Superheaven find beauty in the bleak on their long-awaited self-titled new album, a fuzz-drenched statement from four old friends who’ve learned how to speak fluently through distortion.
Ten years after their breakout Jar, Superheaven are back, and they sound more certain, more battered, and more vital than ever. Superheaven is the Pennsylvania band’s first full-length in nearly a decade. But don’t call it a comeback, consider it a continuation. Or, as the self-titling of the album suggests, a new beginning if you like.
Superheaven made their name in the 2010s blending post-hardcore edge with a thick coat of ‘90s alt-rock haze. That sound returns here, matured and deepened. Superheaven hums with droning tension and erupts in explosive catharsis, capturing the weight of the world without ever collapsing under it. Jake Clarke and Taylor Madison split lead vocals and guitar duties like longtime co-conspirators, with Joe Kane (bass) and Zack Robbins (drums) grounding the low end into dust. Their chemistry is the heartbeat of the record. Each song plays like a conversation between the four – unguarded, open, and honest.
“Cruel Times” is a standout, an intimate reflection on long-term love born from shared trauma. “We both had turbulent childhoods,” Madison says of his wife. “It feels like we shouldn’t be as solid as we are - but we are.” The sentiment carries through the record; the idea of fragile things holding strong despite the odds. Elsewhere, “Humans For Toys” pulls no punches in its worldview. “I think we’re doomed, man,” Madison continues. “There is no place on planet earth where human life is valued over currency.” That bitter clarity fuels the track’s crushing heaviness. And then there’s “Stare At The Void,” a portrait of social detachment and resignation. “Interactions with most people feel extremely taxing,” Clarke admits. “As I get older, I realize more and more that it’s just part of my personality. It doesn’t go away.”
That kind of bruised, unpretentious, and brutally honest self-awareness is what makes Superheaven feel like it’s for everyone. The band doesn’t go searching for anthems, they just find them as they let the noise and nuance do the talking. Having quietly influenced a new generation of bands and racked up hundreds of millions of streams from slow-burning fan favorites like “Youngest Daughter” and “Poor Aileen,” Superheaven now stand as reluctant veterans. But on this record, they don’t sound like the old guard, they sound new and necessary. Bleak? Absolutely. But Superheaven reminds us that even in the grimmest emotional corners, there’s still something worth holding onto. Even if it’s just the feedback ringing out from one more chorus.