Italy’s Hearts Apart are back with Summer Bummer, an EP that finds them refining their blend of punk rock, rock’n’roll, and emo punk.
Released via Epidemic Records, this six-track offering leans into raw emotion, irony, and an ever-present sense of restlessness. It’s a record about loss, frustration, fleeting highs, and the contradictions of human connection—spelled out with anthemic urgency and unfiltered sentiment.
The band doesn’t dress up heartbreak or the inevitable passing of time. Summer Bummer runs on desperation, defiance, and the kind of moments that don’t fade easily. These songs don’t look for closure—they sit in the mess, let it burn, and maybe crack a grin at the absurdity of it all. Being left behind, wanting out, chasing something self-destructive just to feel alive—it’s all here, laid out without pretense.
View this post on Instagram
“We recorded these six songs in no time, letting instinct guide us,” the band explains. The result is a direct and spontaneous EP that amplifies their signature mix of self-irony and punk intensity. Producer Maurizio Icio Baggio helped shape the record into something rawer than their previous work, capturing the energy of their live performances.
Formed in 2018, Hearts Apart channel the existential dread of adulthood into unfiltered punk rock. Their debut live performance—delivered from a beat-up pickup truck at a mountain refuge—set the tone for their no-frills, high-energy approach. Summer Bummer is a continuation of that ethos, a snapshot of their evolution while staying true to the emotions that fueled their early material.
With shows lined up in Italy and Germany and an eye toward bringing their music further abroad, the band’s trajectory remains as restless as their songs.
Hearts Apart provided us with an exclusive track-by-track commentary.
The record captures a whirlwind of emotions—loss, exhaustion, the urge to escape, and the weight of social overwhelm. Desperation, irony, and defiance run through every song, balancing moments of reckless abandon with raw introspection. Whether it’s isolation or self-destructive fun, Summer Bummer embraces the contradictions of coping.
The EP is available digitally and as a limited-edition colored vinyl via Epidemic Records.
I HATE THE SUMMER
“I Hate The Summer” is a song that encapsulates much of what Hearts Apart is about: punk rock, desperation, rock’n’roll, sadness, fun, nerdy vibes, irony, and failure. Yes, we believe you can sweat away the darkness by dancing and crying at the same time, and this song is perfect for that.
FORGET ABOUT ME
Will we ever really be over someone who suddenly said it’s over? Who’s left and who’s leaving? The cracks between soft words and hard feelings. The almost impossible effort to stay friends, to be kind and polite, just days after the kiss we didn’t know would be the last one. The plague, then the plea: forget about me.
I WANNA HAVE FUN
The reaction, the need, the urge. A huge flip-off to everything, a bunch of cracked souls you can—luckily—call friends, a night to fill with stuff you’ll mostly forget, some booze, and some rock’n’roll. Out of here, c’mon. Be stupid, honey. Be wild. You deserve this. A bit of self-indulgence & self-destruction, a subtle drop of poison to avoid poisoning itself—the beautiful, necessary lie: I’m good now.
OH PEOPLE
Yes, we’re animals built to create and maintain multiple social relationships. Loves, friends, fans, supporters, committees—they prove it’s a thing.
But.
Sometimes.
Please.
Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone.
Chill, people, chill.
YOU BETTER LET IT GO
I know, buddy. Of course, I know. Same old story. I’ve been through it. You collapse, you crumble, you cry, you gasp, you stare at the ceiling at night, you starve. This pain is the next step to becoming a better version of yourself. Hey, no macho cancerous shit—come here, hug me, soak my shoulder, feel my caresses, calm down in my arms, far from harm for a bit. But then: let it go.
DID I MENTION
Huh. It happened again, right? You’ve been bumped out of the blue, and the blues violently kick in. Dialogues are suddenly over, exchanges are done. The lack, the loss, the nights blank as the heart of the one who switched yours off. And the mind-fucking trick: your phone in your hands, craving any tiny little something—in vain. Thousands of words already dead under your thumbs, dozens of texts your dignity somehow prevents you from sending. Miserable? Yes. Again.
