Crash45’s Crash45: A Raw, Unapologetic Rock Punch to the Gut
If you’re lookin’ for something that doesn’t sugarcoat life or try too hard to be all "polished" and fake-perfect, then Crash45’s self-titled debut album from 2001 is your ticket. Straight outta the UK on some tiny-ass label called Canteen Dairies, this record punches like a pissed-off street fighter—no gloves, no mercy. It’s raw rock with grit under its nails, and damn if it doesn’t leave a mark.
Let’s cut straight to the chase: two tracks stuck in my head like gum on a hot sidewalk—"Forgotten Soldier" and "Burn."
“Forgotten Soldier” hits hard right outta nowhere. The opening riff grabs you by the throat and shakes till you bleed. Lyrically? Yeah, it's heavy as hell, talkin' about loss and abandonment, but not in some sappy way—it’s angry, frustrated, and real. Like someone just screamed their pain into a mic and let the distortion do the rest. You feel every damn word. And when the chorus kicks in? Holy crap, it feels like a freight train slamming into your chest. Can’t unhear it. Won’t forget it.
Then there’s “Burn.” This one’s shorter, sharper—a knife twist rather than a punch. It’s got this relentless energy that makes you wanna smash stuff while simultaneously questioning everything you thought you knew. The vocals are snarled so aggressively they sound like they could start a riot. There’s no holding back here; it’s pure adrenaline bottled up and thrown at your face. I played this track three times in a row before I even realized what I was doing. That’s how good it is.
The rest of the album ain’t slouching either. Tracks like “Trouble With A Capital J.D.S” bring sarcasm and swagger, while “Supergirl” flips between vulnerability and rebellion like a bipolar switch. Even the weirder ones like “Change The World / Do Nothing” keep things interesting, though honestly, sometimes it feels like they threw ideas at the wall just to see what stuck.
But here’s the thing about Crash45: it’s not perfect. Hell, it barely tries to be. Some parts are rough around the edges, and yeah, maybe the production sounds like it came outta a basement studio. But that’s kinda the point. It’s messy, loud, and brutally honest—and isn’t that what rock should be?
So why am I still thinking about this album days after listening? Maybe because it reminded me that music doesn’t need fancy bells and whistles to hit home. Or maybe because it’s proof that passion can outweigh polish any day of the week. Either way, Crash45 made an album that feels more alive than most of the overproduced garbage flooding Spotify these days.
Oh, and one last thing—why does Supergirl sound like she needs therapy? Fucked-up superhero vibes aside, this album rules. Go listen.
