Fucked Up – The Chemistry of Common Life

January 01, 1970





As a genre dedicated to its roots, punk often walks a
razor-thin line between blind copycat-ism or heavy-handed cross-pollination. Toronto’s
Fucked Up takes that line, forges it into a blade and uses it to spill blood on
any existing preconceptions of what punk rock is supposed to be -when really, punk was never supposed to be anything. Who cares if hardcore punk’s greatest hope
unveils its Matador debut with a flute solo? It fits the song (“Son The
Father”), which rolls out of that feather-light opening into a palm-muted
chugging so insistent you’d think you were running stairs with Rocky for the whole
of its slow crescendo.


And who cares if the production values fit a band whose
label boasts major distribution? Again, the music is only helped by Fucked Up’s
creative decisions. It’s always seemed as if Fucked Up was as musically thoughtful
as it was urgent and indignant. The Chemistry
of Common Life
is no disappointment. This band doesn’t fit any mold, just
squeezes and rip its way into any it finds, like a fat dude in Joey Ramone’s


Standout Tracks: “Son
The Father,” “No Epiphany” BRYAN REED


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