The world that Chat Pile paints on their latest release is an eerie, unsettling place, filled with creepy and traumatic energy. It’s a vision of an America fractured by broken dreams, societal decay, and existential dread. As an American doom/sludge band, Chat Pile doesn't just play music—they conjure a suffocating atmosphere that makes you feel the weight of despair in every note. Their vocals, deprived and haunting, carry a sense of emotional ruin, while the bass lines pull you deeper into a hypnotic, claustrophobic spiral. The distorted, creeping guitar riffs and hatefully heavy drums reinforce the feeling of an unrelenting descent into darkness. This is a band that doesn’t just make you hear their pain—they make you feel it in your bones.

From the moment you press play, it’s clear that this album is designed to immerse you in the dread and disillusionment of the broken American dream. Tracks like "Shame" evoke a discomforting guilt as they explore themes of self-loathing and misery. The way Chat Pile crafts their songs—often repetitive, almost trance-like—adds to the hypnotic power of the album. These songs drip with tension and sorrow, with an almost malevolent energy that makes you feel complicit in the pain that’s being shared.

Take "The New World," for example. The guitars don’t just play—they haunt. The repetitive riff lulls you into a state of unease, a trance that only deepens as you follow the song's gloomy progression. Or consider the lead single, "Masc," which has a depressingly hypnotic quality that lingers long after the track ends. The vocals here are delivered with such raw, unhinged emotion that they feel like they’ve been carved from a place of deep, unrelenting sorrow.

Speaking of vocals, the performance on this album is stunning in its emotional range. At times, the vocals sound like they’re unraveling, frayed and desperate, as if the singer is on the verge of collapse. There’s a rawness to the delivery—particularly on tracks like "Camcorder" and "Masc"—that feels as though every word is drenched in personal pain. The delivery can be both simple and melancholy or frenzied and wild, creating a deep sense of vulnerability. Occasionally, the vocals are buried in the mix—like on "I Am a Dog Now" or "Funny Man"—but this seems intentional, a choice that aligns with the overall murky, submerged feeling of the album. Even when the words become hard to discern, the emotion behind them is undeniable.

The lyrics themselves can be bizarre, often veering into strange, abstract territories that mirror the disorienting nature of the music. But despite their weirdness, the lyrics fit seamlessly with the music, amplifying the sense of confusion and alienation.

One of the most striking elements of this album is the bass. It has this dense, grungy, almost suffocating presence that adds layers of weight to every song. It pulls from the 90s grunge tradition, but with a heavier, more hypnotic, and even fearful quality. Tracks like "I Am a Dog Now," "Frownland," and "Milk of Human Kindness" showcase the bass in all its brooding glory, each note sinking deeper into your chest. It’s as though the bass itself is holding you hostage, creating an almost palpable feeling of claustrophobia as you listen.

The drums also play a crucial role in shaping the album’s mood. Their deep, resonant tones help solidify the pervasive sense of dread, while occasional fills—like on "No Way Out"—break up the tension just enough to keep you on edge. The drums aren't flashy, but they’re incredibly effective, laying a solid foundation for the rest of the band to build upon. The rhythmic bombast on songs like "Tape," "Camcorder," and "I Am a Dog" give these tracks an added weight, reinforcing the themes of suffocation and despair.

The guitars, with their distorted, menacing tone, weave in and out of the tracks, enhancing the sense of unease. High-pitched, shrieking riffs in "Tape" push you to the brink of anxiety, while the dissonant, nerve-wracking guitar lines in "No Way Out" bring a sense of existential dread. The guitars here don’t just provide texture—they create a world of discomfort. The eerie bell tolls that echo throughout "Frownland" add an almost funeral-like quality to the track, further enhancing the album’s unsettling atmosphere.

There are a few moments where the band’s sound becomes a bit messy—some chaotic, dissonant noise that might momentarily throw you off balance. But even in those moments, Chat Pile maintains a cohesive feeling that holds the album together. Despite the dissonance and discomfort, there’s a consistency to the mood they create: one of unease, pain, and dark beauty. The world they build with their music is a strange, haunted place, and stepping into it will leave you feeling changed, even if you’re not quite sure how.

So if you’re ready to step into this dark, grim world that Chat Pile has crafted, just know what you’re getting into: it’s a place where joy feels alien, and the beauty is found in the chaos and the pain. And while it’s a cool place to visit, you might not want to stay for too long. You’ve been warned.