Let’s get one thing straight: the rock scene has been begging for something that doesn’t only knock on the door—it kicks the damn thing down. Enter The Stolen Moans, the Los Angeles and Dublin DIY trio that answers that call and blasts through it with a 13-track artillery barrage of noise, nerve, and rebellion. Their debut full-length, “Elbows Don’t Have Eyes”, released on July 11, 2025, via Compact Egg Machine, is a riot grrrl zine vomited through a broken amp, a surrealist manifesto set on fire, and a middle finger to the mundane. This record is loud, it’s smart, and it’s here to leave a mark.
From the jump, the band makes it clear they’re not joking. The album opens with “Prelude (TC),” a short but sinister one-minute tease that feels like the ignition of a rusty engine before it roars into “The King of Claws.” This track is a feral, feline-themed stomper with a riff that digs in like claws and a chorus that’s catchy yet completely unhinged. Imagine Motörhead jamming with the B-52’s at a haunted cat circus. Yeah. It works.
This is a band that genre-hops not because it’s trendy, but because they’ve got something to say—and they’ll use whatever sonic weaponry gets the point across. A minute you’re neck-deep in the punk fury of “Damned Sweet,” a track that’s all swagger and snarl, complete with jukebox-rock vibes and a hook that’s, well, damned sweet. The next, you’re thrown into the moody, slow-burn tension of “Falling Into,” with dark romance and emotional weight.
The Stolen Moans are a three-piece, and each member brings their own brand of anarchy to the table. Vivian, Chane, and Eric (the “folder,” drums—the structural force) sound like they’ve spent years sharpening this in dive bars and damp basements. The attraction is deep: vocals shift from guttural punk shouts to ethereal sighs; drums hit like a wrecking ball one second and groove like a heartbeat the next; guitars screech, soothe, and sear in equal measure. This is a unit. A tight, loud, gloriously messy unit.
The album is a treasure trove of wit, rage, and surreal beauty. “MORE” hungers for something real in a world full of hollow expectations, while “Bard-Inspired Treachery, Chaos & Heartbreak” takes Shakespearean-level drama and filters it through a punk lens. And yes—things like workplace misogyny, feline royalty, anarchist art, and romantic yearning are front and center. This album’s got brains and balls, and it isn’t afraid to use both.
Then there’s “Dada Catapult”—a track that lives up to its name by hurling abstract noise, sardonic spoken word, and chaotic energy straight at the listener. On the other end of the spectrum, “Morning Scars” stretches past the six-minute mark, building from a brooding, atmospheric intro into an anthemic rallying cry. Epic. Ambitious. Proof they’re not just playing songs—they’re building.
And let’s talk about “I’m a Crow.” This isn’t a song—it’s a confrontation. Repetitive, mantra-like, delivered with a raw snarl, it feels like a ritual. Dark. Heavy. Packed with more attitude than most bands muster in a full album. When the vocals sneer, “You’re a pussy / I’m a crow,” it’s not an insult—it’s a statement of power. This is the sound of a band that knows exactly who they are and doesn’t give a fuck if you like it.
The album closes with “Epilogue (TBC),” a two-minute outro that feels like credits rolling on a cinematic punk opera. And that’s what Elbows Don’t Have Eyes is—a scene-by-scene journey through a world both brutal and beautiful. The band calls it a “spellbook in stereo.” Spot f**king on. This isn’t background music. This is foreground rebellion.
If you’re a fan of Wolf Alice’s dynamic range, Siouxsie and the Banshees’ dark elegance, PJ Harvey’s poetic grit, or Le Tigre’s infectious rebellion, you’ll find something to love here. The Stolen Moans aren’t copying anyone—they’re remixing the past and spitting out something entirely theirs. This is music for the outsiders, the dreamers, the dissenters. For anyone who still believes rock ‘n’ roll can be dangerous.
So yeah, “Elbows Don’t Have Eyes” is a debut—but it feels like a mission statement. The Stolen Moans are starting a revolution. And you’d better be listening.