What is humor’s place in art, if any? There have been plenty of bands centered around a singular personality: Frank Valli and the Four Seasons, Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit, Fitz and the Tantrums, Florence and the Machine, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Huey Lewis and the News. The list goes on, but it’s notable that this isn’t simply a recent trend – for decades, one person gets a name on the projects while everyone is designated to whatever plural-noun seems most interesting in the moment.

But Professor Caffeine? Surely that cannot be someone’s actual name nor job title, nor can it be argued that “The Insecurities” are somehow more dignified than say a “Machine” or “Heartbreaker”. And looking through titles on the band’s first LP and further back, including phases like “You’re My Mary Jane, Not My Gwen Stacy (I Won’t Accidentally Kill You)”, “Do a Barrell Roll!!!”, and “That’s a Chunky”, it’s fair to say that the gentlemen behind PC don’t live in some ivory tower where art and the human experience never intersect. Between covers of 80s songs and a love for comics and video games, PC do not adorn themselves with lofty new genres or any air of pretense. But like as has been the case for many authors and film directors, the band members recognize that sometimes a little comic relief doesn’t hurt.

That said, PC is not a joke in the slightest when it comes to musicality, nor do they have one single figurehead. Anthony Puliafico and Jay Driscoll’s guitar riffs oscillate between glam-era harmonic bits and modern prog and math-rock techniques with ease. Bass just as easily shifts between paralleling the guitar to its own level of spiraling low-end fury. Piano and synth parts aren’t something all that common in these types of genres, but rest assured they’re in no short supply and and complement the rest of the mix. Derek Tanch’s skills at the keys are more than simply ornamental – they shine especially during instrumental breaks, but the album wouldn’t have some of its jazz flavor with this. And like all technical genres, drums and percussion are locked in. Ken Dellot shuffles between Latin grooves and blast beats like it’s nothing. The vocals are perhaps the most consistent and singular element, a somewhat retro-flavored indie approach that seems to appropriately occupy a limited dynamic (a lack screaming, excessive falsetto, and so on). I also feel like this works well overall and provides a point of stability as the tracks shift instrumentally. Frontman/bassist Dan Smith has always had this certain consistency to his voice, and it’s no different this time around. He’s already got plenty going on with somehow managing to play bass under it all, so I have no qualms he’s not trying to throw in some RHCP pseudo-rap.

The band’s first EP dropped in 2016, with a few other EPs and singles following afterward. But this is the band’s first release worthy of being called an album, and it’s honestly been a long time coming. Thankfully, it’s as good a time as any to jump on the train as a new listener because this self-titled release shows the crew at their finest state.

“Brockton Panda” opens the record with overdriven guitar chords that launch into a moment of lush, melodic clarity before crashing back into the pounding rhythm of the into again. Of course, as with most PC songs, these motifs never linger too long – arpeggiated guitars and tapping burst through with ease. And as children chant, “Wake up, everybody! It’s time to start the record,” you’ll inevitably come to realize that you’ve only had an appetizer of what to expect.

“Wolf Fang Fist!” follows and is immediately faster and wilder than its predecessor. There’s a core sound that, taken instrumentally, wouldn’t be too far from djent in some ways. And somehow, Smith’s voice never feels inappropriate over the heaviness of the musical underbelly. There are some backing vocals and harmonies, and even an “Oh!” shout – and all of it flows well.

There are a few older singles that return here, including “Spirit Bomb” and “Dope Shades”. The former showcases the lighter side of PC, with a decent mix of pop, indie, and mall-emo flavors all mixed into a delicate cocktail that’s topped off with a decent amount of jazz. Don’t get me wrong – the band nails the more technical side of things. But it’s their anthemic, arguably more straightforward, tracks that often hit me the hardest (see “You’re Not My Mary Jane…” from earlier as a prime example). Here’s where the band really captures their fun and bright side, even if the lyrics aren’t quite so optimistic:

“Spirit Bomb” wrestles with sentiments of futility: putting forth effort into things that don’t seem to ever quite have the return, many times due to our own misplaced objectives. Thankfully, Smith’s voice is always pretty intelligible – but with so much going on at any given time, this is an album that’ll take a couple listens for the full gravity of the lyrics to set in.

The latter of these earlier singles follows two songs after, opening with smooth, sparkly piano and plenty of precise rhythmic effort from the entire band. And while the vibe is a sort of “wintery day lounge” feeling, bass still is surprisingly punchy. It’s not quite the earworm that “Spirit Bomb” is, but it’s not far off. And when things speed up toward the end for a bit before entering a prolonged instrumental, it’s not hard to see the influence video game soundtracks have had on PC’s songwriting.

Lyrically, there’s a picture of the fallout of a relationship and the desire to reconcile. The imagery of burning up books and photos is particularly striking, from both a literal and metaphorical level. Then there’s the angle of retroactively framing the relationship based off the way it ended. While we don’t get the full specifics, chances are you can relate. Maybe a friend flies off the handle one time and you’re left wondering if maybe your friend was always an angry person and you had just missed it. By the end of the song, there isn’t any clear sense of closure. There’s more of a sense of “I don’t really know what to do with this, but I don’t think being alone is right.”

