Summerland Records
January 23, 2026
The music world is such a vast and expansive universe that quite often you can feel like you know a band to some degree, despite maybe not ever having seen them play live or listened to a great deal of their music. While social media plays a large part in that, I find that more often than not, for me personally, I can form some form of kinship or endearment with a band just through doing interviews and reading their posts. It’s neither a good nor a bad thing, just the way it is in the modern age.
One of those bands is Gold Coast outfit Hammers. I have interviewed them a couple of times in the past and published press releases for their tours and music, but as I sit down to write this review of their debut full-length album, Death Wobbles, the realisation dawns on me that I don’t think I have ever sat down and really listened to a full song of theirs. I actually kind of feel bad briefly, but comfort myself by knowing it is a pretty big commitment for me to have to digest a full body of work as my proper introduction to Hammers, which gets me off the hook as far as I am concerned. Basically, what I am trying to say is I have no fucking idea of what to expect from Death Wobbles, so best I stop procrastinating and listen to the bloody thing…
Opening with Apeshit, Hammers immediately put the onus back on the listener, with either vocalist Leigh ‘Fish’ Dowling or Lucas Stone screaming ‘what the fuck is going on?‘ before launching into a sonic tirade amidst a wall of guitar and drums. The first WTF moment is when Hammers suddenly change tact to a more rap-infused vocal delivery not unlike 28 Days in their prime, but before I can wrap my ears around that, they throw another curveball by introducing an unexpected layer of vocal harmonics that strangely doesn’t feel out of place.
The rapish vocals return, accentuated by a massive guitar sound that simmers just far enough under the surface to provide a solid base for destruction, but the Gold Coast lads are having none of that. “Fuck you Krispy“, I hear faintly among the carnage as the whole vibe of Apeshit comes crashing back to reality with a Spanish flamenco-inspired breakdown that, in all honesty, just shouldn’t work.
But it does. And already I know more about Hammers and their music after two minutes than I did after hours of Zoom catch-ups and pleasantries. These guys obviously give no fucks about convention or expectation and apply the rule of self to their music, which is unfortunately lacking too often in the modern age of metal. This ambience allows for a brief moment of introspection during Apeshit before gradually building momentum into what is now starting to feel like a stadium anthem. I kid you not.
Of course, this doesn’t last before what sounds like a typical morning exchange between a customer and the drive-through window customer service person at McDonald’s reignites the passion, and Hammers veer off into hardcore country. I’m not counting, but I’m pretty sure I might have heard the whole 12 songs on Death Wobbles in one four-minute block, and I actually feel violated.
But in a good way.
A more conventional guitar riff introduces the title track, and because this was recently released as a single, I am assuming you have already heard it, so I won’t waste either of our time by telling you how fucken awesome it is. Because you already know…
Next up is The Well, which eases to life courtesy of what sounds like a didgeridoo before a measured guitar riff levels things off and ushers in what starts off a bit like a potentially radio-friendly number. Which, of course, it isn’t, and already I get the feeling none of this album has been written with any major hopes of being consumed by the radio masses. And that makes me respect Hammers even more.
There are moments of delicate intimacy courtesy of beautifully layered harmonies, but every time things start to get too comfortable, drummer Ryan ‘Ruckus’ Lucas pokes his sticks through the haze with a tasty drum roll or simple high hat spill, and the voices come back to play which is where Hammers are at their best. Unapologetic, unflinching, and uncaring.
A softer haze fills the air as Hammers pull back for a moment of reflection before returning with added gusto and vigour that is as violent as it is cathartic. And if I haven’t mentioned the guitars enough yet, it is because they have been quietly going about their day-to-day business with minimal fuss. But we all know that will never last, and a multitude of solos and guitar runs punctuate the rest of Death Wobbles (the single), seemingly making up for lost time.
Again, I must digress with the next two songs, Traps and Top Fun, because they have also been released as singles and fucked if I am going to do all of your work for you. What I shall tell you is that Traps is a welcome and pleasant surprise, and Top Fun is… well, it’s just Top Fun. ‘Nuff said.
Annihilation sounds much more like what I need right now, and it doesn’t disappoint. Ryan must fucken hate his drum kit the way he has been assaulting it so far, but it is the contrasting vocal delivery between ferocious, pleasant and angrily spoken spits that stands out for me. And then the words I have been searching for to describe an evening with Hammers finally commit to memory.
