You know what? Sometimes, you just need to strip everything back. No corpse paint, no blast beats, no Satanic invocations screamed through a throat shredded by ice and despair — just a cold drink, a busted speaker, and a record that sounds like it’s been marinated in cigarette smoke and cheap bourbon. That’s exactly what the self-titled debut from Punchdrunk Saints delivers.
Yeah, this one’s a bit of a curveball for me. Usually, I’m neck-deep in the abyss, writing about music that sounds like it was recorded in a frozen tomb by a bunch of feral monks armed with distortion pedals and rage. But Punchdrunk Saints pulled me out of the shadows and into a dimly lit bar, where the jukebox is playing something raw, real, and soaked in swagger. It’s pure 70s-styled Rock ’n’ Roll — unpretentious, loud, and made with a beating heart.
From the first riff, it’s clear these guys aren’t trying to reinvent the wheel — they’re just here to spin the bastard at full speed until the rubber burns off. The guitars snarl and groove with that classic overdriven crunch, the bass has that warm, earthy rumble that makes your chest vibrate, and the drums hit hard enough to knock the ice out of your glass. There’s a grit to it, a barroom brawl energy that instantly feels familiar — like that old denim jacket you thought you’d lost years ago but found again, faded, frayed, and perfect.
Vocally, the delivery is all soul and gravel. There’s emotion here, but it never dips into melodrama. Even when they hit the power ballad territory — and yes, they absolutely do — it doesn’t feel cheap or manufactured. It’s more like the sound of a man who’s been through hell, crawled out of it, and still has the decency to raise a toast before falling face-first into another night of glorious self-destruction.
What really sells Punchdrunk Saints is its honesty. There’s no gloss, no attempt to chase trends or fit neatly into a playlist. It’s music made by people who clearly love what they’re doing, who grew up on AC/DC, Thin Lizzy, maybe a bit of ZZ Top and late Rainbow, and decided to keep that torch burning instead of letting it die out in the glow of neon synths and digital polish.
It’s a whiskey-soaked, road-worn, cigarette-burned love letter to Rock ’n’ Roll itself — and it works because it’s played straight from the heart. No gimmicks, no bullshit, no filler. Just riffs, hooks, and attitude.
So yeah, it’s not the usual fare for Black Metal Archives, but fuck it — sometimes you’ve got to put down the corpse paint and pick up a pint. Sometimes you’ve got to trade frostbite for a hangover. And sometimes, all you need is a record like Punchdrunk Saints to remind you why we all fell in love with loud guitars in the first place.
Punchdrunk Saints by Punchdrunk Saints is out October 24th via Cadiz Music.
CHOICE CUT: Holy Mother
BLACK METAL ARCHIVES VERDICT: Proof that raw energy and honest songwriting never go out of style. A whiskey-chugging, riff-slinging, soul-healing slab of Rock ’n’ Roll that hits like a bar fight and feels like a hug after.
