New York glam-punk wrecking crew Ridiculous Bitch don’t believe in subtlety, and thank God for that. Their upcoming album Die About It crashes through the speakers with theatrical chaos, razor-wire guitars, black humor, emotional collapse, and enough attitude to short-circuit a city block. Fresh off a Japan tour and riding the momentum of their cult-favorite debut Granada, the band sounds louder, meaner, and even more gloriously unhinged this time around. Somewhere between punk cabaret, grunge sleaze, and full-blown emotional meltdown, Ridiculous Bitch have created a record that snarls, struts, and spirals all at once.
Opening track “Lady Sadie” immediately kicks the door off its hinges. Furious guitars roar forward while frontwoman Karen Xerri belts with larger-than-life theatricality, sounding both dangerous and magnetic. The song feels drenched in downtown NYC grime and glamor, celebrating an irresistible woman, which makes punk rock so addictive in the first place. The riffs slash hard, the rhythm pounds relentlessly, and the whole thing practically begs to be screamed back in a packed club at 2 a.m.
Then there’s “Lost My Wife,” which somehow manages to be tragic, hilarious, and deeply chaotic at the same time. Driven by raw, sassy vocals and a stormy punk smugness, the track spirals through addiction, mental unraveling, obsession, and emotional destruction with absurd and painfully vivid imagery. Her line, “Lost my wife in a bottle of gin / Lost my wife to aluminum tin,” lands like a drunken punchline delivered during a breakdown. Karen Xerri performs every line with manic intensity, making the song feel less like storytelling and more like watching someone gleefully set their own emotional baggage on fire.
Midway through the album, “Kafka Was the Rage” explodes into one of the band’s most infectious moments. Shaky percussion, revving basslines, chiming guitars, and frenzied hooks collide into a glam-punk fever dream. The lyrics read like end-times poetry scribbled in lipstick across a bathroom mirror. It’s surreal, witty, theatrical, and slightly deranged. As Karen chants, “Dance on while the sky is falling,” the band leans fully into beautiful catastrophe.
That’s really the magic of Die About It. Ridiculous Bitch turns trauma, escapism, violence, and emotional wreckage into something strangely exhilarating. The album is messy on purpose, emotionally excessive by design, and bursting with personality. Punk has always belonged to outsiders, weirdos, and loudmouths refusing to behave, and Ridiculous Bitch wears that tradition like a badge of honor.
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Review by: Naomi Joan