Morbid Stuff
“Scorpion Hill” gives Morbid Stuff its strongest argument. The song follows a life coming apart after the loss of a job, moving from an almost companionable opening into something much more urgent. PUP let the music change with the story. The shifts feel necessary, and the final weight comes from having watched the person lose options along the way.
Elsewhere, the band gets to the point more quickly. “Kids” pairs a large melodic hook with the sense that the world around the relationship cannot be trusted. “Free At Last” turns self-disgust into a group shout, with enough rhythmic energy to keep it from sounding like another private complaint. Stefan Babcock remains an abrasive presence, but the other voices make his worst thoughts feel open to challenge.
The instrumental detail is easy to miss under that volume. Guitar figures turn corners unexpectedly, and the drums can cut a phrase short just when a regular pattern seems established. That gives the album a useful nervousness. The songs are catchy without becoming entirely comfortable, which suits writing that keeps noticing reasons to feel unsettled.
“Full Blown Meltdown” pushes the approach toward a much heavier confrontation. Its thick bass and forceful final section are funny in their excess, although the move is less melodically satisfying than the record's strongest punk songs. “Closure” has attractive guitar detail but a less decisive hook, and “Bare Hands” struggles to add a distinct emotional angle. The peaks are clearer than the overall consistency.
Still, the album's best songs refuse to make unhappiness into a mark of superiority. They can be ugly, vulnerable and ridiculous at the same time. That self-awareness gives the anger somewhere productive to go. Morbid Stuff is particularly good when a strong story or a sharp musical turn breaks through the noise. “Scorpion Hill” does both, and it gives the whole record an emotional center worth returning to.
