The West Virginia duo abandons their low-stakes origins for a blown-out alt-rock dirge that expertly balances crushing distortion with undeniable pop sensibilities
A wall of fuzz crashes through the speakers before a single melody even registers. That opening guitar tone on Massing’s “Chemicals” is a noxious, deliberate choice, suffocating the bouncy rhythm section under a blanket of heavy, abrasive distortion. For a West Virginia outfit previously known for their low-stakes, danceable hooks and the 2024 retrospective Rejuiced, leaning into this darker, heavier aggression feels like a deliberate sabotage of their own pop sensibility. Yet, the underlying pop architecture survives the assault. It calls to mind the thick, guitar-driven pop of the mid-1990s, specifically the era when Weezer figured out how to bury sweet harmonies under layers of grunge-adjacent grime. Massing weaponizes that tension, using the blown-out production as a shield for their most vulnerable writing to date.
Heath Holley and Robb Coleman deliver the opening lines with a distinctly millennial fatigue. “It’s like I left my chemicals open baby, like they’re losing all their potency,” they sing, their vocals cutting through the mix with a flat, exhausted cadence. There is no triumphant buildup here, just a bleak admission of emotional depletion: “I don’t feel nothing, can’t feel nothing no more.” By stripping away the performative angst often associated with pop-punk, the duo taps into a very specific 2026 malaise. They aren’t screaming at the world; they are staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering if their internal chemistry has permanently stalled. The self-awareness in “Maybe that’s just a ‘me’ problem, hell we’ll see” prevents the track from drowning in pity, offering a smirk just when the bleakness threatens to take over.
Massing’s pivot toward this heavier, fuzz-drenched aesthetic pays off. They understand that a good hook needs friction to survive. “Chemicals” is a cynical, exhausted anthem wrapped in alternative rock armor. The tension between their undeniable knack for catchy songwriting and their newfound desire to brutally pulverize the listener creates a thrilling dynamic. They are no longer just the quirky college friends writing 150 custom songs for patrons. They are a seasoned band staring down the barrel of their own apathy, choosing to turn the amplifiers up until they blow.
