Bridge the Gap’s new record Gainsayer is out now via Double Helix Records, in partnership with SBAM Records and Pee Records. It’s the band’s second full-length and another collaboration with punk heavyweight Bill Stevenson (Descendents, ALL, Black Flag) and Grammy-winning mixer/master Jason Livermore. The trio first joined forces on 2023’s Secret Kombinations, a debut that sparked interest without PR campaigns or hype machines—just raw, melodic punk and strong songwriting.
The follow-up hits with more clarity and deeper intent. “The priority was solid, catchy melodies,” says vocalist/guitarist Chad Jensen. “Then the band built on it from there.” This focus on melody doesn’t undercut the grit. There’s plenty of drive across the 14-song tracklist, but what sticks is the emotional weight—especially on the new single “Brothers,” an elegy built around loss, memory, and grief.
“This is a personal song about Bryan, a family member I lost,” says Jensen. “His sudden passing is told through his brother’s eyes… the three of us grew up together.” The music video, directed by Eric Cannon and Justin Bergonzoni, leans into nostalgic imagery and quiet symbolism. “At the end, the person pictured is Bryan. Emotionally, this video does a great job of visually representing the song, the band, and our memory of Bryan.”
Jensen isn’t just writing from memory—some tracks are shaped by other people’s words. “Broken Language” features unpublished lyrics from Jim Cherry (Zero Down, Strung Out), provided by Cherry’s widow Wendy. “That shook me to the core,” Jensen admits. “Jim is a personal hero… his music saved and changed my life.” The responsibility wasn’t lost on him. “My biggest concern then and now is doing anything to tarnish Jim’s legacy.”
The band’s relationship with The Blasting Room played a big role in shaping Gainsayer’s tone and cohesion. “The way they record and produce, and especially the way Jason Livermore mixes, makes it sound like one band… not in a boring way, but in that cut-from-the-same-cloth way.”
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While Gainsayer touches on themes of addiction, fatherhood, inner demons, and aging in punk, it doesn’t offer resolutions. It leaves the sting where it falls. “Sometimes the one thing that drives or inspires you is being defeated. Or loss. Or despair,” says Jensen. “And life is replete with such setbacks, so, thus, a bottomless wellspring of source material for the observant.”
For Bridge the Gap, punk isn’t about recapturing youth—it’s about staying connected to what matters, whether that’s through a borrowed lyric, a Salt Lake basement show, or a late-night demo session that feels more like therapy than craft.
In our full interview below, Chad Jensen opens up about working with Bill Stevenson, the process of setting Jim Cherry’s lyrics to music, resisting nostalgia, writing through grief, and how Salt Lake City’s punk scene in 2025 has surprised them.
Let’s start with the obvious ghost in the room. You’ve said Gainsayer is all about songwriting and melody — not flexing for the sake of it. What changed between Secret Kombinations and now that made you decide to let the songs breathe rather than shred?
Not to sound like we’re sniffin’ our own farts, but the main impetus for Bridge The Gap’s sound didn’t change album to album. ‘Secret Kombinations’ isn’t a shredder or virtuosic display, per se. Its focus is on songwriting and melody, too. But I would say we kicked it up several notches on Gainsayer. And that probably had a lot to do with how inspired we were coming out of the Blasting Room the first time.
Was there a specific moment during those 20 months between albums when you felt the band had crossed a threshold — like, “yeah, we’re not just reviving something from the past anymore, this is new blood now”?
Yeah. Some of the things our buddies at the Blasting Room said to us gave us a massive infusion of confidence and excitement. They made us feel 10 feet tall and bulletproof. And very bullish about the quality of our songs. Thank you, Bill.
You’ve worked twice now with Bill Stevenson and the Blasting Room crew. That’s sacred ground for a lot of people in this genre. What’s something about that experience that people don’t usually hear in press blurbs or tour van stories?
