SLAYYYTER - Wor$t Girl In America

A certain penchant for the sordid has always been at home in the projects of Catherine Garner, better known as Slayyyter. That, along with a pronounced hedonistic streak so brazen it makes many of the pc-music/hyperpop acts mocking pop conventions at the same time look positively tame by comparison. It hardly matters that she's tried to mask her own inclinations behind more conventional melodic designs and a bygone-noir-diva narrative: whatever's stirring beneath the surface is itching to break free, and so, after a "Starfucker" well versed in the mechanics of the sleekest electropop, America's worst girl comes out into the open once again, hauling her heavy baggage full of insatiable appetites, uncontrollable urges and full-throttle materialism. But behind this parade of excess beats an electric heart, a passionate soul that, when the moment calls for it, doesn't hesitate to show its most vulnerable side.

Lost in the woods of her native Missouri, quite possibly with a rifle in hand, and certainly with earbuds plugged into the iPod of her childhood, Slayyyter takes no prisoners: when she wants something, she gets it without much ceremony. Already one of the season's defining moments, "Crank" is pure libido, wrapped in a ferocious industrial-hop weave, an account of wild nights and unhinged sex that along the way doesn't shy away from delivering one of the most quotable lines of the year ("I get so gay off that Tequila!").

"Beat Up Chanel$" doubles down, presenting us with the bad girl on the hunt for money, drugs, that old Celine bag, dishing out contempt and disdain like candy: that it all unfolds over a beat that would have made the best Crystal Castles drool makes the whole account, if anything, even more terrifying. Where aggression falls short, sarcasm picks up the slack: working through post-post-punk tropes better than plenty of contemporary bands on the other side of the Atlantic, "Cannibalism!" ventures bold comparisons and mysterious encounters with the swagger of a psychobilly heroine, before "I'm Actually Kinda Famous" throws in the face of envious types and occasional clout-chasers, with the poise of a seasoned drag queen, what it really means to have grabbed a hold of fame, however relative it may be.

There is, however, no convincing American narrative without seeing the flip side of the coin, and as in a film halfway between Gregg Araki's Teen Apocalypse Trilogy and early Harmony Korine, all the misery and pain surface like fresh blood. A certain "Brat" already told us as much: behind certain attitudes lie fears, insecurities, fragilities finally given a voice. And so gas stations on the side of the road become the setting for a complicated father-daughter relationship (the venomous electroclash moment "Gas Station"), her native St. Louis is the key factor in revealing that the game of attention turns out to be far more one-sided than expected (scenes of poverty and recession amid the industrial cowbells of "$t. Loser"), and she cries out at the top of her lungs for other people's consideration, even when it's perhaps not exactly well placed (the electric metronome that answers "What Is It Like, To Be Liked?").

Reaching the point of the extreme act, ultimately trying to mask the most unpleasant sides of oneself, is almost a logical conclusion, given what we've heard so far ("Brittany Murphy", the late icon admired by Slayyyter).

In a cycle that brings us back to the beginning, to a "Dance..." that introduced the whole album with one of the most striking clips of the last decade (you can watch it alongside this piece), what matters is dancing, especially in the face of the worst adversities, with the creatures of the night growing ever more insistent. It hardly matters what the final outcome will be, or what twists life will bring next. Behind this unbridled rush, behind these beats that could punch through metal, lies one of the most exciting and self-aware minds in contemporary pop. Crank it!

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22/04/2026