“Unreal Big Fish” is a double-entendre pun of a title that plays into themes of modern distortions of reality. Take the following lines:

Much like the rest of the album, “Unreal Big Fish” takes a magnifying glass to our fragmented social experience, emphasizing how relationships (and society as a whole, arguably) becomes shaky when built on the foundation of things that aren’t actually real. Musically, it’s perhaps less adventurous than some of its counterparts, but it’s not hard to see why PC have chosen this track as their Tiny Desk submission given its sing-along friendly bits and overall accessible flavor.

The latter half of the album follows in similar steps to the former: two previous singles (“That’s a Chunky”, “Make Like a Tree (And Leave)”) and several new tracks which are just as wild regarding their genre-hopping.

“Astronaut” is a personal favorite, somewhat reminiscent of acts like The Receiving End of Sirens, Saosin, and other 00s post-hardcore noteworthies. Driscoll and Puliafico do their fair share of the heavy lifting here. But the track is segmented in a way that the band navigates styles that range from Chevelle to Green Day to Periphery. The ending is particularly striking to me, fading to a mostly-acapella close with two intertwining vocal parts. It kind of feels like a microcosm of the band’s sound, wrapped tightly together.

“That’s a Chunky” explores Smith’s bass chops and even incorporates some slight screaming. It’s a certified bop according to my extensive grading criteria. Tanch’s piano parts are particularly gorgeous here. At nearly six minutes long, the track lives up to its title. And let’s not forget “Make Like a Tree (And Leave)” and its similar focus on bass. One of the best things to accompany this album has been the band’s playthrough videos that singular make me want to quit every instrument I play.

Album closer “Mr. Sleep” is a sort of haunting ballad that has a theatrical quality to it. The first part of it is stripped-back and simple, playing to a certain powerful minimalism. Apart from one particular frenetic moment where the whole band joins in, there’s little in terms of drums and bass. It’s an interesting choice for a closer that opts for a softer fade than a momentous crescendo. Personally, it’s not my favorite creative decision. Some people might prefer to wind down after the organized chaos of everything that came earlier, but the lack of rhythmic intensity does make it feel like an outlier. Now, that’s not to say it’s a bad song – in fact, it’d be easy to imagine it used in a film of some sort. And conceptually, the idea of “reaching the end” or “going to sleep” pairs with the sort of dark lullaby vibe at play. But it’s frankly just a bit left-field from what you’d typically expect from the group.

On that note, it is worth diving into the lyrics a bit more. I’m not sure this is TRUE concept album, but there’s certainly plenty of recurring motifs – motifs that frankly make the children in the first track go from innocent to heartbreaking. At risk of not spoiling too much or inserting too much into the story, it’s fair to say the album tackles the way we prioritize possessions and image over public – and the consequent fallout and regret that follows. There are attempts to make thing right, only to realize some things can’t be salvaged. There’s loneliness, pain, and dramatic intrigue. And there doesn’t seem to be a happy ending for our protagonist – just lessons for the rest of us. Let me just say – wow. PC is certainly not the first band to tackle these topics, but I can simply say this wasn’t what I was expecting heading into things. Somehow, they’ve managed to fit all of this into an album that never feels too whiny, brooding, or self-deprecating. But for a band known for light-hearted antics, the songs hold plenty of lyrical gravity, creative wordplay (“But then your fall came…” on “Make Like a Tree”, for instance) and common ideological threads. And none of these ideas are too abstract, a trap many prog-flavored bands commonly fall into.

Overall, I’d simply say this album is impressive. PC do a great job straddling the line between technical and accessible, something I particularly enjoyed from Overslept’s LP With or Without. “Wolf Fang Fist!” is an early album favorite, “Spirit Bomb” is welcomed back with open arms, “Astronaught” is essential listening, and most of the singles all have their own delectable moments. “Oat Roper” reminds me of Dillinger Escape Plan’s “The Widow” meets arcade music. There is no part of the record that feels imbalanced. And lyrically, it’s definitely a bit of a tragic tale dressed across 11 tracks that manages to be cohesive without being too esoteric. Based on just this album alone, I can easily imagine PC sharing the stage with pop punk bands and technical metal acts alike. The instrumental breaks feel akin to jam sessions, highlighting each player one by one. It’s truly a cooperative effort on all fronts, and it never feels like there is one single lead instrument. Few bands can boast a debut LP of this caliber, but these gentlemen already have a strong contender for year-end lists.

Professor Caffeine & The Insecurities is:

Dan Smith – Bass/Vocals
Derek Tanch – Keyboards/Piano
Anthony Puliafico – Guitars
Ken Dellot – Drums
Jay Driscoll – Guitars