This past Saturday, Toronto band Republic of Safety released its latest CD, Succession, to a local crowd of revellers and well-wishers. The party, I hear, went all night. And with good reason—Succession marks the Republic’s final release, and Saturday the band’s final show.

The band made the decision a couple of months back, not long after finishing the new EP; with the group’s main leaders Maggie MacDonald and Jonny Dovercourt headed in two different musical directions, it seemed obvious to them that the Republic’s days were numbered. For those of us not so in tune with the band’s personnel, though, we only heard about this about two weeks ago. In a way you could say Republic of Safety kinda sprung the announcement on us, but I guess border closures and refugee evacuations tend to be surprise affairs anyways.

Republic of Safety leaves behind three EPs and twelve songs—not an extensive discography, perhaps, but one full of gems nonetheless. The band began as a political agitprop garage punk band of sorts, though obviously one with a sense of humour; even to the end the band kept up the schtick of giving everyone in the band a minister title and claiming the Republic of Safety was a real country located off the coast of Torontopia. But over the years the band has mellowed their sound a bit and made friends with the Isles of Melody, and the running joke in interviews was that Succession was the band’s most commercial outing yet—a fantastic way of maintaining your street cred, since the band now has no way of capitalizing on whatever wider success Succession might face.

Unfortunately, it also means that if you’re just discovering Republic of Safety now, you’ve missed the boat. Dovercourt says he plans to take a bit of time off to collect himself and contemplate his musical future, while MacDonald’s thinking of taking things in a more synth-folk direction (maybe this explains how the band grabbed the Toronto opening spot for the Blow this past summer), which means it’s unlikely you’ll hear MacDonald shouting slogans over broken-glass guitar riffs anytime soon. If it’s any consolation, there’s an entire nation of refugees who feel your pain.