Yardburn’s debut full-length, JUNK, is a convulsing, unpredictable, and blisteringly original work. Drawing upon the raw force of punk rock, the weight of metal, and the unpredictable charge of cowpunk and psychobilly, the album resists easy classification. It belongs to all these genres, and none. It is a mutating hybrid, abrasive, loud, and undoubtedly energetic. What Yardburn has created is not a pastiche or a throwback, but a living, snarling thing that feels deeply modern despite its roots in the heavy and greasy musical soil of the 1990s. Jakub Kossakowski (vocals), Piotr Karwowski (guitar), Grzegorz Góra (bass), and Michał Biernacki (drums) bring significant pedigree to the table. Each of them has worked in the Polish underground on projects ranging from sludge to blackened rock to experimental metal. But Yardburn is something else entirely. It feels born not only of shared experience but of shared frustration, rebellion, and a need to tear down sonic walls. JUNK is an unrelenting album. It moves fast and hits hard. But beneath its brash surface lies a refined sense of detail and dynamic interplay. The music does not bludgeon for its own sake. It is aggressive but controlled, even elegant at times. From start to finish, the record moves with confidence and cohesion, never losing its grip even when veering into chaos.
Karwowski’s guitar playing is drenched in distortion, filth, and feedback, but also melody and nuance. Riffs cascade and collapse like falling buildings. Sharp, tremolo-picked lines slice through the mix. There is groove when needed, and dissonance when demanded. From the heat-drenched twang of country metal to the cold, metallic precision of punk rock, his guitar is the engine behind the this sonic machinery. Kossakowski’s vocals are feral and theatrical. His delivery ranges from hardcore howls to sinister drawls, moving fluidly across the shifting terrain. There are moments where he evokes the snarling bite of early punk, and others where he channels a grunge-like despair, low and cavernous. But it’s not mimicry. His voice is distinct, full of bile, grit, and dark charisma. He carries the lyrical weight like a possessed man. The rhythm section offers no escape. Góra’s bass tone is thick, growling, and continuously present. It gives weight to the more frantic passages and binds the chaos into something listenable. He is never hidden in the mix. His playing offers clarity and punch, the glue between wild guitar swings and thunderous drums. Biernacki’s performance is percussive storytelling. He alternates between breakneck hardcore punk patterns and doomy, deliberate stomps with perfect control. Every fill feels earned. Every crash matters. His drumming pushes the record forward like a burning locomotive.
JUNK is not a subtle record, but it is smart. It carries tons of contrast and restraint. There are passages that breathe, moments of eerie calm, passages laced with reverb-heavy guitar plucks, or slow-burning grooves. These intervals make the heavier sections hit harder. Yardburn knows when to explode, and when to wait. That patience gives the album its shape and prevents it from becoming an unbroken wall of sound. There are country-infused moments here, swampy, twangy, and strangely soulful. There are also almost death metal riffs that could shake the concrete from your walls. But none of these feel stitched together. Yardburn is not a genre band. They conjure the oppressive heat of the desert and the cold stink of city alleyways. They summon the grit under your fingernails, the junk in your veins, the loudness in your head. The production captures this madness with surprising clarity. The album sounds deliberately raw but never messy. There is dirt in the mix, but it’s artfully applied, grime as texture, not a flaw. The sound is dense, but not suffocating. It lets you get lost in its filth and fury. Lyrically, the album feels like a journal torn apart and set ablaze. The songs point toward themes of decay, disillusionment, addiction, and defiance. But nothing is didactic. The words are shouted and growled in fragments, like overheard confessions or post-apocalyptic sermons. There is anger here, but also wit. There is darkness, but also rebellion. You don’t have to decipher every word to feel the meaning, they hit like a blow to the chest.
JUNK is carefully compiled. It is eclectic without being erratic. It is wild but never careless. Yardburn has a singular vision and they are not interested in genre purity or scene loyalty. They are interested in impact, sound, and force, and this album delivers all of it, without apology. JUNK arrives fully formed, uncompromising, and untamed. Yardburn has made a record that belongs in the lineage of outlaw heavy music, but one that also looks ahead. It is not content to pay homage. It burns the past for fuel. It is music made for rooms with too much smoke and too little light. It is a document of rage, wit, collapse, and survival. It is the sound of a band with nothing to lose and everything to say. Yardburn reminds us that fury still matters. That noise can still be dangerous. That sound can still be surprising. It is a violent, passionate, and unforgettable listening experience.
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