Sex, Death & the Infinite Void

The sophomore full-length effort from the English collective Sex, Death, & the Infinite Void leans hard into Creepers affinity for lofty horror-tinged glam rock with the sturm and drang of a Jim Steinman production. Where 2017s Eternity, In Your Arms flirted with Meat Loaf-esque rock & roll pageantry. Sex, Death, & the Infinite Void goes all in, delivering an elaborate yet tightly knit 40-minute set thats spilling over with thespian despair and emo-tinged apocalyptic fervor. Its also a sh*t-ton of fun -- a master class in smudged-eyeliner camp directed by a clutch of vampires masquerading as musical theater majors. The bands darkened pop-punk is as expansive as it is rooted in the genres snappy-verse/huge-chorus sonic architecture, with sugary barre chord brooders like Annabelle and Be My End giving way to Lynch-ian sock-hop jams (Thorns of Love) and Roy Orbison-spun country-pop (Poisoned Heart). Frontman Will Gould continues to be a compelling ringleader, peppering his fatalistic anthems with delectable pop culture references, such as describing the protagonist of the crafty, hook-laden Cyanide as Christina Applegate hopelessly beautiful in 1988, while providing melodramatic spoken-word between-song interludes alongside ex-Sister of Mercy Patricia Morrison like some sort of goth-punk Rod Serling. Potentially cringeworthy in lesser hands, Creeper ultimately sell the hell out of the album. Like its predecessor, Sex, Death, & the Infinite Void treats naval-gazing like a spectator sport, with each death-obsessed narrative resolving into a gang-vocal crescendo (God cant save us, so lets live like sinners) of stale cigarette smoke and beer-can-crushing outsider solidarity. ~ James Christopher Monger