‘Murderpop,’ though freshly minted, is an apt genre tag for the kind of music Crippling Alcoholism have been playing since 2022. Their sophomore effort, With Love From a Padded Room, got stuck in Dolphin Whisperer’s February Filter in 2024, where our resident porpoise spouted positively about its attributes, and drew me into Crippling’s lugubrious world. Upon learning another album was coming just a year and some change later, however, I feared diminished returns. Still, I seized the opportunity to cover third effort Camgirl, which tells the tragically sordid tale of online performer ‘Bella Pink,’ unfolding not only through her eyes, but of ‘those who consume her: lovers, relatives, business partners, stalkers.’¹ I wondered what awful surprises Crippling Alcoholism had in store, my anticipation palpable for the return of Boston’s ‘cabaret of gloomerism.’²

Freed from the shadows of With Love’s padded cells, Camgirl’s milieu is no less engaging, ushering us from the asylum to the sweat-soaked euphoria and flashy lights of the night club. A mix of Joy Division-style punk pop and New Order-tinged dark-wave electronica (“LADIE’S NIGHT”), Crippling Alcoholism still manage to keep their crazy intact, at times channeling Mamaleek (“Pretty in Pink”) as well as Swans (“Pliers”). While Jonathan’s ebullient, saccharine-sweet synths and spacy atmospherics drive most of Camgirl’s melodies, it’s Peter’s bass, Stefan’s and newcomer Alyce’s guitar work, and Danny Sher’s drums that serve as the gothically grimy counterpoint. From spattered money shots of techno-erratic beats (“Pay Pigs”) to full-on drum-addled grindcore cacophony, replete with Alyce’s black metal screams (“CAMGIRL”), Crippling Alcoholism encases Camgirl in a shiny pink, glitz-shimmering wrapper that hides rotten candy, exposing the darkly fetid, degenerate underbelly of sex sold in the digital age.

As crucial to Crippling Alcoholism as any synth chord, guitar lick, or drum beat are the lyrics and vocals. Ever-present and immediately recognizable is the broodingly dulcet, Tom Waits meets Peter Steele baritone of Tony Castrati, who joins Alyce and a cast of guest vocalists—Juliet Gordon (Luxury Skin), Meredith Haines (Latter), and Aki McCullough (Ameokama)—to bring Bella’s Camgirl story to life. Catchy verses and hook-filled choruses abound, as Castrati sings on “Saran Wrapped Cash,” the words of Bella’s heartbroken father, ‘Should I kill myself? Well, funny you should ask,’ before admitting ‘I can’t see through your eyes cause mine are filled with hate,’ the song ending with Bella reminiscing about childhood, a Dark Rooms-esque diatribe of Alyce’s spoken word over airy synths. Other highlights include the super catchy “bedrot,” as I imagine a basement-dwelling Bella fan, drooling hungrily in the glow of his sex-filled laptop, poppily sings the chorus, ‘A monster, I’m a monster, Baby I’m a god damn monster,’ before screaming ‘I fucking hate the way I look, Yeah, I look like a fat fucking scumbag,’ in a heart-wrenching pique of self-loathing. Then the cinematic end credits style of album closer “despair,” as Meredith Haines embodies a used and abused Bella who has given in to her own hate and in true Lingua Ignota fashion screams at the world of degenerate consumerism that’s broken her, ‘You’ve always been nothing, A big vacuous nothing, I’ll squat down and I’ll piss in your fucking wounds!’ Camgirl is cinematically sexy, brash, and bristling with an in-your-face aggression, a soundtrack worthy of the smuttiest subject-specific script Tarantino could pen.

With a runtime pushing just over sixty-four minutes, Camgirl’s fishnet-clad gams are giantessic but void of severable length. Crippling Alcoholism cram necessary meaning into every second as the strength of the story and great songwriting carry the day, while Eric Sauter’s mix and Derek Blackburn’s master perfectly capture the dark and light dichotomy of Bella’s downward spiral. My one cavil with Camgirl falls, too, however, at the feet of the mix and master, as there are moments throughout where Castrati’s vocals, in particular, get washed out, most noticeably amidst the lows of “screentime”‘s piano melancholy and the highs of “TARAVISTA”‘s synthetic ecstasy.

Crippling Alcoholism fearlessly spit in the face of convention and expectation, reinventing themselves without betraying their power, which on Camgirl is the manufacture of feigned happiness. I love this iteration of the band, Alyce’s addition lending an even sharper metallic edge to what was already a whetted sword. Without much time to stew, Crippling Alcoholism have emerged with another darkened slice of excellence, deepening my fandom and increasing my excitement for what comes next.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: Stream
Label: Portrayal of Guilt
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: September 12th, 2025

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