Widaparte’s new EP, this town is a lamentable shipwreck, this life too, is a jagged, cathartic plunge into Kentucky-rooted emotional hardcore—a sound that stitches together screamo intensity, mathcore instability, and lo-fi noise aesthetics. It’s a release overflowing with feeling and ambition, where the ideas burn bright and raw even as the intentionally muddy production keeps the edges frayed and distorted. It’s chaotic, draining, earnest, and absolutely unfiltered in a way that mirrors the emotional worlds the band is pulling from.

The opener, “fuck the fire escape, we all use firemans poles,” sets the tone with a thick, heavy intro built on pounding drums and slow-burning riffs that create a genuine sense of tension. When the song finally breaks open, it becomes a frantic whirlwind—screamed vocals, slamming riffs, and mathy, twitching guitar work that feels on the verge of collapsing. The production is extremely muffled, almost cave-like, which dulls some of the impact, but the energy still comes through in bursts. There are clear echoes of early-2000s chaotic metalcore—Norma Jean, Every Time I Die, even early The Chariot—with the bass adding enough depth to keep the heaviness from drifting too far into noise.

“flying” pushes deeper into that lo-fi intensity. Fast, abrasive riffs and fuzzy bass lines build into a frantic storm where everything seems to bleed together under a blanket of distortion. The drums feel smothered but still forceful, driving the song forward with a kind of panicked momentum. Widaparte’s ability to use noise and texture as emotional tools stands out here; the track doesn’t just sound messy—it feels messy in a way that mirrors the emotional chaos the band is channeling. There’s an immediacy to it, a kind of “hit record and scream what’s hurting” honesty that gives the song its charm.

With “kuttawa,” the EP shifts slightly. The distortion becomes even harsher and scratchier, yet somehow the mix opens up just enough for the drums to punch harder and the riffs to land with more clarity. The vocals, however, sink further into the background. Their guttural, animalistic bark adds character, but the placement makes them feel ghostlike, almost swallowed by the walls of fuzz. Still, the songwriting choices make the track stand out—there are interesting textures and rhythmic shifts that hint at a band thinking more deeply about structure and atmosphere than the production initially suggests. If anything, this is the first moment where the rawness starts to feel like a limitation rather than a deliberate aesthetic.

The closer, “you win, you win,” is easily the EP’s most expressive and dynamic track. The drums and guitars finally snap through the haze, giving the song a more explosive presence. The vocals remain deeply buried—almost submerged beneath the mix—but the instrumental performances speak loudly. The quieter, more spacious passages are particularly striking: simple strummed guitars, slowed-down drum patterns, and a heavy, almost mournful bass presence give the track a rare sense of breath. These moments create a powerful contrast that makes the final swell of chaos feel far more intentional and emotionally charged.

In the end, this town is a lamentable shipwreck, this life too captures a band with a strong emotional identity and a raw, unfiltered approach that feels true to the roots of screamo and chaotic hardcore. Widaparte write with purpose, and the flashes of brilliance—especially in their use of texture, tension, and dynamic shifts—show a band with real potential. But the consistently murky, muffled production often holds the music back, blurring moments that would otherwise hit with far more force. Even so, the EP is gripping in its sincerity, and it’s clear Widaparte has something real and compelling to say. A sharper mix could elevate their sound from “promising and passionate” to genuinely transformative.