The Canadian hinterlands are often thought of in terms of an unforgiven tundra, endless empty miles of prairies, or the heart of a landmass that continues to vanish over the horizon. But deep in the undifferentiated steppes of suburbia lies a different kind of grey, oppressive, suffocating hinterland – an unimaginative, middle-of-the-road, middle-of-the-pack, ambitionless miasma from which few emerge with any kind of remaining shine. From this hopeless mess, Chastity strides forward, resilient fists held high, their hearts beating hard in their throats, with their self-titled latest release and fourth since 2018 as a clarion call for anyone who’s a little different, anyone who welcomes their feelings at their rawest, and anyone who dreams a little bigger than their depressing, podunk exurb allows.

Straddling the line between Midwest emo, pop punk, and hardcore, Chastity’s trademark sound is fully present on their latest record. Unlike the previous three, however, band leader Brandon Williams writes solely from personal experience, flaying himself in search of absolution. He’s even unafraid to soften up at times with the country-flirting (or townie emo, as he calls it) “Offing.” Chastity simultaneously feels like a diary and a manifesto, deeply personal but with enough lived experience that anyone can find themselves — and a reason to live to fight another day — on the 13-track whirlwind. Play this one loud and know that it gets better.