PUP’s 2016 album, The Dream is Over, began with the lines “If this tour doesn’t kill you then I will / I hate your guts and it makes me ill / Seeing your face every morning / One more month and 22 days.” It was the aesthetic of the Toronto pop-punk band condensed; self-deprecating humour buried underneath angry shouting that one could mistake as sincere. For this is a band who have been known to perform 200 shows a year, a committed onslaught to the very thing singer Stefan Babcock intimates he hates doing.
Those lyrics are spliced with an extra layer of irony now, given that COVID-19 has rendered touring in any capacity impossible. This year was the perfect year for PUP’s incessant touring too, coming on the back of 2019’s huge Morbid Stuff. The acclaim for their third studio album culminated in the Juno Award for Alternative Album of the Year – beating out Orville Peck and Mac DeMarco no less – quite the feat for the scrappy and sardonic Toronto boys. 2020 was supposed to be their time to cement their status as one of the strongest pop-punk bands of recent times.
Given their penchant for taking their time with albums, a three-year gap existing between each one since 2013, an EP was the obvious option for the band just now. This Place Sucks Ass is a short and punchy collection – six songs totalling just 17 minutes – consisting of one cover, one song written and recorded this year, alongside four tracks unreleased from their Morbid Stuff sessions.
Those that were left off that album were done so as they were deemed too frenetic or too unhinged (even for a record with that despondent title) but it makes sense upon listening to them. This Place Sucks Ass is slightly heavier than Morbid Stuff, which contained a keen pop infectiousness underneath all the simmering frustration.
Another way COVID-19 will be affecting PUP: they have always been existential, death being a big focal point for their lyrics. The title track from Morbid Stuff started with the lines “I was bored as fuck / Sitting around and thinking all this morbid stuff / Like if anyone I’ve slept with is dead and I got stuck / On death and dying and obsessive thoughts that won’t let up / It makes me feel like I’m about to throw up”. For those with death anxiety, the onset of COVID-19 has been, to put it mildly, quite the ride. It’s why PUP’s cathartic and rallying group shouting feels needed right now; we’re all collectively as neurotic and overwhelmed as them for once.
As a heavier release, some of the infectiousness and joy that marked their previous work has been lost. The cover of Grandaddy’s cult indie anthem “A.M. 180” is a nice moment of lighter pop amidst the gloominess. The languorous slacker lyrics of the original somehow fits both PUP’s thrashing guitars and Babcock’s whining delivery. It’s what a cover should be; changing the genre and sound while remaining true to the original version’s spirit. It surely must also have been included in the EP as a nod to COVID-19: “A.M. 180” featured prominently in that classic post-apocalyptic horror film 28 Days Later, with that iconic shot of Cillian Murphy on an empty Westminster Bridge never feeling closer as a possibility.
“Nothing Changes” is an example of upbeat rhythm and downcast lyrics that PUP combine so well, Babcock considering the deadening malaise of post-breakup existence. The track seems to come to an end, but they surprise us with a rising bridge, consisting of a tentative drum beat and Babcock’s spoken-word, sounding genuinely sincere for a change: “And even if the wait is long / And all the words are wrong / Put the recorder on and I’ll begin again.”
Before those, “Rot” (the lead single from the EP and the only one written and recorded this year) continues PUP’s tendency to start records strongly. It’s a song examining dealing with your demons, and the lines “I’m doing something productive with my self-destruction / It’s the one thing keeping me sane” could be emblazoned on the official PUP crest. The scattered and messy “Anaphylaxis” then displays PUP’s sardonic lacerating humour, Babcock describing the darkly funny story of watching a family member have an intense allergic reaction and the sufferer’s wife openly mock her husband – while also featuring one of the band’s classic buoyant gang vocal choruses.
The true heaviness is left until the final one-two punch. The guitars are suffocatingly stirring at the start of “Floodgates”, and they forge an unstable path throughout the remainder of the song. The band leave their sharpest blast to last; “Edmonton” is one minute of searing hardcore punk, the instruments bashing so loud that Babcock is drowned out, barely audible behind them. It sounds like PUP’s reminder of how excellent their live shows are, an ode to those moments of sweaty moshing and losing one’s mind.
The EP, less cohesive and polished than Morbid Stuff, is also less commercial. Perhaps that album wouldn’t have made it onto so many end-of-year lists in 2019 if it had contained these angsty and claustrophobic cuts; perhaps it still would have regardless. It may be less accessible, but PUP aren’t asking much of their listener here: its hard-hitting brevity suits what they’re aiming for. This EP is a fine stopgap between Morbid Stuff and their next full-length; nothing more, nothing less. The mixture of self-deprecation and unceasing anxiety remains. This Place Sucks Ass: it’s actually the whole world that sucks ass right now, and PUP know it.
