Hands up if you like being absolutely scared shitless

Preface to this review: I’ve never been into heavy music, but I love horror films. It’s undeniably a bit insane to subject yourself to two hours of fear (I recently saw Hereditary in the cinema and thought I was going to die), but the visceral emotion good horror elicits is what makes it so addictive. With this album I discovered that, similar to watching a scary movie, listening to terrifying music can be a lot of (harrowing and kind of traumatising) fun.

I’ve tried to listen to Black Metal and similar genres, but I’m always put off by how disgusting and deliberately off-putting they sound: demonic screaming, pummelling drums, Satanic lyrics. If a typical Black Metal album (see: Behemoth) were a horror film, it’d be gory and vile, evoking emotion primarily by repulsing you. Hostel, Saw, The Human Centipede are films that fall into this category, and I have little to no interest in them.

In stark contrast, You Won’t Get What You Want evokes terror and nihilism, but not by disgusting you. Instead, it feels far more psychological and internal; nothing repulsive or gory happens, there are no demons or Satanic cults. Instead, the fear comes from within, the existential horror that comes from facing your own insignificance, feeling panic and despair at the pointlessness of it all. The horror is the knowledge that everything can fall apart, that you’re only one bad day away from losing it all. This comparatively mundane and grounded horror is evident in the singing; instead of the blasphemous growls and screams of Black Metal, here the singer sounds human, relatable, but full of fear and pain, on the verge of breakdown.

This album sounds like what it must feel like to go insane. It sounds like the quiet horror of an average person’s existence has finally become too much, their psyche shatters, and everything unravels. There isn’t a glimpse of optimism or hope to be found here; it’s forty-eight minutes of despair. There are climactic peaks of absolute mania and calmer troughs of quiet dread, but there’s no escaping the overall message; everything is falling apart, and there is no going back.

The opener, ‘City Song’, perfectly lays the foundation for the horror that is to come. The first four minutes consist of sparse, discomforting and erratic drum bursts, with an unrelenting guitar drone and disquieting lyrics that fill you with dread. In the final few minutes, the song explodes into a hellish wall of sound, and the insanity only increases with the following tracks.

‘Long Road, No Turns’ is so horrifying and demented it becomes incredibly compelling. It also honestly made me the first few times I heard it. It’s relentless and nightmarish, and somehow evokes the feeling of being chased, or perhaps of running from yourself.

After a few more intensely visceral songs, ‘Less Sex’ is a much earned breather, with a dark, brooding and ominous melody that sounds like an evil version of Elbow’s ‘Grounds for Divorce’. There are brief walls of chaotic noise that are oddly pretty, and this eventually transforms into a melody that is legitimately gorgeous, and feels like coming up for air after nearly drowning in the horror of the previous songs.

‘Ocean Song’ is an incredible highlight; a narrative-driven seven-minute descent into madness, telling the story of a man returning from work and being overcome with a terrible fear. The cosmic horror the protagonist feels is thoroughly Lovecraftian; it feels like the end of the world is near. The instrumental is reminiscent of a Swans track, with a repetitive and hypnotising bass line and chanted lyrics that feel like voices in the head of a man who has finally snapped. The character sprints through the streets in fear, and it feels like you’re right there with him.

The final song ‘Guest House’ is an insanely bold and horrifying way to end the album. The lyrics depict a situation straight out of a nightmare; someone is pounding desperately on your cellar door, asking who locked them out and begging you to “let me in” with gut-wrenching screams of fear and pain. The terror in their voice is palpable and awful to behold, evoking sympathy but also visceral fear.

The surprising thing about this collection of harrowing songs is just how incredibly captivating they are. They are accessible enough to be enjoyed, whilst still containing freakish and disorientating walls of sound, evil twisting guitar lines that make you feel like you’re descending into a bottomless pit, and desperate, emotive singing that makes you fear for the man who you can hear falling apart. I’m terrified when I play the album, but I’m on the edge of my seat.

-4.5 stars