The Offspring
– Supercharged
Call it what you want—late-career shot in the arm, a jolt from the past, or just another lap around the sun for Southern California’s most cheerfully juvenile punks. But Supercharged doesn’t limp. It doesn’t even walk. It sprints in Vans and flips off traffic on the way. The Offspring aren’t trying to reinvent themselves here, and thank God for that. Instead, they tighten their grip on the sugar-high chaos they’ve always wielded like a chainsaw carved from pop hooks and frat-party sarcasm.
Dexter Holland still sounds like he gargles Red Bull and frustration, Noodles’ guitar still rips with just enough gloss to skate the edge of mall punk, and the songs? They’re lean, loud, and loaded with the same bratty charm they’ve always served hot. But there’s also an edge of sincerity peeking through the choruses—aging punks who’ve seen a few more news cycles and probably felt the walls close in once or twice. It doesn’t weigh them down, though. It propels them.
And while it never reaches for the cultural throat like Smash or Americana, Supercharged earns its title. It’s quick, catchy, and fun as hell. The kind of record that makes you want to jump in your car, roll the windows down, and scream into the freeway. Not because everything’s fine, but because shouting still feels good.
Choice Tracks
Make It All Right
This one punches out of the gate with that classic Offspring bounce—half desperation, half defiance. It’s the album’s beating heart, an infectious anthem that feels like a last-ditch attempt to stay grounded while everything spins out. The chorus is sticky in the best way, and Dexter rides it like a teenager with a grudge and a guitar.
Okay, But This Is the Last Time
Laced with snark and melodic precision, this track captures their trademark mix of angst and sarcasm. It’s like a break-up letter written at 2 a.m. in all caps. Quick, punchy, and over before you know it—but you’ll want to hit replay.
Come to Brazil
A tongue-in-cheek punk blast aimed at meme culture and relentless fandom. It’s fast, ridiculous, and self-aware enough to make fun of itself before you can. Pure Offspring chaos.
Supercharged doesn’t try to rewrite punk history. It just slaps on fresh gas, grins wide, and burns rubber straight into your ears. If you ever loved this band, they’re still right here—louder, older, but no less ready to set the world on fire, even if just for three minutes at a time.