theCrates are a Toronto-based three-piece that deliver a powerful blend of roots-infused rock with a sharp emotional edge. Known for their dynamic live shows and songwriting that swings between feral grit and melodic poise, theCrates draw from a broad spectrum of influences the likes of Springsteen’s heartland storytelling, the swagger of The Pogues, the soul-burn of Chris Cornell, and the raw honesty of acts like Jesse Malin and Whiskeytown.
Their latest single, “Hits Like A Heartache,” pushes their sound further, channeling a harder, more unrestrained energy while still landing with the precision and hooks fans have come to expect. With unforgettable choruses and a sound that’s both familiar and fiercely their own, theCrates are carving out a place that’s equal parts heart, howl, and hard-earned craft.
She shadows me in an old dark hoodie
Signs say it's another few miles
But I know this rhythm well
And it hits like a heartache
Hey La La don't you run out on me
Got half the load and we're filling up now
Her curls swinging smiling at me
And oh how it mows down the rhythm
But it can shake like an earthquake
Hey La La don't you run out on me
Hey La La don't you run out on me
Don't we always get stuck on time
Forget to remember we built this
We can go run off on a line
But then she screams the floorboards are tilted
Hey La La don't you run out on me
Hey La La don't you run out on me
Hey La La don't you run out on me
Hey La La La La
It'll all be worth the wait
Between parked cars and graffiti benches
We walk a little more softly now
Piss on the wall and a kiss in the corner
I can't complain if you're down in sorrow
Playing Punisher to push back tomorrow
Running backwards now just to borrow
The love that we sang with the sparrow
Tell my wife I'm sorry I came home so drunk!
Hey La La don't you run out on me
Hey La La don't you run out on me
Hey La La don't you run out on me
Hey La La La La
Same trick pitch on every swing
Whiskey ‘n cigarettes and we're singing our songs
Run our eyes red till the next morning comes
But tonight we'll sleep so sound
Hey La La don't you run out on me
Hey La La don't you run out on me
Hey La La don't you run out on me
Hey La La La La
"Hits Like a Heartache" feels raw, honest, and unvarnished, like an open road song crossed with a barroom confession. The imagery is vivid but not overly polished, with details pulling you into a real, imperfect, lived-in world. There's a push and pull between romance and wreckage, between running away and sticking it out with such a simple, strong hook emphasising that tension. It has the emotional grit of classic Americana, like Springsteen or The Replacements, but without trying too hard to be poetic... it feels earned.
The recording has a live energy. Not overly polished, full of life, heart, and a slight ragged charm that fits the narrative. The vocal performance is gritty and soulful, matching the bittersweet feel of the lyrics perfectly. There's a looseness to the playing that gives it a bar-band-on-the-verge-of-greatness vibe. Tight enough to be driving, loose enough to be human.
"Hits Like a Heartache" feels authentic and relatable. It's got enough grit to feel real and enough heart to stick with listeners after it ends. It straddles that rare line between melancholy and celebration, like nursing a wound while smiling through it.
This album feels like a long, late-night drive through memory, heartbreak, and survival. It's rooted in the everyday — sidewalks, fairs, rain, busted windows — but what it’s really chasing is emotional truth. These songs aren't about grand declarations; they're about the small, sharp moments when loss, love, and time quietly undo us.
In a world flooded with overly polished pop and digital perfection, these songs offer something rare: flawed, human, imperfect beauty contributing to a resurgence of roots-driven, emotionally mature songwriting that doesn't lean on nostalgia but tries to sound honest. The album feels like a reminder that sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is to say what hurts simply, clearly, and without apology.
This album feels like a long, late-night drive through memory, heartbreak, and survival. It's rooted in the everyday — sidewalks, fairs, rain, busted windows — but what it’s really chasing is emotional truth. These songs aren't about grand declarations; they're about the small, sharp moments when loss, love, and time quietly undo us.
In a world flooded with overly polished pop and digital perfection, these songs offer something rare: flawed, human, imperfect beauty contributing to a resurgence of roots-driven, emotionally mature songwriting that doesn't lean on nostalgia but tries to sound honest. The album feels like a reminder that sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is to say what hurts simply, clearly, and without apology.