These fuckers are the musical equivalent of a schizophrenic sociopath, knowing when to turn on the charm to draw in their victims and then when to emerge from the shadows, knife in hand, to deliver the decisive blow. And if that doesn’t sound like your idea of the perfect first date, then remind me never to go out for coffee with you…
Speaking of coffee, Hammers switch their attention to one of the finer delicacies in life by introducing a song called Salad Fingers. Which likely means I won’t be going for coffee with them any time soon either. Who the fuck writes songs about rabbit food anyway?
A hint of electronics soon passes as the fight resumes in Hammers, and after a brief vocal interlude, the guitars kick in and assert their authority again by inviting a bout of spoken word-infused rap, which is quickly countered by balanced harmonics that are quickly dispersed in favour of the spoken/rap vocals once more. This pattern – which is sporadic to say the least – continues throughout Salad Fingers and allows Hammers to once more show off their innate ability to make what would normally be a clusterfuck of sonic intensity come across like a well-oiled slice of precision that doesn’t even make sense to me as I am typing it.
What inevitably follows salad, or most other food groups, for that matter?
Rats. The filthy scum of the scavenger universe. And Hammers pay homage to the most regal of all with Rat Prince next out of the blocks. A stuttering guitar riff with more chugg than twang scares the remaining rodents from the building, allowing Hammers breathing room to continue their musical journey unopposed.
One thing I haven’t mentioned yet is the complete ambivalence contained within the lyrics of each song. While the message and delivery of each track is obvious from either the tone or intent of each vocal moment, the underlying – and sometimes obvious-as-a-smack-in-the-mouth – sense of humour splattered throughout is a massive highlight. The songs are all amusing in varying degrees without being intended as comic relief, if that makes sense. What I think I am trying to say is Hammers don’t fuck around when it comes to venting their feelings. But they do so with enough scope for interpretation (mostly) to make sure no one person or groups of persons don’t feel targeted, thus putting the onus of humour back into the universal category that is becoming increasingly harder to achieve.
Hot Wheels has little in common with those small cars you used to push around manually in your backyard as an aspiring metalhead. Instead, the tune offers up a slight shift in intent, delivering a more restrained version of Hammers that still manages to retain the basic elements that make the band irresistible. One of which comes out to play about two minutes in with a chunky breakdown that forces you to alternate from tapping your toe to banging your head almost without realising you actually have no control of your own body when it comes to such things. Now THAT’S impressive.
The Floodlights come on as we draw closer to the end of Death Wobbles, and, judging by the Queen-like opening operatic intro passage, the boys know we are close to the end as well. Almost sensing listeners must be on the brink of exhaustion, Hammers ease into the track with a calmer shot of musicality that, although haphazardly disrupted with bouts of aggression, remains on an even keel throughout.
This is the song I thought might have been the more radio-friendly one earlier in the review – although Hammers have done their best to make life difficult for themselves by allowing more of their natural DNA to creep through in parts. Then a wicked guitar solo restores the peace momentarily in Floodlights before Hammers are no longer capable of sonic niceties and close out the track with their usual destructive manner.
The bass run that introduces Fucked Around & Found Out is worth the price of admission alone. Despite the fact that I will tell you this song rightfully earned Hammers a nomination at last year’s Gold Coast Music Awards, I am going to disclose nothing further because this, too, was released as a single. You should already know what a fantastically flawed slab of music it is.
I’m starting to regret my decision to bail on reviewing the full song for Fucked Around & Found Out when I realise the next track, Yowie, is also the final song on Death Wobbles. But after a refreshingly fuzzy bout of hazy guitar introduces the song, I soon forgive my previous indiscretion and once more become lost in the musical moment.
Starting out as your typically calming final flirtation with acceptance that bids farewell to the listener on most albums, Yowie soon becomes as unpredictable as the mythical creature it is named after. Alternating between moments of calm and aggression courtesy of a simple guitar run here and there or a casual snap of the bass drum that signifies another sonic backflip, Yowie rams home possibly the most important thing to come out of Death Wobbles. By now, the moments of confusion are becoming more of a usual part of my musical journey rather than a where-the-fuck-did-they-pull-that-from moment of confusion. Which also proves the age-old adage that you are never too old to learn something new.
Remember that kids, it will be on the exam later.
And so ends my official first night out with Hammers. And for the first time in forever, I am already planning our next date.
Pre-order & pre-save DEATH WOBBLES (album) HERE
