People seem to have forgotten that an actual, genuine miracle took place this January—Green Day became less cringe. Not significantly so, but it’s at least a good start that Saviors isn’t enamoured with raging against a nonexistent pop machine that killed Father Of All… in the crib. It’s absolutely a return to something stable, if not wholly their best. The likelihood of that ever happening again is plummeting at an unsustainable rate, but at least Saviors can latch onto an arena-punk nous that’s at least somewhat likable. It helps that Green Day sound invested again, where the shocks of classic-rock riffing and Billie Joe Armstrong’s ever-welcome sneer keep the energy up somewhat. Relatively speaking, anyway, which, for a Green Day album in 2024, after a string of everything from underwhelming slumps to outright disasters, is perfectly okay.
If you want a more reliable punk experience from the start of this year, though, please turn your attention to Alkaline Trio and Blood, Hair, And Eyeballs, which sure is an Alkaline Trio album, alright! To be fair, there’s a little more emo tension amid the gothier end of punk that Alkaline Trio have tended to frequent, which does feed in some reinvigoration, honestly. The spirit, meanwhile, hasn’t changed in the slightest, which isn’t a bad thing at all. The fact that Versions Of You or Bad Time still sound exactly like Alkaline Trio songs is a testament to a band whose consistency has been off the charts for decades. Now, it’s just a little fresher than it’s been in a while. Considering that the lion’s share of Matt Skiba’s attention seems to be back here after his tenure in blink-182, there’s surely some correlation / causation going on there, right?
The rest of January found itself defined by post-punk albums that were a lot more lukewarm than they should’ve been, or were made out to be. Sleater-Kinney’s Little Rope wanted to be squalling, yet anthemic, yet off-kilter, yet driving and forceful, and would up teetering on the middle ground of all factors with no favourable lean towards any of them. If nothing else, that’s in stride with Sleater-Kinney’s modern attempts to cover their own length in the tooth without a truly memorable payoff. Meanwhile, SPRINTS’ Letter To Self kicked off post-punk’s ever-so-familiar punts for ‘Album of the Year contender’, while being yet another entry into the ever-bloated middle of the pack that somehow still hasn’t reached its breaking point. Worst of all was Courting’s New Last Name, presenting a ground-up reinvention so botched that whoever advised them towards it ideally needs to be cut out of the music industry and maybe polite society altogether. They were once a fairly garden-variety yet endearing post-punk act; now, they’re a stumbling, drunken concoction of 2000s indie-pop decimated by its cheese-grater production, in what feels like post-punk’s sardonic sneer and apathy finally eating itself. New Last Name, then, is the wet, sticky residue left behind.
February
A little thin on the ground this year, February. The big releases weren’t exactly plentiful already, and we ended up covering most of them when they came around anyway. Of course, there was a couple of significant breakout debuts from acts we’ve discussed in various other capacities throughout the year, included in this catch-up for completionism’s sake, more than anything. To that end, then, The Last Dinner Party’s Prelude To Ecstasy fully justified their ascent this year, as a glossy baroque-pop wonder that might take a couple of spins to really bear fruit, but, regardless, is absolutely a unique presence in current indie spheres, even almost a year after release. Crawlers mightn’t be hitting exactly that transcendence, but The Mess We Seem To Make is the sort of accomplished debut you sincerely want to root for. They’ve been rubbing shoulders with the current arena class for good reason, when soaring emotional aspirations and indie-pop timelessness have ensured they could be there themselves before long.
Beyond those, you could argue the next ‘big’ story was nothing,nowhere.’s Dark Magic, and even that’s only retroactively so, thanks to the three subsequent albums that Joe Mulherin also released this year. The album itself doesn’t warrant a tag with that much gravity, as an unfortunate backslide into old emo-rap habits, now couched in soundbites about the occult and cultism as an attempt to knit something together. After VOID ETERNAL was such a powerhouse of scene creativity, this is the sort of album that wipes the nothing,nowhere. canvas clean again, and not for the better. Not as bad as Amaranthe’s The Catalyst, mind, as their glitchy, overblown power-metal has fully run its course and beached itself with few ways of becoming dislodged. How something this bricked-out could move in the first place is anyone’s guess, succumbing to the wear-and-tear of a seventh album peddling near the same tricks as it is.
