Everyone’s favorite punk rock agitators, DRUCH CHURCH, have returned! Today the band have announced their highly anticipated fourth full-length, “Hygiene”, due out March 11th from Pure Noise Records. Drug Church are one of the most singular bands in modern guitar music and on “Hygiene” the band’s uncompromising nature has resulted in a bold leap forward.
The Albany and Los Angeles-based five-pieceβvocalist Patrick Kindlon, guitarists Nick Cogan and Cory Galusha, bassist Pat Wynne, and drummer Chris Villeneuveβhave a unique ability to make distinctly outsider music thatβs also welcoming and instantly satisfying, as evidenced by “Hygiene”‘s lead singles “Million Miles of Fun” and “Detective Lieutenant”. The two songs represent the essential tension between overt melody and visceral aggression that fuels Drug Churchβthe former pushing the band’s seamless blend of hardcore bite and massive, ’90s-indebted hooks to its most anthemic point, while the latter shows off a level of tunefulness never before seen in their catalog.
Hygiene follows Drug Church’s 2018 LP, “Cheer”, and their 2021 EP, “Tawny”, both of which drew acclaim from fans and critics alike (including attention from the likes of Stereogum, Noisey, NPR, Revolver, BrooklynVegan, and more), and immediately makes it clear that the band aren’t content to rest on their laurels. The record builds on the most melodic moments of Drug Church’s past work without losing any of the combustable energy that has made them so appealing to fans of both heavy and hooky music. Throughout the album Kindlon’s lyrics are as incisive as ever. He walks a tightrope between observation, honesty, frustration, and humorβwading into the absurdity of modern life; the relationships between art and the people consuming it; and the primacy of following your own pathβand somehow achieves a tone that’s as blunt as it is nuanced. The result is an album that captures a band truly at the top of their game, and demands conversations and stage dives in equal measure.
“Hygiene” is due out March 11th via Pure Noise Records.
Drug Church is a band without fear. For the past ten years, the Albany and Los Angeles-based five-piece have been staunchly creating their own singular path in making distinctly outsider music thatβs somehow at once welcoming and instantly satisfying. The bandβs songs revel in sonic contradictions, seamlessly combining crushing aggression with bulletproof hooks, while the lyrics unflinchingly explore lifeβs darkness and discomfort with sardonic witβand without judgement. On “Hygiene”, their impending fourth full-length, Drug Church is as uncompromising as ever, and it has resulted in their boldest set of songs to date. Drug Church are still demanding that the listener comes to them, not the other way around, and with Hygiene, they just might.
With each successive release Drug Churchβvocalist Patrick Kindlon, guitarists Nick Cogan and Cory Galusha, bassist Pat Wynne, and drummer Chris Villeneuveβhave been pushing the seemingly intractable elements of their sound further and further. Where their critically acclaimed 2018 album, “Cheer”, brought more melody into the bandβs combustible music, “Hygiene” doubles down without losing an ounce of bite in the execution.
βSometimes I say we make radio music that canβt be played on the radioβ, Kindlon laughs. βI think itβs likable but itβs also just not designed for mass appealβ.
“Hygiene” is in fact an incredibly appealing album despite being difficult to categorizeβor perhaps because of it. Recorded with producer/engineer Jon Markson and clocking in at a lean 26 minutes, the record makes it abundantly clear that Drug Church arenβt content to rest on their laurels. Across ten strikingly dynamic songs, Cogan and Galusha alternate between massive riffs and some of the most unexpectedly melodic guitar playing that has ever touched Drug Churchβs music, while Villeneuve and Wynneβs rhythm section unflaggingly shakes the ground. The bandβs foundation in hardcore still provides plenty of stagedive-inspiring energy, but even Kindlonβs signature roar has taken a tuneful turn with layered vocals, raw harmonies, and cadences hooky enough to have listeners shouting along after one listen.
