For the first time since 1996, Sublime will release a brand-new album, Until the Sun Explodes, June 12, with Jakob Nowell — the late Bradley Nowell‘s son — on vocals alongside original members Eric Wilson on bass and Bud Gaugh on drums. Jakob, who originally imagined a more limited involvement with the band when he first signed on in 2023, tells Rolling Stone that he kept finding himself deeper and deeper in.
“It’s kind of like being a drug addict,” says Jakob, who got sober in 2017. “You’re like, ‘Oh, I drink, but I don’t do coke.’ And it’s like, ‘OK, I do blow, but I would never do blank.’ And then you just keep going. I was like, ‘Well, I’ll sing one of the songs, but I’ll never join the band. OK, I’ll join the band, but I’m not going to step on people’s toes and write a new record.'” He laughs. “And so I’m like, God, where am I? What am I doing?”
Even though the band’s upcoming LP is being released under the name Sublime — and uncannily channels an awful lot of the band’s sonic essence — Nowell doesn’t quite consider it the real thing. “The last true Sublime record will be [1996’s] self-titled, hands down, period,” says Nowell, who also records his own music under the name Jakobs Castle. “You can’t compete with mythology. This is the epilogue.”
The album pulls in guests including H.R. from Bad Brains, Pennywise guitarist Fletcher Dragge, and G Love, plus FIDLAR and Australian surf-rockers Skegss. The title track and lead single is out today, alongside a video filmed at spots around Long Beach that carry weight in the Sublime story, with pro skaters Christian Hosoi and Omar Hassan making appearances. The album’s opening track, “Ensenada,” already dominated Billboard’s Alternative Airplay chart for two months straight last year, holding the Number One spot longer than any other song on that chart in 2025.
Gaugh, who only briefly played with Wilson in his now-defunct collaboration with Rome Ramirez, Sublime With Rome, says the album validated something he felt from the first rehearsal with Jakob. “From day one, it seemed way more natural than anything we had done previously,” he says. “The chemistry and the sound — it was all there. It really brought me back to the mid-Nineties with Brad.”
“He totally reminds me of a sober version of Brad,” adds Wilson.
Gaugh describes Jakob’s songs as a direct continuation of Bradley’s habit of writing about his daily life (including immortalizing his pet, Louie Dog) and events around him, including the L.A. riots. “Jake took that same recipe and started writing about things that were happening in his life, in our lives, right now,” Gaugh says. “That really impressed me — the way he caught onto that and followed that prescription.”
When it came time to write, Jakob, touring guitarist Zayno, and producer Jon Joseph built a comprehensive research document cataloguing every chord progression, lyrical theme, sonic texture, and stylistic boundary in the Sublime discography. They went as far as making Venn diagrams and spreadsheets, while debating what was and was not “canonical” to the band’s sound. “It sounds a little contrived,” Nowell admits, “but we didn’t do it out of a sense of, ‘Oh God, we need to do this or else.’ We were having a blast, dude.” The key, he says, was a two-phase approach: “We had to learn the book, and then burn the book.”
For all the geekiness, Nowell says the actual secret was chasing the “true process of Sublime — that fun, wild craziness in the moment, that sort of altered state of consciousness that you get from making music with your friends and staying up all goddamn night.” On the track “Evil Men,” he took that approach to an extreme, staying awake for days trying to reach a trance-like creative state before free-styling the song. “I don’t get high no more,” he says, “so I was like, fuck, I need to get into some kind of altered state to commune with the gods.”
Jakob thought about his father constantly throughout the making of the album “It’s all for him,” he says. “I wouldn’t be here doing this if not for him. And I’d prefer it would be him doing it.”
“If Bradley were here, we would have probably been writing material as Sublime and then had Jake come and guest on a few songs,” says Gaugh. “I am certain of that.”
The album arrives a month before the 30th anniversary of Sublime, and the band plan to play the whole album start to finish at their two Red Rocks shows in April. They’re also launching their own traveling festival this spring and sailing a branded cruise out of Miami in the fall.
Wilson never expected any of this. “I never thought I was gonna be 56 years old,” he says. “If I would’ve known that I was going to be 56, I’d probably take better care of myself.”
The three members disagree over whether this incarnation of Sublime will record again. Wilson wants to keep going and sees no reason to stop, and Gaugh is open to continuing. Nowell is reluctant. “I think it will be the only full record I make with Sublime,” he says. “Maybe in another 30 years we’ll make another one.”
Nowell has already started thinking about his next Jakobs Castle album, and he plans to scale back Sublime shows after this year. But he says this album solved a lot of issues for him “How do I feel about this death or being related to this mythological figure or living in a shadow — all of that just melted away into the studio, man. This Sublime record is the work that right now I’m the most proud of ever having made.”








Holzman and Hughes at the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool.Courtesy of Ekko Astral
Holzman and Hughes in Brooklyn, May 2026.Griffin Lotz for Rolling Stone



There’s no immediate resolution in any of this. There’s no surrender either — and a lot of great escape. White’s slide guitar in “Dollar Bill” sounds like a National Steel on steroids until the solo, when it turns into what seems like a theremin gone postal. “I Can’t Believe What I’m Hearing” has a great pop-wise chorus closer to the Pretty Things than Son House. And don’t miss White’s wry aside to the White Stripes’ old creation myth in the second verse of “G.O.D.,” on the way to the real business at hand. “Well, it’s the beginning of the world now,” he declares at the song’s end. “Let’s do it all over again.”