March
It’s kind of interesting that March brought about new releases from two undeniable metal legends, and had each be so different in quality. On one hand, Judas Priest have still got it on Invincible Shield, ploughing through the cobwebs of a band in its 55th year with as reliable a helping of British metal as they’re wont to dish out. After Firepower was a proper re-centralisation to be more than just a legacy act, this is a perfectly suitable annex to that, less thundering in its existence but solid all the same. On the other hand, though, you’ve got Bruce Dickinson with The Mandrake Project, in which the talismanic Iron Maiden frontman indulges in power-metal excess marred by its grubby mix and lack of true intrigue. At least Dickinson himself sounds okay, and Resurrection Men has a standout concept of metal in the form of a spaghetti western. Otherwise…yeah, not much here.
Speaking of which—and segueing from the foundational building blocks of metal itself to an act in that stable that couldn’t be more past their prime—New Years Day are showing an unwillingness to advance on Half Black Heart that would make most catatonics recoil in secondhand embarrassment. They might be a little heavier, but their 2013-ass goth-metalcore hasn’t gotten less flavourless over time. It’s just that, now, we’re far enough removed from any sort of scene in which this felt as though it had a place, and the fact you probably had no clue this even came out at all speaks volume. We are in 2024, after all, where music for literal children who ‘aren’t like the other kids’ takes the form of NOAHFINNCE—TikTokable, safe-edgy, widely-applicable pop-rock that’s far less antiseptic, but still not all that stimulating if you’re even a day past its predicated audience. Maybe Growing Up On The Internet isn’t that different, then; it’s gunning to be a generational safety blanket extremely hard and extremely fast, just of a different material and design. The more things change, and all that…
Don’t panic, though—there’s still a healthy crop of March releases for people between the demographics of actual babies and pensioners. When the weakest of them is Mannequin Pussy’s I Got Heaven, simply for an indie-punk bout that doesn’t entirely thrill in the long term, it’s hard to grumble all that much. Yard Act pulled out a surprisingly great second outing with Where’s My Utopia?, as a continuation of sardonic post-punk du jour with considerably more rhythm and sharpness, in wit, sonic construction and dance-punk flair. When most of these genre albums are simply wallpaper nowadays, it’s so refreshing to have one that can credibly feel like a centrepiece. Meanwhile, after a long, felt absence of six years, Gouge Away returned with Deep Sage, as yet another piece of evidence for how this band has been sorely let down by the climate around them in their time. In the lanes of post-hardcore and shoegaze-soaked punk, they’ve lost none of their edge or grip, displaying a slow growth that remains palpable with every new step forward.
April
With as well-loved-to-the-point-of-obsession as Pearl Jam can be, the polarised response to Dark Matter can seem a little odd. Not when you listen to it, though, as the nascent urges to sink into the classic rock phylum they’ve displayed for a little bit are being fully embraced. It’s saved from true tedium by Pearl Jam having a generally high floor, but it’s as far a leap from era-shaping grunge legends as you can pull off without serious injury. If Eddie Vedder didn’t have that voice, you might think the notion that this is the same band who came out with Jeremy or Alive is a bad joke.
If you want a long-running band doing it better in April, Bayside continued with what’s so unwaveringly entertaining about supercharging their brand of emo into their later years on There Are Worse Things Than Being Alive. It’s doing a lot for them as they keep getting grungier and tauter, with a hefty swatch of hooks (and an Ice Nine Kills collaboration, for some reason) that honestly should’ve gone further at keeping them in the spotlight. Even if Bayside continue to just miss the era-defining status they never had, their strength of output deserves more than just to be swept aside. The emo space also had Microwave’s Let’s Start Degeneracy, about as free-changing as the nebulous shape on its artwork. Like a lot of Microwave’s work, it can be a hard sell, through Nathan Hardy’s vocals and a keeness for small indie-pop that just compounds the closeness of it. But there’s also a lot to like about how striking Microwave can sometimes be, and how Let’s Start Degeneracy wants to actively buck the emo and alt-rock norms that—let’s be honest—can be really played-out. A mixed bag, then, but one that at least has some interest to it.
