Do you have enough time?

Eastern Hungary isn’t exactly the first place you imagine when someone says “sun-drenched pop-punk” …

but The Neighbors clearly don’t give a damn about your expectations. With their third album, Van időd? (Do you have enough time?), the trio delivers a record that feels like flipping through an old skate-sticker-covered diary while a storm brews overhead, this November 21. It’s cheerful, it’s sad, it’s pissed off, it’s nostalgic — usually all at once — and above all, it’s honest as hell, which might just be their sharpest weapon.

Even if you don’t speak Hungarian, the album’s vibe punches through the language barrier. Think Blink-182 sunburnt hooks, Sum 41 snarl and MxPx heart-on-sleeve energy, all filtered through that unmistakably Eastern-European “life is beautiful but also totally messed up” emotional lens. It’s pop-punk but with the melancholy turned up to 11.

The Themes…

Digging through the lyrics is like reading sixteen different punk-poetry confessionals.

• “Tornado” kicks the album open like a natural disaster with ADHD — a metaphorical rage-monster tearing through cities and psyches. It’s chaos therapy.
• “Back to the Beach” pretends to be a summer-anthem, but the band drags you straight through the absurd, gross, and brutally honest reality of family beach trips. Sun lotion, wasps, drunk uncles, horny teenagers… the whole Eastern-European vacation starter pack.
• “The Ghost” slows things down with a cold, haunting sense of regret, while “Invisible Path” and “Where Are You Now?” go full emotional sucker punch. These tracks deal with grief, letting go, and the kind of heartbreak that leaves you standing alone in a gray cemetery of memories.
• “Alone in the Dawn” feels like the soundtrack to walking home at sunrise after a night that left your brain in pieces — the classic punk dilemma: the world is falling apart, politics are poison, and you’re stuck wondering when you stopped feeling young.

The Sound: Catchy Choruses + Emotional Wrecking Ball

Musically, this thing rips. Every chorus sounds like something you’d blast through a half-broken Discman while skating toward the sunset, pretending you weren’t silently falling apart inside. The Neighbors have a talent for writing melodies that feel like they’ve been living in your head since the early 2000s — but their lyrics drag you somewhere darker.

Where many pop-punk bands hide their sadness behind jokes, The Neighbors do the opposite:
they scream their sadness proudly, then slap skate-punk riffs over it.

This is pop-punk for people who survived growing up, but still carry the bruises.
It’s for anyone who remembers skating until their legs shook, falling in love too hard, losing things that mattered, and pretending everything was fine.

If you want sunshine, heartbreak, nostalgia, and sincerity all tangled together, this is for you.

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