There’s a special kind of madness that happens when a band circles back to its roots — that wild-eyed realization that the thing you were chasing was behind you the whole damn time. CROBOT are standing right there now, staring down the beast they built, grinning through the smoke.
Brandon Yeagley still preaches his gospel from behind the mic like some back-alley shaman with a harmonica holstered for punctuation. Christopher Bishop remains the riff conjurer — tone soaked in engine grease and snake oil, as if the guitar itself were trying to escape the song. And with the arrival of brothers Willie (bass, vocals) and Nico Jansen (drums, percussion), the band’s pulse has started to sound downright dangerous again — thick, swinging, and impossible to fake.
Every band says they’re “getting back to their roots.” Most of them mean they’re out of ideas. CROBOT means it like a blood oath. They’ve stripped it all down to the muscle and marrow, rediscovering that holy intersection where Sabbath’s weight meets Funkadelic’s freak, where Clutch’s swagger shakes hands in the Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic Chili-Peppers era. This isn’t nostalgia — it’s resurrection. The past few years have sanded off a lot of pretense. What’s left is a band that’s learned how to breathe again, how to groove again, how to trust the dirt under their boots. They’ve been through the industry grinder, the touring trenches, the ego traps, and the inner wars — and somehow came out grinning wider, riffing harder, and sounding more alive than they have
in a decade.
That rebirth roars to life on “Gun to My Head,” the first shot fired from their upcoming album. It’s CROBOT at their most unfiltered — hook-heavy, groove-drenched, and thick with the kind of swagger that makes amps sweat. The song’s chorus swings like a pendulum between surrender and salvation, the sound of four musicians testing their own limits and finding freedom on the other side. It’s not about violence — it’s about the pressure of transformation, the push and pull between love, truth, and the kind of pain that forces
you to evolve.
“Sometimes you’re forced to take a step back and reflect on what really matters,” explains Yeagley. “Every note has a reason, every word a purpose. We’re etching something in-blood into the CROBOT discography - and Gun to My Headfelt like the best taste of what’s to come.”
CROBOT in 2025 isn’t chasing relevance. They’re chasing feel. That unspoken alchemy that happens when four lunatics hit a downbeat and the room levitates for a second. They’ve traded the smoke and mirrors for sweat and instinct,
and it shows.
Call it rebirth, call it regression, call it whatever you want — CROBOT is back where they belong: knee-deep in the groove, grinning like thieves, and daring you to
prove them wrong.