Over to metalcore, where SeeYouSpaceCowboy tilted further than ever into the MySpace metalcore aesthetic on Coup de Grâce, and proved how effective it can be when you actually know what you’re doing. The camp and the knife-strikes and the streaks of black eyeliner absolutely flood through this, on top of what might be SeeYouSpaceCowboy’s most melodically direct and satisfying listen to date. Not so for ERRA’s Cure, unfortunately, which is another djent album that’s perfectly fine for the duration of its runtime, and then ejects itself from your head the second it’s over. So, like any other ERRA album, basically.
There’s also Alien Ant Farm’s ~mAntras~ to cap the month off, for no other reason than to prove (to the three people who might want it) that they did, in fact, do more this year than just get into a fight with CKY. True to form, it’s an album where the most effort has been put into one song (that being the genuine jam Fade) while the rest is left to field the legacy (?) of an alt-metal band whose biggest pinprick of cultural notoriety is a Michael Jackson cover from a million years ago. It’s about as mid as they get, honestly; there’s little tANTalising to be found.
May
Remember when everyone had the pathological inability to shut up about twenty one pilots? Those were some bad times, weren’t they? Well, it looks as though they tried to bring some semblance of that back with Clancy, where the highfalutin shite—sorry, ‘lore’—is back after the rather pleasant palette-cleanser Scaled & Icy. The good news is that the option to disregard that is still there, as Clancy still works as the sharp, kaleidoscopic alt-pop that the twenty one pilots brand has been built on. In many ways, the ‘back to roots’ aspect is worn proudly, including some overly twee or flaccid moments that signpost nearly all of the bloat (see The Craving (Jenna’s version)), but predominantly in the relationship to creativity that made Blurryface the gripping career highlight it was nearly a decade ago. It’s easy to rag on twenty one pilots for the tryhard energy they emit—and the fans make it even easier—but find it in yourself to cut through that, and you will be rewarded with something good.
Kings Of Leon also made their return in May with Can We Please Have Fun, albeit with nothing close to a hope of reviving their glory days. To make the obvious joke, they should probably take the question posed in its title to heart, seeing as it’s a further step into dishwater-bland also-ran territory that’s somehow arrived after stints of southern-rock hip-shakers and arena-rock staples. Speaking of Kings grossly underachieving, Kerry King sure is fortunate that Slayer are back, because From Hell I Rise won’t be ripping the hinges off for a solo career any time soon. As blandly fine as thrash comes, it’s the kind of album you’d never bless with a second look had it come from someone even a little less established. Just like its shitty AI artwork, a fit-for-purpose composite of metal ‘stuff’ just isn’t good enough (or in the case of Where I Reign, is almost impressively close to what a prompt could generate).
To flip the script a little, The Lemon Twigs were the recipients of an ungodly amount of praise this year for A Dream Is All We Know, which goes to show that sounding like The Beatles is, in itself, enough for some to lose it. Like, okay, it’s better than most of what they’ve done up to now, but it’s not hard to figure out that the impression is doing the heavy lifting. This is still The Lemon Twigs, after all, whose lack of a wham characteristic isn’t paved over because they sound like music you’re ‘supposed’ to like. You could maybe say the same for Telltale’s self-titled album, though that doesn’t even have the good graces to be so cavalier in stealing its worth. Here’s some more pop-rock whose more severe edges are the necessary trait in inserting itself into a ‘genre-bending’ tag, to a negligible degree where there’s precious little worthwhile talking about. The production is really flat and buzzed-out in places—that’s a quality for ya.
To end May on a more sour note, the return of Say Anything with …Is Committed was not an anticipated occasion by any means, and who better to justify that than Say Anything themselves? Just to come out and say it, this is demonstrably not the greatest format to address an album that’s become so intrinsically wired into the cloud of controversy that’s followed Max Bemis and everyone in his immediate vicinity. For those who’ve even touched it, the general consensus is how uncomfortable this exercise is over-sharing can be, combined with how one of emo’s most strident outfits sinking deep into malaise has produced an album that’s not good in the slightest. It isn’t, to be fair, but at least such an obvious cry for help affixed with the ‘Say Anything comeback album’ narrative might perk some ears up in its favour. That’s…something?
