You know the feeling when you catch a great song playing faintly from a stranger’s apartment, whip out Shazam, and hope it’s not just a generic TikTok remix? Against all odds, the algorithm delivers, and you’re pulled into a whole new world of music. That thrill of discovery is exactly what stumbling upon Nurse Joy feels like: a true find when you least expect it. At first, listening through Nurse Joy’s can I say something…? is like eavesdropping on a boozy confessional—a raucous ramble of tears and ticklish giggles in musical form. The Boston-based band, composed of Mae Flux (voice, guitar), Jeremiah Cossa (keyboards), Maren Worcester (guitar), Lex Behr (drums), Xavier Niskey (bass), and Luca Fern (vocals), has whisked together an entertainingly sloppy soiree of eggy punk. But enough with the annoying alliteration.
Dammit.
Anyway, people say you’ve got to break a few eggs to make an omelette. In a similar fashion, this album’s not perfect, and it’s not pretty, but it is tasty, and the kind of noisy comfort you can savor every day.
Nurse Joy knows how to reel the listener in, and not just with their Pokémon-based name. The frantic, sweaty rawness of “Mynserva’s Song 2” is a fitting introduction to what the rest of this aggressively cerebral project is preparing you for. Sudden, quick-fire bursts of guitar tremolos intersperse 3-chord powerthroughs, carried along deftly by the relentless thudding of the stripped-down drums. On repeated listens, you’ll notice these millisecond melancholic moments, combined with introspective lyrics like, “It’s not about the walls we move within, it’s who you let inside”—perhaps highlighting the importance of relationships over physical circumstances. This adds a cerebral layer to the listening experience, revealing the band isn’t just following a run-of-the-mill punk playbook. Instead, they’re drawing from their own learnings, offering something more profound.
But just as quickly, the moment fades—like a painful thought shoved aside—and the song slips back into its distorted frenzy. Already, you can tell Nurse Joy isn’t as deeply entangled in the genre as, say, Billiam’s Jump to 3D. While Billiam and co. are more caterwauls and cuckoos, this band encompasses a wider range of sounds, from early 2000s punk to itty-bitty bits of bossa.
Any lingering echoes of calm are brutally shattered soon after, however. The ears are still ringing from Mae’s previous primal scream by the time “Eclipse” shoots its sonic glare through the speakers. The song begins with a Joy Division-esque bassline, drowning in a chorus pedal as a few loud but sombre guitar notes wail away. There’s a cool little interlude featuring a wonky synth, or perhaps it’s a guitar whammy shifting high and low, before the words “I’ve been feeling like a mentat-ghola, had a computer brain since they brought me back” pour out of Mae’s voice box. If those words ring a bell, it’s because Mentat-Ghola references Dune; specifically, a human-computer clone with prescient abilities. And if you’re complaining about the misnomer (it’s actually Ghola Mentat)—hey, what is artistic license for? As for the literal meaning of the lyrics, it may have to do with the burden of knowing what’s to come, or being able to tell what the future holds using hints from the present. The record repeatedly explores these themes of authenticity versus the weight of knowledge, ultimately concluding that both require comforting, oftentimes difficult truths. As for Nurse Joy—going from Pokémon references to Frank Herbert, the writer of Dune, is an interesting choice, but not very egg punk of them. Then again, maybe the yolks on us.
Post that, there’s Cossa’s synth work on “Mob Wife,” which is truly enjoyable all the way from start to finish thanks to its irreverent inventiveness. Beginning with the theremin-like futurism underscoring the introductory guitar tremolo, to following the midway vocals with a poppy synth patch, and finally weaving through the samba-ish finish with a flutey etude. In fact, the transition at 0:50 is a standout section of the track, featuring Behr’s bossa chops on full display, interpolating with a bouncy bassline and the aforementioned synth-flute hybrid. The song’s title could be interpreted as rejecting the idea of being a passive partner or “trad wife,” given the slightly ambiguous lyrics “I don’t wanna be no mob wife, I’d rather be the other woman.” By rejecting the “mob wife” stereotype, she’s adding an independent, feminist twist to the song, even if being the “other woman” is problematic in its own way.
