Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Grimble and Richard Matthews of Communion Music at 2KHz, Crouch End, London, Illustration based on a photograph by Owen Richards
Just as when you walk into a house where someone's in the kitchen actively baking something - the aroma smacking you good and firmly across the face, the second a Sauna Youth song kicks in, you're met with a caterwauling dose of blinding heat, of searing pressure and a burning pain in your nostrils. Without even realizing what's happening, those nostrils are flaring like an untamed bull's would, as the noose around its balls is tightened before the rodeo ride. Without realizing how this could have happened, you've torn off your shirt. It won't be worn ever again, shredded into rags.
You're standing there, with veins bulging and throbbing and you're primed for it to get even hairier from here on out. You're on your toes, ready to take on all comers. There must be vengeance that could be sought. There are wrongs to be righted. There are actions to analyze. There are people to challenge or dismiss. There is a shit creek that needs to be paddled up, just because it's been declared that there's no other way to get where you're headed, or where it feels like you're headed.
Richard Phoenix, the lead singer of the Brighton, UK band, sings, "I've got only satisfaction to seek at the end of another week," in "Fomo," and it seems to suggest that for every five days, there are but two days that can make up for all of that rubbish. There's a chance of redeeming something good out of what's just another poor week, but the chance is slight and he's a little numb to it. There are cheaters and there's trash to be dealt with in these trenches and Sauna Youth does so with explosive floods of piss and spit. It's a blitzkrieg on all the offending parties, sparing no one, asking them all to hang their heads. They know what they've done. They know the color and interior design of their souls.