Bad Static are back with an absolute bangarang boombox belter EP to ring in the New year with. We’ve been ripping into every release with rapturous and ravenous praise but this one is even more ravishing.
It’s feral, chunky, punk riffs, with a horrorcore narrative and a tasty sprinkled undercurrent of nuanced depth and mental health issues.
It kind of sounds kind of gross laid out all splayed tendons and guts like that but it makes for truly phenomenal songwriting and there is a majestic beauty in its gorgeous gore.
The first track ‘Cherry Cyanide’ details the kill, the sweet kiss of the sweetest poison. It’s sultry and coy but with a saucy saunter to the riff that sachets through a sublime classic punk track that builds into a screamalong chorus.
‘Ectoplasm Nightmare‘ follows the perhaps not surprising aftermath of the kill and the haunting in a tangibly real and phsyical sense, but also in an emotional and psychological one.
The takes on a much more sultry and somber sound with the vocals but with the unhinged cackle of resigned tiredness of a powerful break to come. There is a pounding ferocity in the strings and drums that prowls throughout.
The finale of ‘Reanimatiom‘ takes all of gory story pieces that have come before and lays them out on a orchestral bone xylophone to make it’s spooky sonnet.
There is a cheery little ditty that skips through the heart of this one musically. It has a merry mania to it echoed in the increasingly insane vocals as they dive into the necromantic mantra of its face value.
Yet as with every track on the EP there are the accessible and easy to enjoy upfront lyrics, and then to much deeper, often darker, but righteous fuck you feminist punk undercurrent.
If someone is looking to you to reinvigorate them, or reanimate them, coming to you with these notions that only you can save them. They are not healthy, but it’s even less healthy for you to actually give into that necromancy.
Like with ‘Peach‘ Bad Static continue to prove they are capable of banging choruses, mature and nuanced songwriting, punch powerfully having something of substance to stay, and still keep the packing in the party punk chugging riffs.
Don’t think we could ever get bored of this.
Words by Matt Miles.