RONKER - Respect The Hustle, I Won’t Be Your Dog Forever

After their debut "Fear Is A Funny Thing, Now Smile Like A Big Boy" (2024), Ronker make no attempt to smooth out their edges or clean up their sound. If anything, "Respect The Hustle, I Won't Be Your Dog Forever" ups the ante even further: eleven tracks recorded live in the studio, a concept record about the frustration of hustle culture, and a blend the band themselves call speednoise (a risky label, but a surprisingly fitting one).

Their heaviness lies in simplicity. One leg is planted in abrasive Nineties guitars, the other in eighties-style reverb: post-punk, noise-rock, European hardcore, and that punk-gaze tension that makes them hard to pin down. They're not the first to tread this line, but they're among the few to do it with this kind of centrifugal urgency.

The opener "Tall Stories" lands like an immediate punch: brooding bass, crooked riffs, and Jasper De Petten running through at least four vocal registers in just a few minutes, from a hysterical scream to a hoarse spoken delivery (albeit more feverish and less controlled) that immediately brings to mind Idles. "Respect The Hustle" pushes even deeper, blending hardcore attitude with a crooked groove: here the concept comes through clearly, channeling rage against self-exploitation and a refusal to be tamed ("I won't be your dog forever" is anything but a subtle metaphor).

"No Sweat" is one of the record's most successful tracks: two-step speed, a chorus that sticks with you, and an almost liberating charge in its rejection of the algorithm and of toxic productivity. Right after, "Clear The Air" brings in more space and tension, proving the band can also play with less linear dynamics without losing momentum.

Then comes the real turning point, "Snuff". Here Ronker strip everything back: piano, horns, a crescendo that starts out grey and builds to a devastating emotional explosion. It's the album's most vulnerable moment, and also the one that leaves the deepest mark. Loneliness, post-tour disillusionment, the nihilism that creeps in once the adrenaline fades, it all converges into a climax that feels nothing like a cheap effect.

The second half of the record hits just as hard with "House Of Hunger", "Discodust" and "Deliver The Liver", a triptych with a different kind of awareness. The aggression is no longer just physical: it's thematic. Addiction, performative identity, emotional burnout. "Limelighter" layers choruses and almost deathcore riffs into a maximalist setup that pushes past excess. The closer, "Using Eyes", more atmospheric and restrained, might throw listeners off, but toning things down only strengthens the sense of a bitter epilogue.

Compared to the debut, the flow is more cohesive and the narrative arc more evident. The Flemish band shows it can weave in piano, horns and melodic openings without blunting its impact. Not everything is perfectly calibrated: at times the constant intensity risks flattening some of the mid-album tracks, and a few tricks get reused more than necessary, but Ronker don't just make noise, they organize it, load it with meaning, and turn it into a political and existential statement. In a European landscape crowded with noise and post-punk hybrids, they still manage to sound absolutely distinctive.

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26/02/2026