In 1984, members of Crass—the revolutionary anarcho-punk band and art collective from England—self-published the leaflet You’re Already Dead to hand out at their shows. In it, they touted the merits of creating pure art instead of “consumerist products,” putting in the hard work of direct action, and fighting for a world where punk isn’t derivative, escapist, or boring. “It is our job to reclaim beauty and intelligence, dignity and truth,” the band wrote. “NOW IS THE TIME TO CONSTRUCT OUR OWN REALITY.” That year, Crass were touring behind their album Yes Sir, I Will, from which they stitched one lyric onto a huge black-and-white banner. While the band thrashed around onstage, the words burned into the eyes of the audience: “There is no authority but yourself.”
Turnstile, by comparison, are a largely apolitical band. Whereas Crass spat lengthy tirades about Margaret Thatcher and fought for a feminist future, Turnstile singer Brendan Yates writes vignettes about overcoming dejection and turns nonconfrontational refrains like “I need a little TLC” into hooks. But both bands share a DIY ethos: the belief that communal self-determination is the root of broader change. To watch Turnstile’s evolution over the past 15 years has been to watch them embrace what it means to be yourself. Nonstop Feeling angled it as an enticing alternative in the youth scene, while Time & Space found catharsis in introspective self-growth. Then came 2021’s Glow On, which uncorked how liberating it feels to enter adulthood with self-assurance and understanding, its stadium-worthy riffs courting the masses alongside go-go beats and fluttering synths.
Four years later, Yates realizes maintaining that mentality is just as difficult as reaching it in the first place. “Running from yourself now/Can’t hear what you’re told,” he admits at the opening of NEVER ENOUGH, Turnstile’s new album. The 35-year-old singer is downtrodden, to put it lightly, and nursing a broken heart. Though Yates holds narrative at a distance, opting to focus on emotion, time is constantly slipping through the hourglass: “24 hours ain’t the day it used to be,” “Time is happening devastatingly,” “Days into years holding out.” Yates delivers the anxious words with the gusto of someone granted several extra decades to live. That’s generally how it goes with age: As time speeds up, so does our determination to spend it more authentically.
Turnstile experiment more freely than ever on Never Enough. They incorporate Glow On’s pop sheen to revitalize a period of ’80s nostalgia when punk bands softened into radio rock. “Light Design” merges now-classic Turnstile rhythms with the Police’s pedalboards and cool-toned synths. “I Care” goes even further; drummer Daniel Fang finds levity in bulbous drumrolls and gated reverb like Stewart Copeland, and when Yates pushes into a higher register, he passes for an Americanized Sting. Franz Lyons’ spry bassline and Pat McCrory’s echoing guitar in “Seein’ Stars” could retroactively slot into Zenyatta Mondatta. Most impressive is how comfortable Turnstile sound in this attire.
