When Maruja hit the studio after three EPs and 47 shows across Europe, they captured a sound that’s both raw and refined on their debut full-length, “Pain to Power.” Hailing from Manchester, the quartet of Harry Wilkinson, Matt Buonaccorsi, Joe Carroll, Jacob Hayes blends post-punk, jazz-rock, noise rock, and art rock with lyrics influenced by Irish inheritance and pro-Palestinian sentiments. What emerges is a furious yet meditative statement: a debut that doesn’t just protest — it sings, screams, whispers, and builds meaning.
From the jump, “Pain to Power” stings with rage. The opening track, “Bloodsport,” careens in with drums so fast they seem to tear at time, backed by a high-pitched drone and roaring bass. Wilkinson’s voice is passionate, a little strained, pushing through rap rhythms with alto saxophone weaving in as a jagged counterpoint. The lyrics are vivid and didactic, political in stance and conscious in tone. While the vocal mix occasionally strains to rise above the instrumental disorder, it still lands with impact. The droning outro slides into the next song with uncomfortable suspense.
On “Look Down on Us,” the band takes its time to build a moving progression of musical fury. The track begins sludgy and dark, alto saxophone sketched in colors both raw and avant-garde. The chord progressions shift from oppressive to euphoric; the music holds that balance of atmosphere, rhythm, and soul. The slow, contemplative center of the track offers an eye in the song’s impenetrable storm of sound, before the vocals surge lyrics that instruct: “put pain to power, put faith in love/be firm and loyal, in yourself put trust.” The build-ups are noisy with every crescendo earned, and by the end, the droning, uneasy outro doesn’t feel like a retreat but a question for the listener.
“Saoirse,” translating from Irish to “freedom” or “liberty,” offers a different kind of brave defiance with their music. This song sports a quieter start, with jazz instrumentation that blooms in stages and chamber music textures that draw you in. It’s here that Wilkinson’s voice becomes soulful and melodic in ways less-heard elsewhere on the album. The refrain “It’s our differences that make us beautiful” is simple, direct, and even a bit sentimental, yet resists being cliche: a needed palette cleanser that still carries thematic weight.
Then comes “Born to Die,” the longest track that nearly defines “Pain to Power” as something more than the sum of its parts. Spoken inquiries open the track, reflecting on modernity, power, and spirituality, before the music eases in: atmospheric percussion, saxophone, lyrics that echo “Are we all just born to die?” Gradually, the song fractures and reforms, growing more intense, more urgent. Jazz and hardcore collide. With the song’s wild ride of alternative metal that harnesses delirious mania, Maruja crafts beautiful chaos that only great post-rock songs can achieve. The tail end enters a euphoria that’s visceral, even as the final moments drift into droning trance, beckoning the listener toward the next stage of this journey.
“Break the Tension” hits like lightning. It takes no time to remind you Maruja can still uncage unbridled chaos when they feel like it. Hardcore punk meets weighty percussion and saxophone that has a clear and rhythmic voice within the song. Occasionally the saxophone threatens to overwhelm, but that tension is part of the point: it’s an explosion contained.
In “Trenches,” the band leans hard into rap, rock, and political commentary. The vocals are delivered with a sense of urgency and the noisy elements can be jarring but they serve the album’s message. The chorus lingers, but it delivers: strong, disturbing, meant to provoke. Lyrics like “When man just didn’t care, the gods up and left/And threw us into chaos” don’t let you look away. Even if the song is more straightforward rock-punk than adventurous, it holds necessary weight in the overall themes of the album.
“Zaytoun” is a moment to catch your breath and sit in a musical ether. Atmospheric and spiritually jazzy, the vocals bend and echo in the background while soft percussion and sax lull you into meditative space. There are no lyrics here, just mood and texture that set up the climax of the album.
Finally, “Reconcile” closes the album with both melancholic settlement and hopeful fire. Gentle guitar chords and strumming start things off, setting an intimate stage. Lyrics carry bittersweet emotional insight into conflict: “Misinformed by our pain, we’re connected by the same/Different versions of ourselves that yearn to feel okay”. As the instrumentation swells, the track builds into a stunning emotional crescendo. The repeated, haunting “Have no fear, have no fear,” becomes something more than a lyric — it is a plea, a mantra. The cacophony near the end is powerful, then the fade into quieter, complex repeating notes leaves you suspended: you’ve just been taken on the full arc of this album.
Throughout “Pain to Power,” Maruja shows incredible strengths. The long tracks mark high points where atmospheric jazz, soulful vocals and aggressive energy meet. The saxophone is the album’s shining gem, giving texture and emotional weight often unmatched in this genre cross-over. The rap elements sometimes feel less than seamless, and the singing moments tend to hit more powerfully, but there’s a logic to the structure: the rapid blasts, the slower builds, the dense textures. The political messaging is direct yet textured enough that it doesn’t feel like a sermon and the variation in sound from track to track is handled so well that no song feels out of place. And the pacing? Nearly perfect. The album never lags, and even in its slowest moments, you’re invested.
“Pain to Power” stands as a remarkable debut from a band that’s already lived in the intensity of live shows and EPs. The members of Maruja have proven they can do more than just make noise: they can frame it, harness it, use it as protest and poetry in equal measure. This album doesn’t just show potential, it demonstrates presence.
