Fear Everyone by [SAMPLE_TEXT]: EP Review

[SAMPLE_TEXT]’s Fear Everyone EP is like diving headfirst into a swirling vortex of experimental noise, grungy riffs, and existential dread—and loving every second of the chaos. This raw and unapologetically gritty collection is the sonic equivalent of flipping through a well-worn philosophy book smeared with coffee stains and lit cigarettes.

The opener, “Eat,” immediately grabs you by the throat with its fuzzy guitar riffs and explosive drums. Reece Caldwell’s vocals are reckless in the best way—careless and wild, yet somehow perfectly controlled in their chaos. You can practically hear the Cormac McCarthy references bleeding through the lyrics, painting a bleak picture of humanity’s darker corners.

Then comes “Fear Everyone,” which takes the manic energy of the first track and channels it into something moodier and more hypnotic. The whispered vocals, shimmering riffs, and relentless drumbeat create a simmering tension that keeps building but never fully explodes.

And then there’s “Self-Driving Car.” Oh boy. The closer is the EP’s dark horse, a seven-minute descent into ambient madness. Imagine you’re driving alone at night, and the GPS starts talking back to you—but instead of directions, it’s rambling about life, masking, and the futility of it all. The cold, haunting soundscape hums in the background, with riffs echoing faintly like distant memories. It’s disjointed, weary, and oddly intimate, like eavesdropping on someone’s nervous breakdown in real time. Is it music? Is it performance art? Who cares—it’s unforgettable.

In the end, Fear Everyone is less of an EP and more of a visceral experience. It’s manic, sad, angry, and dissociated—basically the emotional equivalent of staring into the void. Check it out on Spotify.

Review by: Naomi Joan