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Mince’s debut album “Paid to Leave” is a raw and restless collection built on contradiction. It’s moody but playful, messy yet precise—exactly what might be expected from a Leeds-based post-punk band that describes itself as “insecure and sleazy.” Recorded live in just four days at Eiger Studios with producer Jack Grant (The 113), the album feels like a sudden punch followed by an awkward hug, 12 solid songs, for 24 minutes.
What makes “Paid to Leave” stand out isn’t just the band’s genre-hopping confidence. It’s the way each track feels like a bizarre, crumpled page from a stranger’s diary. Inspired by Alex Cameron’s theatrical losers and Guided by Voices’ no-fuss delivery, the album leans into themes of failure and fractured identity, offering songs that disturb and amuse in equal measure.
The A-side begins with a heavy fog—low-toned guitars, sluggish vocals, and an uneasy mood. “Sad Old Jumper” jumps out early, a lopsided anthem of domestic despair that hits hard with the line: “It’s hard to cry when the kids are watching.” Things get weirder and wilder as the album progresses, peaking with the frenetic energy of “Roadworks on the B6369,” a track that thrashes like a man late to therapy but still stuck in traffic.
On the B-side, the atmosphere softens. A hazy warmth seeps in. There’s even a wink of country, but not the polished kind—this is more bar-stool ballad than Nashville chart-topper. And just as things settle, the floor falls out again.
Each track runs short but leaves its mark. The experience is curated like a gig in a crumbling venue—sweaty, chaotic, oddly beautiful. The album’s real charm lies in how it captures a certain British awkwardness. It’s not trying to be cool. It’s trying to be real. And in doing so, it becomes something better—something flawed, funny, and strangely moving.
