Boy, was I a fan of Downtown Boys ten years ago. While it’s always sad to say – due to its reflection on the real, crummy world – the Providence punks came around at the right time. The right time was the growing insurgence of Trump politics; the nihilistic attitude toward protected groups; the normalisation of conspiracy theories.
A catchy anger enveloped Full Communism and Cost of Living – I freakin’ loved the latter. Exploitation, racism, capitalism, were all targets. It’s even easier to shoot an arrow and hit those targets in 2026, they’re that widespread, so it was easy to expect a new Downtown Boys album, nine years after the last, to be worth the wait.
The boys – and their frontwoman – themselves don’t sound angrier. They must’ve seen a lot of unruly shit in their hiatus spent as public defendants, but they don’t sound angrier. Public Luxury is emotionally diverse, angry where it needs to be, but more a testament to the human condition than it is the wrath any kind soul surely wishes to hurl at our sad political state.
Two songs were in part inspired by singer Victoria Marie’s grandmother, who passed last year. Following a wall of sound pulled from strained guitars and saxophones, No Me Jodas becomes inhabited by joy – a celebration of life despite an overarching theme of deforestation – via happily danceable surf punk. Sirena factors no mellow or joy. There is a tunefulness, but concurrently an incessant aggression against Mexican rancheras that leads to Victoria banking on wordless noises.
The album is defined by its reflectiveness, embodied by the burgeoning, rebuilding world of Yellow Sun, emanating primarily from Victoria’s vocals, loudly, from the heart. One can picture this world, this world of trees growing “in every direction”, of angels exploding as guitars intensify despite its role as the least punky song of the album.
Nothing is perfect, treachery is everywhere, and we’re still smoking in bed, but we have such love to share, says Albuterol and its gigantic guitar-synth blowouts. The album captures the multiple wolves inside the band’s compass. Hostility and heart pump through The City Begins’ friendly, southern fried riffing, and the joyous calamity that rains from Viva La Rosa’s switch-up in chords, acknowledging destruction, preserving optimism.
The angrier oddments evoke the Boys’ older sound. But why do they feel so out of place / underwritten? Enemy Without’s unmoving anger despite ritualism; Mi Concha’s unmoving anger despite ritualism, despite its drumbeat, a little Middle Eastern, a little African.
But while Downtown Boys have grown into a better starry-eyed, hippie-ish, godspelt band, I never doubt their anger just like I never doubt their sadness or optimism. I’ve got You’re a Ghost to thank, its swamped-out synth punk and sarcastic apologies: “I’m so sorry for my body” – because our protest, our getting in the way, is more toxic than the crimes that invite protest.
While I don’t doubt Public Works’ anger either, I prefer its synth-led, soul-searching bridge section, breaking up said anger. I hope Downtown Boys never shed that anger entirely. We need it. We need it to share all we can feel in this era so far removed from the hope that limited damage would be done. The greedy, the criminals, the inciters of genocide, the killers of people whose skin is different, the killers of people who want what’s best for those whose skin is different. They’re rampant, but so are Downtown Boys.
Best tracks – No Me Jodas – Yellow Sun – You’re a Ghost – Albuterol.
Rating – 7 out of 10
