REVIEW: Amyl and the Sniffers’ Grit-Fueled Punk Evolution in ‘Cartoon Darkness’
REVIEW
REVIEW
☆ BY KIMBERLY KAPELA ☆
PUNK’S NEW PULSE — Amyl and the Sniffers have never been a band to bow to convention, and their third album, Cartoon Darkness, solidifies their place as one of the most fearless voices in punk today. With its raw, unapologetic sound and a sharp critique of societal norms, this record represents not just an evolution for the band but a return to the irreverent roots of Australian punk. Led by the incendiary frontwoman Amy Taylor, Cartoon Darkness is an empowering declaration of self-worth, sexual liberation, and defiance in a world increasingly obsessed with consumerism and conformity.
To understand Cartoon Darkness, it’s essential to appreciate the lineage Amyl and the Sniffers are a part of. Australian punk is not just a genre but an attitude – a raucous, unapologetic scene that emerged in the late 1970s with bands like The Saints and Radio Birdman leading the charge. Their sound was raw, aggressive and irreverent. Amyl and the Sniffers have always drawn from this tradition, channeling the same energy with a modern twist.
Much of Cartoon Darkness’s power stems from the unstoppable force that is Taylor. A true punk icon for the modern era, Taylor commands every track with her electric presence and unrelenting vocal ferocity. Whether she’s snarling biting critiques or delivering tongue-in-cheek one-liners, her performance is nothing short of captivating. She is the beating heart of the band, embodying their ethos of radical autonomy and self-expression.
Opening track “Jerkin,” is a tightly wound grenade of garage punk fury that is unapologetically vulgar. It’s both a middle finger to societal norms and a cathartic release of frustration, delivered with all the ferocity and humor that fans have come to expect from the band.
“Jerkin” is a playful yet confrontational anthem, setting the tone for an album that refuses to shy away from the taboo. Taylor delivers every line with electrifying conviction, asserting her autonomy and disdain for critics and creeps alike. The lyrics, “You are just a critic / And you want to hit it … Keep jerkin’ on your squirter / You will never get with me,” embody the spirit of rejection of anyone attempting to undermine her worth or agency.
In true Amyl and the Sniffers fashion, Cartoon Darkness balances its biting critiques with moments of cheeky irreverence, take “Tiny Bikini” for example. With its infectious energy, “Tiny Bikini” feels destined to inspire listeners to throw on their “tiny-eeny-weeny” bikini and dance their hearts out at the nearest dive bar.
At its core, “Tiny Bikini” is a declaration of Taylor’s right to wear whatever she pleases, no matter how revealing. Taylor snarls the lyric, “Ohh you think the world is not man enough? So I’m gonna inject some of this cunt.” Her vocal delivery is as playful as it is commanding, making the song’s rhythm and jangly guitar riffs underscore its cheeky tone, creating an atmosphere that’s equal parts garage punk grit and danceable chaos.
The album takes a surprising turn with “Big Dreams,” a slower, acoustic rock ballad that showcases the band’s introspective side. Stripped down yet deeply resonant, the track acts as an anthem for dreamers – particularly artists yearning to break free from the confines of their small-towns.
Taylor’s vocals take on a softer, more reflective quality, lending authenticity to lyrics that feel as though they’ve been plucked straight from the heart. Lyrics like “Just take a deep breath and get out of this place” capture the restless longing of anyone who has ever felt stifled by their surroundings, offering both solace and motivation for those wrestling with the pull of ambition.
Midway through Cartoon Darkness, Amyl and the Sniffers crank up the intensity with two blistering tracks, “It’s Mine” and “Motorbike Song.” These songs mark a shift in tone, diving headfirst into a more aggressive hardcore punk approach that’s fast, ferocious and unrelentingly raw. Together, they capture the band’s knack for societal critique while unleashing a sonic barrage that feels both cathartic and confrontational.
“It’s Mine” is a high-octane critique of consumerism and the unsettling question of ownership. Taylor’s lyrics probe whether our possessions, homes, and even thoughts are truly ours, or if they’ve been commodified and manipulated by societal pressures. The track’s rapid pace is driven by pounding drums and distorted, punchy guitars that perfectly embody the chaotic disarray of modern consumption.
Following the aggression of “It’s Mine,” “Motorbike Song” kicks off with a fierce, almost sensual opening: “I wanna ride you like a Harley D.” The imagery is bold, visceral and undeniably commanding. But beneath its provocative veneer lies a deeper existential question: are we truly living free, or are we stuck in an endless cycle of work and sleep?
“Pig” delivers a ferocious, unapologetic energy that encapsulates the band’s signature punk grit while doubling down on their sharp critiques of consumerism and conformity. Anchored by the biting mantra, “Cause we’re all pigs after all,” the song holds a mirror up to society’s greed and herd mentality, forcing listeners to confront their own complicity in the cycles of excess and exploitation. Taylor’s vocals are at their most fiery, riding the wave of distorted guitars and relentless drumming with unbridled ferocity.
“You Should Not Be Doing That” is one of Cartoon Darkness's most infectious and empowering tracks, carrying a groovy talk-song rocker vibe. It’s a defiant anthem about rejecting the unsolicited opinions and judgments of others, and it’s delivered with such a bold, undeniable attitude that it becomes clear: Taylor is a force to be reckoned with.
Beneath the casual vibe lies a lyrical firestorm, with Taylor confronting the critics who have always tried to dictate how she should live, behave or express herself. “I’m working on my worth / I’m working on my work / I’m working on who I am,” she declares, dismantling the notion that she needs anyone’s approval. The repeated mantra feels like both a declaration of independence and a testament to Taylor’s growth as an artist and individual. She knows her worth – now, it’s time for everyone else to catch up.
Album closer “Me and the Girls” is the perfect way for Cartoon Darkness to end. With its high energy and rebellious spirit, the track is both a celebration of female friendships and a pointed fuck you to patriarchal norms, wrapped in a fun, party anthem vibe.
Lines like “Me and the girls want free abortions / You and the boys can't even get waxed” and “Me and the girls, we don't want protection / You and the boys can shut the fuck up” act as both an assertion of bodily autonomy and a defiant rejection of men’s opinions about women’s choices. Taylor turns that frustration into an anthem, flipping the script and daring men to back off.
At its heart, Cartoon Darkness is a record about freedom – freedom from societal expectations, from gender norms and from the grind of modern life. Taylor’s lyrics cut to the bone with their brutal honesty, delivering sharp critiques alongside moments of playful exuberance. The band captures the chaos and contradictions of living in today’s age, veering between biting commentary and sheer hedonistic joy.
With Cartoon Darkness, Amyl and the Sniffers have crafted a record that’s as fierce as it is fun, as thought-provoking as it is liberating. It’s a bold step forward for the band, proving they’re unafraid to evolve while staying true to their roots.
