Watch It Die announces itself by crashing in with huge, buoyant gang vocals squarely in the lineage of Dropkick Murphys, Sick of It All and The Bouncing Souls with an all-for-one optimism. Home Front fuse the rousing brotherhood of skate punk with the aching nostalgia of new-wave synths to turn punk into a vessel for sincere gratitude and brotherhood instead of aggression.

This is a band that believes whole-heartedly in the power of people singing together. Light Sleeper is arguably the emotional cornerstone of the album, built on a welcoming bassline and an upbeat punk tempo, the chorus “We’re born alone/We die alone/Don’t ever think you have to live alone” is a rallying cry against isolation, hitting with force in a moment where loneliness is so acute. Home Front are using punk as social glue, and reminding us that catharsis only works when it’s shared.

There’s a strong through-line to that era when skate punk broke into the mainstream via Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater and Jackass, and suddenly had the budget to aim high without losing its teeth. Watch It Die carries that same sense of ambition with choruses written to be screamed back, and each song somehow finding room for an even bigger hook. Between The Waves leans fully into new-wave territory with wistful synths, whilst the guitar work on Eulogy nods towards the lineage of players like Geordie Walker and Perry Bamonte with a Donnie Darko melancholy. The Vanishing shows just how comfortable Home Front are with beauty, with a hint of Social Distortion in the way punk can be used as a vessel for grateful memories.

For The Children (F*ck All) returns with blunt force and a terrific chant-ready chorus, amplified by catchy synth lines. Always This Way channels the boogie-rock swagger of The Clash with a song about loving a shithole because it’s yours, and refusing to pretend things were ever any better, and there’s a sly relationship with dance music threaded throughout. Dancing With Anxiety recalls Hip To Be Square but with more panic and pressure, and Young Offender doubles down with a rapid drum-machine sprint. The closer Empire stretches past five minutes, unfolding slowly with piano and restraint as the lyrics contemplate the collapse of the systems around us that were never designed to sustain anyone but the very few, finding solidarity in standing with friends and watching the rot give way instead of panicking. A remarkably mature ending for a record that began in pure punk propulsion, Watch It Die is a triumph because it feels both deeply familiar and urgently necessary, with big songs, sharp ideas, and high emotional stakes.

What Watch It Die understands, and what so much modern angry music forgets, is that punk’s real power has always been in sweaty camaraderie, with arms around strangers, voices cracking as everyone shouts the same words at the same time. Instead of sneering from the sidelines or performing rage as a personality trait, Home Front write music that insists you get involved with the gang vocals and enormous choruses, treating community itself as an act of resistance.