Review: The Voidz — Męğż Øf Råm

The Voidz
Męğż Øf Råm
Cult Records
Street: 07.30.2025
The Voidz = The Strokes + Daft Punk x LOTS OF DEDOTATED WAM!

Oh, The Voidz! My love/hate relationship with you fellas still resonates years after my COVID-19 condominium era. Being the computer virus to The Strokes’ sensational runoff is quite the burden to bear. The poster (nepo) child of hanky-panky alt-licks and substance abuse, Julian Casablancas is back on the techno-rock cyber chase to bang motherboards and deliver an offspring that solders both the beep-boops of new-wave and the lack-padding crustacean of garage rock. However, he and his merry band of partiers are not here to chase the microchip scales again like in “Prophecy of The Dragon,” nor are they trading experimental tones for futuristic highs like in “Alien Crime Lord.” 

And don’t even get me started with the entirety of Like All Before You (the whole album stinks like some AI clanker’s exoskeleton fingertips have been all over it). Nope, they’re back to the scene with Męğż Øf Råm — a dark-tinted take on the humanoid genre on its own. The cover is crusted in cinderblock gray and dried blood maroon, giving the eerie dread that this EP could shank you in the shower if you have your back turned. But with such anticipation for their new album, Męğż Øf Råm comes armed with only four tracks that rehash their signature brand. Looks like Casablancas was too faded on Duracells to finish a complete set, but I’ve been wrong before. 

Those who are enamored with The Voidz’ work will find the same narratives and motions. Take a track like “Unholy Lover” with its snail pace drum kit and Casablancas’ raspy, cigarette-burnt vocals overlaid with hefty autotune. The track is repetitive with a beat sample that could be programmed on any synthesizer. The lyrics harken back to a past love interest, which may have witnessed turmoil when lust became a darker shade of greed: “I’m a producer / In a jacuzzi / Yeah, I could use a guy like you / He’s such a trooper / I’m a medusa / I’m a good loser / That’s the best that I can do / I’m a soprano.” Now, I’m not 100% certain and I don’t want to call for the cease and desist alarm, but the melody sounds like it has the same tempo and vocal bends of “Cold” by Three Days Grace. Both are angsty, but one is more presumptuous than the other.

“Blue Demon” is a tracker beam symphony cranked out of the speakers of a Galaga arcade setup. The band sounds sonically electronic, as if they’ve been shoved in the pepperpot husk of a Dalek. It’s got a groovy bridge to bob your head to, but still sounds the same as older tracks. The same goes for “Russian Coney Island” with that same A-track sample. At least you can actually hear some goddamn instruments in this one, with enough wishy-washy cymbals to make an e-boy cream his pants. Jeramy “Beardo” Gritter’s slow jazz fender shows up at the end to give some back-alley, noir depth to the track, as if we’re staggering around damp cobblestone streets at night and running from Gestapo coppers for crimes of treason. Although it’s still the same old jam, it got me to shimmer my shoulders for a little bit. 

Last but not least, we got “Drifto,” a cynical carny-esque ballad of harpsichord tonnage and scattered voices cursing me to actually enjoy it. It’s the type of analog horror carousel of beats and drones that tortured fallen angels in Angel Engine, while downloading hardcore agony. I remember hearing stories of a foreign company that tried to shut down its AI software, only for the machine to go rogue and start reconnecting to satellites in an attempt to escape its creator. Whether or not that tale is fact or fiction, I believe “Drifto” is a black letter from artificial intelligence itself telling humanity that the convenient servant is a hardwired slave. It’s depressing, depraved and dystopian… need I say more?

Look, music is music and everyone will have their preferences on what makes a song decent. Whether a single dripping in blood, sweat and tears from some up-and-comer’s soundproof closet or an industry plant who had 15+ washed-up singers craft their next Billboard-buster, it doesn’t matter! As long as a handful of fans keep jabbing the reply button, it gets the job done. In the case of The Voidz, however, it’s less about the music and more of Julian himself. Their next album could be the distorted sound clips of farts with Casablancas breathing heavily into the microphone and it would still have fanboys falling to their knees. Don’t believe me? I remember thousands of bewildered festival crawlers losing their shit at Kilby Block Party in 2023 as Casablancas used the mic stand as a crutch, holding back all the Jack Daniels and acid sheets making a fast exit. Yet again, Męğż Øf Råm was still decent, even if it’s a tad recycled. And there they go, almost getting me to say something negative again… xoxo. —Alton Barnhart 

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