Atlanta punks Upchuck are pushing into new territory

​​As they gear up to release their first album on the UK label Domino, Upchuck are tearing through Europe with a righteous onslaught of fury and mischief. It’s time to buckle up.

Upchuck’s European tour has already taken them across England, but Blackpool, the Lancashire seaside town best known for its illuminations, ballroom and Big One rollercoaster, is arguably the oddest stop yet for the Atlanta band. It’s a Friday night, and the promenade is a scene straight from r/AccidentalRenaissance, the subreddit for photos so chaotic they could be in a Martin Parr exhibition. There are teetering hen-dos in plastic tiaras, arcade coin pushers and unusually large seagulls brawling over discarded chips on the pavement. Halfway down the Central Pier, Upchuck huddle together behind the Big Wheel tourist attraction, staring out across the grey Irish Sea. Frontwoman Kaila Thompson, also known as KT, leans against a rusted railing with her heavy-duty work boots planted firmly, and defiantly, on the worn-out boards. “Blackpool sort of reminds me of Orlando,” she says, going on to draw a parallel to The Florida Project, Sean Baker’s fictional but hyper-realistic 2017 film set in a budget motel on the edge of Walt Disney World. They’re here to debut songs from their new album, I’m Nice Now, at a late-night show just a few streets from Blackpool Tower, as part of the annual punk blowout, Rebellion Festival.

It’s fair to say that first impressions of Thompson aren’t easily forgotten. Before even meeting Upchuck – who, alongside Thompson, include drummer Chris Salado, guitarists Mikey Durham and Hoff, and bassist Ausar Ward – my preconceptions are coloured by a quick scroll through the band’s Instagram. It reveals a viral video of the frontwoman mid-set in a circle pit, just before a shopping trolley slams into her face at full speed. She screams into the mic as blood pours from her forehead, a scene straight from an A24 horror film that would eventually become the artwork for their 2022 debut album Sense Yourself. As we relocate backstage, she laughs and leans forward with pride to reveal the gnarly scar running across her eyebrow and into her signature buzz cut fade. “I think that had to happen, it kind of felt like destiny,” Thompson grins. “A lot of things could have gone differently for Upchuck if I didn’t get that cut, or even if we’d stopped playing after I was hurt.”

Upchuck bonded over their mutual love of skate culture and working the same part-time jobs before starting the band in 2018, with Thompson and Hoff both working at Tabernacle – a downtown Atlanta concert hall she jokingly describes as “for real artists”. Since tearing through Atlanta’s hardcore scene, they’ve shared stages with everyone from UK anarcho-punks Subhumans to garage-punk heavyweights Amyl and the Sniffers and Ty Segall.

The band have since racked up a catalogue of crazy tour stories in addition to the trolley incident, and Salado is happy to add to their lore, recalling a memorable exchange with Amy Taylor. “I was bitten at a gig and she said, ‘Dude. Please, go get a tetanus shot,’” Salado laughs, without confirming if he actually did. Disarmingly lovable, Salado quickly identifies himself as the one who keeps the group from taking itself too seriously. When asked who’s most likely to get arrested on tour, Thompson giggles and says: “Oh, definitely one of us,” nodding towards Salado and herself. As the two trade theories about what they’d be locked up for, the rest of the band sprawl out with greasy rider pizza, occasionally listening in and squeezing past to use the bathroom in the cramped green room. 

Upchuck found a devoted cult following with their first two albums, Sense Yourself and 2023’s Bite the Hand That Feeds, even catching the attention of no-fucks-given rock royalty Iggy Pop and Henry Rollins on their radio shows. Now, the five-piece return with I’m Nice Now, their debut release with Domino. Pushing into new territory while keeping the raw urgency that propelled their earlier work, the result is nastier, filthier and, at times, unexpectedly groovy.

On songs like New Case, for example, Thompson even trades her signature snarl – as on Freaky and Crashing from their second album – for something closer to a melody. “I’m tired of yelling. You know I’m mad, I don’t need to prove it all the time,” she smirks, leading on to the album name. She describes it as partly a joke, but mostly a survival tactic. “I used to get easily irritated. But now on tour, I’m like, ‘You know what? I’m nice now!’” she shouts, slipping into an overly pleasant, slightly satirical character voice on the sofa. “I need to preserve my sanity, my energy, everything that allows me to be able to keep fighting and to keep living. You’re not gonna break me, I’m not going to let that happen.” 

