As closely as young me followed emo, post hardcore, and the various other splinter groups in the broad punk umbrella, I lost touch somewhere for a while. Personally, I blame the Third Wave of emo, with its ranks of guylinered front men who were more concerned with fashion and deals with Hot Topic than they were with the music.

So aloof was I that I almost  completely missed several great bands—the Emo Revival, “the Wave,” and other scenes that resurrected the best parts of the music I grew up with with sincerity and skill.

I’ve seen Citizen’s name (and albums) for almost a decade now. But it took finding this album in my local used shop to spur my curiosity to finally pull them up on Spotify.

And boy, am I ever glad I did.

One of the major failings of bands in the Emo Revival is the aping of influences without any sort of inflection of their own voice. I’ve seen my share of Bandcamp pages filled with bands with open tuned, capo’d Telecasters trying to rewrite “Never Meant” or cuff jeaned, beanie wearing kids riffing on the lowest common denominators of Glassjaw.

But while there are obvious shades of later Brand New, Everybody Is Going to Heaven is anything but derivative. And let’s be honest—it’s pretty much impossible to escape the influence of The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me anywhere near the emo scene, so that shouldn’t be faulted against them. This record hits me the same way that albums like Basement’s Colourmeinkindness or Piano Become the Teeth’s Keep You did—strong statements that hit the same emotional buttons as my old favorite records without copying them outright.

This album is filled with punchy riffs, singalong melodies, and plenty of tension and catharsis to go around. There are plenty of touchstones to the bands that inspired the bands that inspired them: moments of Nirvana’s playing with major and minor tonalities, Jawbox’s gritty bass lines, and even a few moments of shoegaze’s lush textures.

Mat Kerekes’ vocals alternate from nearly whispered to tenderly crooned to hardcore shouting—sometimes in the same song, such as the menacing “Stain” or creeping “Ten.” The guitars crash with power chorded distortion, then fill the atmosphere, sometimes being used more as ethereal noise than as a melodic instrument. Meanwhile, the drums and bass play it straight and strong, eschewing fills for heavy hitting rhythms.

“Cement” serves as a great thesis statement, charging straight into a driving groove and manic, echo-laden guitars without much fuss. When the chorus hits, it’s like a dam bursts, releasing its sonic catharsis like a flood. “Numb Yourself” filters the same melody through quiet and loud arrangements, shifting between the band’s dynamic extremes. “Heaviside” and “Weave Me (Into Yr Sin)” bring the volume down, expanding the guitars with huge reverb instead of volume. The single “Yellow Love” brings it down even further, Kerekes’ voice accompanied only by a single guitar (with maybe some other instruments buried in the mix). And despite the sonic restraint, there’s no lack in that track. The strength of the songwriting carries it just as well as a full band.

This album is more a sprint than a marathon, rapping up in a neat forty minutes. But that’s more than enough time for this statement to stick. Though I’m a latecomer to this album (and band), I find myself coming back again and again. It’s a new favorite, hitting me in much the same way as many of my old favorites, but with enough of its own spin to snag its hooks in my skin.