Brace yourselves, because Mr. KanHey is here to disrupt the status quo—and this time, it’s a glorious cacophony rising out of New York’s sweat-stained industrial underworld. Enter Brutus VIII, the sledgehammer symphony of noise that just announced a new EP, fronted by a lead single with a title that’s part confessional, part gut punch, and entirely undeniable: “My Eating Disorder.”
Let that title sink in. No, you’re not misreading. While the world tiptoes around discomfort, Brutus VIII charges headfirst into the fire with their boots laced in emotional rebar. The new track isn’t just music—it’s a scorched earth manifesto carved into steel with bare fingers. And I, for one, am here for it.
Let’s get one thing straight: Brutus VIII doesn’t make songs. They birth sonic exorcisms. Think Nine Inch Nails got blackout drunk at a cyberpunk funeral and woke up in a Brooklyn warehouse riddled with trauma and defiance. That’s where Brutus VIII thrives—on that fine, blood-splattered line between agony and art.
“My Eating Disorder” marks a sinister evolution in their catalogue, and not just because it stomps through your headphones like a herd of techno-laced war drums. This is Brutus VIII looking inward—scourging the mirror, throwing its own guts on the mixing console, and daring us to watch. It’s vulnerability dressed in barbed wire, a personal apocalypse wrapped in distortion, the sonic equivalent of reading one’s diary out loud during an earthquake.
The vocals? Molten. The production? Industrial sludge magic. It’s dirty, it’s dense, it’s layered like a fever dream wearing combat boots. And just when you think you’ve got a grip on the song’s direction—boom, the beat slams again, disorienting you like a strobe light in an emotional meat grinder.
But don’t get it twisted: this isn’t performative pain for pity points. Brutus VIII has always flirted with chaos, but here, there’s a new kind of intimacy within the brutality. The lyrics—raw, exposed, and punishing—feel like weaponized therapy. It’s not just noise; it’s naked confrontation. A dirge for the broken, a scream for the misunderstood, a middle finger to sanitized suffering.
In an era where everyone’s trying to be palatable for playlists and brand-safe enough to sell vitamin water, Brutus VIII launches a flamethrower at the algorithm. This EP isn’t engineered for streams—it’s designed for those of us still hungry for something real, something visceral, something that doesn’t just slap—it scars.
Look out, world. If this lead single is the battle cry, the rest of the EP is sure to level the playing field. Brutus VIII isn’t trying to please you. They’re here to haunt you, heal you, and hurl you into the heart of darkness—all while making it sound cooler than your last three Spotify Wrapped years combined.
Dare to be different or fade into oblivion. Brutus VIII just chose the former, and they’re dragging us into the abyss with synths, screams, and unflinching honesty.
The revolution isn’t coming. It’s already screaming through your speakers.
– Mr. KanHey
