From deep in the heart of Trim, County Meath, a quiet rebellion is being forged in fuzz and feedback. Spearside — the psych-punk brotherhood of Oisín and Cian Walsh — have been quietly and chaotically laying groundwork for something ferocious. Their new four-track EP Hatchet Man, released June 27, 2025, is the clearest declaration yet: Spearside are not just part of the underground — they are the underground, electrified, sharpened, and humming with menace.
Recorded entirely in their DIY lair — outfitted with sacred relics like Oisín’s 1974 Revox tape machine — Hatchet Man is as much séance as studio session. The EP barrels through a dizzying mix of punk swagger, garage grit, and post-hardcore existentialism, yet manages to sound precise without ever feeling polished. If this is what the raw takes sound like, the debut album could set the walls on fire.
The title track “Hatchet Man” opens the EP like a thrown bottle. A snarling, twitchy beast, the song lurches with heavy rhythm and grimy guitar work, as Oisín howls like he’s exorcising something too dangerous to name. It recalls the feral power of early Black Flag crossed with the calculated chaos of Metz or The Jesus Lizard. This is not the type of song that asks for your attention — it pins you to the wall and demands it.
But don’t mistake Spearside for one-dimensional bruisers. The second track, “Planning Our Escape,” feels like a midnight drive with the windows down — until it swerves into something unexpectedly tender. With distorted guitars pulling back just enough to reveal a bruised melodic core, it flirts with the kind of aching noise-pop Dinosaur Jr. fans will cling to. There’s a hazy vulnerability here, wrapped in a wall of fuzz, that hints at a band unafraid of emotional whiplash.
“All The Same” turns the dial again. All wiry riffs, syncopated shouts, and mascara-streaked desperation, it’s new wave with a black eye. It somehow channels the melancholy gloss of The Cure, the twitchy drama of Wire, and the melancholy daydreams of early Ash — all while sounding unmistakably like Spearside. It’s a mosh-pit anthem for the misfits, the weirdos, and the ones who never quite figured out how to be okay with being okay.
Then comes the closer — and, in a way, the crown jewel — a cover of Gary Numan’s “Are ‘Friends’ Electric?” that’s as reverent as it is revolutionary. Spearside strip the synth-heavy pulse of the original and rebuild it with jangling 12-string guitars and thunderous, shoegaze-adjacent walls of sound. What begins as a ghostly, delicate homage builds to a sonic detonation — equal parts beauty and brutality. It’s a bold move, and they land it with flair. Numan’s icy detachment becomes something entirely new here — desperate, disoriented, and deeply human.
Across just four tracks, Hatchet Man captures the explosive creative chemistry of two brothers who have clearly been in musical lockstep since the womb. Spearside’s ability to careen from punk fury to heartfelt introspection without missing a beat is a rare gift, and it’s all executed with a clarity of vision that far outstrips most debut projects.
What makes this EP even more exciting is what lies beneath it — rumblings of a full-length album already taking shape in their studio-slash-laboratory. If Hatchet Man is the prelude, the album could be the main event we didn’t know we needed. Word from inside suggests it will include “Beach Boys-meets-Black Flag soundclashes” (yes, please) and more of the “sardonic thrashers” that Spearside seem to craft as effortlessly as breathing.
Spearside aren’t just pulling influences — they’re alchemizing them. You can hear echoes of Ty Segall’s lo-fi acid freakouts, the melodic melancholy of The Byrds, the confrontational nerve of Ulster punks, and the joyfully abrasive chaos of early Reatard — but Spearside’s sonic identity is their own. They don’t cosplay their heroes — they carve new territory with the knives handed down from them.
There’s something wonderfully contradictory about Hatchet Man. It’s noisy but thoughtful, loud but lonely, brutal but beautiful. It has the crackle of a band just beginning to understand what they’re capable of, which is arguably the most thrilling moment in any artist’s arc.
So here’s the takeaway: if you’re not listening to Spearside yet, now is the time. Get in before the album drops. Before the blogs catch on. Before the basement shows turn into sold-out chaos. Hatchet Man is your invite — scrawled in static and sealed in blood — to a band that’s gearing up to burn bright and burn fast.
By the time the world catches up, you’ll already be able to say: I was there when Spearside happened.
