Never Rewind by Cuewrath

This album… it’s about the grind, really. The kind that chews you up and spits you out, but leaves you with something if you survive. We took that feeling, that backstage grit, and poured it into *Never Rewind*. It’s not some grand fantasy; it’s a tightly wound coil of a record, built from the rattling of chain on metal and the low thrum of a stage just waiting to betray you. You get to hear the story of a stagehand, beaten down by the same damn show night after night, until he figures out the only way out is straight through.

The music? We stripped back some of the chaos from before. Made it leaner, sharper. There’s a control here, a kind of disciplined force in the baritone lines and the way the chain percussion hits, like echoes bouncing around a dusty, empty theatre. It lets the quiet moments breathe, the ones where doubt whispers just under the catwalks, before the work-lights hit you full in the face. It’s got that raw Fugazi tension, a Converge kind of arterial rush, but there’s a new focus to it, a strange liturgy turning work tools into instruments. We used contact mics on counterweight pulleys to get those chain showers, and messed with the house safety bulbs side-chained to the kick so every thump hits your eyes as much as your ears.

The narrative is pulled right from torn cue sheets and those mumbled conversations you hear over comm headsets. That moment, when he finally bellows “I won’t rewind”—and the whole damn auditorium screams it back? That’s not just a chorus. It’s the sound of something breaking free. You’ll hear it, deep in the record, when every work lamp blinks with the kick drum. Later, there’s this duet of cracked screams, mixed with a children’s choir piped in through those comms – it hits you. Hits you in the gut. It’s a moment designed to linger, to make you think about how we remember, how we push through. When the ropes jam, mid-set, and the vocalist is flying off course, you feel that panic, that desperate hack of the hemp, the sacrifice to keep the damn show going. And when it’s all over, when the stage is dark save for one buzzing ghost bulb, there’s still that hum, that quiet resolve. It’s not about perfection. It’s about sticking with it, even when everything tells you to quit. This record, it’s proof of life, of scars earned, of moving forward no matter what. It’s us, trying to say something real, something that sticks with you long after the house lights come up.

Cuewrath: We started with a scream. Our noise tears at your insides. It's not pretty. It's real.