A King Size Album by King Size – Real Retro-Punk Rock Rebirth

A King Size Album by King Size – Some years back, I lived in Rome. Where even the alley cats seemed to hum in perfect pitch. Music there wasn’t just heard, it was inhaled. Thick, breathable, like the smoke curling out of a Vespa mechanic’s shop. It was smart, too. But not the pretentious kind. Just naturally born, bathed in melody, raised on wine and midnight arguments. Italy, man… it’s where sound goes to feel something. And don’t even get me started on the pasta – those long, winding noodles that refuse to end, like they’ve got stories to tell before the sauce runs out.

There’s something gloriously chaotic about Italians doing punk rock. It’s like spaghetti with dynamite sauce. Hot, unpredictable, and utterly unforgettable. King Size, the four-piece gang of rockers from Treviso, Italy, have unleashed their fourth studio album. Self-titled, of course, because why complicate things? After two decades of sweating on stage and probably drowning in cheap wine and broken guitar strings, they’ve squeezed out a 10-track LP that smells like heartache and nostalgia soaked in vintage amp dust.

Limited to just 200 physical copies, this album it’s about bleeding your soul into a mic in a dim Treviso studio with your old buddy Davide Dall’Acqua behind the knobs. That’s punk. That’s family. This is King Size.

From Rolla to the Exit: Your Punk Sermon in 10 Verses

Rolla hits like a bottle thrown at the floor. There’s no warning, just noise and intent. It kicks the door down with a jangly punk riff and marches straight into a chorus that screams beer-fueled summer nights and air-guitar bruises. But don’t get too cosy. Track two, Sick People Are The Most Dangerous People, yanks you into a sharp-edged love letter to their hometown. You can find enough social bite to leave a scar.

READ MORE ROCK – WE’VE GOT YOU COVERED!

Million Stairs shifts the gear down with bittersweet tenderness. Think barroom lullaby after a breakup, the kind of track that makes you slow dance alone in your kitchen at 2 AM.  An then there’s I Don’t Know What to Tell You. It sounds like The Pogues got lost in a Venice bar crawl and decided to record something before passing out. It’s chaos wrapped in a catchy riff, the kind of track that makes you forget what genre you were listening to in the first place. By the time Running pops in, you’re in alt-country territory. But hey, but don’t think cowboy hats. This one’s a rough cry for belonging, straddling vulnerability and bar fight energy. And the first part of the record was as though…

A King Size Album by King Size – The Sonic Middle Finger

And lo, the second half did arrive – not robed in gold nor softened by age, but strutting in with a grin and a middle finger. It’s A Game Over kicks off side B with all the subtlety of a glitter bomb in a biker bar. It’s punk rock in makeup and heels, power pop with its shirt half-buttoned and breath reeking of last night’s gin. It just bounces, hard, like someone who knows they’re late and still stops to light a smoke.

Then comes Making No Sound, and suddenly the party’s over and you’re the last one at the bar, staring out a rain-slicked window. Check the video bellow – shot in grayscale and starring British comedian Sarah J. Lewis. To be honest, the video leans into the track’s soft underbelly. This is the quietest moment in the chaos – Beatle-esque chords, a sleepy existential drive through a British town, and the sound of time slipping away without saying goodbye.

Screaming stirs the pot again, but not with fury. It’s just familiarity. The bassline hums like something Ringo might’ve laid down in a fever dream. It’s Beatles on acid, in leather, slightly pissed off but still oddly charming. Hooks, riffs, even the vocal phrasing – all of it whispers homage while snarling something new.

Then comes Outside, opening like a sad letter never sent. It starts small, almost afraid of its own shadow. Lonely stuff – but halfway through it tears off the mask and surges into a jam that kicks the dust off your boots and dares you to feel something. And at last, the curtain call: You Got Me Running Away. Classic build. Rock and roll bones. A chorus shouted like it means business. And just when you think it’s done, the thing collapses into a sonic wormhole. Feedback, distortion, a strange experimental outro that leaves you staring at your speakers like they just told a dirty secret.

The Vinyl-Only Church of King Size

I’ve listened to every track, and truth be told, there’s no favorite. No guilty glances or secret picks. Just pure love for the whole pack. Start to finish. Each song earns its place, and I welcome them all with the same open-hearted honesty. It’s a pilgrimage, it’s Chuck Berry with a mohawk. It’s The Clash sharing a plate of carbonara with The Hives. A proof that rock and roll still breathes through tube amps and handmade lyrics. From Treviso to your ears, this is music made with worn fingers and stubborn hearts.

Stream it if you must. But if you’re still lucky enough to get one of those 200 physical copies, treat it like a sacred relic. It might not save your soul, but it’ll definitely remind you you’ve got one. Want more of this beautiful noise? Stalk them like a proper fan – Facebook, Instagram, Spotify, YouTube, Bandcamp. Pick your poison, hit follow, show some love. These guys earned it.

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