Beyond the awesome anecdotes and epic farts, perhaps people don’t hear often how sweet and kind Bill is. He’s very conscientious and compassionate. However, some of that must be abandoned in the pursuit of getting the takes and a record done, especially when it comes to vocals. But Bill always finds a way to build you up if he’s had to break you down.
It’s one thing to have legends like Jim Cherry influence your playing. It’s another to literally weave his unpublished lyrics into a song. What did that process do to you on a creative and emotional level? Did it shake you up?
It shook me to the core. Jim is a personal hero of mine. His music saved and changed my life. Adding to the pressure was our friendship with his widow, Wendy, who provided a massive 17-page tome of unpublished lyrics and said, “Use some.” Wendy has become BTG family. That was an endeavor, finding the lyrics to fit the meter and melody that I’d already written for that song. But it worked out. My biggest concern then and now is doing anything to tarnish Jim’s legacy. I’ve heard nothing but good things about “Broken Language,” including from Wendy, assuaging my concerns. But there will always be a part of me that worries about it. Jim deserves WAY MORE spotlight than he gets as one of, if not THE, best punk rock songwriters of the ’90s and all time. The Punk Rock Museum should have a wall dedicated to Jim. My hope, amid the misgivings, is that this song helps keep his name at the punk rock forefront, but even that sounds pretentious.
When “Broken Language” came together, how much of that was guided by memory and reverence, and how much was just you in the room with the melody, letting things click? Was it heavy? Was it freeing?
The funny thing is, when I demo’d that song (long before Wendy asked me to use some of Jim’s unpublished lyrics), I had titled the song ‘Cherry Bass.’ It was a working title before lyrics had been written or vocals recorded. It was the working title because the bass intro is so similar to Zero Down’s “Empty Promised Land.” So when Wendy asked, I knew right away that it would be that song. Fortunately, as I mentioned, I had the vocal meter and melody written, so it was a matter of finding a stanza of lyrics that I could not only fit to that existing template, but also something that spoke to me topically. Jim’s lyrics are the chorus and second verse. I wrote the first verse and bridge. But I learned half of what I know about songwriting from studying Jim’s songs, and the rest from Bad Religion. So it fit quite naturally.
You talked about how that song touches on addiction and relationships, and there’s a gravity there. Was that theme something you wanted to explore more throughout Gainsayer, or did it sneak into the writing the way real life often does — sudden, uninvited, but undeniable?
“Broken Language,” specifically, deals with the addiction subject relative to its impact on relationships. I would say addiction and battling inner demons is a common theme in Bridge The Gap songs, from tunes like “My Creation” on the first album, to also “In The Throes” on “Gainsayer,” as well as “Broken Language,” obviously. And even “Walking Wounded,” so while I wouldn’t say it was something I specifically wanted to explore further on “Gainsayer,” it’s part of my history and who I am, so it tends to come out in the wash.
There’s this thread in Gainsayer — not just emotionally, but sonically — where it feels like you’re constantly resisting the urge to overexplain. Like you’re letting things sting without wrapping them up neatly. Was that intentional?
Wow. That’s interesting. Thanks for sharing that feedback. It’s always interesting to hear. I would say that there wasn’t a conscious choice to let things sting and avoid overexplaining, but perhaps it’s a hallmark of songwriting experience. Like anything, repetition makes one better, regardless of the endeavor. If I can be so bold.
You’ve got songs like “Dustbin” and “No Profit In Peace” that hit with bite and speed, but then there’s “Walking Wounded” or “Always” that lean into vulnerability. How do you navigate those shifts without sounding like two different bands?
First off, that’s one of the great benefits of working with The Blasting Room. The way they record and produce, and especially the way Jason Livermore mixes, makes it sound like one band. Not in a boring, ‘everything sounds the same’ sense, but in that organic, cut from the same cloth kind of way. Topically, the songs are about whatever is on my mind at the moment I put pen to paper, so to speak, but sometimes I’ll know right away the general topic or theme of a song after writing the music. “Always,” for example, was always going to be a daddy/daughter song.
