No cliche punk allowed

A modern punk band who might have found their start at beloved CBGB back in 1979, Drug Church spits irony and dark matter with an anti-structural approach to musicality. Their punk ancestors have passed down a hereditary propensity to reject social norms, so Drug Church follows their gut in new album release Cheer. They lend their talent to obliterating any philosophical gibberish that arises in contemporary alternative rock.

As vocalist Patrick Kindlon writes lyrics in the studio under pressure, he intentionally leaves himself with no time to fine-tune the direction of his words. While his violent chants may be difficult to swallow and the band’s unruly musicality may be nearly impossible to digest, Drug Church’s authentically audacious punk attitude is refreshing.

Infectious guitar ripples through “Weed Pin” soon accompanied by radioactive vocals that sing with militaristic ferocity. Not to be taken lightly, Drug Church is, in fact, hardcore punk–the kind that resonates with the guilty and the free. Rejecting silence as a form of obedience, every second of Cheer is filled with noise to sustain a hysterical, yet sane mentality in their listeners. “Unlicensed Hall Monitor” gives off the same dirty grunge aesthetic that every punk wannabe seeks, but Drug Church has this authenticity about them–screaming vile threats and enticing secrets into your ears.

Although not the first band to do this, Drug Church artfully plays with the culturally defined genre of punk: screeching vocals that rhythmically match the clean twangy guitar. Upbeat and unencumbered by expectations, Drug Church makes it their own.

“Conflicted Mind” unravels at the seams through volatile drums and guitar but takes a turn to sew itself back together by weaving in melodic female-driven vocals. Siren sounds swirl into a psychedelic surrealism, where anticipation meets anxiety as rattling drums fill the sound. “Unlicensed Guidance Counselor” screams irrational advice with arrogance and satire. Like a catchy, more punk-version of The Strokes, Drug Church fulfills the feeling of wanting to be understood by chaining their consciences to their music.

“Avoidarama” indicates an obsession with naive ignorance, as the song name itself indicates; a bitter fascination with the deranged consequences of bad mental health play in the forefront of the lyrics. While the bassline is kept steady, all other instruments spiral into a harmonious cry as Kindlon shouts with gritted teeth “DEPRESSION” into a void of misunderstanding and ingenuine pity. Lullaby guitar in “Strong References” hypnotizes the listeners with a brief escape from the dark mood of Cheer, only to be disrupted with fragmented drum patterns and more self-deprecating lyrics. Outro song “Foam Pit” closes out the album with a nihilistic attitude to leave the listeners bitter with a raised heart rate and short temper.

Although slightly less obtrusive than most punk records, there is nothing docile about Cheer. The repetitive rage-engaged-lyrics create the essence of a broken record, repeating itself when necessary in a deliberate manner. Cheer sounds like a step in the right direction for the band, although Drug Church would argue they have no guaranteed direction, an inclination for experimentation to find their most genuine sound. While Cheer is more professional than the previous album thanks to better production and sound engineering, Drug Church digs their claws into their trademarked punk attitude. Drug Church won’t be the next inductee to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but fame is not their motive anyway.