Every so often, a debut arrives that feels less like an album and more like a statement of existence. Extinction Burst, the first full-length from Atlanta-based artist Matare, is exactly that—a sprawling, feverish work that pulls post-punk, new wave, and alternative rock into its orbit, then shatters them into something jaggedly new. Released on September 2, 2025, the record demands confrontation. Born out of political disillusion, personal reckoning, and a refusal to look away, it feels at once urgent and timeless, a musical act of survival that doubles as an act of defiance.
The opening track, “Attach Your Memories,” sets the mood with a mixture of introspection and fire. Drawing inspiration from Paradise Blossom, the song aches with a haunted melody that feels like flipping through photographs in a room where the lights keep flickering. It’s less about nostalgia than about the fragility of holding onto the past. The production, handled with precision by Gabe Wolf, highlights Matare’s restless layering: shadowy synths coil around guitar lines, while Francesca Pratt’s drumming grounds the storm with grace and punch. Already, the album reveals itself as an emotional battlefield.
Things get darker and more complex on “I Couldn’t Kill You But I Love You,” a track that thrives on contradictions. Equal parts love song and confession, its fractured vocal delivery and cutting bassline turn tenderness into menace. Here, Matare’s songwriting proves unwilling to smooth over the discomfort of human relationships. It’s ugly, beautiful, confusing—exactly the way love often feels. The song sets the stage for “Never Ending,” which pushes deeper into post-punk romanticism, echoing The Chameleons’ sweeping sound but with Matare’s own stamp of intimacy. It’s one of the album’s most striking pieces, pairing vulnerability with a sense of grandeur that lifts it beyond imitation.
The middle stretch of the record sharpens its teeth. “Learned Helplessness” pulses with restrained fury, its synths weaving like a slow-building panic attack, while “That’s What People Do” aims human complacency, wrapping its critique in sardonic, almost danceable rhythms. By the time “The Further That They Go” arrives, the album is already brimming with contradictions, but this track flips expectations again—its quasi-house beat and explosive outro land like a manifesto against predictability. It’s a lovesick plea, a confrontation, and a catharsis all in one.
The record doesn’t lose steam. “Slicing Knife,” inspired by Soviet Soviet, cuts sharply with angular riffs and tense vocal delivery, one of the album’s most direct nods to coldwave’s icy ferocity. “Forever Light” follows, offering a fragile, near-redemptive counterpoint, as if Matare momentarily allows a shaft of hope to break through the record’s storm clouds. The sequencing feels intentional—never letting the listener grow comfortable but always pushing them forward.
By the ninth track, “Here’s Where Your Story Begins,” the album’s narrative arc becomes impossible to ignore. It’s the quietest form of defiance—a track that feels more like an interlude but one laced with the suggestion of starting over amid ruins. Then “Do What You Can” injects urgency again, tapping into the album’s political roots. It’s not overt sloganeering but rather a deeply personal reflection on responsibility—what it means to act when apathy feels easier.
If there’s a turning point, it’s “Revolution.” With its driving new wave pulse and psychedelic-tinged guitars, it’s the most anthemic track here, arriving like a spark in the dark. It doesn’t preach so much as ignite, leaving listeners to wrestle with their own sense of complicity and desire for change. The placement is deliberate: Revolution arrives late in the tracklist, when exhaustion sets in, only to re-energise the record for its finale.
That finale, “Extinction Burst,” is the album’s crown jewel. Inspired by The Horrors, it swells into a cinematic epic that feels like both collapse and rebirth. The title track embodies everything Matare set out to achieve—glimpses of anger, forgiveness, despair, and resilience colliding in one sweeping release. It’s not resolution so much as recognition: the burst that comes before silence, or maybe the beginning of something else entirely.
What makes Extinction Burst remarkable is its sonic variety and refusal to let genre dictate emotion. Matare moves restlessly from doom-laden post-punk to shimmering new wave flourishes, from aching balladry to blistering critique, and somehow binds it all into a coherent whole. With Gabe Wolf’s immaculate mixing, Francesca Pratt’s muscular yet nuanced drumming, and Matare’s own uncompromising vision, the album feels like a work born from obsession and necessity. It’s music for those who’ve stared down despair and decided to turn it into sound.
Ultimately, Extinction Burst is a debut that refuses containment. It is a protest, a confession, and an embrace of imperfection all at once. Where many first albums play it safe, Matare takes risks—stylistically, emotionally, politically—and lands with a record that not only resonates but lingers. It’s the kind of work that doesn’t fade into the background of playlists but insists on being listened to in full, from start to finish. With this record, Matare has announced himself and carved out a space that feels entirely their own.
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