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I get the sense that BTG has one foot in legacy and the other in reinvention. How do you keep your inner teenager who discovered STRUNG OUT alive, without turning into a museum piece version of yourself?
That’s a tough one. And it’s hard for me to answer. If we manage to pull it off, it’s because we always default back to one mission statement: We write the kind of music we want to hear. And we hope, along the way, that it’s an entity unto itself and not a carbon-copy derivative of our heroes.
Let’s talk age for a sec — because punk’s supposed to be for the young, right? But Gainsayer doesn’t sound nostalgic or restrained — it’s pissed, wounded, melodic, restless. What’s it like channeling that energy in your 40s?
I love to create. And I can’t go a day without doing it on some level or another. Life is inspiring. Whether things are going well or if you’re in the pit of despair, inspiration abounds. More often than not, though, for us, it’s like Jim wrote in “Mind Of My Own” back in the day, “As all my world crumbles all around me, inspiration’s become admissions of defeat.” Sometimes the one thing that drives or inspires you is being defeated. Or loss. Or despair. And life is replete with such setbacks, so, thus, a bottomless wellspring of source material for the observant.
You came back to this after building lives outside of music. Was there something unresolved that pulled you back in? Or was this less about return and more about continuation — like music never stopped being a part of you, even in silence?
Unresolved, yes. Absolutely. We always felt like we had unfinished business relative to our band. And I had a rathole of 70-plus songs I’d demo’d. All the fellas being in a place in our lives where we have the space and bandwidth to push the band again is the key, though. For us, it’s about balance, because we’re all dads and have careers and businesses outside of the band. So nobody is doing this to make a buck. We’re doing it because we absolutely love it. Passion. That’s when the universe tends to open the way, I’ve found. When you’re heart is in the right place.
When you’re demoing alone — like Chad did during those lost years — what’s the internal dialogue like? Is it hopeful? Is it therapy? Is it madness?
It’s therapy. For sure. I can either spend the money on recording gear and amps, or on a shrink. Ha. I choose gear, art, and brotherhood!
Let’s change lanes a bit — Salt Lake City isn’t the first place people think of when they talk about melodic punk. What’s the scene really like there in 2025? Any bands you’ve crossed paths with recently that people should absolutely not be sleeping on?
We came out of nowhere in 2023. Literally. Outside of going to see our favorite bands coming through on tour, we didn’t know any of the locals or have a bead on what the scene was like. Two years later, I can report that SLC has a tremendous scene with many bands championing the melodic punk standard. Check out Racist Kramer (the name’s a joke, so take it easy), Restroyer, Pirates of the Promised Land, and Lose To Win.
Were there any artists you discovered — locally or beyond — that made you stop what you were doing and pay attention? Could be punk, could be something totally out of left field.
Splitcast’s new record “Shadows On The Street” via People of Punk Rock Records stopped me in my tracks.
Greg is one of the best songwriters of our time and that album defies explanation. The dude is so talented, it’s mind-boggling.
You’ve got records out on Double Helix, SBAM, Pee Records — all different corners of the punk map. What does it mean to you to be connecting globally like this, and not just playing to the same 50 kids in your zip code?
It means the world to us. We’re very grateful to have such great label partners. They’ve helped us out tremendously in the U.S., Europe, and Australia. Our first album had no distribution in Europe or Australia, so it’s been really cool to find new members of the BTG tribe in other places in the world. Humbling.
Alright, we’re about done — but if someone hears Gainsayer and walks away with just one lingering thought or feeling… what do you hope sticks to their ribs long after the record ends?
I just hope the record is lasting. That it’s something that our fans can continuously come back to. It’s great to know that people are listening because sometimes, as an artist, you wonder if you’re screaming into the void. But at the end of the day, the dream is that it has the same level of impact and soul-edification that our favorite records did for us.
