cash rich Review: Snake Eyes Make Grit-Pop Sound Weirdly Expensive

cash rich is Snake Eyes turning lockdown escape energy into tight, loud scenes—punk snaps, pop hooks, and a spoken-word gut check that actually sticks.

A debut that doesn’t ask nicely

Some debut albums introduce themselves. cash rich kicks your door in, wipes its shoes on the rug anyway, then somehow leaves you humming the chorus later.

Snake Eyes call this grit-pop, and yeah, that tag fits—barely. What I actually hear is a duo treating pop melody like a weapon: shiny enough to lure you in, blunt enough to leave a bruise. This record feels like it was designed to hit fast, disappear, and then haunt you when you’re trying to listen to something “normal.”

Lockdown band energy… but not the boring kind

Snake Eyes formed in 2020 as a creative escape when the world was locked down, and you can tell the whole project started as a pressure valve. But it didn’t stay small. Over the last five years they’ve stacked up two EPs and a mixtape, and they’ve been out touring alongside names like You Me At Six, Kid Kapichi, and Dinosaur Pile-Up.

And here’s the part some people might disagree with: those tours matter less than the attitude the band brought back from them. cash rich sounds like a duo who learned how to win a room quickly—then decided they’d rather confuse it first.

“jar full of wasps” opens like a threat (in a good way)

The album starts with “jar full of wasps”, and the first thing you get is noisy feedback—like the amps are being dared to behave. Then it lunges into a fast punk cut that drags electronic grit and grunge smear along for the ride. The easiest comparison is the kind of punchy, modern punk that Soft Play fans tend to gravitate toward, but Snake Eyes don’t copy that lane—they just borrow the impatience.

The hook is so infectious it feels involuntary. Head-nod territory. And the confidence is loud in a way that doesn’t feel faked; it’s backed by the duo’s chemistry, the kind where the changes land because both people mean them.

I’ll admit, on my first minute with this track I thought, “Okay, this is going to be all bark, all distortion.” But by the time the song’s already over (because of course it is), the point is clearer: they’re not trying to be heavy—they’re trying to be unignorable.

“no cars” into “the kicker”: the album flexes its pacing

The shift into “no cars” is where the record shows it’s not just speed for speed’s sake. It starts low in volume, almost casual, like they’re letting you lean in—then it pays off in a quiet, attention-grabbing way that feels deliberate rather than “we didn’t know how else to start.”

And then it blends into “the kicker”, which comes off like the love child of garage rock and pub rock. That’s a ridiculous combination on paper—greasy riffs plus the stomp-and-shout energy of a packed room—but it works because they don’t over-explain it. They just slam the parts together and keep moving.

Arguable take: “no cars” is the smarter song, but “the kicker” is the one that gets remembered by people who claim they “don’t even like punk.” The hook does the dirty work.

Short tracks, sharp edges: the 3-minute rule actually pays off

Most of cash rich lives under the three-minute mark. That could’ve been a gimmick—songs trimmed down for streaming attention spans, the musical equivalent of scrolling. But here it lands differently: these tracks feel built to end before they get polite.

The benefit is obvious: you get short, sweet punches that leave you wanting one more chorus, one more bar of noise, one more dumb little melodic turn that shouldn’t be catchy but is. The risk, though, is that the record can start to feel like it’s sprinting away from its own best ideas.

And yeah, this is where my one mild gripe lives: a couple moments could’ve breathed for another 20–30 seconds without “ruining the vibe.” The album acts allergic to lingering—even when it’s earned it.

Still, when a longer track does show up, it feels satisfying, like the band finally letting a scene play out instead of cutting away mid-sentence.

They refuse to stay in one lane (and that’s the point)

Trying to put Snake Eyes in a neat box is basically missing the joke. They keep switching style, pace, and instrumental texture like they’re testing how quickly you’ll adapt.

One moment you’re in the grittier pocket—tracks like “soup” and “hug me” hit with that scraped-knee energy, where the distortion feels emotional instead of decorative. Then they pivot into more delicate, vulnerable territory with songs like “slugs” and “i’m a daydream.”

