“We’re fucking hardcore kids from the suburbs in the ’90s.”

That’s how Daryl Palumbo pins it down – what raised him, what formed him, and what still pulses beneath everything he creates. It’s more than nostalgia; it’s the architecture of his intent. “We didn’t possess the gear and the vehicles and the infrastructure that bands have now. It was a very different universe.” And so he built his own: a world of stuttering synths, glam swagger, hardcore residue, and pop that slinks like a secret. He calls it Head Automatica.

The name, like much of Palumbo’s journey, isn’t overthought. “It was just some slang silliness from 25 years ago,” he laughs. “It was just like some slang that a friend of mine had said. He was a rapper… Head Automatica was a rap of his many years ago.” But within that silliness lies a kind of coded truth; a refusal to play the industry’s literal games, a celebration of absurdity with soul. Daryl has never been about one genre, one posture, one era. He’s a collector – not just of vinyl, but of feeling, of timing. “Music was adventurous. It was catchy and it was different. It was edgy. The edgy stuff was edgy. Catchy stuff was real catchy. The adventurous stuff was adventurous.”

During Friday afternoon’s set at the Great South Bay Music Festival, it all came rushing back. The band didn’t return with polish; they returned with power. There’s a difference. “It feels really nice because I do think this is the best representation of it,” Daryl unraveled to me after their set. “It’s performed light years better than it may ever have been performed.” From the jump of “Beating Heart Baby” to the slow-burn intensity of “Annulment,” there was no gap between past and present. Just one unbroken thread of movement, surging through a crowd who knew every syllable, every cry of the guitar. “I’m humbled and honored and I am a mere ant in the shadow of the talent of dudes that I get to play with.”

And that humility isn’t false modesty. It’s core to the project. Palumbo’s perspective on his own discography is startlingly clear-eyed. “When you’re young, you can’t always execute everything the way you hear it in the fantasy,” he admits. “You have this stuff in your head… and you as a creative young person can hardly get the fucking concept out.” It’s that older, wiser Daryl who’s now making Head Automatica feel like the band it was always meant to be. “It just kind of felt right,” he reflects on the band’s spontaneous yet anticipated resurgence. “I guess I just took a leap.”

You can hear the leap land in how the new songs hit. “Bear the Cross” is jagged and seductive, “Annulment” a brutal groove punctuated with emotion – proof that Head Automatica is still chasing something, not coasting on legacy. “I want to have really good songwriting sort of hidden at the core of it,” he epitomizes. “And I think I’m in a better place to be doing it. I think I’m better at it than I maybe have ever been.”

That maturity extends to his process, now almost entirely DIY. “Everything Head Automatica has been Richard Flesh and myself,” he details. “And then some mixing and mastering with Eric Mitchell, who’s in the band as well.” But don’t mistake that independence for isolation; Palumbo’s art is fed by his oldest friendships. “I love making tunes with my best friends,” and their tight-knit connection underscores everything from studio recordings to live performances. “I’m an older man. I get to play with my best friends… I have nothing to complain about. I’m blessed.”

On stage Friday, you could feel that camaraderie – tethered not just in skill, but spirit. The crowd mirrored that connection: singing, sweating, reliving, all just a bit sunburnt. This wasn’t a revival. It was a communion. “If you do it, do it until you’re willing to give up everything,” it’s his secret recipe to combatting the burnout of years bustling after a dream. “If you’re not willing to give up anymore to make art, figure out something more sustainable.” And yet, despite the years, Daryl is still giving everything – and the return isn’t just applause. It’s resonance.

And last night, that light shone the brightest it had in two decades.