A Notation of Grief with Crack Cloud

The Calgary post-punks on peace, purpose and predilection.

By Khagan Aslanov

Art by Sophia Pan

Published on March 13, 2026

For those keeping a close ear to the deeper recesses of post-punk acts, Crack Cloud would have first clocked around 2016. The band’s first EP’s, raw and a little feral, sporting squawking brass, droning electronics and twitchy palm-muted staccato riffs, were a throwback to a very specific time, when uncompromising bands like The Fall were cresting on the radio waves.

In the years since first emerging, the band’s sound has expanded considerably, pushing the boundaries of its post-punk scaffold into ever more experimental terrain. With each release, Crack Cloud has folded new ideas into the mix: kosmiche textures, industrial hip-hop rhythms, college indie, avant-jazz, glam, even harpsichords. In retrospect, a genre-fluid outfit like Thinking Fellers Union 282 feels like a more fitting reference point for the omnivorous Calgary-based group.

Now, with their new double album Peace and Purpose, Crack Cloud throw everything they’ve tried and learned into one seething pot — to blindingly great results. The record teems with fantastic tunes, packed with nuance and richly layered soundscapes, while continuing the band’s tradition of harrowing and gut-wrenchingly beautiful reflections on collective and individual frailty. Crack Cloud has always been that sort of band: smart, instinctual, and painfully human.

Crack Cloud was never conceived as a lifelong career path. The band’s primary architect, Zach Choy, initially started it as a primal outlet — a relief valve — and the rotating collective has reconvened over the years when the time and mental states of its members aligned. Even the decision to release a double album came down to something simple: there were enough songs to justify it.

“It was really all a stream of consciousness exercise for us over the course of that winter. There wasn’t much thought put into how the music would function or be delivered. There was little contrivance there. It’s after the fact that the music finds its formatting,” Choy explains.

That winter — in 2025 — appears to have shaped much of the album’s emotional core. The band has described the period as a “winter of grief,” one that informed and propelled the creation of Peace and Purpose.

“Everyone knows what grief is, and has experienced some form of it. To have an outlet to express is a blessing. And a curse sometimes. Art is interesting in that way. It provides space to contextualize what you’re going through and be candid with your emotions. But it can also become a self-perpetuating cycle. Sharing it with people is an act of solidarity, and a very vulnerable position to put yourself in. It’s a peculiar thing,” Choy reflects.

For longtime listeners, the album’s engagement with grief carries additional resonance. Crack Cloud initially formed as a rehabilitative outlet among people navigating addiction and mental health struggles. Various members later moved into frontline harm-reduction work, placing the group close to the realities of the opioid crisis and the state’s often inadequate support for vulnerable populations.

But life moves forward. Frontline work — much like addiction itself — takes a heavy toll, and members of Crack Cloud have since moved into new phases of their lives. Choy notes that while those early chapters were crucial, they are no longer the defining engine behind the band.

“We’ve been a functioning group for ten years. It’s surreal to say. The eco-system looks different to us. Responsibilities and philosophies change.”

Though Crack Cloud still functions as a kind of relief valve, Choy now approaches the creative process in a more pastoral and reflective way — no longer quite as pointedly curative. For many artists with addictive tendencies, creativity becomes a way of redirecting that same compulsive energy.

“For me, art means channeling a bit of mania. I have to disassociate when I’m working on something. It becomes a very insular experience, and it’s very jarring once you come out of it. It’s a symptom of a history of addiction and certain behavioural patterns that are now manifested in a controlled way. Having a fix or outlet that is more constructive, and hopefully positive for the world. There’s so much to dissect with mental health and art and creation. There’s a correlation to trace in how we interface and interact with things,” he expands.

If this sounds like a kind of compartmentalized removal, it’s because to some degree it is. Crack Cloud albums have often felt like private moments listeners have stumbled into — an aperture into the inner movements of someone’s soul.

Peace and Purpose was made in that same insulated spirit. Choy and company returned fully to their DIY roots, recording in a basement with salvaged instruments and a single microphone, immersing themselves in the process while cutting out the noise of everything else.

That approach also explains why the band has always kept the traditional musician lifestyle at arm’s length. Their distance from the machinery of the music industry — and reluctance to become fully absorbed by it — may be one of their greatest strengths and Choy’s biggest gesture of saving himself. Though the long gaps between records or tours might frustrate fans, those absences are essential to maintaining both perspective and mental health.

“Crack Cloud was never meant to be a functioning industry commodity. It’s not for me to live in that spectrum 100%. I need that juxtaposition of working and participating in society in a way that isn’t ego-driven. Just to feel good and whole,” Choy says.

The sheer beauty and scope of Peace and Purpose stands as the end result: another remarkable statement from a group that understands that any higher purpose usually begins somewhere deeply personal.