And I’m not totally sure if the softness is the “real” band or the hard stuff is. The record makes a case for both, which is either honesty or excellent misdirection.

“i’m a daydream” slows the room down on purpose

“i’m a daydream” is the longest track on the whole record, and it uses the extra time like it actually knows what to do with it. It’s mostly slow, and the chorus has that sway-and-sing pull—this is the moment where you can practically see a crowd holding up lighters (or phone flashlights, if we’re being honest about the era).

At first I thought this track might be the “ballad break,” the part where a loud album goes soft because that’s what loud albums do. But on second listen, it feels more like the album telling you: we can do tenderness without apologizing for it. That’s a different move—and a risk, because it invites you to listen closer.

Arguable statement: the slow songs on cash rich land harder than some of the loud ones, because they don’t have distortion doing the emotional heavy lifting.

“robot boy” closes like a raw receipt

The closing track “robot boy” feels stylized as a raw one-take recording. Acoustic guitar upfront, low production-like sound, like they wanted the air in the room to be part of the arrangement.

Some listeners will call that intimate. Others will call it undercooked. I landed somewhere in the middle: I like the decision, but I kept waiting for one more turn of the screw—one small surprise that never comes. Still, as a final taste, it’s memorable because it refuses to “finish big.” It just… ends. Like a thought you don’t get to complete.

The title track “cash rich” is spoken word—and it means it

If the album hasn’t won you over by the time you get to the title track, here’s Snake Eyes making a different argument: “cash rich” shows up as a spoken-word interlude.

It’s the kind of choice that can feel corny when done wrong—spoken word often shows up when an artist wants to sound profound without doing the work. But here it functions like a checkpoint. It reaffirms the need to stay true to yourself and your values despite the current state of the world, and because the rest of the record has already been swinging between bravado and vulnerability, the message doesn’t feel pasted on.

Arguable take: the interlude isn’t a detour—it’s the thesis statement they were too impatient to explain in the louder tracks.

Release details (because timing is part of the statement)

cash rich is set for release on March 6 via Alcopop! Records. That matters, not because labels are personality traits, but because this album sounds like it was made to move—to be played live, yelled back, and carried out of a venue on adrenaline.

Here’s the album art:

If you want the social link the band actually uses: Snake Eyes are on Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/wehavesnakeeyes/

Conclusion: what cash rich is really doing

cash rich doesn’t politely blend gritty rock and pop melody—it grinds them together until they spark. The fast tracks feel engineered to hit and vanish, the softer moments refuse to be background music, and the spoken-word title track drops the mask long enough to tell you what the whole thing’s been about: keep your values, even when the world’s acting like values are a luxury item.

Our verdict:

Who will actually like this album? People who want punk energy but need a hook to latch onto; pop listeners who secretly enjoy a little ugliness in the sound. Who won’t? Anyone who needs a band to pick one aesthetic and commit—or anyone allergic to spoken-word moments that stare you in the face. If you prefer your chaos neatly labeled, cash rich is going to feel like a drawer full of mismatched batteries.

FAQ

• Is “cash rich” a pop album or a rock album?
  It plays both sides on purpose—gritty rock textures with pop-minded melodies, sometimes in the same breath.
• What’s the best first track to try if I’m unsure?
  Start with “jar full of wasps” if you want the punch, or “no cars” if you want the slower pull before it snaps.
• Are the songs really that short?
  Most are under three minutes, and that tight runtime is part of the album’s personality—quick hits that don’t linger.
• What’s the deal with the title track?
  “cash rich” is a spoken-word interlude that spells out the values angle—staying true to yourself despite the state of the world.
• Does the album end big?
  Not really. “robot boy” closes with a raw, one-take feel—acoustic, low-production, and intentionally unpolished.

If the cash rich cover art stuck in your head the way it stuck in mine, you can always pick up a favorite album cover poster over at our store. It’s a nice way to let a record haunt your wall instead of just your playlists.