STR^NGE dives headfirst into the murky waters of existence with their self-titled EP, tackling the messy complexities of love, politics, and the absurdity of modern life with unfiltered lens.

Their sound blends grungy riffs and introspective moments, creating a sonic landscape that pulls listeners through a rollercoaster of emotions, from chaotic highs to reflective lows. The track ‘The Length’ of a Cigarette is a frenetic burst of energy, sparked by the band’s electrifying van jam inspired by Queens of the Stone Age, and it’s this kind of spontaneity that fuels their live shows. With a cynical edge that speaks to the frustrations of being alive in the 2020s, their lyrics cut deep, revealing a misanthropic streak that’s both a shield and a challenge.

“Pushing against that comfort zone”

Your debut self-titled EP digs into some pretty heavy stuff—industry, existence, love, and politics. Did you set out to tackle these themes from the start, or did they creep up on you as you played with different sounds and ideas?

It came about naturally, from life experience. The bones of the tracks were there, but we had to wait until the right lyrics came along. When emotions are high from stressors, that’s when we’re able to really just get down to it and work the vocal rhythms around the tracks. From black holes in the kitchen due to bad trips to utter disdain for life that’s reared its ugly head, it’s only when you experience the negatives of everything that you can really make something worthwhile from it. If the instrumental sounds good, then great, but if you really want the listener to connect, you need to have that symbiosis between word and sound. Sometimes you hit, and sometimes you miss.

‘The Length of a Cigarette’ has this gritty, almost desperate urgency. What was the moment or event that lit the match for this song? How did the track evolve from that initial spark?

We were driving to practice in the van, and Queens of the Stone Age came on. Their riff-heavy songs certainly provided the spark musically—that raw gritty intro just hit us differently, instantly exciting us. By the time we got to practice, that energy was still buzzing around, and we just sort of started jamming with that same kind of mindset.

There’s a cynical thread running through your lyrics, especially in ‘The Length of a Cigarette.’ Is that cynicism a shield, a challenge, or just a byproduct of being awake in the 2020s?

The cynicism expressed is a general dislike of people. It’s a byproduct of life. You age and experience all sorts of nastiness along the way, inflicted upon a great many people, and you’re helpless to do anything, however big or small, because there’s a disconnect, and you end up really resenting everything around you. You can’t really change that, so we suppose expressing that misanthropy through music is a way to discuss, or at least point out that yes: we are just animals at the end of the day. We’re just as vicious as the remainder of the animal kingdom; it’s just that we’re slightly more nuanced in the ways we approach it. Sometimes, people can’t really express how they feel, so they find a relation through lyrics. Almost everybody must have experienced attempting to describe their thoughts and views to others, only to be met with confused disdain, so being able to stand your ground through sound is liberating, to say the least.

You mention the absurdity of life and the distractions of the modern world. So what’s STR^NGE’s role in all of this?

I suppose we don’t really have a role in any of it. If we can distract from the absurdity of it all, then all the better. We don’t think we’re important enough to have some grand role in the whole picture. Honestly, we just make music that feels right to us, and if other people are having it too, that’s a bonus. If what we do cuts through that noise for a few people, great, but we’re not setting out to change the world. We just want to make the music we like and see where it takes us. Anything beyond that is out of our hands.

The EP feels like a ride through different emotions, from distortion-drenched walls of sound to quieter, introspective moments. Is that diversity more about keeping things interesting for yourselves, or do you see it as a way to keep listeners on their toes?

We’d like the listener to feel something. If we can manage to throw a few things in there that the listener doesn’t expect while still evoking emotion, then that’s a win. It’s hard to make the music flow more often than not because the changes are erratic. We could always do better.

From the sold-out Liverpool shows to headlining the Joy stage at Future Now, you’ve built a reputation for your high-octane performances. What’s the most unhinged moment you’ve had on stage so far, and how does the chaos of your live shows feed into your songwriting?

Our more unhinged moments would definitely be at the smaller, more intimate gigs that we’ve done. You have to be on your best behavior at the larger events—you can’t just whip out a bag of drugs between songs and play interlude music as the band gets sated.

Let’s talk about ‘Let’s Leave the Greyhounds in the Slips’—how does this new EP compare to that earlier work? Did you approach the songwriting and recording process differently, or is it just an evolution of the same spirit?

It’s a departure for sure, but we still retained some of that ridiculousness. Greyhounds was actually a reason to get the band to return to work, believe it or not. We had a stint where absolutely nothing happened—months of nothingness—until we finally got off our arses and went to record ‘Masquerade.’ After that, things picked up, and we released that absolute mess of an EP. We’re getting into our stride, though, and certainly, we’re getting to that point where we’re able to perfect the sounds that make us the band we are. The latest EP definitely has some aspects of the earlier work, but it’s more mature and fleshed out. Recently, we’ve been leaning into that funk sound that we explored on ‘Caligula II,’ so I suppose you can expect some disco-infused sounds in the near future with a lot of strings and brass flying about.

With all the talk about the EP’s deeper themes—existence, meaninglessness, and everything in between—what keeps you going? What’s the thing that makes you get up, pick up your instruments, and keep creating in a world that often seems indifferent?

It’s different for all of us in the band. A search for meaning—to make something of your life or find some solace, maybe. If everything is meaningless, then surely death is meaningless also, so we may as well tarry on in the face of adversity and attempt to do something—anything—before we’re six feet under. We probably won’t get anywhere with it, but at least we’ve done something rather than nothing.

Liverpool has a deep musical heritage, but how does it feel to carve out your own space in that scene? Is it a blessing to have that legacy at your back, or do you find yourselves pushing against it to make something new and unrecognizable?

We obviously love Merseyside’s musical history—it’s set a bar too high for anyone to ever meet. But as much as that legacy is powerful, it can also feel like a weight. I think when you’re in the midst of it here, you can feel that it has become a bit insular, almost too tied to its past, and sometimes that creates barriers. It feels impossible to break through unless you fit into a certain “Merseyside” sound.

There’s a certain amount of dross out there on the scene, however, and it’s frustrating when you’re up against artists that hinge their careers solely upon social commentaries. There’s the issue of artistic integrity and an overall lack of genuine artistry that has to be addressed, and I’m sure many of our contemporaries would agree. It’s all well and good to have your fifteen minutes of fame centered around manipulating your audience’s dislike of the Conservative party, but is that all you want to be remembered for in life? To be an artist that never left their comfort zone and hung the entirety of their career—their artistic essence—on a few football chants? On the state of the NHS? Wouldn’t you rather truly express yourself and retain your cultural capital instead of losing the respect of your peers? We know that the country’s messed up, so please just change the record; we don’t need a musician or band to point it out to us, and you’re not Che Guevara. Everybody hates the Tories; it’s just boring to hear it repeated. Sunday morning TV music. It’s frustrating because that seems to be how it’s going more often than not.

For us, carving out space means pushing against that comfort zone. We’re not here to just echo what’s come before—we’re about creating something fresh, something that doesn’t rely on nostalgia.

Klemen Breznikar

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