Recording I’m Nice Now last year at Sonic Ranch Studios was a huge leap for the band, physically and emotionally. After months of road-testing songs and demoing tracks in a friend’s home studio between tours, they finished the album in the west Texas desert. On production, they reunited with fuzz-pedal virtuoso Ty Segall, playing live to tape with barely any overdubs. Segall produced their second album too, and later worked with the band during Covid, after they asked him to remix their debut album, Sense Yourself (2024 Segall Mix), and bring new life to the band’s stems. The untamed spirit coaxed out by Segall is especially evident on Plastic, one of the new album’s most abrasive tracks – a filthy, head-smashing rager that also marks the first time Salado steps up to the mic to deliver a verse or two in Spanish. His larger-than-life presence adds a fresh dynamic, linking with Thompson for other performances on Homenaje and Un Momento. Translating the lyrics, he holds little back: “I know what you want, fame and money, but it doesn’t mean shit/ Inside I feel dead, alongside my suffering/ I know I’m missing something, but don’t tell me what it is/ I’ll find it myself,” he growls over a punishing riff. “These lyrics are what I’m living through right now. It’s real,” Salado explains, making it clear that nothing in his punk is performative. 

Upchuck’s politics are something they refuse to dilute or compromise, even as their audience grows. Drawing on Thompson’s lived experience as a Black woman and Salado’s as a Latin American, they use their time on stage, between crushing guitar onslaughts, to condemn the systems of oppression. This need to raise awareness was thrown into sharp relief after an incident that took place shortly after shooting the video for Plastic in their home city. In the video, Salado cruises through the streets in a lowrider like an already-made-it rock star, screaming headfirst into the camera. But a day after they wrapped, the scene quickly changed. “ICE pulled up in Sandy Springs, where the day labourers wait for work,” Salado says, his voice dropping heavily. “They took like ten people. No warrants, no proof. Just because they spoke Spanish or looked Hispanic. Some of them were even US citizens. This is what is happening.”

Unsurprisingly, much of I’m Nice Now grapples with Upchuck’s frustration over Trump’s second term and the fractured, volatile climate that has settled across America. But also, the record allows a space for Thompson to be vulnerable. She turns the lens inwards on Forgotten Token, softly describing her place in the world as a woman of colour. “The song is about being Black, and how people value your worth. Being Black can dictate how people perceive you or how they understand your talents.”

I’m Nice Now is simultaneously angry and tender – proof that the band can hold both emotions at once without ever losing their sense of mischief. “I love to perform and I love to have fun, but I also want to be there with others and help them. You know, we’re all in this together and feeling hurt about the same shit. If I can help with that, I feel good,” Thompson adds. True to her word, mid-set at Rebellion, she disappears from the stage during Un Momento. Durham, Hoff and Ward lock into a frenzied groove, eyes glued to each other so intently they barely notice her absence. Salado takes over, shouting: “Give me a moment to suffer!/ Give me a moment to live!/ Give me a moment to think!” in Spanish. Minutes later, Thompson taps me on the shoulder, emerging from the sweat-soaked darkness to fist-pump alongside the punters at the front barrier.

Together, Upchuck are completely themselves, and I’m Nice Now contains a kind of truth that in turn radiates joy to those listening. Despite the weight of their lived experiences, Upchuck are still twentysomethings on tour, stumbling into European cities they never imagined. 

After the gig, Salado stares in awe at a vintage British car rolling past, yanking Hoff and Ward to look as they wait for doner kebabs outside the only late-night takeaway at 1 a.m. Sitting on a cold metal bench in the early hours, Blackpool – strange, garish and somewhat over the top – fits the band perfectly. It mirrors their childlike wonder as they quest for the next place to find a good Guinness and a story to take home to their friends. Salado tells the group he’s pretty sure a couple was having sex in his hotel room when he checked in before the gig. They laugh as the last punks of the festival stumble past them, making their way to fading seaside hotels. The night slowly slips away, and we say goodbye, sharing the final bites of our after-hours takeaway. By the end of the night, Upchuck have claimed an unexpected home in wonderfully weird Blackpool, over four thousand miles from where they began.