Moniker’s elastic firecracker roster just got gritty and down-low. Paid for It is some nega-Pulp; a noir Afghan Whigs—a lot of sexual undertones in a filthy den of propagation and deceit. The lewdness is never front and center a la Cocker or Dulli, but it’s hidden in the bones. Dark synths and industrial melodies bubbling deep in the marrow. It’s a slow burn, capturing the rapture of lust slowly engulfing the body. That transformation from smitten kitten into a dog on the prowl. It’s seedy in all the right places, though it feels just dirty enough to keep you from falling into a whirlpool of inescapable infatuation. Though it teases going snuff a few times during its run time, but it’s just that. Some people like that fantasy, and more power to ‘em. Because now they have the soundtrack for such dalliances and never should they fear that they’re just playing out an awful teleplay of Wicked City.
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