B-Side Guys

Sean Dowling’s opening salvo—”Painted red / Born to feel dead”—arrives with the force of a confession shouted across a crowded room, yet somehow the music beneath it suggests everyone should start moving their feet. This contradiction sits at the heart of “Paste,” where Honey Daze has weaponized the uncomfortable truth that our darkest moments often occur against the most incongruously cheerful backdrops.

The Yonkers quintet has engineered something genuinely unsettling here: a post-hardcore track that borrows Johnny Marr’s jangly DNA while maintaining the crushing weight of personal alienation. Mathew McGinnis and Frank Vela’s guitar work creates a sonic environment where beauty and brutality don’t just coexist—they enhance each other’s impact. The jingly melodic passages feel almost mocking when juxtaposed against Dowling’s visceral exploration of feeling perpetually out of place.

Dowling’s vocal performance embodies the band’s stated philosophy of peaks and valleys, seamlessly transitioning between melodic vulnerability and desperate screaming without ever feeling calculated. His delivery carries the exhaustion of someone who’s discovered that paranoia and self-awareness often occupy the same psychological space. The way he navigates the track’s dynamic shifts suggests a vocalist who understands that emotional authenticity requires both restraint and complete abandon.

What elevates “Paste” beyond typical genre exercises is its commitment to tonal dissonance as an emotional strategy. The elevator music outro McGinnis mentions isn’t just clever—it’s devastating, transforming the song’s final moments into something that feels like watching your own breakdown from a dissociative distance. Producer John Naclerio captures this dichotomy perfectly, allowing each element to retain its distinct character while serving the song’s larger exploration of alienation.

The track succeeds because it refuses to resolve its central tension. Instead of offering catharsis or hope, “Paste” creates a space where feeling like “a sore thumb” becomes almost celebratory. Honey Daze has crafted an anthem for the perpetually uncomfortable, proving that sometimes the most honest response to existential dread is to make it danceable.