There’s something unnervingly real about the sophomore track on The Cold Year’s album Prey for Me. “Kill Yourself” is raw, edgy, and visceral. Initially it sounds like Chet Faker’s most distressing day, and quickly moves into something so much more epic and angsty. Shrouded in lyrical genius, each horrific sentiment crawls into your ears like a tarantula making its nest. The song opens with the line “swallowing nails and spitting out corkscrews”, and moves into “drinking pesticide like it’s cheap wine.” The poetry in The Cold Year’s lyrics spiked my morbid curiosity. I had to listen over and over again to figure out exactly what it was that it was making me feel.

The instrumentation is overwhelmingly dissonant. Whether deliberate or not, the way the drummer and guitarist refuse to fully lock in with one tempo only adds to the chaos of whatever broken singer Matthew Skaggs has endured. The song moves, though. Just as disturbed as the subject matter, it can’t sit still. From a smokey first section the piece moves into a few bars of circus music followed by an eardrum-shattering monster of a distorted guitar solo. What is it? Gypsy jazz? Hard rock? Psychedelic punk? Who cares!

The singer’s voice emerges from the apocalyptic rubble of the instrumental section for a deflated final chorus, finishing with an unnerving detuned guitar. It’s messy, but I think that’s the point. “Kill Yourself” is an absolute sonic experience. It’s only four minutes, but you’ve lived a life or two by the time it’s over. I’d hate to be whoever inspired this song.

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