Heroin for Henry by Prayer Wheel: A Post-Punk Gem That Still Stings (1993)
Let’s cut to the chase—Prayer Wheel’s Heroin for Henry isn’t your run-of-the-mill rock album. Released in ‘93 via Rusty Nail Records, this US-born post-punk record feels like it was brewed in a dimly lit basement where cigarettes smoldered and emotions ran high. It’s raw, unfiltered, and doesn’t care if you’re ready for it. The band throws everything at you—Dan on bass, John hammering the drums, Norman shredding guitar, and Truman spitting out vocals that sound like they’re clawing their way out of his chest. Oh, and Gretchen? She sneaks in with her cello on track two, adding this haunting layer that’ll make your skin prickle.
Now, let’s talk tracks. “Heroin for Henry,” the title track, kicks things off with a punch-you-in-the-gut riff that refuses to let go. It’s not just music—it’s an experience. You can practically hear Truman pacing back and forth as he delivers lines dripping with desperation. This song sticks because it’s messy in all the right ways. Like, imagine someone shouting their darkest secrets into a storm while lightning flashes around them. Yeah, it’s that intense.
Then there’s “Winged Me.” Holy crap, this one hits different. The percussion from Eric and John creates this driving rhythm that feels like running full speed toward something—or maybe away from it. And when Gretchen’s cello slides in again? Forget about it. Your soul might actually leave your body for a second. There’s something about how the melody builds, almost hypnotic, until you realize you’ve been holding your breath. If I had to pick one track to play on repeat during a midnight existential crisis, this would be it.
What makes Heroin for Henry stand out is its refusal to polish anything up. Engineer Eric Broyhill clearly knew what he was doing—he captured the grit, the sweat, the imperfections—and turned them into gold. Or rust, depending on how you look at it. Every note feels intentional but also dangerously close to falling apart, which is exactly why it works so well.
Here’s the thing: listening to this album feels like finding an old mixtape in the bottom of a drawer. It’s nostalgic yet completely fresh, like it exists outside of time. Maybe that’s why it still resonates today. Or maybe it’s because we’re all secretly drawn to chaos wrapped in beauty. Either way, Heroin for Henry reminds us that sometimes the most unforgettable moments come from letting go of control.
Oh, and here’s a random thought to leave you with: If this album were a person, it’d probably show up late to a party wearing mismatched socks and somehow still steal the spotlight.
