I always knew Japandroids wouldn’t last forever. Maybe we all did. Those desperate moments screaming along to ‘Post-Nothing’—they had a time limit. We could only keep pretending the party would last forever for so long. Seven years after ‘Near to the Wild Heart of Life’, ‘Fate & Alcohol’ shows up like an old friend who calls to say goodbye before leaving town for good. And yeah, it stings, but it makes sense. Because, like the band, I’m not the same person either.

From the jump, Japandroids were a lifeline. Back when everything felt overwhelming—crushing jobs, the heartbreaks, the uncertainty—they gave us two chords and a battle cry: “We’ll ride this thing till the wheels fall off.” Those nights felt infinite. There was always another town, another bar, another chance. They were living the dream we all fantasized about, and if they had vanished into the ether after ‘Celebration Rock’, it would’ve fit perfectly. They’d be legends who burned out, leaving us to imagine them stuck forever on the highway between gigs, never coming down. But ‘Fate & Alcohol’ cuts that fantasy off at the knees, in the best way possible. This is the sound of two guys figuring out what happens when you can’t run from life anymore. Brian King, now sober, is stepping off the stage into fatherhood and day jobs, while David Prowse still wants to keep the music alive, pounding drums like it’s the only thing that makes sense. That tension runs through the whole album, a bittersweet push and pull between holding on and letting go. And damn, you can feel it. “Fugitive Summer” might be one of the most honest things they’ve ever written. King sings, “Urgency, innocence, and, when it comes to fucking up, firsthand experience,” like someone who’s been through it and lived to tell the story. The guitar feels worn but alive—less shiny, more scarred. It’s a reflection of where we all are now: still charging forward, but carrying every lesson, every regret, every scar from the nights we thought we’d never have to leave behind.

But they can still bring the noise. “Chicago” and “Upon Sober Reflection” hit like the old days—loud, fast, and reckless. It’s that same spark we fell in love with, but now there’s an undertone of finality, like they know these songs are the last of their kind. Even in these moments of full-blast joy, there’s a weight hanging in the air. The lights are about to come up, and we all know it.The heart of the album comes into focus with “Positively 34th Street”, where King lays it all bare. He’s not chasing bars and stages anymore. He’s chasing real life—the kind that doesn’t come with encores or applause. “If I don’t hurry up, if I don’t make this bet, I might miss a moment,” he sings, and it hits hard. It’s the realization that some of the most important things aren’t on the road. And yeah, that’s a tough pill to swallow. But it’s also kind of beautiful.’Fate & Alcohol’ is a reminder that change is inevitable. The same way we outgrew staying up until sunrise every weekend, Japandroids outgrew the life they built on tour. They still sound like the guys we grew up with, but the themes hit differently now: settling down, moving on, figuring out who you are when the party’s over. It’s not a sad ending—it’s just life. And isn’t that what we wanted from them all along? Honesty, even when it stings.

This album feels like closure, not just for them but for us too. It’s a reminder that the things we loved back then will always be a part of us, even if we’ve got different priorities now. Japandroids gave us songs to shout into the void when we needed them most.