While some wonder who’s going to make rock’n’roll wild again, Warm Bodies’ Olivia Gibb is barking like a dog out here. The Kansas City, Missouri artist is effortlessly wild. When she sings, she jumps in and out of cartoonish shrieks. Her bug-eyed and immensely expressive live performances would make John Waters proud. If you visit her website, you can buy some ceramic clown nightmares. Punk’s underground has always been flush with fringe characters—Warm Bodies share a label with noxious weirdos Lumpy and the Dumpers, for example—but Gibb stands out from the heap. On Warm Bodies’ messy and muscular debut album, you can find her screaming about her eyes which have fallen out of their sockets.
“My Face Fell Off” is a minute-long blast of surrealist speed punk, so while Gibb screams for help in locating her face, her bandmates come in frenzied. Drummer Gabe Coppage crashes forward at a turbulent clip while Ian Teeple keeps pace, rattling out power chords and guitar solos. This exact sort of noisy punk maelstrom has been the band’s calling card for a couple years now. The song originally appeared on Warm Bodies’ 2016 demo, and while the two versions are similar, you can hear just how much they’ve leveled up. On Warm Bodies, they’re faster, the recording quality is less scuzzy, and most pressingly, Gibb sounds far more unhinged than she did on her relatively more reserved early recordings.
Take “Something Weird Is Eating Me,” a song that addresses the more uncomfortable truths of the human body. After alluding broadly to a “mess” under her clothes, she gets extremely specific: “A burning lump full of yellow gunk/And I’m itchy itchy itchy itchy,” her voice oozing the discomfort that the song’s lyrics so directly imply. Later, when Gibb shouts about her sexual encounter with real-life plane hijacker D.B. Cooper, Teeple sets the stage with a clattering, rapid-fire hook. This is the band’s secret formula: Gibb whips up fever dreams with her singular voice and Teeple grounds everything with earworms and sick guitar solos.
Across its 20 minutes, Warm Bodies isn’t strictly a wall-to-wall shredfest. It’s an album bookended by electronics, opening with the tense swell of warped synths and finishing with the pulse of crackling, ethereal noise. Then there’s “Stinky dUMBOMix,” a song that’s all synthesizers, drum machines, whistles, and handclaps. It’s only a minute long, but it’s a crucial moment that places the music beyond garage punk and into the context of low-key experimentation.
With that handful of left-field sonic tics, Warm Bodies lean fully into the psychedelia that powers Gibb’s lyrics: melted faces, gnarly rashes, dog cosplay, and fucking a never-been-caught skydiving thief. Chaos is an intrinsic part of their DNA, which means more relatable, day-to-day subjects adopt a funhouse-mirror approach. “Psychic Connection” is a love song that’s both surreal and knowable—Gibb breaks down the unspoken “mind control” shorthand you have with the person you love. Then there’s “I Need a Doctor,” where Teeple’s woozy guitar and the call-and-response of “I need a doctor! (She needs a doctor!)” invoke sick-day queasiness. On an album of hysterical vocals and high-speed guitar work, Warm Bodies is riveting because of how human it is—its joy, rage, infatuations, and yes, literal boils.