June
There was a good amount of crap released in June, so let’s get the easy targets out the way first. Imagine Dragons had LOOM, once again another factory-sealed batch of ‘rock’ music for and by people who haven’t been bullied enough. Meanwhile, Bon Jovi continued to age with their audience on Forever by making music exclusively for your mum. Expecting anything even the slightest bit more challenging or engaging really is livin’ on a prayer. Might as well throw jxdn’s WHEN THE MUSIC STOPS into this little crew of obvious failures, too, to mention how it’s an act of cosmic mercy that one of the most useless bottom-feeders to glom onto pop-punk’s last wave of ‘success’ is effectively irrelevant now. This feels simultaneously like a pivot and an effort to save face, as it traipses through alternative pastures to present growth while also heaping on some deniability to the vested effort to present as a genre forerunner last time. There’s no integrity to it, the expected product from this TikTok has-been whose entire career has been dependent squarely on trend-hopping, genuine interest not necessary. The only reason that it’s better than the last is because a fall-off this blatant probably signifies jxdn’s days as a musicians being numbered. Good riddance.
If you want a pop-punk act displaying actual growth and not just a flat facsimile of it, The Story So Far really turned up with I Want To Disappear. For a band who hemmed in pop-punk more than necessary with how many redundant clones they produced, it’s actually rather nice to see The Story So Far—firmly off their pedestal and thus with more freedom to move—being able to impress like this. They’re deeper into alt-rock and a slightly rugged ‘90s / 2000s feel, while the fundamentals of pop-punk remain for Parker Cannon to sell an emotionality he’s only gotten better at. Honestly, the moves that The Story So Far have been making in recent years have done a lot to endear them, and this is such a clear leap even further into that. Sea Girls, on the other hand, had their wheels are spinning on overdrive as they slap together yet another collection of faceless radio-indie that could’ve been released by any B- to D-lister at any point over the last decade or so. The fact they’re now three albums deep on Midnight Butterflies with no willingness to reach further should really put a cap on Sea Girls as the supposed ‘big name’ that they are, because there’s no reason whatsoever to keep them around. Even the scant chance of a good hook is gone now; this is just slosh, all the way through.
Sticking with indie (and the exclusively better June releases within it), Picture Parlour perhaps didn’t rocket up the ladder this year as was predicted for them, but it’s clearly not for a lack of effort. On their debut EP, Face In The Picture, with the howling blues fire, Fleetwood Mac-esque posture and a feel for rock’s classics that translates without a hitch, here’s another band quashing the industry plant allegations that are apparently just an accepted part of the game now. As for an act at the opposite side of their life cycle, The LaFontaines released Business As Usual, the final album of a band who, honestly, lasted longer than expected, but had very few lows while they were around. That’s continued in its entirety on Business As Usual, finding The LaFontaines trafficking in their expected big indie hooks, gleaming pop production and hip-hop nimbleness. Regardless of how much of a muchness it is to the rest of their work, at least the level they’re going out on has stayed fairly high.
Compared to Crossfaith, to whom the philosophy of consistency applies, there’s a definite difference. On ARK, their electro-metalcore continues to hit with blunt force and jagged edges, but in a way where the initial appeal of novelty has diminished greatly. This used to be a band on the bleeding edge of metal’s advancement in a cybernetic future; now, they’re producing miniscule iterations on tech where the kindest compliment that can be given is how it still works. Royal Republic proved much better at that on Lovecop, sporting the ‘think-with-your-crotch’ energy that they’ve always had a fondness for, only now they’ve gone all the way with a pounding, thrusting tribute to stylised ‘80s excess that’s probably their most fun outing since their debut.
Finally, for the second check-up on nothing,nowhere. for the year, Hell Or Highwater found Joe Mulherin time leaning towards country without totally abandoning the emo-rap slant. It’s actually quite a solid effort, for an artist whose more organic take on this style lends itself well to something more spare and solemn, even if its best moments in Cliché Lovers (Dissolve Into You) and New England are basically just more emo-rap and straight-up emo respectively. Even so, this does work, despite the jury still being out on whether four nothing,nowhere. albums in one year is complete overkill, or just a little bit.
