Balancing quietly on a marble ledge
The sun is high to ponder my demise
Not another soul need be involved
My bruised, broken body’ll be a surprise

The crowning step brought on a heart attack
Covering the sidewalk, blood fills in the cracks

All that trouble just to
End up talking to myself
All that trouble just to
End up single and alone

Seek an evil
Breathe all evil
Wreak of evil
I am evil

Naked in a daze, it’ll be my last disgrace
Missing in action for how many days
Taste of cold steel flushing my mouth
I’ll stain my brains all over the house

Heard the birds how they love to sing
Hammered the cannon, repainted fucking
Everything

All that trouble just to
End up talking to myself
All that trouble just to
End up single and alone

Seek an evil
Breathe all evil
Wreak of evil
I am evil

You look at me
Like you don’t know who
I fucking am
Or used to be

Criticisms

All That Trouble doesn’t so much begin as it erupts—like a faulty circuit finally giving up and spraying sparks into the air. From the first bar, it’s clear you’re not being invited into a neatly defined genre exercise; you’re being shoved headfirst into a volatile collision of styles and battling musical ideas. The refreshingly non-conformative approach is on full display here, stitching together the off-kilter sway of alternative rock with the breakneck velocity and unhinged snarl of punk.

The result feels less like a fusion and more like a controlled malfunction—the musical equivalent of random heart palpitations, lurching unpredictably between calm and chaos, never letting your pulse settle.

What makes the track especially gripping is its refusal to sit still. Those quick, sudden tempo changes don’t politely signal their arrival—they snap. One moment you’re dragged through a sludgy, chest-rattling groove, guitars dragging their heels in grimy, distorted arcs; the next, you’re flung into a sprint, drums rattling with a barely-contained urgency. It’s disorienting in the best way, keeping listeners permanently off-balance, as if the song itself might veer off the rails at any second.

Over this restless foundation, the vocal delivery acts as a kind of detached narrator to the chaos. There’s a deliberate disengagement in the performance—almost apathetic on the surface—but it’s laced with enough punk attitude to feel like a smirk in the middle of a riot. That contrast is key: the voice doesn’t try to overpower the instrumental bedlam, it joins in on the chaos, making the surrounding noise feel even more volatile by comparison. Meanwhile, the guitars spit out dirty, serrated riffs that help inject the track with even more grit and attitude.

As is the case with many a tcr! tune, lyrically, the track leans into darker territory, mirroring the sonic aggression with themes that feel fractured and restless. There’s a sense of internal disarray that matches the music’s structural unpredictability—nothing resolves cleanly, nothing offers comfort. And that’s precisely the point. All That Trouble doesn’t aim to soothe; it aims to jolt, to provoke, to carve out its own space in a particularly musically violent way. It’s not genre-defying—it’s genre-rejecting, kicking against any attempt to neatly categorize it.

—Andre Avanessian