SPILL ALBUM REVIEW: FUCKED UP – YEAR OF THE MONKEY

FUCKED UP
YEAR OF THE MONKEY
TANKCRIMES

As the second chapter in Fucked Up’s ambitious Grass Can Move Stones trilogy, Year of the Monkey uses a sprawling mythological framework to explore themes of identity, growth, purpose, and acceptance. Beneath its cast of gods, monsters, and wandering heroes lies a meditation on transformation—one that feels as reflective of the band’s own creative evolution as it does the journey of its central characters.

From the opening note of “Looking for Heaven and Not Finding It” it’s clear that the band have evolved their storytelling ability even further. On this track the album’s themes of exploration and self-discovery are reflected not only in its narrative but in its music, which unfolds with a grandeur and sense of adventure that immediately establishes the scale of the journey ahead. The tracks rotating cast of vocalists gives real weight and personality to its sprawling narrative. This could easily be said about every song on this album. Damien Abraham’s restless performance as Monkey perfectly captures the characters ambition and growing obsession, while Tuka Mohammed brings a grounding warmth and patience to Good Goat. Among the guests, Destroyer’s Dan Bejar is particularly memorable. His unmistakable deadpan delivery lending an air of mystery and wisdom that lingers long after his appearance. Rather than feeling like cameos, each voice helps transform the album’s mythology into something vivid and tangible, allowing its characters to emerge as more than just figures in a fantastical tale. The chemistry is so natural, it’s as if they had all been members of the band for years.

Musically, Year of the Monkey leans into scale and dynamism more than immediacy, building its sound around a push-and-pull between hardcore intensity and something far more orchestral in spirit. Rather than relying on straightforward punk structure, the album often feels like it’s in motion—songs swell, fracture, and reform around shifting vocal leads and narrative turns, giving it a theatrical, almost cinematic quality.

There’s still plenty of the band’s trademark urgency at the core: distorted guitars hit with serrated force, drums drive everything forward with a sense of constant propulsion, and the overall mix retains that raw, physical edge Fucked Up is known for. But what sets this record apart is how often that aggression is opened up rather than contained. Passages breathe, expand, and allow space for melody, atmosphere, and contrast to take hold.
The result is a record that feels less like a collection of songs and more like a continuous unfolding—dense but deliberate, chaotic but carefully directed. It mirrors its mythic story line not just in lyrics, but in structure and sound: always moving, always evolving, rarely sitting still long enough to resolve cleanly.

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