At first glance, Atlanta’s New Junk City isn’t much different than other punk bands: there are four guys, two of them play guitar, and one of them sings. But then you hear their songs, and it becomes immediately clear that they inhabit a space that so many other rock bands spend their whole careers trying to find. Surrounded by the furious but tight musicianship of his bandmates Zac Hobbs (bass), Justin Gilbert (guitar), and Jeff Claxton (drums), John Vournakis’ voice and songwriting are comfortably at home in that sought-after space. While New Junk’s self-titled album finds their songs moving at a frenetic pace, drenched in sweat, and couched in fuzz, the melody and lyrics and the hard punch of Vournakis’ anthemic belting firmly keeps New Junk City in the realm of pop. There’s no cloying arrangements, no emo slant, and no promise of youth. But you will want to shout along and pump your fist. Not out of a desire for your younger carefree days, but because you too are sick and fucking tired. Adulthood can suck sometimes, but New Junk City reminds us that punk rock doesn’t care about your age, music is for everybody, and it can still be the thing that saves you.