Big Midnight’s Doin’ All Right – A Raw, Unapologetic Rock Ride That Still Hits Hard
Alright, let’s talk about Big Midnight’s Doin’ All Right. Released back in 2003 on Alive Records, this album is one of those hidden gems you stumble upon and just can’t shake off. It’s not perfect—it’s messy, loud, and kinda rough around the edges—but damn if it doesn’t feel alive. Garage Rock with a side of old-school Rock & Roll swagger? Yeah, I’m here for that.
The first track that grabs you by the throat is “Love For Sin.” Man, this song feels like walking into a dimly lit bar where everyone’s already three drinks deep. The guitar riffs are greasy, sloppy even, but they hit so hard you don’t care. And the vocals? They’re raw as hell, like the singer’s been smoking too many cigarettes and living off cheap whiskey. There’s something about how unpolished it all feels—like it could fall apart at any second—that makes it stick in your brain. You remember it because it’s real. No studio tricks, no overthinking. Just straight-up gutsy rock ‘n’ roll.
Then there’s the title track, “Doin’ All Right,” which hits different. It’s got this swaggering rhythm that sneaks up on ya, almost like it’s trying to convince itself more than anyone else. The lyrics are simple enough, but man, do they pack a punch. When the chorus kicks in, it’s impossible not to nod along—even if you’re just sitting alone in your car feeling sorry for yourself. It’s funny how songs like this can make you feel okay about being a little messed up. Like, yeah, things aren’t great, but hey—at least we’re still standing, right?
What gets me about this album is how unapologetically human it feels. These guys weren’t trying to reinvent the wheel or win awards; they were just making music that mattered to them. In 2003, when everything was starting to get slicker and more produced, Big Midnight came out swinging with something raw and honest. It’s the kind of record that reminds you why you fell in love with rock in the first place.
Here’s the thing though: listening to Doin’ All Right now, almost twenty years later, feels bittersweet. Not because it’s dated—it’s not—but because it makes you wonder what happened to bands like this. Where’d all the dirty, soulful rock go? Did we trade it for playlists full of shiny pop hooks and auto-tuned vocals? Maybe. But hey, maybe that’s why albums like this matter. They remind us of what we lost—and what we can still find if we look hard enough.
Oh, and one last thing: after blasting this album, you’ll probably wanna grab a beer and call an old friend. Don’t ask me why—it just works that way.
