n the annals of punk rock history, few transformations are as electrifying as the reinvention of a song into something entirely new, something more visceral, more unrelenting. Such was the case with "I Don’t Wanna Be an Asshole Anymore," a track originally penned by The Menzingers, but one that was destined for a rebirth in the hands of Four Black Lungs.
From the very beginning, this wasn’t meant to be just another cover. It was a mission. A declaration. A sonic rebellion. The band sought to inject their own fire into the song, to amplify its essence, and to unleash it with an edge sharp enough to cut through steel.
The goal was clear: make it faster, dirtier, and, above all, louder. Inspired by the raw energy they had witnessed in the recordings of their friends, Fine and Great, they knew that only one man could harness their vision—Benjamin Paska at 8 Ohm Studios. There, in an atmosphere charged with creative ferocity, the song began to take on a new shape, an identity all its own.
But it wasn’t enough to merely play it differently. They needed something that would set their rendition apart. The answer lay in their voices. Unlike the original, which leaned on a singular vocal delivery, this version would be a battle cry shared by all three of the band's vocalists. Each verse, each chorus was divided like battle lines, their voices weaving together, clashing and colliding in a furious, unrelenting musical confrontation. It wasn’t just a song anymore—it was a dialogue, an argument, a manifesto.
The recording process was intense, compressed into a few feverish days. Every second in the studio was a relentless pursuit of perfection, balancing the need for sheer sonic force with the precision to keep the vocals from being swallowed whole. The final mix had to be powerful, yet clear; aggressive, yet controlled.
With the foundation laid, the last step was mastering. Benedikt Hain at Outback Recordings was the chosen one, the craftsman who would refine the chaos without dulling its edge. And he delivered. What emerged was a song that didn’t just honor the original—it obliterated expectations. It was a beast in its own right. Faster. Grittier. Unapologetic.
This wasn’t just a cover. It was a metamorphosis. A raw, pulsating anthem that bore the soul of Four Black Lungs. In taking on The Menzingers’ classic, they hadn’t merely paid tribute—they had found themselves in the process. This wasn’t imitation. This was ownership.
And so, with one song, one explosive reinterpretation, Four Black Lungs stepped out of the shadows, proving that punk is not just about playing music—it’s about making it your own, carving it into your bones, and screaming it back into the world.
As for what’s next? The studio calls again in 2026. But if this cover is any indication, the best is yet to come.
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