Alright, let’s dive into WiFi Kills on the Planet of Thee Dirty Rats by Thee Dirty Rats. This 2017 garage rock gem from Brazil is raw, messy, and totally unforgettable—like a sweaty basement party that somehow gets out of hand in the best way possible. Released under Mandinga Records, it’s got this gritty energy that feels like the band didn’t overthink anything. They just hit record and let chaos do its thing.
First off, “Tu Duh Duh Duh” (or maybe it’s “Tu-Duh-Duh-Duh”—who knows with these guys?) smacks you right in the face. It’s punchy, repetitive, and weirdly hypnotic, kinda like when someone says a word too many times and it starts sounding alien. The guitar riffs are sharp enough to cut glass, but there’s also this lo-fi charm, like they recorded it on an old tape deck they found in a dumpster. I can’t stop humming it—it’s stuck in my brain like gum on a shoe. You know those songs where you’re not sure if you love it or hate it? Yeah, this one’s both at once. And honestly, that’s what makes it stick.
Then there’s “Chop Your Fingers,” which… well, the title alone tells you everything you need to know. It’s wild, unhinged, and feels like your speakers might explode halfway through. There’s something about how the vocals snarl and spit out lyrics—it’s less singing, more like primal screaming. But damn, does it work. If you’ve ever felt pissed off at life for no real reason, this track will vibe with your soul. It’s chaotic as hell, but isn’t that what rock ‘n’ roll is supposed to be?
The rest of the album follows suit—tracks like “Time Compression” (twice? Maybe they forgot or just really liked it) keep the momentum going without overstaying their welcome. Every song has this raw edge, like the band was trying to channel some kind of electric fury straight into your ears.
Here’s the thing: WiFi Kills doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel. Instead, it grabs the wheel, drives it into a ditch, and laughs while doing donuts in the mud. It’s imperfect, unpolished, and absolutely thrilling because of it. Listening to this feels like finding a hidden treasure in a pile of junk—a little rough around the edges, but full of personality.
And here’s the kicker: after blasting this album, I couldn’t help but wonder… why don’t more bands sound like this anymore? Like, seriously, where did all the gloriously messed-up rock go? Maybe WiFi really does kill creativity—or maybe Thee Dirty Rats just figured out how to make it lethal in the most awesome way possible.
