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The Boojums – The Boojums (self-titled) – 31/10/25

Johnny Green, former road manager of The Clash, used to always say the best way to experience anything was live. Theatre, music, poetry, and even cycling (Green himself becoming a Tour de France fanatic in the 2000s) – all were better in-person, feeling first-hand the buzz of the amp, the whiskey on the breath, the blur of the peloton. The Boojums’ self-titled debut feeds into this ever-present craving for visceral spontaneity, from their faux-VHS music videos to their DIY garage rock sound.

The first few tracks are a barrelling combination of energetic guitars and a relentless rhythm section, ‘Outta My Head’ starting the album off with the band’s best sound: somewhere between garage and grunge, vocals a mix of Julian Casablancas and Isaac Brock, melodic and frantic and rambling. ‘Wings of Fire’ and ‘Don’t Wanna Love’ add just enough indie stylings to tame the noise, keeping them heavy without a headache – ‘Meet Me In The Middle’ is the personal favourite so far, a winning coupling of warbling vocals and Surf Curse-esque beach* intensity.

‘Football’ leans into a Wire-y post-punk sound, before slipping into verses closer to mid-2010s indie (think Catfish and the Bottlemen); ‘Burnin’ Up’ is a descendent of Springsteen’s ‘I’m On Fire’, bearing a ripped ‘Hey, little girl is your daddy home’ line and general angsty yearnings (though none as potent as the Boss’ ‘knife/train’ third verse). The pace and passion of most of their songs tends to paste over the more simplistic lyrics, though some blatant misfires do slip through. ‘Like It’ is the main offender, its quiet/loud approach filling the song’s climax with sluggish riffs that sound like AM on a comedown, while the stripped-back verses hang out to dry limp lines such as ‘hands reach out to me, reaching for the mouth from which I breathe’ – as opposed to his other mouth?

‘Garden of the Sons’ teases something hectic and scrambling before settling into another riff slog. It sounds heavy, but doesn’t feel heavy, if you get what I mean – it’s too similar to the one from ‘Like It’, and feels unearned, forced to stand after every verse for the sake of song structure like a dutiful but ultimately uninterested beefeater. A palate-cleanser comes in the form of ‘Dan’s Transmission’, a female-led, tongue-in-cheek heartbreak anthem that proves The Boojums can inject a bit of wit amongst the pigeons, and makes the ‘mouth from which I breathe’ line even more irksome.

The Boojums is nothing you haven’t heard before, but it doesn’t need to be. For the most part, it makes you want to throw your limbs around in a room full of bodies, and that’s all it seems to be trying to do. Must it be any more?

*I’ve just looked up on t’Internet and was surprised to see how nice some of the beaches in Nova Scotia – The Boojums’ homeland – are. I’ve always assumed it was as grim as its Caledonian namesake, which, on further web-surfing, seems to also have some alright coastlines. Perhaps, I should get out more.

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