Indie kids from Canada dose on SoCal punker ska (a la Sublime, Rancid, and Op Ivy) while never forgetting the alt rock staples of their youth(Nirvana, Jane's, Primus). Reggae and country make guest appearances.


The Panic isn't about shoe-gazing or chronic heartache, nor are they about musty uniforms or hairstyles that'll be embarrassing in five years. This band doesn't want to be the loudest or the fastest (though volume and bruising tempos will always have their place). The lyrics spring neither from a well of bottomless rage nor from an unquenchable need to shed vain tears; something less pretentious than the oft-hammered extremes. Having once accepted the old dictum of simplicity being a virtue, the songsmiths have endeavoured accordingly; thumping tunes, sanded chaos, a dancefloor and somewhere to be lost.

Perhaps The Panic does nothing you haven't heard before. There's a drummer and a man playing bass and yet another singer with a six-string. Yeah, this is not a foreign or refreshing format we're talking about. This band isn't about glitz or a cloying abundance of splashy effects. Woe be the listener who arrives to a show expecting as much. Perhaps their wares are a fusion of elements. Or maybe fusion is too considered a word for the disparate mash employed. It could be an apt criticism to say the band is floundering in a stew of its irreconcilable influences. Conversely, maybe The Panic has got it right and the alchemy has borne up a reward; coal wrenched and pressed into diamond.

All that and it could be said that those who aren't scrambling after some abstract notion of innovation are the ones whose work will come to be marked as singular and progressive. Arrive as a thief only to later find sturdier creativity. So, while presently sounding off with some melodious noises, The Panic's got nothing but the drive and (gasp) vision to be a better musical unit in one, five or ten years. What more does any band want?

Lofty, asinine talk to be sure, but what's a bunch of dreamers to do but aim high, inflate, overstate...but maybe, thereafter, come close to the mark.


I once was Lost

Written By: Ryan Newman

One day I want to be able to say how I once was lost.
Amazing grace is the tear weaving down her face.
And I'm gonna find that unjostled space.
Leave behind all the sickness and haste.
One day I want to be able to say how I once was lost.
Gonna leave what's defeated behind.
The television makes me feel heavy and maligned.
Tied up in a mess that I can't define.
Twisted in a jumbled mind.
Twisted in a jumbled mind.
One day I want to be able to say how I once was lost.


Written By: Ryan Newman

Looking for unity and I find none.
Nothing but a patchwork quilt that won't come undone.
Got no secrets; what is fine is crude.
Despite all that's hidden there are so many molted clues.

Blown by a whim.
Why seek without what's not within?

In one man's grin I saw the tooth of a shark.
And in this man's thought is yet another missed mark.
Say that it's incomplete and I'm gonna say that there's not much that's not.
Going blind to see that going blind's the one way to stop.

Being blown by a whim.
Why seek without what ain't within.
Blown by a whim.
These absolutes are wearing thin.

[ If I should take the notion to jump into the ocean,
It's nobody's business if I do.
If I give my girl my last nickel and it leaves me in a pickle,
It ain't nobody's business if I do.
If I am beset by the urge to fall asleep six feet under earth,
It ain't your business if I do.]

Fallen prey to police
in each, indifference seized
It's not idle mudslinging
I don't seek that ridicule
but those splinters and shards of born-dying fools

Being blown by a whim
Why seek without what's not within
Blown by a whim
These absolutes are wearing thin

To be a Bore

Written By: Ryan Newman

whistle us a tune, won’t you, free man?
our hands are sore and this castle we’re building, it’s made of sand
and these computer screens are makin’ us blind
we’d ride off into those warmer climes
if the goddamn clock weren’t gobbling all the time
all the time
and who wants to be a bore?
always be minding your horde
I can’t find tidy for all the mess that’s come before
tap a beat with a pencil an’ make o’ yer world music
and if you’ve loved what you’ve done, baby
well, keep on doing it
see, we got this band
though ill-informed as to what it means, man
wantin’ us to want no other but skipping on the pretence
you can’t mold a brother
just do what makes the doing easy
no squeezes
no teases bein nudged by them breezes
and we might not have It
but I know by me that what we got ain’t nothing
say it again, who wants to be a bore?
go on, maybe sit on a board
I can’t find tidy for all the mess what’s come before


Bombast and Affectation (2004)

Some tracks from this album are available at and at band site (

"She Asked" has enjoyed radio airplay.

Set List

A smattering o' original tracks:
Another New Year, She Asked, The Nothing You've Been Knowing, Splinters, To Be a Bore, Ain't it a Scream, Without a Tongue, I Was Lost, Misinformation, Our Leaders The Shiteaters, Greed!Capital!Myopia!, I Do Deliveries, Waiting on a Script...

Sarah (by The Slackers), So Hard Done By (The Tragically Hip), Knowledge (Operation Ivy).

We don't typically play for more than an hour. The songs are generally three minutes or less. However, none of this is set in stone.