Burnt Tapes have always been one of those bands you could count on to cut through the noise. They were always one of those bands that carried honesty and avoided the current music trends. With New Lungs, their sophomore album, the London-based band takes that honesty and sets it ablaze. It’s one of those records that establishes them as one of the most important voices in contemporary melodic punk rock. From the start, New Lungs feels heavier, not just sonically, but emotionally. It is a record built on scars, personal chaos, fractured nights, and the uneasy balance between regret and renewal. What sets New Lungs apart from other records is that it never collapses under the weight of its own seriousness. Burnt Tapes take pain and alchemize it into collaborative effort, something that feels like an exhale after holding your breath for years. The title is a metaphor for the more than necessary change we need to see in the world right now.
Sonically, the record sits squarely in the lineage of orgcore’s finest like The Meningers, Kali Masi, Red City Radio, etc. That lineage matters because Burnt Tapes clearly studied the emotional muscle those bands brought into punk rock, but they’ve sharpened it with their own particular vocabulary. The guitars bleed honesty, their interplay creating jagged and yearning harmonies simultaneously. The riffs lean gruff and chunky, but they know when to give way to atmosphere, when to stretch into moody alternative tones that add weight to the emotional terrain. This duality continuously defines the record. The vocals anchor the album in raw humanity. There’s no posturing here, no attempt to sand away the imperfections. The delivery is gravel-throated, bruised, and deeply sincere. At times, it breaks into more vulnerable, even tender, and the effect is devastating. Besides words, you’ll hear the ache that gave them life. Backing vocals weave in and out, as if the band is collectively shouting back the words to keep themselves standing. This communal texture gives New Lungs its haste. These songs are made to be screamed on gigs, and Burnt Tapes did that with the purpose.
Lyrically, the album refuses easy resolutions. Burnt Tapes don’t deal in slogans or cheap catharsis. They sketch the contours of exhaustion, burnout, mental health battles, and heartbreak with precision and finesse. The writing is conversational yet sharp, often resembling the fragments of late-night conversations you only have with yourself, where you measure your failures and try to find some redemption in the wreckage. The brilliance lies in how they make these private reflections feel universal. You don’t need to know the specifics to feel the weight. The rhythm section deserves its own spotlight. The basslines are vivid, thick, and melodic, carrying more than just rhythm. They often hold the emotional center of these songs, adding warmth where the guitars tangle. The drumming, meanwhile, is tight and considered, leaning into energy without ever overplaying. There’s a technical precision at work, and every beat feels chosen to serve its purpose during the particular moment. If their debut showed Burnt Tapes could write anthemic punk rock tracks, New Lungs shows they can write soulful anthems that bruise. There’s maturity here, but not in the sterilized sense, not the “growing out of punk” narrative so many bands fall into. This is growth that doubles down on punk’s purpose, to confront, connect, and bleed out loud. The maturity comes from deeper vulnerability, from recognizing the costs of living and still choosing to sing about it.
Though each track carries its own punch, the record feels designed to be consumed whole. It unfolds like a diary written during a long stretch of turbulence, some entries frantic, some meditative, but all entirely honest. The sequencing matters, mainly because these moments of fury give way to reflection, only to be swallowed again by crashing waves of distortion. These dynamics vividly showcase the very struggles the album addresses, the cycle of breaking down and trying to rebuild. With New Lungs, you will realize why melodic punk rock survives on bands willing to keep digging into the raw edges of being alive and to do so with enough craft that it resonates beyond its immediate circle. This album demands your attention, pulls you into its orbit, and dares you to confront your own fractures along the way. The production deserves praise as well. It’s big without being bloated, crisp without losing its rawness. You can hear every instrument with clarity, but the mix never sterilizes the haste. The distortion still buzzes, and the vocals still sound like they’re on the verge of breaking.
There is defiance here, a refusal to let despair define the final note. Even in the darkest corners, you hear the spark of strength. It’s an album about burning out and finding a way back, about acknowledging damage but still moving forward. The catharsis is real, and it stays long after the final notes and beats. New Lungs is not just a sophomore record. It’s a statement of identity, a reaffirmation of why Burnt Tapes exist in the first place. Bigger, bolder, and more vulnerable than anything they’ve done before, it positions them as torchbearers of modern melodic punk rock. New Lungs is essential listening for those who believe punk can still matter, not as fashion or nostalgia, but as lifeblood. It’s the masterpiece of a band giving everything they have left, and in the process, finding new breath. Head to Nasty Cut Records for more information about ordering this punk rock gem.
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