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⋆*｡ ࣪Gig Review ⋆*｡

Punk’s Not Dead. SPRINTS are Proof.

The Dublin garage rockers sell out (and absolutely smash) their largest headline show to date.

22.04.24

Words by Sophie Abbott

“I took my first pill here.”

Karla Chubb is referring to London’s world-famous gay nightclub, Heaven, and a wave of understanding laughter ripples through the crowd of a thousand-odd people, echoing in the venue’s stone arches. Heaven is aptly named—it’s a place where Londoners lose cell phone service and their inhibitions, letting themselves move
wherever the night takes them, fully concealed from the bustle of Charing Cross Station overhead. The last time I was here, Jagerbombs were still my drink of choice, and Adele was seated in the rafters before joining the drag queens onstage to judge a Thursday night strip tease. Tonight, however, Heaven is a temple dedicated to punk rock.

In January of this year, SPRINTS quietly released one of the loudest, most impressive debuts of the year—one that has fought the test of time and raised its voice even louder as the months tick by. Letter to Self is a furious baptism into 2024, a raucous, energetic ode to the power of anger and the collective exorcism that comes with
screaming at the top of your lungs in a room full of people. Riddled with religious imagery and self-referential rage; listening to this record feels like telling lies in the confessional just to see if you’ll catch on fire, and halfway hoping you might. SPRINTS repeatedly reinvent themselves, experimenting throughout the album: they borrow
metallic screeching from industrial rock, a few shoegaze guitar tones, and lyrics reminiscent of riot grrrl feminist punk, all while crafting something wholly individual.

Seeing the album performed live is a similar experience, even from my position toward the back of the sold-out show. “How much can you actually see?” The man beside me asks. “I nearly, nearly wore my high heels for this.” In the end, it doesn’t matter what glimpses of SPRINTS we can catch or not; their energy reverbates in relentless waves of cathartic noise. They employ continual riffs to keep each track flowing seamlessly into the next, making the entire show one dizzying, full-circle experience—one which their lyrics reflect, too. “Am I alive?” Chubb screams on “Ticking,” the opening track on Letter to Self and one of the first songs on tonight’s setlist. Bassist and vocalist Sam McCann chants along, chords dropping in heavy succession, while drummer Jack Callan attacks the kit and guitarist Colm O’Reilly rages against the electric. This moody mess of crowd and performers continues throughout SPRINTS’ run of Letter to Self, with the album’s titular track inciting a chorus of “I am alive.” The record is a mirror image, an answer to its own opening question, and a reminder to all of us. Standing in a gay club on a Wednesday night, rocking out to the up-and-comers, yeah, we are alive.

The relevance of this messaging is not lost on Chubb, who takes a moment to acknowledge the ongoing crisis in Palestine, the attack of transgender rights brought on by the UK government, and the necessity of punk-rock ideals in 2024. “We want to be a unifying voice against all that bullshit,” she says. “SPRINTS is about making noise for shit that fucking matters. If anyone has something to say against you, send them in my fucking direction. Make noise, enjoy each other.”

The last songs of the night rip past in a torrent of light, sweat, and movement. During “Little Fix,” a track off of 2022’s A Modern Job, Chubb bodysurfs without missing a single note, her voice tearing through Heaven, hundreds of hands propelling her away from the stage and then back again. When the band disappears and the lights come up, everyone wears the familiar half-dazed smiles you only seem to get from a successful punk show—SPRINTS dove into the music and took us with them, and now that we’re coming back up for air, nothing looks the same as before.

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