SINKR no sign of light

SINKR

No Sign Of Light

24.10.25

(self-release)

Manchester-based alt-rock tunesmiths continue their fine run of form with the release of a chaotic and emotionally intense second album, No Sign Of Light.

The overall tone references a sweet spot between the late-80s and early-90s where guitar-based bands had a certain freedom to build their own sound without fear of having to fit into a certain category. The rise of independent labels and DIY networks meant these bands had time to grow, and a discerning audience to support them. Ironically, the 'alternative' moniker became somewhat of a catch-all term for anything that crossed genre boundaries or was punk-adjacent in terms of spirit, if not necessarily sound, and was soon beaten into formulaic predictability across the decade that followed. SINKR sound like a band out of time, with an ability to blend a range of styles, feelings and textures with an authenticity and confidence that means they sound like nobody else but themselves, 

To open proceedings, the trio dial up their punk background to unleash merry Hell on Gaussian, a sneering slice of serrated guitar riffs, overdriven bass and restless drumming. This isn't just a smash and grab job though, as the instrumental dynamic pushes and pulls against itself to leave space for a schizophrenic vocal that flips between Corgan-esque croon and spiteful scream all in the space or one line.

The speed, power and looseness of punk infuses the twelve songs here, but the band harness this energy across diverse styles, such as the poppy Tell Me If You Think It's Not Right and Midwest emo of The Drowning Room, a song that feels like a natural extension of their Sedona EP sound. 

The performances are muscular and controlled, leaving machismo and aggression at the door in favour of a desire to connect and express the incommunicable. This battle permeates the lyrics, which deal with internal frustrations in an endearingly open manner. You can trace this across the bouncy rhythms of Killing Time, and the seemingly cold post-punk of Radio City's Burning Down, which evokes Manchester's industrial past across the intro and verses, but opens up into a warm and welcoming chorus that's at odds with it's titular refrain. 

Lead single Decoder is perhaps the archetypal SINKR song, playing out like a sped-up Supersonic performed by Black Francis and co. It has churning and chunky chordal riffs, off-kilter arpeggios, squealing lead guitar, and a yearning quality to the vocal that seeks to find something that is tantalizingly just out of reach or understanding. 

The band make a statement for themselves on 56, a rocker that distills the SINKR approach into a sub-minute blast that damns blind positivity and leans towards negative dialects in terms of world view. It's a perfect setup for the epic finale of Strangers, a stretched-out funeral march that lays bare the emotional fallout of a dead relationship. The first-half is a painfully raw and reflective dirge, with subdued droning guitar providing the backdrop for the diary-like lyrics, before whipping into the brutal kiss-off of, 'I wish I'd never met you. I wish I could forget you.' 

SINKR are a band whose records reward active and repeated listens, revealing new angles and colours with each spin. Thoughtful and full of purpose, No Sign Of Light is gripping listen that demands attention.