by Chris Coplan (@chriscoplan.bsky.social)
Over my years as a punk fan, a horrid tolerance has developed.
For years, I slammed 15-minute records, powering my molten core with their singular mix of brevity and intensity. But life and time have warped my very senses, and I've consumed so much else that it's become a case of ever-diminishing returns. Where I could once molecularly vibe with such records, I must now suck down a gallon of white-hot punk for the same effect.
Luckily, there's Consensus Madness. It's not so much that the Chicago-based crew offer a "cure" — rather, they make this "callous" feel like the whole dang point.
Across Endeavors – their 10-song, 17-minute debut – Consensus Madness deliver (according to their label, Iron Lung Records) a "love-letter to proto-punk, first wave, and hardcore punk as a whole." The fittingly-named opener "Attention" sets the corresponding baseline: frenetic, no frills punk that skirts the borders between hardcore oomph, egg-y vibes, and pogo intensity (with heavy emphasis on razor-sharp angst, a sneering undertone, and surgical precision). And, sure, there's stark enough variations throughout — "Fighting/Type A" notches the hardcore elements with supreme effectiveness; "One Oh 8" borders on skate punk (without feeling quite so indulgent); and "Living and Dying" makes egg punk more brutal, less abstract.
But Consensus Madness maintain essential consistency throughout, leaving any "deviations" to feel less like overt statements and instead reflective of sharply felt sentiments from the very moment of recording. If anything, it's singer Sarah (no surname provided; très punk) that balances a steadiness with this need for texture. Whether she's surly, pissed off, annoyed, agitated, etc., that sharp cadence, Midwestern-ian enthusiasm, and air of authority actually lend each song their own color and heft. Similarly, while Endeavors hits on a lot of the same familiar socio-political themes, an emphasis on the "monotony of the day-to-day grind and the general feelings of absurdity of the world as we know it" really matters. It helps bypass semi-cliched or half-cocked expressions to remain deeply engaging.
Ultimately, Consensus Madness' whole approach makes sense: if you're going to pen a sonic love letter, it makes sense to dutifully honor the apple of your eye. (Err, ear?) In that regard, Endeavors plays like a surly, smitten punk band rehashing all their favorite musical artifacts (like '90s Japanese garage and Dangerhouse) in a way that's inspired and thrilling, if not a smidgen familiar. Love isn't really about novelty or inventiveness; it's about commitment, understanding, and celebration. To love something, be it a person, band, sandwich, is to connect with it thoroughly and make it part of your very person. In that way, Consensus Madness honor their Illinois roots as hard workers, dedicating themselves to this sonic mish-mash like they were working the ol' Steel South Works circa 1973.
But there's also something else bubblin’ here. Because love may uplift one’s soul, but it demands a heavy toll. To dedicate yourself to something over a lifetime means toiling away, sometimes for years at a time. And while Consensus Madness never once sound as if they're locked helplessly into the grind — "Let's Go To War" is a spirited reinvention of Black Flag bangers with dazzlingly fresh cynicism and joy — there's no denying the life they've chosen for themselves creatively and sonically. They clearly feel the space to which they've locked themselves in, and it's as cozy as it is still cramped.
You hear that dynamic across the remaining tracks. "N.R.P." has them questioning who makes the rules and expectations, these existential queries that are natural for the band’s push and pull. Meanwhile, "New Bag (Money)" is wholly anti-capitalist, but even the band can admire those window dressings. However, closer "Everyday" sums it all up in the very first line: "Is this the first time/or the last time/it's all the same in my mind." There's a certain monotony involved in following even your brightest dreams, and you will always find yourself bashing against certain walls and questions as much as you're also singing toward your "ancestors."
Again, Consensus Madness don't seem to mind the struggle. If anything, they're not only aware of it, but tackle the "problem" in the best way possible: with passion and gusto despite it all. To revisit my totally genius callous-tolerance metaphor, they wear their own with a shimmering pride, and recognize that it was earned from a mix of hard work, sacrifice, and ample repetition. That to wear it is to have lived, absorbed, and disseminated the music and culture, and that not everyone has put in the time and blood to earn the honor of being this existentially punk.
That's what genuinely makes this LP shine. What could've been a derivative jaunt with other bands is a loving celebration of the power of this music as a critical lens, social unifier, and fixer of great wrongs. In turn, that pure devotion also serves as a kind of "dissection" of punk itself — a way to understand what goes into it, why we return to it endlessly, and what it all really means. But Consensus Madness wouldn't dare be so overtly analytical in their efforts; instead, they cling to what they love, having mastered it with a novel depth and fervor, and share it with us like dispatches of true romance (that also happen to be the right kind of venomous, too).
I can imbibe this record in less time than it takes to cook pasta, and yet it feels so much more robust and filling (even more than penne itself). Because it's never about novelty or being overly boxed in; it's about making the noise that speaks to who you are, who you want to be, and how the world should respond/emote accordingly. Consensus Madness have made a truly great punk rock record not because of the patches on their jackets or the records in their collection(s) — it's because they remembered that the things you love (and sometimes, occasionally hate/resent) regularly give you the fuel to burn down the world.
Maybe it takes effort to remember and reconcile my own "roots," but I'll be forever grateful to Consensus Madness for this sucking chest wound as a living reminder.