. But honestly? We’re chasing the ghost of a record that never made it to vinyl — and writing like it’s our job to finish what someone else disappeared trying to start.

JOE:
What has been your favorite milestone, thus far?
FRANK AND RIVER:
We’ve had some beautiful checkpoints — radio spins in cities we’ve never touched, reviews from writers we respect, a few publications that felt like they had no business knowing our name — but the milestones that matter most aren’t the ones we can screenshot. The real milestone was the first time someone we didn’t know wrote to us and said a song felt like it was about them, not by us. That was the moment it stopped feeling like a hobby or a long shot and started feeling like a signal getting through the static. Awards, playlists, shoutouts — those are nice. But the first stranger who hears themselves in your pain? That’s the only milestone you can’t fake.

JOE:
What would you say is the overarching theme in your latest album release?
FRANK AND RIVER:
Oscar Bravo Juliett sounds like an album about love, but it’s really an album about the things we do to survive it. Every track is a different room inside the same building — obsession, forgiveness, relapse, denial, surrender, the ache of wanting to be wanted, the quiet terror of actually being seen. We wrote it like a classified case file: nine exhibits, no instruction manual, no promise that the truth is the version you prefer. If there’s a theme, it’s this: Love will save you, ruin you, resurrect you, and sometimes all three in the same night.

JOE:
Any big events or shows coming up for you guys in the near future?
FRANK AND RIVER:
Finishing the NATO call-sign trilogy feels less like closing an album and more like sealing a classified dossier. Oscar Bravo Juliettcompletes the first arc, and now we’re in that charged cocoon phase where everything feels like it’s about to molt — new skin, new color, new threat profile. Right now, the focus isn’t “book as many shows as possible.” We’re hunting for rooms that honor the work — curated spaces with real listeners, real breath, and real consequence. That’s why a Valslist listening-room-style show is on deck; it’s the exact kind of space that demands honesty instead of volume, connection instead of spectacle. We want the next chapter to feel chosen — not stumbled into. A shift is coming — sonically, visually, maybe even operationally.

What’s next?
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