Review: The Puncturists

Next up is the debut album from Yorkshire-based, female-fronted garage punk outfit The Puncturists, titled I’m Not Alright. With several incarnations since forming in 2022, the band have clearly spent time refining their sound – and the result is a record packed with attitude, humour, sharp songwriting and a refreshing refusal to stay inside neat genre boundaries. Jolly songs about drugs and swans may not be the usual sales pitch, but somehow it works brilliantly here.

The album kicks off with Pissing Me Off, which channels the spirit of 90s grunge but gives it a modern twist. When the vocal drops in it carries a distinctly British punk sneer reminiscent of the Sex Pistols, yet it would be lazy to lump The Puncturists in with the standard punk crowd. Their ability to blend aggressive punk bile with strong pop sensibilities creates something genuinely unique. The contrast between the snarling verse and the blissfully harmonised post-chorus refrain is superb. There’s also more depth here than you might expect – the mid-song breakdown rumbles with bass beneath venomous vocals before bursting back into a full sing-scream-along chorus. It’s punk, Jim – but not as we know it.

55 arrives next, gliding in softly before unfolding into something that feels part Wildhearts melody and part 90s Britpop chord progression. The vocal delivery is quirky and slightly off-beat, but incredibly addictive. And once again the band prove they know how to write a massive chorus. The shift from the strange, almost punk-art vocal style of the verses to the soaring pop perfection of the chorus is what makes this band so interesting. It’s the kind of track that forces you to press repeat just to catch everything you might have missed first time around.

I Wish I Was French creeps in quietly before kicking into a more straightforward rock groove. There’s a rebellious Tom Petty feel to parts of it, but laced with the band’s unmistakable sense of humour. It carries a faint political edge – almost a protest song – yet never sacrifices musical fun for the message. And honestly, how many bands would dare drop Frère Jacques into a middle eight? It’s kooky, slightly chaotic and completely charming. You get the impression this band might be just a little unhinged – in the best possible way.

Next comes Everybody’s On Drugs, which swirls into existence like an LSD-tinted dreamscape. The dual vocals add an extra dimension and the band’s clever use of silence and space gives the track a hypnotic depth. The storytelling element is particularly strong here, painting a slightly surreal but recognisable portrait of broken Britain. By the time the grunge-soaked outro kicks in you almost start to question your own reality. It’s a strange, immersive and very memorable track.

Theme From Commit Nuisance acts as a curious palette cleanser. Somewhere between 80s new romantic goth and a warped Beach Boys instrumental, it’s an odd but effective interlude that resets the album before the next assault.

That assault arrives with Spectre, which storms in on a huge riff and undeniable swagger. The sweet vocal delivery brings echoes of Blondie and Chrissie Hynde, creating a fascinating contrast with the heavier instrumentation. It’s a brilliant example of the band’s ability to weave pop nostalgia into something that still feels raw, modern and distinctly their own.

It’s Untrue raises the intensity again, speeding in with darker punk energy. There’s a real gang mentality to the track that feels relentless and powerful. Yet even here the band resist the urge to rush – allowing ideas to breathe and evolve naturally within the song. It’s aggressive, passionate and full of character.

Give Blood follows as a trippy blast that feels somewhere between early NOFX and The Offspring before the big commercial years. It’s quirky, punchy and over before you know it, but leaves a clear message behind.

Then we arrive at the wonderfully titled They Don’t Pay Support Bands, which might be one of the most relatable song titles in modern music. Musically it takes a more industrial turn with pounding drums and a male vocal that shifts the tone slightly. Lyrically it perfectly captures the underpaid, underappreciated grind of being a support act in the UK scene. Funny, brutally accurate and backed by a strong musical punch.

Leave Me Alone hits hard immediately and pushes the album into full-throttle mode. The rapid-fire vocals spit out lines with venom while the band tear through the track with traditional punk ferocity – albeit still laced with their trademark melodic twists. The chorus is ridiculously catchy and almost guaranteed to have listeners shouting along by the second play.

Finally, the album closes with the title track I’m Not Alright, and what a closer it is. At six minutes long it’s both epic and deeply anthemic. Leaving the title track to the end is a bold move, but it works perfectly as the song pulls together all the elements introduced across the record – the punk snarl, the pop instincts and that masterful use of space. The subject matter is clearly personal and emotive, yet the band handle it with honesty rather than preachiness. The soaring, psychedelic middle section is a highlight, building layer upon layer until the song – and album – reaches a powerful crescendo before gently fading away.

I’m Not Alright is a fearless debut from a band who clearly don’t care about fitting neatly into anyone’s genre box. The Puncturists mix humour, anger, melody and chaos into something refreshingly original. If this album proves anything, it’s that while The Puncturists might claim they’re not alright – the future of their music scene certainly is.