July
The recorded return of Soft Play this year came with some convenient ignorance of how bad their last couple of albums were, only adding to the overall sensation of whiplash around Heavy Jelly. The primary contributor was, in fact, the album itself, as easily the duo’s best album since their debut. Not that that’s a hard bar to clear, and they did blow their load earlier with Punk’s Dead as the best track and the lead single, but it’s nice to hear some of the raucousness back, if nothing else. It’s nowhere close to as stiff as the old Slaves days, either; there’s actual fire and fangs to their garage-rock now that makes a world of difference.
Also in July’s punk crop, STONE, once upon a time, looked primed to be thrust into the spot that Soft Play had once seemingly left vacant. They had their allocated week of being ‘Britain’s most exciting new band’ earlier this year, with that title yoinked away not long after as their debut full-length Fear Life For A Lifetime didn’t put up a sterling fight. It’s not that hard to see why, unfortunately, when their supposed punk streak is limited to just a handful of moments among a very rote, boilerplate Britpop-flavoured sampler. As fine as it is, it’s hard to maintain enthusiasm when probably another dozen or so acts have taken their spot since. Fortunately, Speed’s ONLY ONE MODE could blow away any dwindling excitement in its sleep. The flute-playing jewel in new hardcore’s crown, barely a second is spared in not establishing one of the most succinct beatdowns of the year. Among the Flatspot class, it’s no wonder that Speed have been pedestalled as they have, as just the right coalescence between punk and hardcore that remains firmly and viciously at its street level. The textbook definition of ‘simple but effective’ in its style, this one.
July’s other main names really only served to bolster some already-fixed reputations from their creators. Perhaps it’s not too fair to tar Los Campesinos!’ All Hell with that brush as their first album in seven years, but its layered, literate indie-rock is of the exact premise that this band’s cult legacy has always been rooted in. As for Powerwolf’s Wake Up The Wicked, the tenth album deep in their opulent power-metal rabbit-hole (or should that be wolf-hole?), it’s no less spotless and proficient crafted than it should be after so long at the same game.You’d have to be legitimately impaired to want to listen to the 33 tracks on its deluxe edition, mind. But then along comes HARDY’s Quit!!, his newest misadventure into rock from country, now without the ostentatiousness factor of a double album that transitions between the two midway through. See, the mockingbird & THE CROW was a mess, but it was an interesting one. Quit!!, in its consolidation of country-rock surliness and a shit-brown post-grunge slurry, is a mess in the sense where it needs hosing away before it congeals and stains for good.
August
Only seems right to start August off with one of the most acclaimed albums of the year. That’s the space that Fontaines D.C. are in now, carving away the restrictive walls of post-punk like IDLES before them and doing a pretty good job at it. Rather than a greyscale Ireland, Romance takes its cues from a trip to Tokyo, winding up less implacable and more willing to invite in the grandeur of a big rock band on Starburster or Bug. Grian Chatten’s heavy monotone keeps it all grounded, though, as a reminder of Fontaines D.C.’s bread-and-butter in post-punk and indie-rock that shoulders a lot of weight, and does so without compromise. Even on what may be their most accessible album in a while, Fontaines D.C. continue to be defiant in how uniquely minded a band of their current scale can be.
As for bands who were big but now…aren’t really, Twin Atlantic’s Meltdown could’ve easily been ignorable. We couldn’t be further removed from the point in time when Twin Atlantic were seen as the faces of British rock, but bless them for actually trying again. After a number of sub-par releases and outright flops, Meltdown, if little else, can attest to planting its feet back on solid ground and delivering what this band does best. Honestly, they’ve not made big alt-rock songs as enormous as Asleep or Stuck In A Car With You in ages, where the still-iffy sheen on their era thankfully doesn’t take as tight a stranglehold over the quality of hooks. It’s precisely what you want from a Twin Atlantic album, and thankfully, they’re back at it again.
