Sublime – “Until the Sun Explodes”

Few reunions in rock have carried the emotional weight of Sublime’s return. Following Bradley Nowell’s death from a heroin overdose in 1996, the band refused to continue without the voice that defined its sound, effectively closing the book on one of alternative music’s most influential acts.

More than a decade later, they returned as Sublime with Rome alongside Rome Ramirez, a practical compromise that acknowledged Bradley’s irreplaceable role while allowing the music to live on.

That chapter closed in 2023, when the band performed with Bradley’s son, Jakob Nowell, at a benefit concert for Bad Brains frontman H.R. The chemistry was undeniable, and shortly afterward the band officially retired the “with Rome” moniker, reclaiming the Sublime name for its first studio album in 30 years. Expectations were understandably enormous, but the finished product struggles under the weight of the band’s own legacy.

The production itself almost took a very different path. Early sessions paired the band with Travis Barker and John Feldmann, a duo whose polished, high-energy production has powered countless modern punk records. On paper, it sounded like a perfect fit. In practice, it stripped away the hazy looseness that has always made Sublime feel authentic. Recognizing the mismatch, the band pivoted to Jon Joseph, who wisely leaned into the group’s dub-heavy reggae foundation, surf-rock grooves and laid-back ska rhythms. The result feels far closer to the band’s ’90s recordings. While a handful of tracks still carry a slightly overproduced sheen, the production largely captures the warmth and lived-in atmosphere longtime fans expect.

Jakob Nowell deserves enormous praise for his performance. His vocal resemblance to his father is uncanny, to the point that casual listeners could mistake several songs for long-lost Bradley demos. His phrasing, cadence and nasal rasp feel remarkably natural rather than forced. It is an emotional experience hearing the Nowell name front Sublime again, and Jakob proves he earned the opportunity rather than simply inheriting it.

Ironically, that resemblance also becomes the album’s greatest obstacle. Bradley Nowell was never celebrated because he possessed a technically perfect voice. He succeeded because his songwriting was messy, unpredictable and painfully authentic. His lyrics blended humor, addiction, lust and melancholy in ways that felt deeply personal. Jakob, having lived a sober life far removed from his father’s struggles, understandably cannot recreate that perspective. He frequently captures Bradley’s delivery but rarely his lyrical bite. The result often feels like cosplay rather than evolution. Jakob successfully recreates the sound of his father’s voice, but rarely the unpredictability or emotional danger that made Bradley’s writing so compelling.

That nostalgia extends beyond the lyrics. Musically, Until the Sun Explodes rarely escapes the shadow of its predecessors. Rather than using Bradley’s legacy as a foundation, the band repeatedly attempts to recreate it, often lifting familiar rhythms, grooves and songwriting tricks without capturing what made them feel spontaneous in the first place. The reggae grooves, ska-punk bursts and sun-soaked hooks are all competently executed, but very few songs develop an identity of their own. More often than not, it resembles an exceptionally talented tribute band instead of a band writing the next chapter of its own story.

Still, there are genuine highlights. “Ensenada” makes perfect sense as the lead single, delivering the carefree summer atmosphere the band built its reputation on. The reggae upstroke guitar, rolling bass line and breezy groove instantly transport listeners back to Southern California. While the repeated hook, “I don’t want to be your man no more / I wanna make love to a whore,” quickly wears thin, the infectious melody keeps the song afloat and reminds listeners why Sublime’s blend of sleaze and sunshine became so irresistible in the first place.

“Can’t Miss You” may be the album’s catchiest song. Fueled by a propulsive ska-punk rhythm, it channels the energy of 40 Oz. to Freedom without feeling entirely derivative. The faster tempo injects welcome urgency into the album and demonstrates that the band can still thrive when embracing its punk roots rather than relying solely on laid-back reggae grooves.

The nostalgia is most effective on “Evil Men.” Unlike several tracks that seem engineered as obvious singles, this song feels like musicians simply settling into a groove. Jakob’s acoustic guitar anchors a hazy, dub-soaked atmosphere while the band resists the temptation to accelerate into punk territory. Instead, they allow the rhythm section room to breathe, creating one of the album’s most hypnotic moments and one that feels genuinely organic rather than calculated.

One of the album’s biggest issues is simply its size. At 22 tracks, Until the Sun Explodes feels determined to make up for 30 years of silence. Unfortunately, quantity works against it. The back half becomes increasingly repetitive, with songs like “Froggy” arriving and departing without leaving much of an impression. Nearly a third of the album could disappear without affecting the listening experience. Instead of rewarding repeat listens, the bloated track list exposes how few songs truly stand out.

The guest appearances help keep things fresh throughout the sprawling runtime. Contributions from H.R., Pennywise, G. Love and others reinforce Sublime’s longstanding connections across punk, reggae and alternative music while celebrating the band’s enduring influence. Unfortunately, they also underscore one of the album’s biggest shortcomings. Many of the guests leave stronger impressions than the new material itself, making the record feel more like a celebration of Sublime’s legacy than a compelling new chapter.

Ultimately, Until the Sun Explodes is easier to appreciate than it is to genuinely enjoy. Seeing Jakob Nowell stand where his father once stood is undeniably moving, and there are flashes throughout the record that remind listeners why Sublime became one of the defining bands of the ’90s. But sentiment can only carry an album so far. Between the derivative songwriting, inconsistent pacing and overwhelming reliance on nostalgia, this often feels less like a proper comeback than an affectionate tribute to a band that can never truly exist again. Fans will find moments worth revisiting, but most listeners will likely finish the album wanting to return to 40 Oz. to Freedom or Sublime instead.

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