Frankie and the Witch Fingers don’t ease you in, they rip the floor out from under you. Trash Classic opens like a panic attack and never lets up, barreling through ego collapse, screen addiction, and capitalist rot at full volume.
The opening track, “Channel Rot,” is a jagged burst of commercials, static, and signal loss. It’s less a song than a broadcast from inside the machine. Before the album even starts, you’re already wired in, and everything that follows plays out under that interference.
It’s loud, twitchy, and deeply weird, but beneath the chaos, there’s purpose. This album is a political act: one band holding up a mirror to modern life and asking what we’re willing to do about it.
Frankie and the Witch Fingers began in Bloomington, Indiana, as a solo project from vocalist and guitarist Dylan Sizemore. Over time, the project moved to Los Angeles and grew into a full band: Sizemore, guitarist Josh Menashe, bassist and vocalist Nikki “Pickle” Smith, drummer Travis King, and synth player Jon Modaff.
Together, they’ve tightened their sound, moving past garage-psych roots into something sharper and more confrontational.
Critics have compared Trash Classic to early Devo, Gang of Four, and Suicide. Frankie and the Witch Fingers take that lineage and pull it into the present, asking what happens when the noise becomes the message, and whether collapse might be something we move through instead of fearing it.
The record is soaked in political anxiety but never turns preachy. The songs spark and jolt, charged with digital overload, economic dread, and the dull churn of consumer culture.
Yet even at its most apocalyptic, it refuses to sink into despair. The frustration keeps moving, pushing forward, with flashes of something freer just beyond the noise.
That energy drives “T.V. Baby,” a jab at media addiction: “Remote controls every fear and nightmare info / I soaked the dope deep into my head.” Buzzing synths and guitars layer tension on top of tension, creating the same sensory overload the lyrics condemn.
“Dead Silence” picks up from there, turning the critique inward. “Keep on tapping elevator buttons / I’m sure one day they will change” lands like a grim joke. It’s unsettling because it’s familiar—the quiet belief that persistence might eventually force movement.
The political commentary peaks on “Economy,” which strips capitalism to its bare bones with the line “The plasma you sell / Buys money to eat.” Cold and mechanical, it’s built on synthetic textures that feel hollow and suffocating, like life inside a machine that never stops running but never improves.
That unease carries into “Total Reset,” which plays like a machine uprising but works as a metaphor for dismantling the systems we’ve built and can no longer control—tech, power, profit.
“You’re the ones that programmed us / Now we’re going to blow you up” isn’t just an attack, it’s a verdict. The repeated “There must be extermination” feels like a judgment you can’t argue your way out of. Even the line about “aggregating the worthy children” and giving them “new name new insights” suggests an unsettling cultural reset, deciding what’s worth carrying forward and what’s left in the rubble.
This album is a political act: one band holding up a mirror to modern life and asking what we’re willing to do about it.
“Out of the Flesh” leans into Lynchian surrealism, channeling gender anxiety, body horror, and the quiet violence of self-erasure. “Chewing on a Barbie doll to make my inside pretty” captures the pressure to reshape yourself into something palatable at the cost of authenticity.
The title track closes the album with the repeated phrase “I got high hopes.” It doesn’t feel like blind optimism but something harder and more instinctive, like a refusal to give in. After ego death, consumption, and collapse, hope remains. It’s faint but unshakable, humming like static on a dead channel.
This is one of their strongest, most urgent records yet. It’s political without preaching, chaotic without losing control. It’s a shot of electricity that lingers long after the last track fades.
They’re on tour right now, so check if they’re hitting your city. These songs will tear the roof off live.
This review was written by Charlotte Woska. Charlotte is a recent college graduate with a passion for music and writing. While new to the world of reviews, her love for music has been a lifelong journey. Through her work, she aims to shine a light on emerging artists and convey the impact music can have.
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