The Take – S/T (2019)

Some albums grow into your life quietly, without asking permission. The Take’s debut did that to me. When it came out in 2019, I gave it a listen, thought solid stuff, and moved on. But over the years it crept back in, until one day I realized it had become my daily companion—especially on the bus rides to work through Amsterdam mornings. That’s why I’m reviewing it now, years later.  Because it stuck.

The bus routine is always the same: I grab a window seat if I can, headphones in, the city still half asleep. That opening bassline of “The Skins Are Out Tonight” kicks in, and suddenly the dull grey morning feels sharper. The way Scott Roberts’ rough-edged voice cuts through—gritty, but never out of key—hits like a jolt of caffeine. It’s not just a song, it’s armor for the day ahead.

By the time “Class War” rolls in, we’re already at the canals, cyclists streaming past in the drizzle. The choppy riffs feel like the rhythm of the city itself—chaotic, determined, never stopping. Sometimes I catch myself mouthing along to the choruses, hoping no one notices.

And then there’s “Elitist.” On paper, it’s just another three-chord Oi! anthem, but it always makes me sit up straighter. Maybe it’s the sheer simplicity, or maybe it’s that “Oi! Oi! Oi!” that lands just right when you’re surrounded by office drones and students staring at their phones. It reminds me that there’s still fight in the world, even when everything around looks monotonous.

Some songs hit differently depending on my mood. “No Tolerance” on a bad day feels like an exorcism, especially that line: “Fuck you and your agenda, fuck you and your ideals.” On a lighter morning, “People Like You” becomes the soundtrack to watching strangers’ faces flicker past—every one of them wrapped up in their own battles. “Revolution Now” always gets me when we’re stuck in traffic. I’ll look at the line of cars stretching ahead and think, yeah, let’s burn it all down and start over.

The mid-paced stomp of the record is part of what makes it perfect bus music. Nothing rushed, nothing frantic, just heavy enough to give weight to the morning but steady enough to match the rumble of the road. And when “King of the World” or “Pray for a Miracle” comes on toward the end, it feels like arriving—not at work, exactly, but at some internal place where I’m braced for whatever the day throws at me.

That’s the thing: The Take isn’t just another veteran supergroup record. It’s not nostalgia, not a half-hearted side project. It’s music with grit, heart, and hooks that last. It became part of my routine, slipped into my mornings, and reminded me—day after day—why this music matters.