For well over a decade now, Toronto’s PUP have been defying their own expectations of success. Initially formed in 2010 under the moniker Topanga, the profile of the four-piece—vocalist/guitarist Stefan Babcock, lead guitarist Steve Sladkowski, bassist Nestor Chumak, and drummer Zack Mykula—has been rising at a steady (and, to them, surprising) rate ever since the release of their self-titled debut record in 2013 as the band earned a reputation for being one of the best and hardest-working acts out there, at one point racking up between 200 and 250 gigs a year. 2016’s The Dream Is Over and 2019’s Morbid Stuff continued where that debut had left off, offering up sardonic tales of woe often inspired by the trials and tribulations of being in a band, in addition to their own personal travails.
As its title suggested, 2022’s The Unraveling Of PUPTHEBAND doubled down on that theme, its highly strung songs examining the existential and professional toll of doing what they do, both in the wake of the pandemic but also as they grew older. Not that you could tell they’re aging from this fifth album. Who Will Look After the Dogs? is PUP at their very best and most energetic, a searing set of songs that dives deeper into the troubled waters of their personal lives (well, Babcock’s personal life) than any album before it. Its songs are wonderfully unhinged, perfectly unpredictable, and mix dark humor with darker pathos in typically PUPian style.
Produced by John Congleton, it feels, sonically, like a throwback to the rawness of their earlier output—a thought we posed to Sladkowski over Zoom to start this interview.
It feels like PUP are going back to basics a bit with this record. Would you say that’s true?
One thing that I appreciate about the last record is that it was so much a product of the pandemic. I think all records are a product of the time in which they were written, but that record specifically included a lot of going down a rabbit hole on a song—largely because it was written, necessarily, in a vacuum. Literally in a bubble. So we were able to feed impulses that we couldn’t if we were in a little bit more of a normal situation. And it led to that sort of maximalist-sounding record. We all went a little insane—which, again, not that different!—but we maybe went as far as we could and then realized after the fact: “Oh, how are we going to play some of these songs live?”
With this record we wanted to get back to thinking about it as the four of us in the room being able to play these songs as a rock band, but still keep that sense of experimenting or going down a rabbit hole—and I think we were able to do that. So in a way, yeah, it is a bit back-to-basics, but I think we had clearer ideas about how to experiment and still keep it as a four-piece. And that’s one of the things I hope people hear on the record.
I should clarify when I said “back to basics,” because although PUP songs sound very immediate and simple, they’re also incredibly cerebral and intelligent.
No, I think it’s the right turn of phrase. I don’t feel like you’re willfully misinterpreting or anything. And there was definitely some element of that consciously. Part of that, too, was working with John. He only really wanted to do, like, three weeks in the studio together, where in the past we’ve had up to double that. So that pushed us a bit to have it be a little more raw and a bit more uncertain in moments, because we didn’t allow ourselves to have extra time.
What was working with John like?
We connected with him immediately. We’d talked to him to gauge his interest in working with the band, and the way we talked—just cracking jokes and talking about the philosophy of making records—was amazing from the jump. He’s really a sensitive listener in terms of structure and what the integrity of a song is. And he would say “Hey, you’re paying me, so if you ask me for my opinion, I’m going to give it to you, but I don’t give a shit if you agree with me or not!” It was done in a way that’s obviously very frank and direct, but it was what we needed. He pushed us in directions that we wouldn’t have gone, even though we’d worked our asses off demoing, writing, and rewriting a lot of these songs prior to going into the studio with him.
And I think he liked the element of surprise. We were like, “Let us know if you want to send us any email notes in the weeks before,” just being such fucking try-hards—which is kind of the band’s curse, in a lot of ways—and he didn’t. He maintained that element of surprise, so when we came into the studio and he suggested something, we didn’t have an opportunity to be too comfortable with them. He maintained some element of discomfort as a means of being able to actually capture that on the record, and I think it’s audible. There are so many moments that are just interesting and kind of warty and imperfect in a way that I just think lends a different energy to a lot of the music, which we found really refreshing.
You guys have always been very self-deprecating, questioning why people listen to you. It’s clearly a joke, but there’s also an element of truth there, too. Do you feel any less self-conscious about your success now?
I remain surprised, you know? The four of us have realized we’re very hard to please within this band. And that can lead to tension in terms of the creative process. Broadly, that’s all pretty healthy because even in moments where we feel like our friendships are strained or whatever between the four of us, ultimately we all want the same thing. Through that, we’ve realized that the best way for the band to make music that other people connect with outside of the four us is to do stuff that feels true to us. And that involves compromise, that involves being stubborn.
At this point, this is all beyond my wildest dreams and has been for many, many years. Yeah, the band’s profile has grown and things have become a little bit more comfortable, both in terms of how we tour and the amount that we have to tour, but I don’t ever want to take any of that for granted. The reason we’re able to do it at all is because people like our band, and I think we’re finally OK with that. Whether the self-deprecation ever goes away, that remains to be seen.
It feels like on this record you’re absorbing more of the shit of the outside world into the music than previously. Before, there was a lot of self-doubt and issues about being in a band. Now, it feels like the apocalypse is more external rather than internal. Does that make sense?
I think so. I think the self-referential—I guess you could call it solipsistic, in a way—elements were a product of not knowing any better, or not having enough time to absorb what was going on other than through a phone screen or listening to a podcast. So in a way, that’s probably just a natural outcrop of being a little bit older and having a little more time and priorities changing. And I think that’s good. It’s good that people write songs about writing songs. All of that inward-looking thinking needs to be there. But right now, what more can we say about that?
We’ve joked about some of these lyrics, which are much more reflections on relationships, as being Dickensian. It’s A Christmas Carol, basically—it’s the ghosts of Christmas Past, the ghosts of Christmas Present, and the ghosts of Christmas Future! Please include that my tongue is planted firmly in my cheek, if you use that. Imagine if I was coming in very seriously being like [adopts perfect English accent] “I think we’ve made quite a Dickensian record.”
