BRITNEY – BRITN3Y (2016)

We’ve been talking a while now, yeah? I’m going to be upfront and honest with you guys about something. I rarely describe things as Lynchian. Unless we’re talking about, say, Blue Velvet, or Eraser Head, or Mulholland Drive. But, at the risk of sounding like a prick, Scotland’s Britney have created an album that is squarely Lynchian.

BRITN3Y, as the wretched hellspawn shall henceforth be known, at times feels like 22 minutes of pure abuse. But the kind of abuse that keeps you coming back for more because they’re really sweet deep down, I promise. The tone is set early; the opening track, ‘Fully Ben’ opens with a slackjawed chorus of moans, undercut by a chanting, self-referential refrain. Abrasive bass stabs are broken up by growling shrieks that are apt to give you phantom pains in your vocal chords as the next few minutes transpire.

Tracks like ‘Neon Python’ marry this dark filth with an unexpected off-the-beat hook that makes it feel like a party jam on a mixtape found somewhere just outside the Seventh Circle. This happens a few times over the short runtime. BRITN3Y is always dark and dirty, but it consistently feels like a party, albeit one where everyone is throwing up. In fact, there is a a solid thirty seconds of actual vomiting. Many tracks come off like wicked inversions of pop music; catchy, but caustic.

If anything, BRITN3Y gets to the point and doesn’t elaborate. Most songs don’t reach the two-minute-mark, which ends up feeling oddly graceful. The chaos works well in short bursts. Very rarely does any song overstay its welcome.

Oh, there’s also no guitar on this whole album. It’s all bass.

Maybe it’s meditation on male aggression. Maybe it’s a mirror reflecting the darkness of our superficiality. Maybe it’s out March 11th, via Superstar Destroyer Records. Whatever it is, it’s Britney, bitch.

Alright, I’m done here. Go on, get out. I’ve got to take a shower.