Review Summary: Blood is God's only currency.
The world is an ugly place if you know where to look. It’s easy enough to pretend otherwise – if you’re reading this review right now, you have a more privileged life than the vast majority of the population. The shoes on your feet that you take for granted were more than likely put together by abused factory workers thousands of miles away, who would give anything to be able to afford a pair of their own. That unsettling feeling you just got? It’s a sharp stick poking a part of your brain you didn’t want to visit. You know the place. Where your darkest fears, judgements, fantasies and addictions lie in wait, for the perfect moment to catch you with your guard down. This uneasiness might be unpleasant to consider on the surface, but dig a little deeper and you can find endless lyrical content.
Which brings us to
Crippling Alcoholism, the bluntly-named quintet from Boston, Massachusetts, who state point plank on their band description “your pleasure is our business.” Their 2022 debut effort
When The Drugs That Made You Sick Are The Drugs That Make You Better examined the darkest corners of the human brain for every last possible morsel of depravity. Morbid concepts, gloomy synths, trudging drums and surprisingly catchy hooks made up the balance of a fantastic debut, in which the band showcased potential to lead a burgeoning scene of contemporaries. With this year’s release titled
With Love From A Padded Room, the group has taken that stick poking your brain and lit it on fire.
The twelve tracks, coming it at an even hour of cumulative playtime, have been carefully constructed to showcase twelve different perspectives of separate incarcerated inmates. The grinning face on the cover represents the only company they have – a voice that eats at their deepest regrets and forces them to endure torments spanning every waking minute of their days. Throughout a cacophony of brooding keys, pounding drums and dingy guitar riffs exists some of the most diabolical lyrics you could possibly imagine. Lines like “If they stabbed you in the kitchen and you left this place today, would your people front the funds to buy a tombstone for your grave?” and “That’s what trauma does, he outlives his victims, drinking their delicious blood, breathing white lies into black lungs” are just a taste of what lives here.
Musically, there is a lot to appreciate here – some of the melodies and vocal lines are beautifully written; in a sense, distracting you from the neuroticism being constantly shoved down your throat. The best way to describe the influences would be if Robert Smith and
The Cure met up with
Tom Waits at an after-party and did a metric ton of drugs provided by
Daughters while discussing their most fucked up secrets together. Mix in some
Type O Negative and you have a gothic experimental concoction that stands firmly on its own two feet. There really isn’t anything else that quite like this album in today’s modern music scene, and it’s incredible to see such a unique take on some seriously disturbing concepts.
Proceed with caution, and make no mistake – this album is not for the faint of heart. If you are in a good mood, chances are you will not be once the final notes of
Mob Dad have faded into the ether. If you are in a bad mood, you will likely be in a worse mood once this over. Some of the content here will make you feel guilty when you realize you’re singing along to songs about destructive addiction, adultery, murder, prostitution, dismemberment and abuse. Just like the best high, what draws you in will eventually consume you entirely. Each poisonous lyric erodes more and more of your own protective coating which shelters you from considering the darkness of your own life, leaving you as nothing more than a husk. A prisoner of your own mind. Exactly as intended.
