PUSCIFER - Normal Isn’t

Nothing is normal these days. And there's nothing truly normal either about the way Maynard James Keenan keeps renegotiating his own artistic language. With "Normal Isn't", their fifth studio effort, Puscifer choose a more clearly defined trajectory than in their recent past: less electronic scattering, more aesthetic cohesion, for a declared return to post-punk and goth coordinates that become a load-bearing structure rather than a mere suggestion.

If "Existential Reckoning" (2020) worked within a sci-fi synth-pop imagery, at times fascinating but also conceptually rigid in its 8-bit paranoia, here the guitars move back to center stage. The sound is more physical, more nervy, often more direct. And yet, this very increase in compactness highlights one of the unresolved issues of their latest phase, namely Mat Mitchell's guitar tone (so recognizable that it becomes, at times, monotonous). It's a trademark, sure, but the insistence on certain saturations and rhythmic interlocks tends to flatten the impact of some tracks. At the heart of the record, though, when tunings and textures turn more oblique, the album truly breathes.

The declared intention was to recapture the spirit of ‘80s dark clubs, those Eighties nights when post-punk wasn't a revival but a necessity. The influences come through as an imprint rather than a textbook citation: there's a sense of structural gloom, a gothic tension running through tracks like "Pendulum" or "Bad Wolf" without ever slipping into caricature. The result is a surprisingly cohesive work, arguably the first that can be clearly assigned to a single category.

The opener "Thrust" makes things clear right away: raw nerves, jagged dynamics, a Maynard who's more restless than furious. It's probably his most jagged performance in years, but don't expect Tool-style roars. Here the vocals sit in low registers, often spoken or declaimed. For some it'll read as a deliberate expressive choice, for others as an increasingly structural limitation. The vocal line leans toward droning, toward obsessive phrasing rather than full-blown melody. In this sense, Carina Round's presence becomes crucial: when she's given real space, the record gains depth and dynamics. When she's confined to counterpoint, though, there's a certain frustration, since her potential is only partly explored.

"A Public Stoning" works precisely because of its play of contrasts: restrained verses, a chorus that erupts with controlled violence, a pulsing bass and synths that bite. "Self Evident", with its venomous sarcasm, is the moment when the project's trademark irony claws its way back in: surgical production, an almost industrial tension masking writing that's more complex than it seems on first listen. It's one of those tracks that sound simple but are actually built on razor-precise interlocking parts.

Not everything holds up equally well, though. "Seven One", despite heavyweight guests like Tony Levin and Danny Carey, remains more interesting on paper than in its final execution: the idea of narrative and alternate layering is fascinating, but within the album's overall economy it comes across as a stretched-out interlude, more workshop experiment than fully realized song.

But the real strength of "Normal Isn't" lies in its production. The album demands headphone listening: the bass is full-bodied, the drums (often layered) work across different planes, the synths create a constant emotional haze. It's a sound that at times feels lab-built, dark-pop-rock calibrated down to the millimetre, yet with a distinct personality. Nothing here really sounds like Puscifer, and that remains a merit.

Thematically, the album is pervaded by a more compact sense of disillusionment than in the past. Polarization, toxic masculinity, propaganda, digital numbing: there's no need to throw stones, but rather to watch the pendulum swing. The message isn't cathartic, it's aware. There's no immediate redemption, just an invitation not to normalize the anomaly.

Still, there's a lingering sense of a project that, while choosing a more defined direction, risks a certain self-referentiality. Puscifer were born as a space of absolute freedom, unpredictable by nature. Here the identity is strong, but less surprising. It's a solid, often intense work, with some genuinely successful moments, though not always living up to its own ambitions.

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25/02/2026