Something Soft, the ironically titled second album from Irish punk outfit , is anything but. It’s jagged, hostile, and at times outright terrifying. A cold slap of post-punk chaos and industrial noise. It’s fucked up. It’s fascinating. It’s addicting.

The opener, “Pursuit,” sets the tone, deceptively calm. Clean, minimal guitar lines open up like a slow breath before Constance Keane delivers a gut punch: “Keys clutch in my hand, if I stand really straight, will you think I’m a man?” It’s a chilling line, playing with gender as defense, as camouflage, as survival strategy. These are lyrics from a lived experience. The track lures you into the fear of being followed, the dull horror of knowing that safety is performative. As far as album openers go, this one might be the scariest I’ve heard.

What M(h)aol does so well on Something Soft is weaponize dissonance. Songs like “Clementine” and “DM:AM” layer fuzzy guitars, buried vocals, and jarring electronics as if you’re drowning in static. There’s no neat catharsis here. “Clementine” climbs toward a climax, teasing resolution, then drops you flat. Refusing to grant you the release of the suspenseful grip. It’s just pure anxiety. The unresolved intensity is maddeningly brilliant.

That tension reflected throughout every aspect of the album. Lyrically, Something Soft is packed with discomfort and dark humor. Themes range from the banality of male entitlement to fears of physical violence, digital permanence, and isolation. On “E8/N16,” Keane recites an ever-faster list of male names—“Will, Matt, Dan, Jack, Jeff, John…”—building like a mantra, until finally landing on “Tarquin.” It’s a loaded name. The last Roman king. A stand-in for posh, out-of-touch guys who float through life untouched. It’s a brutal punchline, made more cutting by its repetitive, sped up delivery.

“Coda” ends the album with a final descent into the void. Distant screams bleed into harsh post-punk machinery, like stumbling into an illegal Berlin rave at 4 a.m. and realizing you don’t remember how you got there. It’s oppressive. Cold. Yet intoxicatingly exhilarating. The album closes with a kind of dead-eyed momentum—like the club is still going, even if you’re not. What’s wild is how often you can’t make out what Keane is saying on first listen—and how much that doesn’t matter. When the lyrics do land, they cut deep: the fear of sleeping next to someone you don’t trust, the sickening weight of consumer culture, the fragility of modern relationships. M(h)aol doesn’t hand out anything. You’ve got to dig through the noise to find it, when you do, it hurts.

This was my introduction to M(h)aol. It took a couple listens before I could find my footing. At first, I was pushed away, I was scared and didn’t know where to go. Then, I realized they were guiding me. The feelings this album stirred in me—paranoia, dread, confusion—weren’t pleasant, but they were real. Sometimes you need to feel the bad shit, too.

Order Something Soft by M(h)aol HERE