The thing about Turnstile is that they’ve never really belonged anywhere, which might be exactly why they belong everywhere. Four years after Glow On transformed them from Baltimore hardcore heroes into something approaching rock royalty, Never Enough arrives with the weight of impossible expectations. Not just from the industry or critics, but from a fanbase that spans teenage moshers and middle-aged music nerds who suddenly found themselves humming along to what was ostensibly a punk record.
This new album doesn’t so much answer those expectations as it sidesteps them entirely. Brendan Yates, now handling production duties himself, has crafted something that feels both inevitable and surprising. The opening title track practically winks at you with its similarity to Glow On’s “Mystery,” as if to say: here’s what you wanted, now let’s see where we actually go from here. It’s a clever bit of misdirection that immediately establishes the band’s refusal to be pinned down.
What follows is Turnstile at their most confident and contradictory. “Sole” tears out of the gate with the kind of urgency that made their reputation, Yates spitting lyrics about isolation over guitars that sound like they’re trying to claw their way out of the speakers. But before you can settle into familiar territory, “Dreaming” arrives with Latin horns and a reggaeton bounce that shouldn’t work but absolutely does. It’s the kind of move that would sink a lesser band, but Turnstile have always possessed an almost supernatural ability to make disparate elements feel cohesive.
The secret weapon here might be Daniel Fang’s drumming, which provides a rhythmic through-line that allows the band to venture into increasingly adventurous territory without losing their footing. When “Sunshower” pivots from breakneck hardcore into ambient jazz courtesy of Shabaka Hutchings’ flute, it’s Fang’s polyrhythmic foundation that makes the transition feel organic rather than jarring. The same principle applies throughout: no matter how far afield the band wanders, there’s always something anchoring these songs to the Turnstile universe.
Lyrically, Yates continues his exploration of isolation and connection, themes that have run through their work since the beginning but feel particularly pointed here. “This is where I wanna be, but I can’t feel a thing,” he admits during “Sunshower,” and it’s hard not to read this as commentary on the band’s current position. Success, it turns out, can be its own kind of prison. The seven-minute centrepiece “Look Out For Me” builds this tension beautifully, moving from crushing riffs to ethereal electronics while Yates processes the weight of visibility and vulnerability.
The album’s most fascinating moments come when Turnstile fully embrace their pop instincts. “I Care” jangles with the kind of melody that could have soundtracked a mid-2000s indie film, while “Seein’ Stars” (featuring barely audible contributions from Hayley Williams and Dev Hynes) channels The Police so directly you half expect Sting’s lawyers to come calling. These aren’t departures from the Turnstile sound so much as revelations of what was always lurking beneath the surface.
That said, Never Enough isn’t without its stumbles. Some of the ambient interludes feel more like exercises in showing range than necessary musical moments. When “Sunshower” dissolves into new-age meditation music, it’s hard to shake the feeling that the band is experimenting for its own sake rather than serving the song. The same goes for the glitchy electronics that pepper “Dull,” presumably the work of Charli XCX collaborator A.G. Cook. These moments don’t derail the album, but they do highlight the difference between evolution and indulgence.
The departure of founding guitarist Brady Ebert looms over the record in ways both obvious and subtle. Pat McCrory handles the six-string duties alone here, and while his playing remains sharp and inventive, there’s a slightly different texture to these songs. The guitar interplay that defined earlier albums has been replaced by something more singular, though not necessarily diminished. McCrory seems to relish the expanded space, crafting riffs that feel both familiar and fresh.
Production-wise, Yates has created something that feels lived-in despite its polish. Recording at Rick Rubin’s legendary Laurel Canyon studio, the band has captured a sound that’s both intimate and expansive. The guitars hit with appropriate weight, but there’s air around everything, space for the quieter moments to breathe and the louder ones to truly explode.
Never Enough succeeds because it doesn’t try to be all things to all people. Instead, it’s exactly what Turnstile wants to be in 2025: a rock band that happens to come from hardcore, uninterested in genre purity or scene politics. The album flows like a fever dream, songs bleeding into each other with the logic of memory rather than traditional structure. It’s an approach that won’t satisfy everyone, but it feels honest in a way that calculated moves never could.
In the end, Never Enough is less about where Turnstile fits in the current musical landscape and more about how they’ve created their own weather system entirely. They’ve managed something rare: growth that feels natural rather than forced, expansion that doesn’t sacrifice the core of what made them compelling in the first place. Whether that’s enough for everyone remains to be seen, but for a band that’s never really belonged anywhere, it’s exactly where they need to be.
NEVER ENOUGH is released on June 6 via Roadrunner.
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