As for more so-so outings, Cassyette released her long-awaited This World Fucking Sucks to an all-too-expected outcome. The nu-gen aesthetic is unchanged (i.e. superficial edge that anyone born in a year beginning with ‘19’ might find reeeeeal tiresome), but Cassyette can at least bring about a better permutation of it sometimes. When she isn’t just doing a P!nk impression on Friends In Low Places and Over It, there’s some sharpness and industrial texture that a song like Ipecac can use really well. It’s still a mixed bag though, maybe too mixed to be of the longterm use that the scene is pushing Cassyette towards. You could also say the same for Destroy Boys, though the numerous controversies and dramas they’ve been enshrouded by have all but crippled the impact of Funeral Soundtrack #4. You can’t help but think that, if it were a tad better, it could’ve withstood more. The ventures into Spanish and the collab with Mannequin Pussy and Scowl You Hear Yes pull it up; an okay-but-largely-unremarkable collection of punk and ‘90s alt-rock keep it at straight equilibrium.
As for Charly Bliss, effectively morphed into a straight-up pop band on Forever, albeit with their DIY origin point meaning this all hangs a little looser. It’s still a good fit for Eva Hendricks’ incredibly tart voice and a collection of synth tones trying for the same effect, but the specific power-pop of Charly Bliss is still a little too ramshackle to strike as cleanly as they want to. Back There Now is pretty great, though; that’s a real winner here. But if you wan’t the complete opposite of any growth whatsoever, here’s Dune Rats’ If It Sucks, Turn It Up that proudly wears its lack of intent to evolve past the foundations of Aussie punk (or just evolve, full stop). Even so, the sunnier, more rubbery feel to this one gives Dune Rats the feel of actual fun, instead of sloshed, sunburnt endurance under that name.
September
Of the onslaught of crossover provocateurs that the industry pretends to be excited by, Mimi Barks is among the ones who actually have something tangible going for them. Even if This Is Doom Trap can feel as much like a proof of concept as they all can—literally iterating what’s stated in its name—there’s at least a palpability to it that can be convincing. Barks’ dark, oppressive atmosphere is what most of these strive for but seldom hit, in a fusion of trap, industrial and metal that’s ultimately a smidge more than the sum of some basic parts. It’s the coolness and intrigue factor that takes control over technical know-how, which has the capacity to work in the right hands. Thankfully it’s being piloted by someone who does have the right ideas.
September also served up a platter of some more straightforward heaviness, all of it being pretty good for a fairly base-level drubbing. You can always expect that sort of thing from Kublai Khan TX, from whom Exhibition Of Prowess is the kind of brainless bang-a-thon that’s their unerring staple, and they aren’t exactly faltering at it. This is metalcore with the express intent to brutalise, a feature that’s never been presented as anything other than this band’s strict M.O.. To that end, it’s not changing the world, but it might just leave a crack or two in it, which is more than enough. Similarly, Crashface brought more clattering, sawlike post-hardcore on Life And Death In The Wasteland. Its chief achievement was earmarking them as a duo who’ve been remarkably good at staying in their musical lane (in their musical spot, even) without outright stagnating, which is always a good thing. Finally, Void Of Vision released What I’ll Leave Behind, a title with a fair bit more poignancy now it’s their last album, as well as the best note they could’ve bowed out on. For as little innovation goes into the Void Of Vision brew, this tighter, heavier, more focused metalcore experience gives them way more of an opportunity to work. It pays off, and it’s honestly a bit of a shame they won’t get to do more with it.
If there’s a theme to be found there, it’s how ‘for the fans’ is such a prominent ethos heeded, and not just within metalcore. The mixed bag that September produced all feel tied to that sentiment to varying degrees, with maybe the loosest fit belonging to Origami Angel. They’ve not maintained the value in brevity of The Brightest Days (while thankfully avoiding the gauntlet threshold of Gami Gang), but sticking with punchy, breezy emo-pop is a fine compromise. Honestly, if it weren’t for some of the overall pudge, Feeling Not Found could be pretty great, thanks to some exceptional work from Origami Angel in hooks that swell with pop-punk’s halcyon days. The excellent band inside them is just waiting to break out, and when some of the fluff is cut back, it invariably will.
