I first met the guys in Surefire a few years back in 2023, working a show with them at The Annex in Madison, WI. That was the first time I actually heard them live, and I was immediately hooked. They hit hard, but it’s not the same stuff you hear everywhere else. Everything they do feels like their own damn lane, and that’s 100% down to the lineup they’ve locked in.
- Joseph (Vocals): One of the cleanest lights in the Milwaukee deathcore and metalcore scene. His voice isn’t just loud; it’s raw and honest in a way that makes every lyric feel personal. You don’t just hear what he’s saying, you feel the weight behind it.
- Jake (Guitar): He handles the structural side of the band’s sound. His riffs are heavy, complicated, and they push everything forward. He’s a massive reason why you can hear a Surefire track and know instantly who it is.
- Cameron (Guitar): The wild card. The guy plays like he was born with a guitar in his hands. Fast leads, sharp runs, and these weird progressions that somehow make perfect sense once they land. There’s a fire in his playing that gives the band a completely different edge.
- Devin (Drums): The engine of the whole thing. He’s the one slamming down the rhythms that keep everything tight while still making the floor shake. If you’ve seen them live, you know the entire crowd moves to whatever he’s doing.
Watching them grow has been unreal. I’ve worked with them in tiny rooms and then on massive stages, like The Rave in Milwaukee, which was actually the first time I ever shot a band there. Seeing how their sound has evolved over the years, shifting into something that feels sharper, hungrier, and more confident, is exactly why I still get excited every time they drop something new.
The New Track Breakdown
This new song starts with that familiar Surefire sense of gravity. It opens soft, like a breath held right before the floor drops out, and then it just explodes into a heavy punch that’s undoubtedly them. The riffs are relentless, and the guitars screech and climb in a way that genuinely feels new. The guitars are screeching and climbing in a way that feels fresh for them. It’s got a huge, subtle atmosphere in the background, like that sound bands like Defocus are doing, very dense and layered; but they take it and twist it into something totally new. You can tell immediately they’re stepping into a new direction.
When the intro settles, Joe’s voice steps out from the dark.
“Crying out to the abyss, I screamed your name but it fell on deaf ears”
This isn’t some dramatic opener for mere attention, rather it feels like someone pouring everything out into the void and hearing absolutely nothing come back. The abyss has become that empty space in which your voice doesn’t even echo, just gets swallowed. This perfectly captures that feeling of reaching out to somebody who used to mean something and finding they don’t hear you anymore. That feeling of being ignored, shut out completely, hits immediately, setting the emotional tone for what’s to come.
“But I can’t find a way out I’m stuck in a vicious loop I can’t Move on My world Grew cold Without you by my side”
This verse hits you right in the gut. I found myself bobbing my head, but it wasn’t just the beat; it was the sheer pain in his voice dragging me in. You can hear the weight of being trapped, stuck in the same toxic cycle, unable to move forward. And when he hits “my world grew cold without you by my side,” it lands like a physical punch. The guitars mirror that raw emotion, cutting sharp and heavy to let the moment breathe. The way the band locks in with that line gives it a totally lived-in feel.
After that moment, the song drops into a brief, almost meditative calm, a small pocket of clarity before the next wave of rage hits. And when it does, it’s with the force of a full-on battering ram.
“You fucking lied and told me that the problems were just in my head.”
This comes out with a vicious, raw, unrelenting growl. The way he lands on “head” almost sounds like a demon trapped inside him, a reflection of the mental loop he can’t seem to get himself out of. It’s a voice that’s full of frustration, anger, and exhaustion all in one.
“You can’t fix this” follows, spoken, but definitely not soft: there’s a cold authority in it. He’s not whispering, he’s stating an inescapable truth. “I felt the toxicity spread to my brain” continues that confessional tone, making clear how deeply the other person’s behavior invaded his very thoughts.
And when he repeats, “Lie and tell me that problems were just in my head,” it almost sounds like he wants them to lie; like he’s craving acknowledgment, even if it’s fake. Then he snaps back with, “You can’t fix this,” but this time it’s shouted in a raw, borderline desperate manner, feeling like a warning, a scream to finally make them understand.
“Can’t you realize the problem you had was me? It’s me”
This final line lands with devastating clarity. He takes the blame, yet without resignation. It’s a kind of sentence that fuses self-awareness and heartbreak; as if he is trapped within the ramifications but sees how he has contributed to the circle himself. Every word here is fraught with pain, energy, and sorrow.
“We’re victims Of symptom Abandoned With questions We can’t take back the things that we’ve said”
This verse hits the brakes, bringing back that quiet, reflective calm we heard earlier. The guitars just hang in the background, setting the mood and hinting at the tension that’s about to build again. There’s a subtle weight in his voice, especially on “we can’t take back the things we’ve said,” where the pain is quiet but incredibly cutting. Resigned, as though he were tracing the irreversible damage left behind by those words.
“I count down the time Waiting for the day That I can find my way back to you”
The pain here is undeniable, but it’s the delivery that sells it. It builds up in steps, rising to a familiar intensity that feels honed from countless cycles of the same emotional struggle. It’s not just sung-it accumulates, rising with every word and carrying the desperate tension of someone stuck in a loop they know is toxic yet cannot resist. The music swells underneath, mirroring the push-and-pull of his attachment. You can feel the familiar passion he craves, the same energy that keeps him coming back even when it hurts.
“I can’t remember your face I don’t remember your voice I hope that we meet again Before the end Your absence left a hole”
The vocals here are bathed in pain and regret, each line laden with the memories slipping away. “I hope that we meet again before the end” sounds desperate, a possible reach for something he will never get back, while “Your absence left a hole” lands like a simple gut punch that’s devastating. Guitars and drums build up with the vocals-scraping and swelling in such a way to drive the emotion home and make the emptiness hit even more strongly
“My world Grew so fucking cold Without you by my side We came to terms With the outcome we share But I feel We were put here to suffer”
The guitars are absolutely shredding here, carrying all the agony and pain that runs through the vocals. The screams drive the emotion home, making you feel the weight of everything the song has been building toward. Every note and scream keeps you attached to the story, living in a moment of frustration, loss, and heartbreak right alongside the singer. When he lands on the final word, “suffer,” it fades out like a last breath, leaving a sense of emptiness and finality. This ending shows that the band doesn’t just tell you how to feel but lets you feel it, fully and painfully.
When the song is over, it just doesn’t simply end. Every scream, every riff, every drum hit goes straight to the gut. You feel the pain, the anger, the loss. It’s relentless, and it stays with you long after the last note.
Surefire don’t let you off easy; they drag you through it, and when it’s over, you’re left raw, shaken, and absolutely wanting more. I really cannot wait to see what they do next, and the video dropping on 12/5 is going to be something else entirely. If this song is any indication, they’re only just getting started.