by Chris Coplan (@chriscoplan.bsky.social)
I consider Bungee Jumpers a robust salve amid a lazy river of content.
Which is to say, near the midway of 2025, I got burnt out hard in continually seeking out new music. The whole endeavor felt like varying degrees of unsatisfying derivative, and I needed to turn my brain off to the wonders of seeking the Next Great Musical Salvation. Luckily, there’s heaps of John Mellencamp music available whenever this occurs…
But the Chicago band’s latest, Not Today…, comes at a time when I genuinely needed it the most; a moment when I’m trying to understand why so many of us hunt for new sounds, and the affirmational joy and robust personal insights we take away from this process. Not Today… is a record, duh, but it’s also this neat-o time capsule for thinking about music consumption in 2026.
One of the most obvious benefits of this record is its runtime – eight songs totaling less than 9.5 minutes (and the longest song is 95 seconds). I find myself perpetually interested in an albums’ “data,” and how it might tell you everything you need to know about a band. In the case of Bungee Jumpers, it’s that their shared attention span and musical output keeps it pretty tight and lean. And, sure, they’re not exactly alone in this “streamlined to the final molecule of bone” approach, but this whole thing sets a baseline, and Bungee Jumpers spend what’s not even 10 minutes expertly leaning into and rallying against their confines. Albums are a conversation, and this one starts by awkwardly screeching, “Get ready to tussle, boys and ghouls!”
Actually, Not Today… starts with the aforementioned longest track, “Wall.” If you listen to only one Bungee Jumpers song, let it be this jam. It’s all blown-out guitars, drums as if your 15-year-old cousin was playing, and vocals like trying to listen through a keyhole. Some of you will find that irksome and overdone, and while I would also agree, that’s sort of the band’s overarching charm. The song’s biggest refrain is, “I couldn’t find a wall to hit my head,” which is 1) the best encapsulation of the group’s stunted but refreshingly honest emotionality and 2) this oddly clever acceptance by the band that they’re working in a small room artistically. (That room is a crummy basement studio in the Ukrainian Village covered in dumb band posters). It’s this idea that they know the walls are near/perpetually closing in, but maybe they can somehow escape the sharp, sudden bump of reality.
And the rest of the record follows suit. “Hole” is prototypical pogo punk if you handed a bunch of young folks (named Jack, Saskia, Opal, and Adelaide, FYI) some cough syrup, Barefoot wine, and sketchy Adderall. On “SMD,” which I assume is a naughty euphemism, the band is too busy getting their Dry Cleaning on to actually say it out loud. Even “Oh Possum” seems like it’s either a Millennial-coded dance track or a joke at that crowd’s expense, and my utter indecision is both exciting and annoying. These tracks further what we found on “Wall”: A recognition of their narrow confines (because of chosen genre, available resources, money constraints, etc.) and Bungee Jumpers’ commitment to bash against the walls as best as they can. Things are tight and narrow, and maybe they could improve with more targeted concern and effort. But by not doing so, Bungee Jumpers feel like they’re doing something really important.
That pointed, specific importance peaks elsewhere. It’s having a rollicking, uber catchy song called “The Beach” (when you live on the G-D Third Coast) that shows both an awareness and a humor that demonstrates the band are both in on the joke of it all and still dedicated to the “gimmick.” And by the time they try full on, tone-deaf singing on “Buzz Off,” you really begin to see the layers and surprising nuance to the band’s output. Then, if it’s not already clear, the band uses the closing track, “Wrench,” to declare ad infinitum, “I know what I’m doing.” That could either be a recognition of their musical mastery or, like, showing their friends that at least half the band can do cartwheels.
Self-awareness is generally a vital key to great music; it’s how The Rolling Stones aren’t complete blowhards, or Iron and Wine isn’t just a band made for a million Garden State rip-offs. We want artists to wink at the audience, and show us that they can have something real and earnest but that’s still very much a show. In the case of Bungee Jumpers, it feels like we’re right there in the “studio,” watching every hacky joke penned, semi-sentimental moment built up, guitar strung and re-strung (often poorly), and hackneyed idea embraced with gusto. It’s all song and dance, dummy, and Bungee Jumpers use every tool. regardless of how meta it is, its levels of earnestness, or its tendency to feel derivative. It’s a gimmick and it’s so not, and they ride the line perfectly across Not Today… to comment, critique, engage, and generally titillate listeners.
It’s a process I forgot I really enjoyed in music: That everything can be serious and dumb, important and meaningless. That laughing or crying or thrashing about when faced with true pain or mere boredom are each an equally valid response. That music is this multifaceted tool for laughing at yourself and the world in such a way that you both affirm your own being and maybe even transcend (gross). That creativity isn’t just finding new ideas/sounds, but also doing what you can to further the gag and still sound hella dope. That working in the same spaces or ideas isn’t some “prison sentence,” but rather a chance to truly know a “room,” and thus maneuver it better every time. Mostly, though, it’s the kind of record that feels like coming home again – and finding goofy punks having torched your lawn.
Bless you, Bungee Jumpers, for saving this fella’s musical soul. Dweebs!