There’s a layer of anti-establishment rhetoric to can I say something…?, including the subversion of typical norms, not just lyrically, but musically as well. For example, it’s rare to encounter an intro that invites continual listening, and rarer still for the bassline to be the reason. However, Niskey appears to have mastered that art on “Rabbits,” playing an unremitting hook that glides all across the neck of what appears to be a Danelectro Longhorn bass, a strange but memorable-looking implement. The jerky, staccato call-and-response of the guitars—a common occurrence throughout the album—combined with the energetic drumming, is reminiscent of the Arctic Monkeys’ Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not; slightly less gritty but wholly embodying that unpolished, polemical temperament. Going down the rabbit hole of conspiracy seems to be the essence of this song, as Mae’s shifty, almost detached voice sings, “Even if the world’s a simulation, that ain’t gonna change how I live my life.” Considering the QAnon-ed state of the (flat??) Earth right now, one can’t tell if the lyrics are serious or not. Either way, it reflects a dissonance between belief and delusion, continuing the theme of truth-seeking while highlighting the pitfalls of widespread disinformation.
Just when things start to get interesting, your fancy is piqued, your tympanums are tickled, the band comes in with a miss. “Emotional Juke” feels like a mass of sounds cobbled together, distinctly lacking the kind of chaotic cohesion punk is known for, and that the rest of the songs on this project build up to. The ideas are there, but it feels like they didn’t commit enough to make something memorable. At the end of the day, you have to spend more than a minute to make a beautiful mess, and longer still to tell the difference between a Pollock and a ketchup splatter.
Fret not, though, because at over 3 minutes, you don’t have to sit through much. And hey, you might even enjoy the song. Art is subjective after all, and the next tune definitely makes up for any earlier hiccups. “Syncopation not sycophants” should be on a t-shirt, and the song “Without Witness” could be the motto’s torchbearer. That’s because the sheer dynamic dovetailing of the instruments at the start makes you want to twiddle your feet like a kid on a park bench. Nurse Joy really locked in and cast out on this track, making heads bob with the buildup in the process. There’s some acid-house synths throughout, which is unusual for the genre, but these guys enjoy pulling out surprises from their nurse’s cap. “Love or limerence,” Mae drones, questioning human nature’s capacity for genuine care, compared to its propensity for infatuation. The question lingers in the air for longer than it lasts on record, working as a fitting prelude to the closing track.
Ending with a sadboi little ditty of a song rather than a whole emotional sonata encapsulates the succinct essence of Nurse Joy’s music. Frills when needed, but finality should be swift and sudden. This is all, of course, about the last song, “Nurse Joy.” It’s a quick and introspective pop-punk piece, a highlight of Behr’s raw, aggressive drumming, which makes its point with power. It’s like the band was trying to distance itself from the album by this point, like a quick and unextended breakup so everyone’s feelings get spared. No big finish, just an understanding that things are over.
There are some giddying highs on can I say something…?, such as Mae’s haunting howl of “Cigarette burn on my new tattoo, I’m scared of change cause I’m afraid to lose you” on “Without Witness.” That bit itself is a goose-pimpler, cutting through the blare like a bonesaw. Additionally, the bass and drum work are par excellence—creative, caustic, and high fucking octane. Clearly, they’ve got talent oozing out of their fingertips, and somehow, the production makes room for each member’s clarity, despite the garage nature of the whole thing. The band doesn’t wrap things up in a silken bow and bright packaging, opting instead to leave the leaking box of goodies on your doorstep. And you know what? It’s cool they don’t seem to care what you think. So if you’re feeling kind of crazy and suffering from decay, Nurse Joy’s around the corner with a decoction, a defibrillator, and a big ‘ol syringe that’ll snap your vitals right back.
