by David Wilikofsky
I recently ventured into a movie theater for the first time in two years to watch Titane. The film won the Palme D’Or at Cannes this year, which is, quite frankly, baffling. Not because the movie isn’t great (it is) but because it’s just so batshit crazy that I can’t believe an institution like Cannes was willing to give it top prize. The twists and turns are integral to the experience so I don’t want to give any spoilers here, but suffice to say it’s a wild ride. I thought it might be the craziest piece of art I experienced this year, but then I heard Stice’s Satyricon. Stice, the duo of vocalist Caroline Bennett (aka Crab) and producer Jake Lichter (aka Jark) began making music together in 2018, building a cult following with their frenetic songs and low budget music videos. Newly signed to Ramp Local, the duo have put together their most fully realized musical vision yet. Stice’s Satyricon is some of the most vile, demented music I’ve heard this year; it’s also some of the best.
Take the intensity of Death Grips, the sleazy energy of early Peaches and 100 Gecs’ blown out sense of pop, throw them in a blender and you’ll start to approximate the madness that is Stice’s Satyricon. Jark builds instrumentals out of throbbing beats and chirping synths. His production is filled with contradictions, songs that are maximalist yet spare, abrasive yet bizarrely catchy, complex yet easy to digest. As strange as these tunes are, it’s Crab who really steals the show. As a vocalist they’re fearless; they speak, sing-rap, contort their voice into myriad characters, at one point even bark like a dog. It’s a dynamic, unhinged performance that brings the surrounding madness to dizzying new heights.
It’s hard to say what any song on Stice’s Satyricon is really about. They’re more stream of consciousness rants than coherent narratives. Sex and bodily functions are two favorite topics, but they’re just as likely to sing about beans or throw a bunch of nonsense together because it rhymes. Sometimes they seem to tackle serious topics, as when they sing about being surrounded by rapists and racists on “I Piss Myself”; however, as the title might suggest, they immediately follow this with a chorus about pissing your pants. The end effect is like a seedy message board or bizarre social media feed set to music, an endless scroll of content serious and frivolous swirling together in profane glory.
If you haven’t figured it out already, Stice’s Satyricon is not going to be for everyone; last night my partner politely choose to leave the room while I was blasting it at full volume. But what great music is universally beloved? Maybe this album has something profound to say about modern internet culture; maybe it’s just weirdos making some out there shit. Maybe it’s both. I don’t really know, but either way this album is thirty minutes inside Stice’s house of mirrors. It’s freaky music for freaks, and if you’re one of us, this may well be the best thing you hear all year.