I miss you most when I'm happy
You were my saving grace
So save me
Save me grace
Caught between my heart and a hard place
Most times I just miss your face
It made my
It made my day move easy
So save me grace
Go save me grace
Save me
Save me grace
Went down to the Markham fair
I never thought that I'd find you there
But I caught you
As you walked on by
All I did is bend like tin
My chest just thumps and heaves on in
Cause I can't be your man no more
Sometimes the love comes after the loss
And I know now I know we ain't gonna beat this
Sometimes the love comes after the loss
And I know now we ain't gonna beat this
Second act
Down in the red room
My head spins too soon
And time moves on
Final act
Drown in a monsoon
A darkened eclipsed room
Still time moves on
I know you let me go
Well oh no it can't be so
Cause I can't be your man no more
Sometimes the love comes after the loss
And I know now I know we ain't gonna beat this
Sometimes the love comes after the loss
And I know now we ain't gonna beat this
And all I did is bend like tin
My chest just thumps and heaves on in
Cause I can't be your man no more
So save me grace
You go save me grace
Most times
Most times I just miss your face
"Saving Grace" is vulnerable and deeply human. Aching but not self-pitying. From the opening lines you are immediately pulled into a complex emotional state. Not just simple sadness, but that strange grief that sharpens when life is good and you realize who's missing. The repeated plea throughout the song gives a haunting, almost gospel-like cadence, as if it's reaching for something just beyond its grasp.
The idea, woven through the bridge and outro, that sometimes love really reveals itself after the loss, but too late to fix things, feels honest, resigned, and deeply affecting.
The vocal delivery is cracked in the right places. You can hear the weight behind the words without it ever becoming melodramatic. It’s got a quiet, bruised energy, like someone playing alone late at night after a long, hard talk.
Sylvie don't believe in God no more
Ever since the flood came through her door
Sylvie don't believe in hallowed angels
Sylvie don't come outside no more
There's a cold breeze blowing through the maple
The smell of rain lingers in my step
Sometimes I still feel chased by this darkness
And it's getting harder to reach the secrets that I kept
Ya it's getting harder to reach the secrets I kept
Hey Sylvie
Hey Sylvie
Don't you miss me
Don't you miss me
I wonder if sylvie stopped thinking of me
Some days I walk that old path alone
And every once in a while I'll knock on her door
But sylvie she's never at home
Hey Sylvie
Hey Sylvie
Don't you miss me
Don't you miss me
I need the summer days when the nights grew longer
When we'd dance by the moon and we'd spin and spin
There's a warm breeze blowing through this graveyard
But I don't know anymore if im gonna be let in
Ya I don't know anymore if im gonna be let in
Hey Sylvie
Hey Sylvie
Don't you miss me
Don't you miss me
So come on home now
Come on home now
Come on home
Come on home now
Come on home now
Hey Sylvie
Hey Sylvie
Don't you miss me
Don't you miss me
Don't you miss me
Hey Sylvie
Hey Sylvie
Don't you miss me
Don't you miss me
Sylvie captures the quiet, hard ache of realizing you're still holding on long after someone else has let go. It's about living with absence. The long, hollow stretch after a breakup when you thought you'd be fine by now, but you're not. The song doesn't try to dress the pain up; it just sits with it, honestly. There's a deep sense of wondering how it all unraveled, mixed with a stubborn kind of care, even after the love is gone, the worry remains. 'Sylvie' is less about anger or regret and more about the lonely weight of still hoping, still knocking on closed doors, still remembering what it felt like when things were whole.
Musically, "Sylvie" leaves plenty of space for the sadness to breathe. The arrangement is simple but deliberate, letting the weight of the words carry through without getting buried. The repetition of "Hey Sylvie" feels less like a chorus and more like calling out into an empty room, in quiet, stubborn hope that somehow one might be heard. It's the kind of song that doesn't chase resolution; it just lets the ache exist, the way real heartbreak often lingers long after the story’s supposed to be over.
The medication made me feel real old
I found you upstairs nursing a cold
The medication made me made me slow
Sooner than later I'll forget what I know
What I know
I begged you not to go you know I did
I found you outside coughing in the shed
And there's poison in that water
And my heart begins to crack
HEY!
The medication spun my head around
Where I could no longer hear that sound
Of you calling out from under
As I step out into rolling thunder
And there's poison in the water
Ya there's poison in the water
I won't be coming back
I won't be coming back
I won't be coming back
No oh oh
I won't be coming back
I won't be coming back
I won't be coming back
No oh oh
I won't be coming back
Oh oh oh
Whoa oh
Whoa oh oh
Oh oh oh oh
Whoa oh
Whoa oh
Medication feels like a slow slide into numbness, the way life can slip out of focus when you're trying to hold it together and everything starts to fray. It's about more than just physical sickness; it's about emotional erosion too. Forgetting what mattered, losing the sound of someone you love trying to reach you. There's a deep sadness underneath the surface, but also a kind of resignation: the understanding that some poisons, once inside you, don't get undone. The repeated lines 'I won’t be coming back' hit like a final break, not shouted out in anger, but almost worn out, like the last thing left to say when you’ve already let go.
