With the release of “Fame Us”, Warmpth, the solo operating vehicle of Isle of Wight native Chris Smallwood, has constructed something that feels less like a track and more like a nervous twitch set to a disco beat. Warmpth is a musical distinctness engine, utilising a rigorous setup of hardware synths, guitars, and self-recorded samples to create a soundscape that sits awkwardly, yet brilliantly, between the strut of Queens of the Stone Age and the neurotic boogie of LCD Soundsystem.
The sonic architecture here is deceptively simple but heavy with intent. You have this looping synth bass that marches forward with the persistence of a migraine, locked in a room with raw, improvisational live drums and a lead guitar that sounds like it’s trying to claw its way out of a plastic bag. It triggered a vivid, sensory memory for me: watching a mechanical cymbal-clapping monkey toy slowly run out of batteries, its rhythm staying constant even as the joy drained out of its eyes.
That uncanny imagery serves the narrative perfectly. “Fame Us” is a cynical, jagged arrow aimed squarely at the balloon of modern celebrity culture. Warmpth tackles the “famous for being famous” epidemic, painting these reality TV constructs not as people, but as bored automatons managed by invisible strings. The music captures the glitz of the red carpet, but the feeling is strictly the hangover that follows. It digs into the vacuum of a curated existence, the terror of realising your entire life is a product placement for a brand that doesn’t actually exist.
It’s groovy, yes, but in a way that makes your skin crawl slightly. We are nodding our heads to the sound of cultural vacuity. If you stare at a word long enough, it loses its meaning; Warmpth suggests that if we stare at these celebrities long enough, we might lose ours.
Does the glossy exterior crack because of the pressure, or because there was never anything solid underneath to hold it up?
