What would we choose to say?
More importantly, what songs would we play?
I don’t think we’d choose the loudest songs. I don’t think we’d choose the biggest hits or the latest trends. We’d reach for something more personal. Songs that remind us where we’ve been. Songs about old friends, first loves, neighborhoods that no longer exist, and dreams that somehow survived long after youth had slipped away.
Maybe that’s what getting older really feels like.
Every year, another radio station goes silent.
Another record store closes.
Another neighborhood changes beyond recognition.
Another musician who shaped our lives is suddenly gone.
Another friend moves away.
And before we realize it, we’re no longer living inside our memories—we’re carrying them.
Today’s world gives us access to almost every song ever recorded, yet somehow music often feels more disposable than ever. We scroll instead of listening. We skip instead of waiting. Algorithms know our habits, but they don’t know our hearts.
The signal is stronger than ever.
The connection feels weaker.
Over the past year, I’ve been thinking a lot about time. About the people who shaped my life. The bands that inspired me. The cities I’ve lived in. The roads that unexpectedly led me from New York to Mexico. I’ve realized that none of us gets to keep yesterday. Every place we love changes eventually. Every season ends. Every photograph becomes history.
Maybe that’s why we create.
Not because art can stop time—it can’t.
But because music can preserve a feeling long enough for someone else to experience it years later.
That’s what LAST BROADCAST FROM EARTH became.
These nine songs aren’t telling one story. They’re collecting moments before they disappear.
“I Miss Those Radio Days” remembers a time when music brought strangers together through invisible airwaves.
“Three Chords West of Cairo” reminds us that inspiration can come from unexpected places, blending cultures and sounds into something new.
“The Magnificent Joe Strummer” pays tribute to artists who refused to follow the crowd and showed us that authenticity is louder than perfection.
“Ramshackled” celebrates the beauty hidden inside imperfect lives.
“Zoo York City” looks back at the streets, energy, and contradictions of a city that helped shape who I became.
“I’m Gonna Follow You” and “Kiss Me My Love” remind us that even in a changing world, love remains one of the few things worth chasing.
“A Million Lonely People” reflects on the strange loneliness of modern life, where we’re more connected than ever but often feel more isolated.
Finally, “Just Leaving This Planet” and
“Nobody Gets To Keep Yesterday” close the album with the realization that every life, every friendship, every song, and every moment eventually becomes a memory.
That sounds sad.
But I don’t think it is.
In fact, I think it’s beautiful.
Because once we accept that nothing lasts forever, we begin to appreciate what we have while it’s still here.
Maybe that’s why we still write songs.
Maybe that’s why we still tell stories.
Maybe that’s why we still fall in love with places we’ll eventually have to leave.
One day, each of us will make our own last broadcast.
Until then, we still have time to sing.
If these songs bring back a memory, remind you of someone you’ve loved, or make you think about the road you’ve traveled, then they’ve already done exactly what I hoped they would.
After all...
Nobody gets to keep yesterday.
But every once in a while, a song lets us visit it one more time.
— Johnny Punish
EXCLUSIVE FOR MY SUBSTACK PEEPS
🎧 Listen to the full album:
LAST BROADCAST FROM EARTH (46 minutes) is now streaming on YouTube. Pour yourself a cup of coffee—or a glass of wine—put on a pair of headphones, and listen from beginning to end. The songs were written to be experienced as one continuous journey through memory, music, love, and the passage of time.
I’d love to hear which song speaks to you the most.
LAST BROADCAST FROM EARTH begins streaming everywhere Nov. 2, 2026
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