Phil Stevenson

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Death of Youth – Nothing Is the Same Anymore

On their debut, Nothing Is the Same Anymore, UK melodic hardcore band Death of Youth operate with the conviction of a group who still believe the genre can change something, maybe not the world, but at least the small, unsafe corners of it.

 

From the opening bars of “Desensitised,” vocalist Rob David tears into a depressingly familiar rogues’ gallery: predatory men at shows, apathetic friends who enable them, and the quiet complicity that can take hold in scenes that like to think of themselves as communities. His delivery isn’t exaggerated or performative; it’s worn-down and direct, as if these observations have been sitting with him for a long time before finding their way into a song.

 

Musically, the album is taut, almost severe. Most tracks cut out by the three-minute mark, but the band squeeze in a surprising amount of emotional texture: passages of Midwest-emo guitar and post-rock ambience in between hardcore riffs, and occasional spoken-word fragments. It’s a dense record, one that rewards headphones and attention. If anything, at times, the vocal mix feels too buried for lyrics this heavy.

 

Much of the album draws on a sense of moral urgency. “Fix Your Heart or Die” ends in a gang-chant warning, “You’ll always be on the wrong side of history,” that plays less like confrontation than weary observation. But Nothing Is the Same Anymore is at its most affecting when it stops shouting at the world and turns inward. “Castle Rock,” written in memory of a childhood friend, strips away the broader social critique for something more personal. The closing title track follows a similar path, with David acknowledging that “there’s no going back to the way things were,” a line that lands not as defeat, but as acceptance.

 

Nothing Is the Same Anymore doesn’t attempt to overhaul melodic hardcore, and it doesn’t need to. What Death of Youth offer is a focused, emotionally clear record that understands the genre’s limits as well as its strengths. Fans of Touché Amoré and La Dispute will recognise the lineage, and for listeners familiar with the UK scene, the band’s presence recalls the space once occupied by Departures.

For a debut, it’s a confident and purposeful statement, Death of Youth arrive sounding startlingly assured.

 

The album will be released on 16th February on all the usual streaming services.

 

You can pick up a limited-edition tape cassette over at the Cats Claw Records website.

You can get your hands on 12” coloured vinyl over at the always excellent Engineer Records in the UK.

 

If you live outside of the UK the following release partners have you covered.

 

Sell the Heart Records (US), Remorse Records (France), Dancing Rabbit Records (Germany),

Vina Records (Italy), and Pasidaryk Pats Records (Lithuania).

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In Defence of the CD: Give It the Love It Deserves

Here’s a not-so-hot take: I think the CD is due a revival.

There’s nothing quite like pulling a record from its sleeve, dropping the needle, and hearing that first satisfying crackle. Vinyl is magical, and I’ll never stop loving it. There’s a ceremony and romance to it that feels uniquely ‘real’ in a world that seems increasingly unreal and disposable. It’s a quiet but poignant “fuck you” to Spotify and its soulless algorithms.

But here’s the thing — the vinyl revival? It’s never really felt like mine to revive. 

My first memories of vinyl are sitting cross-legged on the living room floor as a kid, smudging fingerprints all over my dad’s Led Zeppelin and mum’s Simon & Garfunkel records. Vinyl was how I experienced their music, not how I discovered my own. It got me on the path, but it wasn’t my journey.

For me, the format that truly defined my formative years was the humble CD. And yet, somewhere along the way, CDs became uncool – dismissed as the awkward middle child between vinyl’s romance and streaming’s convenience.

But honestly? It deserves better.

CDs have all the tactile joy of holding music in your hands – the artwork, the lyrics, the sleeve notes – but they’re compact, portable, durable, and cheap enough that I don’t panic when they get scratched. They’re small enough, too, that I can slip one past my wife without her noticing every time the postman delivers a new addition.

They sound great on almost anything. And, crucially, they’re a format I feel more connected to.

I’m talking about CD cases rattling around behind the passenger seat of my rusty Fiat Punto on road trips with friends. The burned mix CDs for school crushes and best mates. The Sony Discman that accompanied me on school trips, family holidays, and endless hours of bedroom escapes.

Lately, I’ve found myself buying albums on vinyl that never even existed on vinyl when they were first released – and it feels a bit like I’m chasing a nostalgia that isn’t mine. 

My nostalgia lives in running straight to HMV the moment that brown envelope hit my palm after a shitty Saturday job, then catching the bus home with a bag full of CDs just waiting – hoping – to discover what musical treats lay within.

It’s the scratched copy of Dookie shuffled between ABBA’s Greatest Hits and Dire Straits in my dad’s multi-CD changer in the boot of his Vauxhall Astra. That’s the soundtrack of my youth – not some vinyl revival from a decade I barely lived through.

So yeah, vinyl rules. But CDs? They deserve equal love. They were my first musical companion, and I’m guessing it’s the same for many of you who come to Cat’s Claw Records — the format that shaped the way we discovered, collected, and carried music through our teenage years.

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