Rock and Roll Alone

Three chords delivered with maximum conviction and zero apology: the guitars are trebly and raw, the rhythm section barely contained, and the whole thing operates at the edge of falling apart in a way that feels entirely intentional. Nobunny — Justin Champlin performing in a bunny mask, which tells you something about the playful nihilism at work — makes music that descends directly from the Ramones and the Buzzcocks, but the lo-fi recording strips away any remaining polish and leaves something more nakedly emotional than the genre usually allows. The song is about finding solace in rock and roll itself, in the ritual of putting on a record when no one else understands, when the outside world has become incomprehensible or hostile. There's genuine loneliness in it, but the energy never flags — the tempo is relentless, and Champlin's voice sneers and aches simultaneously, a delivery that's simultaneously tough and heartbreakingly sincere. The fuzz pedal is doing heavy emotional lifting, creating a wall of treble that feels like armor. This is the song for the teenager who found their people in a stack of records before they found them in any room, for the adult who still goes back to the same three albums when everything falls apart. It's small and loud and completely earnest about being both.