When thinking over the scariest things that exist most people turn to ideas like rot, decay, insects, being chased by a bear, being stranded in the middle of the ocean, public speaking, darkness, heights, commitment, and death. The heavy hitters of personal fears. But, if I were going to delve into the depths, right to that black core that all of us have, few things scare me more than the idea of being a modern day teenage girl.
You either agree with me wholeheartedly or have no idea what I’m talking about. If you have no clue, think about it: hormones strong enough to control your every move and thought like a hallucinogenic drug on a bad trip; surrounded by a crowd of “friends” (if you’re lucky) that would happily leave you for dead if it meant they got more likes on Facebook or Instagram; an overwhelming pressure to perform and to be a certain way (that elusive “way” happens to change daily, if not hourly); deep existential threat and life-numbing self-hatred that leaves you catatonic multiple times a day; the knowledge that if you screw up, 100s of cellphones will record that moment, remix it, overdub it to techno music, so it is watched and ridiculed later by everyone you know; being so unbelievably ashamed of your stupid body; difficulty breathing most days due to the pressure; and then adults have the gall to say, “these are the happiest days of your life”. Fuck that fucking shit. By the way, I’m not even close to describing the dreadful and awful experience of being a modern day teenage girl. Whoever punches through that shit deserves a fucking medal.
Dr. Armonson stitched up her wrist wounds. Within five minutes of the transfusion he declared her out of danger. Chucking her under the chin, he said, “What are you doing here, honey? You’re not even old enough to know how bad life gets.”
And it was then Cecilia gave orally what was to be her only form of suicide note, and a useless one at that, because she was going to live: “Obviously, Doctor,” she said, “you’ve never been a thirteen-year-old girl.” Jeffrey Eugenides, The Virgin Suicides
Onto the fucking album!!
Smerz made an album that freaked me out and made groove at the same time. The lyrics talk about being young and teenage like Instagram comments thrown into a blender at spat out of a bloody smiling toothless mouth. They put this shit next to a creepy hyper-realistic photo of a bunch of girls posing in the dark. It’s the perfect set up. This is dark pop. It’s two girls teaching a lesson. Vocals dance around with the shake and autotune of a popstar but the instrumentals don’t quite fit. The bass is too dirty and the melody too minor to be mainstream. Lines like, “basic bitch problem” are thrown around a distorted bass sound that takes over the scene like an opening maw into teenage psychosis. Later, puzzling lines like, “We’re so close we fuck up” are heavily augmented and torn down and like they are distant memories. This is a microscopic look into the thoughts of a modern teenage girl and holy shit is it enlightening, thought-provoking, but most of all, terrifying as all hell. Put a modern day basic bitch teenager into a room with a serial killer and what do you get? Two psychopaths having lunch.