Album Review: Retisonic – Robots Fucking
Retisonic’s 2012 indie rock/post-punk gem, Robots Fucking, is a gritty, unapologetic dive into raw emotion and sonic experimentation. Hailing from Germany and released via Arctic Rodeo Recordings, this album feels like a late-night drive through neon-lit streets—equal parts brooding and electrifying. With Jason Farrell at the helm (pulling triple duty on guitar, vocals, and production), the band crafts a sound that’s both nostalgic and refreshingly edgy.
The lineup is tight: Jim Kimball on bass lays down grooves so solid they could hold up a skyscraper, while Joe Gorelick’s drumming adds punch and precision. Add in Farrell’s raspy yet melodic vocals, and you’ve got an album that sticks to your ribs long after it ends.
Two tracks stand out for me personally. First, “Wait Lookout!”—or wait, was it “Wait...Lookout!”? Either way, this song hits hard. It opens with a driving rhythm that grabs you by the collar and doesn’t let go. The interplay between Farrell’s guitar riffs and Kimball’s basslines creates a tension that feels almost cinematic. And when those backing vocals kick in (courtesy of Gorelick), it’s like someone flipped a switch—you can’t help but lean in closer. It’s catchy without being cloying, intense without losing its cool.
Then there’s “High On Denial,” which kicks off the record with a bang. This track sets the tone perfectly—a mix of post-punk urgency and indie rock swagger. Farrell’s lyrics are cryptic enough to make you think but direct enough to hit home. There’s something about the way he snarls “denial” in the chorus that gets under your skin. Maybe it’s relatable, maybe it’s just damn good writing. Whatever it is, it works.
One thing worth noting is how polished yet organic the album sounds, thanks largely to mastering wizard Alan Douches and Farrell’s meticulous work behind the boards. Every instrument has room to breathe, but the overall vibe stays rough around the edges—a perfect balance for this genre.
Reflecting on Robots Fucking, I’m struck by how cohesive it feels despite its variety. From the punchy hooks of “Bee-Stung Lips” to the brooding atmospherics of “Necropolitan,” Retisonic proves they’re not afraid to take risks. But honestly, what really makes this album stick is its humanity. Amidst all the distortion and reverb, you can hear real people pouring their hearts out—and isn’t that what rock music’s supposed to be about?
Final thought: If robots ever do start fucking, I hope they play this album as their soundtrack. Because if anything, Robots Fucking reminds us that even machines might have feelings—if only we’d listen closely enough.
