There’s something poetic about the chaos The Bare Minimum unleash on Doomed City. The four-track EP plays like a love letter to everything that’s broken: cities, systems, dreams, and somehow finds joy in the wreckage. Out of Toronto’s restless punk underground, this band turns decay into noise and exhaustion into an anthem.
From the opening moments of “Weirdos in Basements,” you’re dropped straight into the heartbeat of the DIY scene: fluorescent lights, cracked amps, and that unwavering refusal to quit. It’s both a tribute and a manifesto, a shout-out to every misfit who keeps showing up. Then comes “Fare Inspector,” a furious sprint through the absurdity of transit fines and bureaucratic overreach: punk as civic protest, spat out through clenched teeth.
The title track, “Doomed City,” hits differently. Beneath the snarling vocals and clattering guitars lies something heavier: the quiet numbness of urban life, the way modern survival feels like a loop you can’t escape. It’s not despair, exactly, it’s recognition. The Bare Minimum turn that recognition into catharsis, finding laughter somewhere between burnout and breakdown.
They close with “We Can’t Bring Drums,” a tongue-in-cheek ode to every logistical nightmare that comes with being a band on the road. It’s the most self-aware track here, collapsing fatigue and absurdity into a single punchline that somehow still rocks.
The EP’s clarity of intent makes it stand out. There’s no posturing, no attempt to polish the rough edges, the band thrive on them. They sound like a group of friends who’ve accepted that perfection is overrated and that the real art lies in persistence.
Toronto’s skyline might be crumbling, but The Bare Minimum aren’t here to mourn it. They’re here to dance on the ruins, instruments in hand, laughing at the absurdity of it all. In a world obsessed with fixing, they’ve mastered the rare art of falling apart!
