TURNSTILE, NEVER ENOUGH

Baltimore hardcore band Turnstile has been a fascinating group to follow since emerging from the city’s DIY scene in 2010. Rooted firmly in hardcore punk, the band drew early influence from the genre’s aggressive, fast-paced energy, and their first two releases, Pressure to Succeed (2011) and Step 2 Rhythm (2013), stuck closely to traditional hardcore conventions. But things began to shift with Nonstop Feeling (2015), where they started introducing pop, funk, and experimental elements. By the time Glow On arrived in 2021, that eclectic mix had become central to their identity, with synths, melodic hooks, and genre-crossing collaborations pushing them into new territory. The album propelled them into the mainstream, earning them widespread acclaim and multiple Grammy nominations. 

Now the band returns with Never Enough, an album that takes their genre-blending to a whole new level. To make it, they secluded themselves in Laurel Canyon at The Mansion, where they lived and recorded together for two months. The experience was immersive and communal, described by drummer Daniel Fang as more like close friends sharing a house than a traditional recording session. They spent their days refining old demos, experimenting with arrangements, and cooking meals together, creating an environment that fostered both focus and creative risk-taking. 

With frontman Brendan Yates leading production, the band shaped the songs through instinct and real-time collaboration. Some came together effortlessly, while others demanded more digging. The Mansion became both a creative lab and a blank slate where hardcore collided with synths, spoken word, funk, jazz flourishes, and string arrangements. 

With their anything-goes approach, Never Enough is a sonic trip, with hardcore riffs sitting alongside synth-driven interludes, flute jazz flourishes, and spoken word samples. But the album is more than just eclectic. It’s crafted with care and intention, yet driven by the band’s restlessness and desire to keep pushing boundaries. Never Enough is a thrilling record from one of the most interesting bands making music today.

PULP, MORE

In 2019, Pulp’s Jarvis Cocker was commissioned to write a song for a play about a woman watching her children from beyond the grave. At the time, his own son was preparing to leave home, and Cocker found himself channeling that personal anxiety into the song. Titled “Hymn of the North,” the track sparked something dormant.

He was emerging from a turbulent period marked by the passing of his mother and longtime bandmate Steve Mackey, as well as a yearlong separation and eventual reunion with his wife. During that time apart, Cocker began confronting the clutter he had accumulated over decades, boxes of belongings from his youth, long stored away and gathering dust. He started photographing the objects, trying to remember why they had once mattered. But the deeper realization came quietly: “I thought I'd rather hang out with people than with objects.” From that moment of clarity, More began to take shape.

Pulp’s music has always thrived on contradiction and refusal to conform. Cocker’s songwriting, in particular, has pushed against the stylized portrayals of love and desire he grew up hearing in pop music, songs that felt disconnected from his own experiences. He has always loved the form and drama of the pop song but has made it his mission to subvert it, to insert truths that feel awkward, conflicted, or raw. More is all of that. It is open-hearted and crooked, lush and unvarnished. Songs like “Got To Have Love” burst with gospel-like energy, while tracks like “Tina” and “My Sex” explore the strange, often uncomfortable dynamics of desire and disconnection.

With its shift in focus from nostalgia and memory to presence and connection, and with themes of love, aging, alienation, and what it means to be different and remain outside, More is a different kind of Pulp album, one that could only come with time. It captures something vulnerable and unresolved. What if the place you thought you were meant to be doesn’t exist? What if stardom doesn’t fix anything? What if growing up just means learning how to live with those questions? Cocker doesn’t pretend to have the answers. But with More, he and Pulp have made an album that faces those questions, not with sentimentality, but with clarity, wit, and edge. It's 100 percent Pulp.