I feel her crawl inside my skin
Beauty wrapped in dark sin
Paralyzed by Angelic eyes
But you’re a demon in disguise
Austin’s Th3 L3p3rs drag ‘80s new wave, ‘90s alternative, and modern dark synth into a sweat-drenched, neon-lit séance. Simon Diaz and Griffin Wright, veterans of L.A.’s underground, unearthed their sound in the hush of lockdown, conjuring something jagged and hypnotic. If Health, Soft Moon, Cold Cave, or Twin Tribes make you move, Th3 L3p3rs might just possess you.
Diaz bends synths into something seething and sinister, equal parts Depeche Mode sheen and Nine Inch Nails bite, while Wright wields his guitar like a serrated blade, channeling the echoing howl of The Cure and the sonic crush of My Bloody Valentine. Vocalist Ethan Stafford joined the fray later; his voice a raw, ragged incantation, sharpened in projects like Sinclair Noire and Most Modern. His growl, steeped in Killing Joke menace and Bauhaus theatrics, slashes through the mix, the final piece in their pitch-dark puzzle.
A fevered lament soaked in longing and loss, opener Perfume, with its cascading darkwave beats and ardent vocals,drifts between passion and despair, clinging to the scent of someone already gone. A love once intoxicating turns to torment, lingering like old wounds that refuse to heal. Desire twists into obsession, a requiem for something beautiful but doomed. The air is thick with cabernet and regret, with ghosts that won’t stay but won’t quite leave. The past lingers like perfume, like blood on sheets, like a siren’s call pulling the heart toward ruin.
Neon Demon, an anthem drenched in pulsing synths and icy guitars accents, propulsive and seductive, explores the theme of addiction, illustrating how anything pursued in excess—be it food, video games, religion, sex, or drugs—can become an overpowering parasitic force that consumes one’s soul. In the music video, the ketamine trip reveals the harsh reality of Ethan Stafford’s toxic relationship; the succubus serves as a metaphor for both the destructive influence of drug use and the toxic woman, whose presence paralyzes and devours his well-being.
The Overpass thrums with tension, a slow-burn smolder of industrial beats, and creeping basslines wrapped in a haze of distortion. Guitars wail and churn, shifting between eerie restraint and raw release. The voice, weary yet commanding, drifts between whispers and anguish, carrying a weight of reflection, regret, and quiet fury.
Soft Leather is in an industrial pop incantation laced with an eerie gothic rock guitar line. It is seething with unsettling darkness and is a raw, unfiltered dive into pleasure and power, reveling in the electric charge of dominance and submission. It’s a midnight confession wrapped in latex and leather, a love that thrives in the thrill of restraint and release. Voyeuristic eyes watch, but nothing else matters, just control, sensation, and the unspoken understanding between two kindred spirits of excess. This isn’t romance…far from it. It’s selfish indulgence, a plunge into forbidden desires where pleasure and pain entwine, and boundaries blur in the heat of the night.
A hypnotic haze of desire, decadence, and destruction envelops the atmosphere in “Angels With Dirty Faces.” This darkwave delight features old-school Clan of Xymox-style synths and guitars, paying tribute to a reckless and resplendent figure—a tragic beauty with a chilling allure, a magnet for lust and lies. The club swirls in sweat and sin, a seductive sanctuary for the doomed and desperate. Love and ruin blur together, entwining passion and possession. It’s not merely about wanting someone; it’s about consuming and claiming them, dragging their soul into the abyss. It’s a dangerous dance, both seductive and inescapable.
Listen to Tragic Blonde below:
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