While “Hygiene” is an undeniable leap forward for Drug Church, itβs not one made by some grand design. In fact, bandβs writing process is refreshingly mystique-free: the instrumentalists simply hone the songs until theyβre ready to show them to Kindlon, who offers βintentionally unhelpful notesβ before writing most of his lyrics under the gun in the studio. βThe beauty that happens here is accidentalβ, he explains. βItβs not that musicians have some insight into the world, itβs just that by doing something in art you can trip over these transcendent momentsβbut you canβt endeavor to make themβ.
Itβs a fitting approach thatβs also reflected in Kindlonβs lyrics, many of which deal with the relationship between art and the people consuming it. Thereβs a blunt-yet-affecting quality that appears throughout “Hygiene”, as he walks a tightrope between observation, honesty, absurdity, frustration, and humorβall with a willingness to question the messier parts of modern life that many would prefer to simply ignore. βWhatever milieu weβre living in right now is not one I was intended forβ, he says. βThe conversation is not asking us to personally challenge ourselves or try to better ourselves. Itβs a push to be in other peopleβs business and judge each other all the time. And I have no interest in judging strangersβ.
“Hygiene”βs opening salvo of βFunβs Overβ, a sub-two minute blast of stomping punk, and βSuper Saturatedβ, a towering rock song led by one of the albumβs most jaw-dropping riffs, finds Kindlon cautioning against the lure of compromising oneβs art for the sake of success, but then prodding at the very idea of art made by a perfect person. On βPiss & Quietβ, he is quick to reject the role of the artist themselves as any kind of meaningful spokesperson. βYou can get a lot out of a song, you can get a lot out of music, but you canβt go to music for the answers in life”, he says, and while this might suggest some kind of remove, it wouldnβt be a Drug Church record without more nuance than that. This is evident on βDetective Lieutenantβ, a mid-album standout that finds Kindlon examining the unbreakable connection between art and the person it has moved. βMy relationship with a song is the song, periodβ, he explains. βFor me, if I look at a piece of art, and itβs enriched me, itβs hard for me to care about anything elseβ. Itβs perhaps the most downright pretty sounding song that Drug Church has ever written, with interwoven shimmering guitars that build to Kindlonβs explosive refrain of βwe donβt toss away what we loveβ.
While thereβs a clear point of view running throughout Hygiene, Drug Church is here to move you, not to lecture you. On βPremium Offerβ, Kindlon directly rebuffs the desire to dictate anyone elseβs life (with help from guest vocalist Carina Zachary of Husbandry). βItβs a pointless endeavor to let people into your life who do nothing but tell you how to conduct yoursβ, he says. βA lot of people would tell you how to live but they donβt actually care if you live or notβ. Instead Kindlon seems occupied by the finite time we have and how best to spend it. Tracks like βPluckedβ, βTiresomeβ, or colossal highlight βMillion Miles of Funβ mark a refusal to get wrapped up in inherently broken political constructs, self-pity, or the endless deluge of useless information coming at us at all times. βAs you get older you realize you wasted a lot of timeβ, he says. βYou cared about dumb shit and by the time you realize this, you have less timeβ.
“Hygiene” feels less like itβs kicking against the clock and more like itβs embracing the reality of it. βAt some point you have to admit to yourself that all your plans and goals are subject to the randomness of lifeβ, Kindlon says. βBut on the flipside, if you donβt have goals, how do you know where youβre going?β. On closing track βAthlete on Benchβ, Kindlon sings βIβm living between shrinking marginsβ, turning an acknowledgement of niche passions into an anthemic finale. Thatβs the quiet aspiration in Drug Churchβs uncompromising nature: itβs ambition on their own terms, a desire to simply be the absolute best at what they do. βThereβs value in trying to be exceptional, at least in your own mindβ, Kindlon says. βIβm exceptional at virtually nothing, but striving for it has given my life some purpose. Or at least itβs led me to this hotel room in Denver on tourβ.
