Snacks by PennyMart: A Punk Rock Gut-Punch You Didn’t Know You Needed
Alright, let’s get one thing straight—PennyMart’s Snacks isn’t here to hold your hand or stroke your ego. This 2018 self-released punk rock firecracker from the US slaps you in the face and demands attention. No big-label glitz, no polished-over soullessness. Just raw, unfiltered grit that feels like it crawled out of some sweaty basement show where everyone smells like regret and cheap beer. And honestly? That’s what makes it so damn good.
Now, let me break it down for ya. The album kicks off with “Cherry,” a track that hits harder than your ex on a bad day. It’s fast, dirty, and relentless—a perfect starter if you’re into music that punches first and asks questions later. What sticks with me is how chaotic it feels without losing its edge. Like, yeah, this could’ve been recorded live while someone was throwing chairs at the band, but somehow it works. By the time those opening chords rip through your speakers, you already know PennyMart means business.
Then there’s “No Sleep NYC,” which might as well be renamed “Anxiety Express.” If urban chaos had a soundtrack, this would be it. The lyrics are jagged little snapshots of life moving too fast, people too fake, and dreams slipping through fingers slick with sweat. Every shout feels personal, every riff cuts deeper than expected. There’s something about the way they balance melody and messiness here—it hooks you even when you’re not ready for it. Plus, who can’t relate to feeling crushed under the weight of NYC? This song doesn’t just scream; it groans under the pressure, and weirdly enough, that makes it oddly comforting.
Tracks like “Laps” and “61” keep the energy cranked up, but they don’t hit quite as hard as the earlier stuff. Still solid though—no filler tracks lurking around waiting to bore you. And then we’ve got “Mainlist,” which closes things out with an almost anthemic vibe. Not gonna lie, I wasn’t expecting them to end on such a high note after all the chaos before, but hey, surprises are part of the fun.
Here’s the kicker: listening to Snacks feels less like enjoying an album and more like being ambushed by one. These guys clearly didn’t care about impressing critics or chasing trends—they just made music that mattered to them, consequences be damned. And maybe that’s why it sticks with you long after the last chord fades.
Final thought? Punk ain’t dead, folks. It’s just hiding out in albums like this, waiting to knock you sideways when you least expect it. Now go crank it loud enough to piss off your neighbors—you won’t regret it.
