PUP
PUP sounds like the satisfying abandon when you stop trying to fix your fucked up life.
(you should really listen to this while you read)
You haven’t accepted the circumstances that trashed your apartment, stole your girlfriend and killed your pet chameleon, but you’ve shed your last tear over them. Like an abandoned couch slowly catching fire in a junkyard, you’re at home in your situation and you don’t care enough to be quiet about it.
PUP stands for Pathetic Use of Potential, and the band got the name from lead vocalist Stefan Babcock’s grandmother, who has strong opinions about rock bands. The 4-piece formed in 2010 in Toronto, and to me they sound a bit like a shiny yellow school bus that is steadily approaching 90mph and a thawing Canadian lake. If you like cheery singalongs and bristling, serrated feedback, you should give them a listen.
It’s always a good sign for your band when your Portland tour date gets moved from the Doug Fir Lounge to the Wonder Ballroom, although the writers of Bump are bummed about it every time. PUP’s latest release Morbid Stuff, released early April of this year, is a knife-wielding game of musical chairs and has garnered major acclaim from fans - enough to sell out the tiny and intimate Doug Fir and prompt an upgrade to the bigger venue. It’s well deserved, but I came away from the evening with less bruises than I would’ve liked. I’m happy for the boys all the same.
Arriving 30 minutes before doors, I was expecting a few superfans chatting with security - instead I was greeted by a line stretching to the street corner, a pair of girls with neon hair holding down the very front, criss-cross-applesauce on the pavement. I don’t doubt some of this line was there for Ratboys, a phenomenal punk/country outfit that opened up and deserve a review of their own (coming soon), but I saw enough clothespins, denim vests and doc martens to comfortably assert that this was a PUP crowd. My assumption was confirmed 2 hours later as I was shaken bodily off of the tiny photographer’s bench attached to the crowd barrier.
Stefan Babcock (lead vocal), Nestor Chumak (bass), Zack Mykula (drums) and Steve Sladkowski (lead guitar) look like very polite young men. I stood by this assertion before I knew they were from Canada, and I stand by it now. I think that’s what makes it so satisfying to watch them all scream “WHY CAN’T WE JUST GET ALONG!?” during the chorus of If This Tour Doesn’t Kill You I Will. I listen to a lot (a lot) of death metal, but it’s pretty hard to connect with a leather-clad, corpsepaint wearing demon growling in backwards latin about the gods murdering each other sometimes.
PUP are nice boys who scream because life has punched them in the teeth, crashed their cars on black ice, sequestered them in freezing basements during Canadian winters, and demanded that they get up in the morning and put on a brave face. They write melodies that say “I can do it!” and lyrics that say “I can’t fucking do this anymore.”
Anyways, this crowd. They’re making sure security isn’t bored, crowd-surfing each other from the first song and shaking the metal fence dividing us like it owes them money. No lyric escapes unsung and every guitar solo is mirrored in the sea of young people like an interpretive dance on bath salts. Needless to say, it’s high energy and very infectious - so much so that Bump writer Zach has goosebumps at the time of this recollection.
Drummer Zack looks like he’s simultaneously in the zone and working out some major demons. The band members that can, move around constantly, rushing back to their microphones for every harmony, which comprise 90% of their vocals. All too quickly the first 3 songs are over, and we photographers flee our narrow trench. I imagined one of the security staff yelling “SAVE YOURSELVES” as they continued the impossible fight against the tide of punks.
It’s Thursday now and my throat is just barely not sore anymore. I don’t know the words to every PUP song, but the ones that I do, I screamed. Sleep in the Heat brought tears to my eyes. DVP crushed the blood from my knuckles. Full Blown Meltdown scrubbed that last elusive shred of sanity from my sweaty brow. I gave out a strangled little cry of appreciation as Stefan announced “we’re not gonna do an encore, we just have two more songs.”
I don’t listen to a lot of punk, so take me seriously when I say you absolutely should not miss out on PUP. Go listen to Morbid Stuff and please, for fuck’s, sake, support their live tour. I shouldn’t have to tell you that it’s better live.
Bumps well with long drives in a shitty car, cracking your voice with someone you love, and giving up on being okay for just a little bit.
♥ Zach
