There’s a fine line between experimentation and chaos—and on housecAt, Art Pop doesn’t just walk it, they dance on it with a kind of reckless precision that feels entirely their own. The Austin-based duo—brothers Max and Miles Grossenbacher—have built something that doesn’t sit comfortably in any one lane. housecAt is pitched as indie rock reimagined through a house music lens, but that description undersells how strange (and compelling) the result actually is. This isn’t a remix album. It’s more like a reconstruction site—songs pulled apart, flipped inside out, and reassembled into something that feels both nostalgic and disorienting.
From the jump, “sunrise 4 suckers” sets the tone: hazy, lo-fi textures layered over a pulse that feels like it’s trying to wake up but isn’t quite ready to. It’s immediately clear that polish isn’t the goal here—texture is. That DIY recording process (iPhone mics, MacBooks, makeshift spaces) isn’t hidden—it’s weaponized. The centerpiece, though, is “the party’s never over (and i feel alive right now…)”. Introduced early in a more traditional indie form, it returns later in the album as something completely unraveled—glitchy, frantic, almost unrecognizable. It’s a bold structural move that pays off, not because it’s clean, but because it’s emotionally consistent. The feeling remains, even when the form doesn’t. That tension—between danceability and emotional weight—is where housecAt thrives. Tracks like “but the sad kitty don’t dance” and “we r rebels” lean into that contradiction, pairing club-ready rhythms with lyrics that feel withdrawn, detached, sometimes even numb. It’s music for movement, sure—but not necessarily for joy. Think less neon-lit euphoria, more 2AM introspection under strobe lights.
The influence palette is wide and visible. You can hear echoes of LCD Soundsystem in the dance-punk DNA, flashes of Daft Punk in the rhythmic backbone, and the experimental spirit of Radiohead in the willingness to deconstruct structure entirely. There’s also a hyperpop-adjacent unpredictability that nods to 100 gecs—that sense that anything could glitch, warp, or collapse at any moment. Then there’s “a waiting room (kibbles N bits remix)”, their rework of Phoebe Bridgers’ “Waiting Room.” It’s a risky move—touching a song that’s already emotionally sacred to a lot of listeners—but Art Pop doesn’t treat it delicately. They rebuild it into something colder, more mechanical, but still oddly affecting. It doesn’t replace the original—it reframes it, like remembering a feeling through a different emotional filter. What ultimately makes housecAt land is its commitment to its own weirdness. The reversed sections, the distortion-heavy mix, the structural callbacks—they’re not gimmicks, they’re part of the album’s internal language. It’s messy, yes. But it’s intentionally messy. Art Pop isn’t trying to make the cleanest indie-electronic crossover record. They’re trying to make something that feels like memory, like fragmentation, like dancing through a feeling you don’t fully understand yet. housecAt isn’t for everyone—but that’s exactly the point.
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