Few bands do self-deprecation, self-loathing and self-doubt like poppy Toronto noise-punks PUP. Whether that’s in reference to their own personal emotions and mental health, the trials and tribulations of band life or the deep anguish of existence (not to mention the ever-present threat of its end), the quartet have made an art (and career) of turning their breakdowns into achingly catchy but complex blasts of poppy punk that are as rife with humour as they are despair. But therein lies the rub. The Unraveling Of PUPTHEBAND has all of that in spades, but, now four albums in, PUP are also all too acutely aware that they’re perceived as a band whose music possesses self-deprecation, self-loathing and self-doubt in spades. They’ve made being fuck-ups their crutch, something they’ve ...
