I guarantee you will find no origin story as incredible as that of Theft World. Lip Critic had already begun work on its follow-up to 2024’s manic debut, Hex Dealer, when singer/producer Bret Kaser’s identity had been stolen. Hundreds of purchases were made with his banking information, including the entirety of the band’s online discography. The culprit was a fan of the band who believed Lip Critic’s music contained hidden messages, including codes for an elaborate scavenger hunt. The band chose not to act with legal proceedings, instead taking the young fan to a restaurant, encouraging him to elaborate on his findings. Elaborate he did, describing the mythology possessed by Hex Dealer, including characters and liminal spaces that the members of Lip Critic found evocative.
Initial plans for album #2 were immediately scrapped in favour of Theft World, which Lip Critic believe to be far more emblematic of the situation itself, emblematic of “the power and pervasiveness of stealing”, and the depth of strange meaning that the fan had found in the band’s music. I love artists.
I am not privy to the phenomenon conjured by this fan’s mind; I do not know of the ins and outs of the stories he felt had developed from Lip Critic’s music. But the world he seemed to build from Lip Critic’s music has been mirrored quite brutally by this album, as supercharged and monstrous as Hex Dealer, whilst a little more fleshed-out narratively and structurally, because on this occasion, surrealism make sense.
This is the insanity of the real world hunkered into art, where high-powered electropunk rules, a jilted dude sings and raps, and two drummers drum. It is a world that fits the mania of Lip Critic’s music, which is now as complexly indicative of human nature – if you want to call it that – as it is furious. The band may kick ass; the band may ponder or cook up sharp imagery. A snare-beating good time, the group’s two drummers and Kaser try to keep up with one another on Yard Sale (230 Take), with speed, resilience, sweat and energy – everyone wins; everyone’s a winner! Meanwhile, Shoplifting is the modern existentialist’s version of Lost in the Supermarket, where God comes down and tells you “you’re not getting to Heaven”. Actually, I intended on using Shoplifting as an example solely of sharp imagery, but it too kicks ass; some of Kaser’s more heated flows are far more indicative of old school hip hop than the Kaser usual – he’s on his Cypress Hill!
A smidgen of ‘90s house appears on the hook of My Blush (Strength of the Critic); a lovely feeling of nostalgia despite the future thought of the album’s regulation – guess you could call the band ‘Nostalgia Critic’. Nothing emulates it, but the ethereal breaks of 200 Bottles of Eviction get close.
So, there’s a little more sound-building for ya, but Lip Critic impress primarily with extreme sound built around the inducements the band has taken from recent events. It almost seems as though the album is set on a recurring lyric that concerns a hole in a pocket, figuring impending loss, but it never wraps after Debt Forest (track three), which immediately kicks into gear with raw energy and affirmative vocals that still search, sensitively. On one hand, Kaser is searching for his own hidden messaging, on the other transfixed on loss – “my weight flirting with the planets / my soul send a beam through my t-shirt / I would end my life with a knee jerk / if there’s a chance binding splits and I see her”. The first iterance of ‘hole in pocket’ occurs on opening track Two Lucks, which begins the album with a visceral shock; rumbling synths and drums with a persistent boom. Kaser babbles, nasally, but his voice and words seem secondary once the synths and drums take over.
Three songs simply suggest long, intense stares in the mirror, impatiently awaiting an end. There’s Jackpot, with a bright instrumental bridge, weirdly enchanting, weirdly hopeful. There’s Talon, with thick blares on the synths, and accentuated, punch-the-air noise, perfect for the pit, not to mention the best examples of this intense mirror-staring – “it doesn’t matter how much weight’s pulled / a-pulled up from the shower drain / marrow pours from the bones’ breaks / and collagen out of the brain”. There’s Charity Dinner, with a stoic start, becoming slightly more histrionic as it progresses, and the drums splatter; the purest analogue exploding against a dystopian, manipulative Octatrack that paint pictures of horrific futures; very effective, energising synth-punk, like a gulp of [list your favourite energy drink here].
Two songs suggest an unhealthy pledge of love. There’s Legs in a Snare – “I made a crop circle for you; I drew your face in the green grass” – but the melody is so dead-on romantic. There’s Drumming With Izzy, which is sung with charmingly silly vocals – sort of a half-hearted Mark E. Smith impression mixed with Tony Clifton and Kaser’s famed nasal power – that battle it out with African percussion beat-em-ups.
I would argue that as one fan’s view of Lip Critic’s music changed, Lip Critic’s view of the world changed, and in a sort of cycle, that has changed Lip Critic’s music. The band has even been touring the album in nontraditional venues, including laundromats and boxing rings. Everything is just a little different now, and somehow, everything is better now. Weird, we should be scarred for life.
Best tracks – Debt Forest – Talon – Yard Sale (230 Take).
Rating – 8.5 out of 10