Musically, Medication leans into that sense of slow-motion collapse. The rhythm feels heavy but not dramatic, like dragging your feet through a storm you know you can’t outrun. The thunderous bursts in the later sections mirror the internal chaos that's been building under the surface all along. This isn't a song about fighting back, it’s about recognizing when the fight is already lost, and somehow finding a strange, bitter peace inside that realization.
We passed each other a while ago
But I still talk to people I ignore
And the birds are singing songs in time
To this morning that was mine
But Im just staring up at a busted window
If we cross on the street one day
Would it be best to just keep on walking
I wear my hood up when it is grey
If I'm honest it still hurts when we get talking
So for me it's best to just be on my way
I'm getting tired of getting down
Tired of getting down
I'm tired of you not around
I'm getting tired of getting down
We used to sing out hallelujah
But you stopped singing songs along the way
And I take back what already's been given
Though we say it, things don't feel ok
Now hallelujahs something we just don't say
I'm getting tired of getting down
Tired of getting down
I'm tired of you not around
I'm getting tired of getting down
I guess there's something in the blue
Leaves me stuck on these memories of you
And the things you said they get lost in my head
And I wonder why you left so soon
I'm so alone I may as well be on the moon
Guess that's the thing about feeling lonely
It can stick around like a darkened bruise
But there's a strange comfort in the feeling
Of why you left so soon
Oh i may as well be on the moon
Cause I'm getting tired of getting down
I'm tired of getting down
I'm tired of you not being around
I'm getting tired of getting down
I'm getting tired of getting down
I'm getting tired of getting down
Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm
Mmm mmm mmm mmm
Down is a quiet unraveling song that doesn't explode with heartbreak, but just quietly admits: this still hurts. It’s about the kind of sadness that doesn't go away quickly, the kind that lingers in everyday moments, like walking down the street, hearing a bird sing, seeing a busted window. The lyrics are brutally honest in the most human way. There’s no reaching for closure here, just the weight of someone who's been sad for longer than they expected and is finally starting to feel worn out by it. 'I'm getting tired of getting down' isn’t a catchy hook... it’s a confession.
Musically, the song mirrors that emotional fatigue. The repetition in the chorus starts to feel like a mantra, or a rut you can’t climb out of — echoing how grief and loneliness don’t always feel sharp, sometimes they just feel heavy. The line 'I may as well be on the moon' lands not as drama, but as truth, because when someone who used to be your center is gone, that isolation can feel just as far away. Down doesn't try to solve anything, it just lets you sit with the ache, and for anyone who’s been there, that honesty can feel like a kind of comfort.
Something bad happened tonight
I'm the eye I'm the eye
Horns blow out of tune in the dark
And it never felt quite the same
And the leaving wasn't easy
And the healing was even worse
Like a body without a hearse
I'm cursed
The healings even worse
Hmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm
Static shows there's friction in the power
Choose wisely choose wisely
They're yelling they're screaming they're killing
On the pavement
Go take it back man go take it back
And the leaving wasn't easy
And the healing was even worse
Like a body without a hearse
I'm cursed
The healings even worse
The healings even worse
(Ahhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhaaaaa)
(Ahhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhaaaaa)
And the leaving wasn't easy
And the healing was even worse
I'm a body without a hearse
I'm cursed
The healings even worse
The healings even worse
Healings even worse
The healings even worse
HEY!!
(Ahhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhaaaaa
Ahhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhaaaaa
Ahhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhaaaaa
Ahhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhaaaaa)
Leaving/Healing is a song caught in the middle of chaos. It doesn’t tell a story so much as it drops you into the wreckage — after something’s gone wrong, when nothing feels right, and you’re just trying to make sense of the noise. There’s trauma here, unnamed and unprocessed, with lines like 'I’m the eye, I’m the eye' placing the narrator dead center in a storm that won't let up. The contrast between ‘leaving’ and ‘healing’ forms the heart of the song. Neither is clean, and one might be worse than the other. Grief without closure, movement without direction. Musically, the track feels unstable like a simmering tension with fractured rhythms, and ghostly howls that sounds like memory breaking apart. The repeating refrain "the healing’s even worse" becomes less a lyric and more a mantra for anyone who's ever been through something that didn’t stop hurting once it ended. “Leaving/Healing” doesn’t offer answers or catharsis, it just says the hard thing out loud: sometimes walking away is hell, but recovery can be even worse.
