The solo project of NYC artist Curran Reynolds, Body Stuff summons a strange vision of cathartic rock music that indeed evokes the passion of The Boss, then bolsters it with metallic power and cloaks it in a dreamlike haze. At times, yearning, at times, euphoric, Body Stuff seems to encompass the extremes of NYC, from the sewer to the skyscraper. Reynolds opts to call it, simply, “hard rock.” Today, the artist shares the single “Sacrifice.”

Sophomore album, Body Stuff 5, coming October 16, 2026, brings the project to new depths and heights. Through eight anthemic songs, humming with longing and triumph, Body Stuff 5 captivates. Big, slamming drum beats, seemingly echoing the boomboxes of NYC summers past, are peppered with storms of double-bass. Guitars, performed by Reynolds’ friend Andee Blacksugar of Blondie, ravage and glisten, transmitting from a place where hair metal and postpunk converge. Organ, trumpets, and church bells make fleeting appearances. 

Tying everything together is Reynolds’ voice, an earnest bellow that has earned comparisons to Killing Joke’s Jaz Coleman as well as the aforementioned Springsteen. Recent live videos show Reynolds prowling the stage, headbanging, delivering his words with full-body conviction. His autobiographical lyrics explore the pain of existence, referencing haunting memories culled from more than a quarter-century of life in NYC, but often land in a place of gratitude. The sincere and uplifting slant of Reynolds’ lyrics is one of the many factors separating Body Stuff from the pack. “I want to give ’til nothing’s left, complete surrender, nothing less,” he insists on the album’s rousing opener, “Eternal Hurricane.” “Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice for love,” he pleads at the end of the album’s closer, “Sacrifice,” out today with video. Reynolds further explains: “I made this music video one morning after watching Jean Cocteau’s film, Blood of a Poet. I loved the scene in that film where the artist is peeping in keyholes in the hotel and I woke up wanting to replicate that. As fate would have it, my building here in Brooklyn was built in the 1850s, and one of the doors in my apartment has the most perfect, iconic keyhole.”