Beyond that, it’s preaching to the choir almost all the way down. Foxing’s self-titled album finds itself stuffed with all the usual complexities that require much more space to unravel than a brief mention in a segment like this allows. Just know that another extensive emo tapestry to unravel will keep existing crowd thrilled, no doubt about it. Seether, meanwhile, haven’t a complexity to speak of, nor have they ever. The Surface Seems So Far is their mandated album for this few-year period, with the same pot of post-grunge ingredients where any flavour has long since been boiled away. There’s literally not a thing to speak of here unless you’re a dyed-in-the-wool, ride-or-die Seethoid (or whatever this bunch is called), and if that’s the case, there are probably more pressing issues to attend to for you.
October
In an uncharacteristically mistimed creative move for him, Jason Butler announcing the full, proper return of letlive. in the same month as his new album with Fever 333 really did suck away every bit of air from it. It’s not helping that DARKER WHITE is a bit of a step back, either, but not to the extent that Butler seems to be trading back for his old work again. Now leaning further on the grinding rap-metal aesthetic, the straightforwardness of its assault on a regressive world acts more as a companion piece to letlive.’s more literary fare. Obviously, then, there’s going to be a gulf formed (especially when Fever 333’s ‘punk’ aspirations aren’t always completely clear in execution), though to call this a tossed-off effort or even a disappointment is pushing it. Butler is still one of hardcore’s most defiant voices, and the next piece of the tapestry being somewhat smaller doesn’t change that.
Elsewhere on the punk spectrum, October housed a fairly wide cast of players. The biggest among them right now are Amyl And The Sniffers, as they join The Chats in the ranking of wreckhead Aussie punks actually making a bigger breakout, and not doing a bad job at all on Cartoon Darkness. You’re not getting a song like Tiny Bikini from any of the others, that’s for sure. Just on the whole, though, there’s the exact energy zeroed in on that makes this kind of punk work as it does—emphasis on being fun, frenetic, and fairly ready to combust whenever necessary. The same can be said of Drug Church on PRUDE, as their impressive renaissance continues through once again utilising their malleable toolbox of tricks—rough-and-tumble punk gumption; an impervious ‘90s attitude; extra-sharp songwriting; and a knack for mashing it all together while prioritising its bite.
Trash Boat also came around in October with Heaven Can Wait, seeing their rocketing trajectory further and further from their pop-punk point of entry hold firm, if the Crossfaith and I Prevail collaborations didn’t shout that loud enough. Ignore how sub-par the company they keep is, though; Trash Boat themselves are still excelling at hard, fast, insidious rock music, continuing on the road that Boston Manor paved for them but with their own feel. You wouldn’t confuse the two, not when Trash Boat have grown to let their rawness flair and flourish like this.
Sadly, the same can’t be said for Pixies anymore, if The Night The Zombies Came is any indication of where they are as they approach their 40th birthday. Here we have the consequence of a band once known for manic noise ageing out of that role, past the point where the old alternative spirit could still shine through, now arriving at full-on old-timer mode. At least there isn’t the music-out-of-obligation bent that many in their position will develop, though on an album that can feel grievously long and meandering across a majority even, acoustic-heavy tracks, said obligation might come from the ones listening to it. In essence, it’s a little similar to Myles Kennedy and how The Art Of Letting Go doesn’t feel all that much like what it could be. He’s effectively forgone the country and classic rock that made past solo efforts their own thing, in favour of…another Alter Bridge album. By default, then, it’s probably Kennedy’s most inconsequential solo venture, but having one of the best voices in modern hard rock—and the instincts that also subsequently make his band one of the best—can still count for a fair amount.
At least PVRIS’s efforts on their F.I.L.T.H. EP can be recognised, but they barely come together in any significant way. The niggling issues that Lyndsey Gunnulfsen has bore for years persist, as even a slew of collaborators ranging from Lights to Mothica to Alice Longyu Gao can’t really slake PVRIS’ chronic inconsistency. If anything, it’s even more pronounced, when the storming electro-rock of BURN THE WITCH is quick to fall off, slipping into fractal tweeness on THE BLOB or milquetoast, PVRIS-grade mediocrity on OIL & WATER (which just so happens to be the only track without any guests). Perhaps it’s a little more forgivable as a more informal side-project, though highlighting issues present with PVRIS in their base form isn’t the best of outcomes. Finally, it’s time to look in on our old friend nothing,nowhere. for the penultimate time, as Miserymaker stands as the next step in the compartmentalisation of Joe Mulherin’s sound, now predominantly centred on stormy emo that has some legitimately great production in moments, though ultimately finds itself hampered by a gutted runtime and less-than-abundant ideas. You can kind of see why this one was left as a glorified EP, even though it’s still nothing close to awful.
