Mean Bikini have made one of the most fun punk records we’ve heard in ages. It’s half an hour of fast, loud, groovy, screamy skate punk with no ambient detours or unexpected moments of reflection, just revving guitars, pounding drums, shouted gang vocals, and absolutely ridiculous basslines.

This Ain’t Gonna End Well... isn’t trying to reinvent anything. It knows its lineage. It’s the spiritual grandkid of Let’s Go-era Rancid, with basslines clearly taking a leaf straight from the Matt Freeman playbook. The vocals are fantastic, with pitched fry screams delivered with infectious fury, and celebratory venom. The opener sets the tone perfectly, tearing off with a gleeful sense of recklessness. There are no filler tracks, but The Bars Too Low is a total riot highlight with a tongue-twistingly fast hook. Two Inches To The Right is a blunt political rager in the finest punk tradition, and the whole thing flies by without a single misstep. Mean Bikini might not be breaking new ground, but they’re absolutely smashing the ground they’re standing on.

Shakin’ It Off rollicks into the chorus with such swagger, the bassline and vocal melody tracing each other several octaves apart, creating a glorious sense of unity and lift. There’s so much confidence, not just in the performance, but the songwriting. These are seriously good hooks, and you can hear that they’re having a blast playing them, assured and locked in. Lyrically, This Ain’t Gonna End Well... hits all the classic targets that punk’s always had in its sights, but it’s not abstract or vague: it’s clearly responding to the present moment, with all the fury and clarity of a band who’ve had enough of watching history repeat itself.

This is protest music sharpened to a point, and launched like a missile. This is punk rock for now, that’s sweaty, raw, and necessary.

With full-throttle speed, ragged urgency, groovy swing, and phenomenal bass playing, the drums lock in like a freight train barreling downhill with the velocity of Bad Religion or NoFX and the massive physical force of The Bronx. A relentless d-beat pounds underneath while the vocals swap between gang shouts and unhinged fry screams. This is a four-piece that love the same bands, feel the same fury, and know exactly what this music is for.

This is music that knows its job and does it perfectly which, paradoxically, makes it quite hard to write about. It’s just hard and direct punk rock that hits, moves, swings and means it. The politics are classic punk, aimed squarely at the bigotry and ugliness of now, delivered with spirit, clarity and fight. This is the same kind of punk that powered skate videos, house parties, and video game soundtracks that rewired an entire generation. Mean Bikini have made a record that feels like it was released in 1994 and handed to you on CD-R by someone older and cooler than you, whilst speaking directly to the moment urgently and defiantly.