Regrowth start their new album in a place that feels uncomfortably familiar: a world cracking at the seams, and a generation trying to make sense of the debris falling around them.
The Italian hardcore band (formed in 2016 and featured on IDIOTEQ , long known for carrying their “Fast Music For Sad People” banner through Italy, Europe, and even as far as Florida and The Fest in Gainesville, now return with their second full-length — “A Story Worth Listening To.” It lands after a long string of singles that sharpened both their sonics and the way they wanted to speak about the present.
The band describes it plainly: “‘A Story Worth Listening To’ is our second full-length album. It comes after a long series of singles that pushed us to experiment, refine our sound, and understand more clearly what we wanted to express.” Those singles — “Fragment,” “Cover Me With Flames,” “Against Me,” released between 2023 and 2024 — weren’t just warm-ups; they were the band figuring out how wide their emotional palette could stretch without losing the thread.
They ended up with eleven interconnected tracks built around what they call “the voice of a generation worn out by the problems that plague our world every single day — wars, climate change, pollution, the exploitation of people and animals, social injustice, and so much more.” The record holds to that framing.
Instead of personal confessionals, “A Story Worth Listening To” circles outward, mapping different pre-apocalyptic scenes and leaving listeners to decide “who the real ‘villain’ of the story is.”
Their earlier full-length “Lungs” leaned inward; this one lets the unease spill into the streets. The band says it directly: “Unlike our previous full-length ‘Lungs,’ ‘A Story Worth Listening To’ is less introspective and personal. Instead, it aims to become a collective cry of protest — the voice of the generation we belong to: the so-called Millennials.” Nothing about the album’s concept hides behind metaphor. The tension comes from the mood it captures — that quiet resignation Millennials know well, mixed with the urge to resist slipping into it entirely.
The music follows that emotional line. Regrowth lean into a blend shaped by years of listening: melodic hardcore, screamy post hardcore, and the edge of 2010s metalcore, sewn together into something that stays heavy without numbing its own message.
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The record moves like a melancholic creature with teeth — a mix of sorrow and acceleration that never settles into a single lane. They’ve pulled this hybrid together slowly, through trial and error, and you can hear that incremental sharpening in how the record moves.
The album was recorded at Overcore Studio by the band themselves. Guitarist and vocalist Lorenzo Mariani handled all mixing, with mastering entrusted to Brad Boatright at Audiosiege Studio in Portland. The visual side falls to guitarist Sebastian Mocci, who built the graphic concept, while the videos for the singles were directed and produced by vocalist Marco Camarda and Paolo Angelo Loi. It forms a world around the record — a kind of worn, end-times ambience that matches the themes without overwhelming them.
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The lineup remains stable: Marco Camarda – vocals, Lorenzo Mariani – guitar and vocals, Sebastian Mocci – guitar, Nicola Collu – drums, Daniele Melis – bass.
Their path to this record includes a European tour in 2023, ending at Venezia Hardcore Fest, and a run of shows in Florida in 2024 that closed with The Fest in Gainesville.
Those trips pushed their profile out of Italy’s borders and left them hungry for more miles. They’re already plotting further touring across Europe and beyond, and working on material for a third full-length. Right now, though, their primary goal is simple: bring “A Story Worth Listening To” to as many stages as possible.
For a band that started nearly a decade ago, this album reads like a field note from inside their own era — one they share with anyone who grew up hearing that the future would look brighter than this. They aim for clarity rather than catharsis, and the result is a document of what it feels like to live in the middle of a slow-moving collapse and still try to name what you’re seeing.
