Street Eaters Tap Into the Punk Zeitgeist with ‘Opaque’ » PopMatters

Street Eaters strive to create a compelling throwback. Themes like alienation, frustration, youthful abandon, and lust are merged with newer, more adult content.

Opaque Street Eaters Dirt Cult 5 September 2025

The punk movement that swept across the United States and the United Kingdom was a revolution based on nerve, power chords, and swagger. Under that paradigm, the 2025 record Opaque by Street Eaters strives to create a compelling throwback: a tactic that works for the majority of the album. Themes like alienation, frustration, youthful abandon, and lust are merged with newer, more adult content. The guitar-heavy “Tempers” speaks to the female audience, recalling a difficult birth through sparky guitar hooks and shimmering drums. 

The lyric for “Tempers” stemmed from drummer Megan March’s personal life: an emergency c-section brought her baby into the world. Meditating on her childhood, not forgetting the understaffed hospital that brought her to this point of pain, March’s words took a different slant. “It takes too long,” the vocals chime, chaos ensuing from the reverb-fuelled bass hook. Like Karen Carpenter before her, March sings and plays percussion at the same time: as comparisons go, it opens and ends there, as there is barely a melody to be heard amongst the propulsion here. The bombastic carnage primarily stems from the drums, but the guitars and bass also cut through the ear, creating a fusion based on fragments and fear.

The bouncy bass on “No Excuse” recalls Captain Sensible’s efforts on Damned, Damned, Damned; the same could be said for the arrangements as a whole, evocative of the 1970s in sonics and style. Street Eaters create a brittle soundscape: shards of guitars slicing through the airwaves. There are vast amounts of crisp chords ricocheting through “Spectres”, much as John No’s bass patterns bring a layer of countermelody. As words go, they align with the prescient pain audiences are experiencing in the 21st century: “The weight we carry: the weight you carry will break your back.” In an era of ChatGPT, war, and political uncertainty, the track taps into the zeitgeist. 

“Interventions” features a pummelling riff that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Ramones long player: short on flair, high on direction and point of attack. “I See You Now” opens with a triumphant drum solo that sounds like something out of a marching band; as a result, the guitars parade like bagpipes on their way to a state funeral. Hypnotic sounding, it allows the duetting vocals to paint a world where workers wash and go; a barrelling passage furthering the confusion and ennui. 

Yet it is to the trio’s credit that they never let up from the frenzy. It would be too easy to write cheery pop songs to distract audiences from the misery and degradation that surrounds them. A braver act is to submerge the listener into another layer of hell through simple, albeit esoteric, musicianship, much like Black Sabbath, the Sex Pistols, and Public Image Ltd. did before them. Street Eaters are just the latest act to enjoy the mania through the medium of music. 

Joan Toledo provides a mild relief with “Cuts”, a sweet riff countered by a buzzing, rushing bash and anxious-inducing vocals. “I don’t miss you anymore,” comes the vocal: a straight, no-holds-barred honesty that makes no attempt to sugarcoat the truth. That the music bows to the edifice of pop, and vocals ignore it, shows how committed the group are to this feistiness. Opaque sounds like it was done with as few takes as possible; Toledo, March, and No in close tandem as they work. There are a few flourishes, solos, or studio pyrotechnics: “The Point” in particular is rife with the indoor energy a pub rock band provides. 

In terms of words, Opaque‘s environment is largely dense. It speaks of people wishing to bury their hands under sand, in a world where desolate voices echo on and on ad infinitum. Indeed, it’s a terrain where the narrator asks anyone listening if they are “hysterical?” That is not the arbitrary point by a singer or songwriter seeking attention, but a scream from a committed, damaged artist. They’ve tapped into the zeitgeist with this one.

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