A punk concept album about a young man shouting himself into adulthood.
Across twelve raw, confession-heavy tracks, [Album Title] follows a lad lost in self-loathing, cheap nights, and inherited chaos — dragged forward by the rough voice of his father, or his own reflection, or both. Each song rewrites a “rule” not as advice, but as a confrontation:
stand up straight, stop lying, find better friends, sort your own mess, chase meaning, let yourself fall, tell the truth, hold onto small mercies.

Musically it hits like a hybrid of spoken confession and shouted doctrine —
talk-sing verses, ferocious gang-vocal choruses, soft middle-eights where the armour cracks.
The album arcs from self-destruction to reluctant courage, ending not in triumph but in tenderness: a quiet alley, a stray cat, and a small moment of grace.

This is punk as self-repair,
a mirror held too close,
a father’s tough love echoing through the walls,
and a boy learning to grow into a man
one brutal truth at a time.

STOP COMPARING, SON

Ever feel like you've been playing quantum leap in your own life?

STOP COMPARING, SON

Quantum me