A South African Punk Project Fuses Speed, Melancholy, And Repair
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FiveSidedDice carries the energy of a private notebook left open on a rehearsal-room amp: messy, immediate, and full of feeling. On Kintsugi, the long-running South African solo project from Roscoe Nefdt sharpens that instinct into a compact, fast-moving EP that opens with a punch and ends in a hush. It is the kind of release that knows exactly when to hit hard, when to let the room breathe, and when to leave a bruise behind.
Nefdt, who has been active since 2008 and has also played in projects including Undead Generation, Twiza, and Whiskey & Ginger, writes, composes, and produces FiveSidedDice alone. That independence gives Kintsugi its shape: no wasted motion, no decorative excess. The first three tracks lean into melodic punk and pop-punk with a sharp, restless bite, nodding to the urgency of bands like Sum 41, The Distillers, Goldfinger, No Use for a Name, and Senses Fail. There is a familiar rush in the guitars, double-tracked and panned wide so they hit like a wall opening up. The vocals, recorded with an ASMR-style approach using two panned condenser mics, sit close to the skin, as if Nefdt is singing directly into your ear while the drums sprint ahead.
That opening stretch is all momentum and grit. Misery
arrives with a drum fill that lands like a door kicked open, then barrels into a heavy riff steeped in harmonic minor tension. The bassline cuts through with a treble-laced snap, giving the song a wiry, almost combustible edge. It is the sort of opening that makes the EP feel alive from the first second. From there, Kintsugi keeps its foot down long enough to establish its pulse before shifting into something more spacious and reflective.
The title points to the ancient Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold, and that idea sits at the centre of the release. Nefdt frames the record around resilience: the human spirit taking damage, then coming back altered, strengthened, and somehow more beautiful for the break. That same logic applies to relationships here too, whether between friends, lovers, or people trying to find their way back after a rupture. It is a plainspoken philosophy, but one with real weight. You can hear it in the way the EP gradually loosens its grip.
The Angel Number
acts as a hinge, pulling the record into more open territory. Inspired by post-rock and progressive rock, it offers a brief instrumental exhale before the closing track takes over. Look Down
is the emotional landing point: stripped back, unplugged, and gently bruised. Its acoustic guitar was double-tracked, once by microphone and once direct, giving the song a fuller body even as it stays subdued. Inspired by artists like Ben Harper and Mat Kerekes, it closes the EP with a kind of tired grace.
That ending has a story of its own. The final shape of the song came together in the forested calm of Natures Valley, during a warm sunset outside a backpackers lodge, with Nefdt and drummer Liaan Badenhorst finishing the instrumentation while hungover and low. It sounds like the sort of moment that can only happen after the noise has burned off. The result is an EP that starts in motion and ends in reflection, carrying the rough-edged heart of punk but allowing space for tenderness to settle in.
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