I went down to Atlantic Avenue
Where the cops drive in full pursuit
And I sat in front of Shelby's
Just hoping to catch a glimpse of you
Got a call from Barons brother
He was light on kilos lease
I watched the sun fade away
I heard you took a plane to grieve
But nothing really gets me
'Cept you can't come around
I'll be gone before my body even hits the ground
Been weeks inside these dimmed wall lights
I wonder if my moms alright
My brother left his wife tonight
She didn't care to put up a fight
The sky paints halos on the sidewalk
We can't run on like this forever
I heard it's snowing in Cali
I guess we really can't predict the weather
But nothing really gets me
'Cept you can't come around
But I'll be gone before my body even hits the ground
It's funny the things I remember
Your sunken eyes and a carving in the table
And I left you with nothing more
Than a box of guitar strings and a fable
I ran down through Atlantic Avenue
The cops now drive in full pursuit
I sat in front of Shelby's
Just hoping to catch a glimpse of you
And I lay my head on Shelby's front lawn
Just hoping to catch a glimpse of you
But nothing really gets me
'Cept you can't come around
But I'll be gone before my body even hits the ground
Ya I'll be gone before my body even hits the ground
Hey I'll be gone before my body even hits the ground
Atlantic Avenue plays like a memory unraveling in real time, scattered, heavy, and steeped in loss. It's a song about chasing something that’s already gone, hoping for a glimpse, a flicker, some sign that what used to matter still exists. The lyrics drift between the personal and the peripheral. Broken relationships, family fallouts, half-heard updates, and street corners that don't feel the same anymore. It’s less about one clean loss and more about everything falling apart at once.
There’s a numbness that runs under the surface, 'nothing really gets me / ’cept you can’t come around', and that refrain becomes more devastating each time. It's not shouted, it's almost muttered, like the last thread of feeling left in someone who's exhausted by it all. The details feel oddly specific and universal at the same time, like fragments of someone trying to piece their story back together. Musically, the song floats in that tension between motion and stillness, like walking the same route over and over because it's the only thing you still know. “Atlantic Avenue” doesn’t ask for healing, it just quietly admits what’s been lost.
And if the devil he wont hold us
And if we can't just float on high
Well we'll just sit and watch the world roll on past us
Tell me baby when'd you grow so blind
I see these walkways getting narrow
I know this lightning won't last long
I feel I'm walking the wrong way backwards
And i've lived this way for far too long
I hear those demons chasing shadows
Go smell the roses but they gone died
I crane my neck to see apparitions now
Like how you stood once by my side
So I place this gun on my hip and it shows
Now they're throwing stones at my misdeeds
I take that drink any way it flows
I wear a heart on my sleeve that bleeds
I know you won't be coming back here
There's boiler makers they're in the way
And if I ruled the world by Sunday
Well even then I doubt you'd stay
If my hands weren't bound before they sure are now
This metal jacket shows decay
I know you're scratching to get from inside this place
Oh Lord just please take back this day
So I place that gun on my hip and it shows
Now they're throwing stones at my misdeeds
I take that drink any way it flows
I wear a heart on my sleeve that bleeds
Just one more night you lay beside me
Before the crest of waves wash it all away
And i'll lay my 12 string beside my 12 gauge
But oh me oh my they look the same
Now one day soon they'll come collecting
And you best believe now that we'll all pay
And if I ruled the world by Sunday
Well even then I doubt you'd stay
So I lay my 12 string beside my 12 gauge
But oh me oh my they look the same
And if the devil wont hold us
And if we can't just float on high
We'll just sit and watch the world roll on past us
Just tell me baby was it all a lie
By Sunday is the sound of someone reckoning regret, violence, tenderness, faith, and the slow collapse of something that once felt solid. There’s a spiritual tug-of-war going on here, a back-and-forth between holding on and giving in. The lyrics walk a razor-thin line between confession and resignation: guns and guitars lie side by side, hearts bleed openly, and demons never seem far off. It’s a song about trying to hold together some sense of meaning, even as the world around you crumbles. There’s a raw poetry to lines like “I lay my 12-string beside my 12-gauge / but oh me oh my they look the same”, where art and destruction feel indistinguishable. This song doesn’t try to be neat or resolved. It wrestles. It doubts. It becomes one of the most deeply human songs on the album. Musically, the rhythm is steady, with an undeniable weight to it. This is storytelling from the edge, and it doesn't flinch. Even if the world could be handed back, even if you ruled it by Sunday, there is no going back.