By Mr. Benjamins
There’s a certain kind of person who treats your soul like a discount buffet—they keep coming back for more, piling their plate high with your emotional labor, and they don’t even have the decency to leave a tip. We’ve all been there, trapped in the orbit of a human black hole who thinks “boundaries” is just a suggestion for a soccer pitch.
If you’re currently looking at your reflection and realizing you’ve been “ripped off” one too many times, Michigan’s own father-son wrecking crew, DESU TAEM, has provided the ultimate sonic eviction notice. Their latest track, “Empty. Hollowed Out,” from the album Cyclops Girlfriend, isn’t just a song; it’s a spiritual bath in high-octane gasoline.
The Family That Slays Together
Before we dive into the abyss, let’s talk about the architects of this chaos. DESU TAEM is the brainchild of Shan and Nick Greene. Imagine a household where “pass the salt” is replaced by “shred this riff,” and you’re halfway there. Shan, a veteran of the rock wars since the ’70s, brings the lyrical “lunatic ravings,” while Nick, the multi-instrumentalist surgeon, stitches those ravings into what they call “Savage Retro Rock.”
As the great Albert Camus once suggested, “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.” DESU TAEM has taken that to heart. They aren’t making music for the radio; they’re making music for the guy who just realized his “soulmate” is actually a succubus in a vintage band tee.
Anatomy of a Melancholic Riot
“Empty. Hollowed Out” hits a rare, jagged nerve. It’s that sweet spot where you want to weep for the time you lost and simultaneously kick a hole through a drywall. The track carries a melancholic aura—a ghost in the machine—but it’s wrapped in the kind of punk-metal hybrid that keeps you from drowning in your own self-pity.
The message is blunt, like a blow to the solar plexus: Sometimes, you have to cut your losses and leave. We live in a culture that fetishizes “working it out” and “giving second chances,” but as the band implies, there’s no “working it out” when someone is busy ripping your face off. At that point, you don’t need a therapist; you need a getaway car and a loud-as-hell soundtrack.
Why This Hits a 10/10
From a technical standpoint, the vocal delivery is in such perfect sync with the beat it feels like a heartbeat accelerating during a panic attack—in the best way possible. It’s personal, it’s relatable, and it’s unapologetically raw.
- The Vibe: It’s a 3:00 AM drive through a rainy city after you’ve finally deleted that phone number.
- The Sound: Riffs that feel like they were forged in a basement in 1994, but polished with a modern, cynical edge.
- The Verdict: It’s a 10. No notes. Just volume.
Final Thoughts from the Desk of Mr. Benjamins
Look, life is too short to be someone else’s emotional punching bag. If you’re feeling hollowed out, don’t just sit there—fill that void with something loud. DESU TAEM is the reminder that even when you’re empty, you can still make a hell of a lot of noise.
If you haven’t checked out the rest of their discography—titles like “Who Fucked the Crash Test Dummy?!” and “Hulk on Heroin”—you’re missing out on a masterclass in musical sarcasm. These guys aren’t here to make friends; they’re here to make sure you’re still awake.
Stay savage.