How late to the party? Two years, eleven months.
Something that I've actually managed to keep up with is the fact that Pup has released a new album, Morbid Stuff, this year, and something that is very unsurprising to me is that this record rips. It's a super fun record to listen to, the drumming is phenomenal, the lyrics run the gamut from nihilistic to self-deprecating to tongue in cheek to damn serious.
But that's enough about the present. I feel queasy just talking about the here and now.
Maybe a year back, give or take, I was introduced to Pup through the guy manning the counter at my local record store. And when I say introduced to I don't mean we shook hands, made small talk and then said our goodbyes, I mean a conversation like this:
'You like Superchunk, don't you?'
'I do.'
'You'll like Pup, then. This is the best one.'
He was pointing at a record that, for its cover art, had gone with a gnarly black and white charcoal drawing -- done by Jason Bartell of Fang Island -- of someone's gritted gold teeth. I wasn't holding out much hope.
'I'll spin it for you.'
And he did, and I couldn't see for the life of me how he'd joined the dots from Superchunk to the ramshackle punk coming out of the speakers. He'd played stuff for me before -- Nine Black Alps every time I visited with the caveat 'you'll love this.' I didn't -- and I was feeling bad for the guy because he was trying to take an active interest in what I liked by recommending me new stuff he thought correlated with my tastes so I gave him a break and picked it up. It was only £15 -- what the hell? I had never heard anything by Pup before our conversation that day.
The self-titled record I'd bought, it turned out, was the I-liked-Pup-before-they-were-cool-record. The Dream Is Over, the following album, was an unexpected success. So successful that it completely passed me by. I realised the other day when listening to Morbid Stuff over and over with the odd break to scream 'MEET ME AT THE RESERVOIR' at the top of my lungs, that I actually still had never heard The Dream Is Over. Spotify had popped up IF THIS TOUR DOSESN'T KILL YOU, I WILL to me a few times and I'd liked it enough. It sounded like a different Pup. So this week, I dipped my toe in and CAN'T WIN is one I particularly enjoy off the album.
It has everything you want out of a Pup song: that charming ramshackleness, shouty gang-vocal bits, a catchy chorus, their trademark energy and the threat that it could turn into a cheesy nu-metal or hardcore song at any point.
I'm still trying to find the Superchunk in them. But one thing I did learn is to always trust the record store guy. Unless he's trying to tell you how great the Nine Black Alps album is, then don't. Nine times out of ten, give him a chance.
Something that I've actually managed to keep up with is the fact that Pup has released a new album, Morbid Stuff, this year, and something that is very unsurprising to me is that this record rips. It's a super fun record to listen to, the drumming is phenomenal, the lyrics run the gamut from nihilistic to self-deprecating to tongue in cheek to damn serious.
But that's enough about the present. I feel queasy just talking about the here and now.
Maybe a year back, give or take, I was introduced to Pup through the guy manning the counter at my local record store. And when I say introduced to I don't mean we shook hands, made small talk and then said our goodbyes, I mean a conversation like this:
'You like Superchunk, don't you?'
'I do.'
'You'll like Pup, then. This is the best one.'
He was pointing at a record that, for its cover art, had gone with a gnarly black and white charcoal drawing -- done by Jason Bartell of Fang Island -- of someone's gritted gold teeth. I wasn't holding out much hope.
'I'll spin it for you.'
And he did, and I couldn't see for the life of me how he'd joined the dots from Superchunk to the ramshackle punk coming out of the speakers. He'd played stuff for me before -- Nine Black Alps every time I visited with the caveat 'you'll love this.' I didn't -- and I was feeling bad for the guy because he was trying to take an active interest in what I liked by recommending me new stuff he thought correlated with my tastes so I gave him a break and picked it up. It was only £15 -- what the hell? I had never heard anything by Pup before our conversation that day.
The self-titled record I'd bought, it turned out, was the I-liked-Pup-before-they-were-cool-record. The Dream Is Over, the following album, was an unexpected success. So successful that it completely passed me by. I realised the other day when listening to Morbid Stuff over and over with the odd break to scream 'MEET ME AT THE RESERVOIR' at the top of my lungs, that I actually still had never heard The Dream Is Over. Spotify had popped up IF THIS TOUR DOSESN'T KILL YOU, I WILL to me a few times and I'd liked it enough. It sounded like a different Pup. So this week, I dipped my toe in and CAN'T WIN is one I particularly enjoy off the album.
It has everything you want out of a Pup song: that charming ramshackleness, shouty gang-vocal bits, a catchy chorus, their trademark energy and the threat that it could turn into a cheesy nu-metal or hardcore song at any point.
I'm still trying to find the Superchunk in them. But one thing I did learn is to always trust the record store guy. Unless he's trying to tell you how great the Nine Black Alps album is, then don't. Nine times out of ten, give him a chance.
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