You're drunk, PUP. Go home.
PUP have built a career on the knife edge between order and chaos. Their yin of snotty disheveled punk needs their yang of candy-coated pop, for it's that elusive balance between accessibility and aggression which has sustained the group as acclaimed genre-darlings for almost a decade. What happens, then, when yin fucks off on vacation and yang finally moves out and gets a real job? The Unraveling of PUPTheBand.
On the Canadian punk band's eponymous debut, he seethed over a girl: "How many times have you lied to my face? / I can't confront you, it's better that way. " Two and a half years later, he vented about his bandmates: "If this tour doesn't kill you, then I will / I hate your guts, and it makes me ill. " Three years after that on one of funniest rock albums of 2019, he pondered about life: "I was bored as fuck / Sitting around and thinking all this morbid stuff / Like, if anyone I've slept with is dead.
PUP have always known that misery loves company. While their music exists in the same space as the type of posi-punk that promises any loser or screwup can find salvation in beer-soaked power chords, they've taken on a different philosophy. For PUP, it's not really about feeling better -- it's about crawling through the miles of mud and shit together.
The Toronto foursome basically perfected that idea of triumphant commiseration on their third album, 2019's Morbid Stuff, which earned them critical acclaim, their late-night debut and a Juno Award.
Sounding like Jeff Rosenstock's pissed off little brother, PUP's new album is sonic street battle between their love of melody and chaos. Lyrically the album reflects its time as it was written during isolations and lockdowns, but also feel spontaneous and fun. This feels like everything that punk should be in 2022. It's honest, dark, funny, tragic, moving and incredibly catchy.