Wednesday 13
Mid Death Crisis
Napalm Records
If death had a midlife crisis, it would sound exactly like this.
‘Mid Death Crisis’ is Wednesday 13’s latest reminder that horror punk doesn’t grow old – it grows weirder, louder, and meaner, with eyeliner smudged somewhere between glam sleaze and grave dirt. This record doesn’t just flirt with decay; it slow dances with it under the flickering lights of a haunted roller rink.
From the first eerie mutterings of ‘There’s no such things as monsters’ on repeat, Wednesday’s voice layered like a cursed tape playing in the background of a nightmare, you’re dropped straight into the crypt. And from there, the whole thing kicks off like a coffin lid being blown open by a shotgun blast.
The energy is immediate and infectious. The record barrels forward with the velocity of a hot rod drag-racing through a cemetery, all snarling riffs and punked-up swagger. You’ll find glam metal squeals rubbing against gutter punk aggression, with more than a few echoes of his earlier incarnation. Think ‘Transylvania 90210’ and ‘Elect Death for President’, but revved up on anxiety, irony, and just the right amount of blasphemy.
It’s sonically schizophrenic in the best way. One moment you’re getting leather and chains bombast that channels full Blackie Lawless bondage energy, and the next, it’s surf-rock harmonies doing donuts in your skull while Wednesday delivers his ghoulish charm like a satanic game show host. There are nods to Gunfire 76, Backyard Babies, NOFX, and even Beach Boys-esque backing vocals from hell, yes, really! But the result is undeniably, proudly Wednesday 13.
Lyrically, it walks the line between camp and catharsis. There are punchlines hidden in bloodstains, venom wrapped in melody, and some surprisingly heartfelt (if not entirely unhinged) moments of vulnerability. It’s horror-show showmanship with a pulse of real-life reflection, ageing, regret, rage, and resilience, all stitched together with guitar strings and barbed wire.
And just when you think the whole thing might collapse under its own manic energy, Wednesday pulls back and hits you with a moment of eerie beauty, like a fog-draped ballad at your own funeral, if your pallbearers wore creepers and your eulogy was shouted from a flaming hearse.
Then it’s back into the fray! Faster, louder, sicker, and more violently catchy than ever.
The production is razor-sharp. Alex Kane and Steve Evetts give the record a punch-to-the-gut clarity, making every scream, solo, and spit-shouted lyric sound like it’s coming from a haunted amp turned up to 13.
In short: ‘Mid Death Crisis’ is a monster mash of punk chaos, horror theatrics, and glam metal fury. It doesn’t care if you’re ready. It doesn’t ask permission. It kicks down the door, flicks its cigarette at the reaper, and drags you to the dance floor.
You’ll scream. You’ll laugh. You’ll cry black tears.
And you’ll hit play again before the blood’s even dry.
Reviewed By Rebecca Bush