You can trust Louder Our experienced team has worked for some of the biggest brands in music. From testing headphones to reviewing albums, our experts aim to create reviews you can trust. Find out more about how we review.
Gluecifer are like that one friend you had 25 years ago who pops over on a Friday afternoon just to see what’s up, and by Sunday morning you’re missing an eye and dying of alcohol poisoning in a field somewhere. They are the ultimate bad influence, the wayward punk creeps lurking in every dark alley, ready to stab your guts with a flick knife just for kicks.
Since their inception in ’94, the Oslo bruisers have delivered some of the most incendiary rock’n’roll ever produced in the goddamn world, never mind Scandinavia, with legendary albums like Soaring With The Eagles At Night, Ridin’ The Tiger, and the evergreen Dick Disguised As Pussy that enflamed loins and made men out of mice from the Arctic Circle to the Amazon jungle.
They finally ran out of juice in the mid-noughties, and civilisation quickly devolved into a sexless dystopia plagued by totalitarian morons soon after. And that’s where we’ve been ever since. No new weird sins to dabble in. No rats in battalions rulin’ the street scene. No one cool to save you.
Things started to look up when Gluecifer’s last men standing – frontman Biff Malibu and guit-slinger Captain Poon – assembled a new goon squad and began playing gigs all over Europe in 2018. Not much help to sorry fuckers in podunk shanty towns like the US of A, but it was something.
Well, miracle of miracles, as we enter what will probably be another shitstorm of a year, the guys from Oslo have delivered the sonic salve we’ve been itching for. Same Drug New High resumes the band’s sonic assassinations without skipping a beat. It’s sleazy, slinky and snotty, with blood-guzzling scorchers like the title track and the rubber-legged 1996 and hook-heavy radio baiters like I’m Ready and Made In The Morning.
The band claim there’s some real-world nuance to the lyrics, but as far as I can tell they’re still about either knowin’ the score or cuttin’ dirty deals. There’s also the twin-guitar majesty of Poon and Raldo Useless, and the absolutely concrete-cracking thunder issued by Danny Young’s drums. And that Malibu still sounds like the smartest, funniest guy in the maximum state prison.
But what you really need to know is that this is the greatest rock’n’roll resurrection since the time Sky Saxon bought a cape and started playing acid-rock. This record will make every other record in 2026 look like dimwitted hippie bullshit.
You must confirm your public display name before commenting
Please logout and then login again, you will then be prompted to enter your display name.