November
For an album left to compete with the return of Linkin Park on its release date, it’s a miracle that Poppy’s Negative Spaces never got devoured then and there. As the far better album, it would’ve been unjust. This is the culmination of Poppy’s dalliances with metalcore and nu-metal, synthesising into probably her best album yet for just how naturally she takes to it. With all the baggage of her earlier uncanniness fully in the rearview, the opportunity to grow has never been more plainly realised than how the cost of giving up punches the sky, or new way out is one of the most competent Spiritbox impressions put to record all year. Jordan Fish on production provides the final sprinkling of gold dust that allows Negative Space to feel this powerful of a turning point.
The scene in general had a really strong November, to where it practically dominated the month. Mid-level releases put up some good showings, like Cane Hill’s return on a part of me i never let you find.. Although it might seem inevitable to turn to a Bad Omens impression to pick up their tumbling profile, the good thing is how Cane Hill aren’t terrible at it. If nothing else, the ten-ton nu-metalcore blocks make for some of their heaviest moments yet, regardless of whether that initial rusted, raging appeal is lessened. Counterparts’ Heaven Let Them Die, meanwhile, is just another slice of Counterparts, but considering they’re currently at the top of their game as metallic hardcore mainstays going on two decades, it’s still worth diving in.
Polar are markedly less fortunate, as their bones creak with the sound of early-2010s Britcore that simply can’t keep up. Not only does Five Arrows sound more muted and subdued, it cycles through its limited ideas distressingly quickly. You’d never gather that Polar were sleeper contenders for the lifers of their scene, not when their impact has eroded to an album that justifiably never made a peep on release. Still, it’s better than LOST IN HEAVEN, the latest puff in the wind from Chase Atlantic with nothing achieved. Hope you weren’t expecting the ludicrous opportunities they’ve been picking up to indicate something fresh or new, because that’s demonstrably outside the realms of possibility. It’s the same as every Chase Atlantic album—lushly produced but immediately disposable alt-trap, wrapped together by Mitchel Cave who consistently sounds like he’s deflating.
For something in the genre-mutating alt-pop vein that doesn’t totally such, Cody Frost’s ANATOMY was a pleasant enough EP to herald what’ll likely be an even stronger year for her in 2025. You Me At Six’s Josh Franceschi and Heriot’s Debbie Gough provide smatterings of extra star power, but Frost’s own isn’t to be trifled with. Her permutation of nu-gen is more oriented towards hyperpop, not just making some sharper edges jut out further, but lending some locomotive clip that her contemporaries don’t really have. Even if it’s a bit too slight—in size and creative mojo—to be fully wowed by, an upgrade to the norm is still an upgrade.
December
December has been deader than usual this year, so there really isn’t anything to end things on a bang with. If you want something close to a ‘main event’ (other than a glut of deluxes and live albums that aren’t at all interesting to talk about), there’s the fourth and final nothing,nowhere. album of 2024, Cult Classic. Full disclosure—it’s out the week that this feature is being published so we’ve really not had any time with it, but if you’ve actively been keeping up with the misadventures of Mr. Mulherin, this is probably another one that’ll pique your interest.
Otherwise, the December releases have mostly been the prospective stars of 2025 getting into position for the new year. South Arcade look poised to be the big breakout, now having compiled their year’s worth of singles into the 2005 EP, with the precociousness required by law for pop-rock upstarts to have. Hot Milk fans, especially—these are the ones to get onto. On the heavier end of things, NECKBREAKKER’s Within The Viscera is some good, old-fashioned death metal with a whole load of potential for wave-making in its scene. And on the end that encompasses the utter dregs, Until I Wake are still under the illusion that Warped-core from a decade ago is a viable gambit to build a career from. It’s not, and that’s exactly why Renovate has nothing to speak of whatsoever. What a way to end…
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