art popโs housecAt sounds like the aftermath of a party where the strobe lights are still flickering, the floor is sticky with spilled drinks, and someone in the corner is quietly having an existential crisis. The Austin-based duo, brothers Max and Miles Grossenbacher, take indie rock melancholy and shove it headfirst into warped house beats, glitchy electronics, and DIY distortion, creating an intimate and chaotic album. Recorded over two years across Airbnbs in Los Angeles, bedrooms in Austin, and scattered setups in New York using little more than iPhone and laptop microphones, the record wears its rough edges proudly. Art pop turns them into part of the aesthetic, and honestly, thatโs where the magic lies.
The opening track immediately throws listeners into the deep end. Buzzing vaporous synths churn and swirl while distorted, reverbed vocals drift through the haze like ghost transmissions from a basement rave. Disk-scratch effects cut sharply across the soundscape with a sudden skrrrt, giving the track a woozy, unstable momentum. Itโs disorienting in the best way possible, like walking into the โsaddest clubโ the duo imagines and realizing everyoneโs dancing through emotional damage.
Then comes โthe partyโs never over (and i feel aliver right nowโฆ),โ one of the albumโs emotional centerpieces. It begins deceptively soft: slow piano, vulnerable vocals, and the painfully relatable confession, โSo I started a band just to get away.โ But before long, catchy beats start kicking in while blurred vocal layers hover around the clearer lead like intrusive thoughts refusing to leave. He sings, โI wanna be better but I donโt know how to try,โ with devastating candour, balancing the trackโs danceability with genuine emotional exhaustion.
โbut sad kitty donโt danceโ leans harder into sonic experimentation. Shimmering drones, distorted chants, and looping repetitions of โI donโt really want itโ spiral together into a hypnotic, anxious and addictive wall of sound. Meanwhile, โa waiting room (kibbles N bits remix)โ flips Waiting Room into a dreamy synth-pop slow burn, layering soft beats and warm vocals over the bones of the original until it becomes something strangely tender and futuristic.
housecAt thrives on contradiction, through sad songs made for dancing, lo-fi recordings that feel massive, and messy production choices that somehow hit with emotional precision. art pop may be experimenting wildly here, but beneath all the distortion and chopped-up beats is a surprisingly human heart still trying to figure itself out.
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Review by: Naomi Joan