Some general motherfuckers call the genre “noise pop” halfway between bubblegum and avant-guard. And I get it, kinda. But that’s a far fucking fetch from defining whatever the hell this is. Noise pop? Naw. This is what happens when your nightmare comes to life and makes you motorboat their perfect set of tits. This is the devil’s stripping and strutting a soft 9 in an overworked banana hammock as he drips hot wax across his perfect set of abs. This is electronic/metal dressed up as a schoolgirl  happily licking an eyeball at the end of a pointy stick. This is the soundtrack you play as you burn down your childhood home. It’s the sound of burning dreams. It’s sonic fucking conflagration. It’s the anger created from the disillusionment of everything pop, and a lot of society, promised the world would be. The rich are born rich. Marriage didn’t make me feel less lonely. The new house is a prison I can’t escape. The glass slippers came in a variety of sizes and Prince Charming is fucking my father.

This album doesn’t start with much. Some synth and a female pop voice singing about being hurt. Bla bla bla. Yadda yadda yadda. Heard this shit before. Then around the 2 minute mark the voice begins to distort and your curiosity sparks. But that’s just the beginning of the deterioration. This album starts with a false expectation. But, for your own fucking good, stick around. There’s more here than meets the eyeball being licked at the end of a stick. The nightmare is fucking entertaining.

Around the 1:40 mark on the second track the metal double kick drums start. Oh fuck ya. The 1:50 mark shows a bit of the evil face similar to Death Grips. There it fucking is. Then in a sudden crash, at 2:15, it’s a happy-dappy pop song again. Huh? The more this album plays, the more distorted it becomes. This is the fairy tale pop music created arriving into the real world. It’s the Little Mermaid realizing her husband only loved her when she was voiceless and 17, Snow White’s Prince revealing he’s actually a necrophiliac that happened upon – what he thought was – a dead homeless woman, and Mary Poppins’s sugar being nothing more than a shit ton of DMT she feeds to kids so she can fuck the dirty chimney sweep in the next room. But, don’t worry, this doesn’t mean you can’t dance. It doesn’t mean the world is shit. It’s better this way. The music bobs way more than it ever did in Nevergonnaland. And now you can bounce that dump truck ass on the dance floor. Stretch marks? Fuck ya, let me lick those sexy grooves. Black Dresses doesn’t destroy pop and replace it with nihilism. Too fucking easy. It takes the shit we always knew and gives it depth, flare, and reason. It’s loud, honest, and unforgiving. It takes Cinderella, puts her in the real world, and she’s become a mafia don running her own brothel by the end of the year. It’s a whole new world and it’s one hot ‘n’ nasty bitch.