Hard Life

The Tubs — 2026

“Hard Life is all ringing guitars, bruised hearts, sharp jokes, and songs that refuse to let the sadness sit still.”

The Tubs have spent the last few years turning misery into some of indie rock’s sharpest guitar songs, and Hard Life feels like the record where they stop being a very good band and start being a necessary one. Twelve songs, and every one of them jangles like a Rickenbacker left out in the London rain. Owen Williams still writes about romantic wreckage, grief, and the general indignity of being alive, but there’s a new trick this time: two voices. One is the sad sack we already know, narrating his own heartbreak in real time. The other is colder and older, with no patience for the first, constantly cutting in to call him pathetic. On the title track that opens the album, Williams sneers at a barfly moaning that “it’s a hard life,” then twists the knife by muttering, “you could kill yourself, well that’s just the way it goes.” Underneath all of it, Chris Haigh’s fiddle keeps climbing, sweet as anything, which somehow makes the cruelty land harder. I love that contrast. The band never once lets the misery sit still.

Hard Life avoids becoming a drag because of how funny and tuneful the meanness is. “Who’s Gonna Love You Now?” is an instant rave-up, guitars ringing out over a warm organ while Williams plays the scold, asking “who’s gonna pay the rent” like a disappointed uncle. A few songs later he threatens to quit his own group, groaning that he doesn’t wanna play with The Tubs anymore, then swears off reading anyone’s Substack. Those lines could feel unbearably clever on a lesser record, but here they make the songs feel even more lived-in. Lan McArdle’s harmonies lift the deeper moments, and Nick Launay’s production stays close and unfussy, with no studio gloss papering over the rough edges. Hard Life sounds alive because The Tubs never clean up the mess. They just give it a killer melody, laugh at the wreckage, and keep moving.