Jay-Z has turned the 30th anniversary of his classic debut album into a major marketing event
Jay-Z Knows the Past Still Pays
There’s a pleasant absurdity to the advertisements for JAŸ-Z30 that are currently found across New York’s subway tunnels. Their dramatic imagery — a stark black backdrop pierced through the center with a pair of hands, presumably Jay’s, fixed into the famous Roc diamond — invites a kind of religious authority that feels a touch ironic for anyone who’s old enough to remember all types of handwringing over those very hand symbols only a few years ago. And maybe that’s the point. By now, nostalgia’s grip extends layers deep. So much so that you could find yourself waiting for the train, reminiscing on the days when people still made jokes about the so-called Illuminati.
Jay-Z’s months-long campaign commemorating the 30th anniversary of Reasonable Doubt and the 25th anniversary of The Blueprint has indeed resurfaced the rapper-turned-mogul’s success story. Reasonable Doubt, released in 1996, positioned Jay as not only a resonant voice in hip-hop but also in the increasingly lucrative business around it. After major labels passed, the album was released independently through Roc-A-Fella Records and Priority Records, setting the tone for Jay’s career as a business…man.
And in the full-court press campaign around this summer’s anniversaries, culminating in this weekend’s trio of performances at Yankee Stadium, Jay’s business acumen is again at center focus. You’d be forgiven for throwing around buzzwords like “multichannel” or “cross-platform” to describe the slate of festivities. There was a Spotify-backed takeover of the J and Z trains; custom JAŸ-Z30 subway maps and a Google Maps guide; commemorative Brooklyn Public Library cards; and most recently Bowery Station and DUMBO pop-ups with archival footage and merch. (That these Yankee Stadium shows come on the heels of Taylor Swift’s wedding at MSG suggests some sort of mega-rich takeover of cultural institutions, but let’s leave that one for another day.)
The moves come as nostalgia continues to drive a considerable chunk of the music industry’s profits. In an era when old songs can circulate infinitely on streaming platforms, gaining new life in the form of everything from samples to memes, and when superfans are willing to spend on physical goods, limited merch, and live experiences, album anniversaries have become their own product launches. Jay-Z’s Reasonable Doubt campaign is only the splashiest recent example.
No wonder, then, that Beyoncé already appears to be setting the stage for her own run of commemorations for the upcoming 20th anniversary of her album B’Day in September. Over the weekend, she released her first new song in two years, titled “Morning Dew (Donk),” to tease the upcoming reissue. According to Luminate, older music still dominates attention, with only 43 percent of U.S. on-demand audio streams in 2025 coming from tracks released in the previous five years. This is also one reason why vinyl and physical formats have seen renewed value in recent years, with the RIAA reporting that vinyl sold 46.8 million units in the U.S. in 2025, compared with 29.5 million CDs. Luminate says superfans are 20 percent of U.S. music listeners and spend heavily on live events and physical merchandise; 73 percent of these fans purchase physical merch, versus 26 percent of general music listeners.
In today’s industry, having a major anniversary is like having a new product to promote, a way to participate in an already thriving marketplace for nostalgia. The demand is visible well beyond official artist stores: Vintage concert tees now trade as collectibles, with one 1967 Grateful Dead shirt selling at Sotheby’s for $19,300 and rare rap tees treated as wearable archives of hip-hop history. Anniversary campaigns give artists and labels a way to reclaim that energy, turning the secondary market’s appetite for old symbols into new, officially sanctioned products.
Jay-Z’s official anniversary store turns that logic into a menu of objects: a $1,500 collector’s crate, a $300 cassette box, $400 Yankees jerseys, and four-figure varsity jackets. Of course, Jay is far from alone when it comes to legacy acts cashing in on nostalgia. He’s more like one salient example of a much larger wave of artists and promoters marketing anniversary products that includes the Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness 30th anniversary super-deluxe edition, My Chemical Romance’s Black Parade stadium tour, and the returned Warped Tour, among many others.
Five years before Reasonable Doubt became the occasion for library cards, pop-ups, collector crates, and stadium spectacle, its 25th anniversary was marked by an NFT. In 2021, Sotheby’s and Roc Nation auctioned a one-of-one Derrick Adams artwork tied to the album, billed as the only official Jay-Z-authorized commemoration of the anniversary. Around the same time, Roc-A-Fella was in court over co-founder Damon Dash’s attempted sale of a Reasonable Doubt-related NFT, a dispute that ended with a judgment making clear that no shareholder could sell or dispose of an interest in the album — including through an NFT — without the company’s authorization.
That ownership question is becoming harder to avoid as music enters the AI era, where the archive is not only something to reissue, exhibit, or sell, but something that can be scraped, modeled, and trained on. Last week, SZA took to Twitter to express frustration with AI music company Suno, notably calling out Diplo by name as one of the company’s investors. “DO NOT GIVE AWAY YOUR VIBRANIUM !!! DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH YOUR GENIUS,” she wrote on Twitter. Her complaint was joined by Kenneth Blume, who said Suno’s workers were “stealing from countless struggling musicians.”
For an artist with a legacy as impactful as Jay-Z’s, the current anniversary boom feel like the latest phase of a longer project of deciding who gets to turn hip-hop history into intellectual property. Jay-Z’s legacy deserves preservation; few catalogs have made a stronger case for it. But the more that preservation arrives through limited-edition objects, auction platforms, luxury merch, and authorized experiences, the more it has to answer a harder question: When does protecting the archive become another way of extracting value from it?