“Femcels! Femcels! Femcels!” Rowan Miles and Gabriella Turton cry over speedy video-game bleeps, sounding like they’ve simply received the lottery. “You’re listening to the Femcels, we don’t have intercourse ever!” On this deranged parody of the lifetime of two sexless younger Brits, having greasy hair and scuzzy enamel appears like a lot enjoyable. I Need to Get Hotter is an audio cartoon—with charmingly raveled, pixelated manufacturing and doofy spoken-word passages about feeling just like the “indiest lady in school.” In “You’re Homosexual and You’re in Love With Me (Please Let Me Contact Your Boobs),” solely the second-longest tune title, the women reminisce on a day at a Counter-Strike match, with its fetid odor of “incels and hotdogs.” “Rowan, if you’d like a woman to love you, you simply should say, ‘You’re homosexual and also you’re in love with me,’” Turton coaches her buddy. “And if that doesn’t work, you possibly can simply at all times go, ‘PLEASE LET ME TOUCH YOUR BEWBS!’”
Miles and Turton could have messy bedrooms, however they’re not truly incels. This isn’t the lady model of the tragic rock microgenre often called “incelcore”—there’s nothing dour or woe-is-me or stupidly edgy right here, and the Femcels don’t write lyrics in 4chanspeak. Miles and Turton, an illustrator and a coder, met on-line. They began making music in early 2024 after Turton requested Bassvictim’s Ike Clateman to supply for the Femcels. They’ve since carried out alongside breakout rappers EsDeeKid and fakemink; Miles teamed up with Worldpeace DMT on the chirped-up The Velvet Underground & Rowan.
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The Femcels have launched solely two songs prior to now, however I Need to Get Hotter arrives in a bedazzled burst of moxie. Each monitor has sufficient daft escapades to pack an 11-minute TV episode because the duo obsess over twinks and trainers and make enjoyable of insecure tryhards. On “No One Will Fuck Me Once I Put on Two Totally different Footwear (One Jordan, One Gucci Flip Flop),” Turton fights a woman who accuses her of getting lip filler and wealthy dad and mom. There’s no fats within the lyrics, solely humorous nuggets of element that animate the characters: “Now she’s in Turkey getting new double Ds.” The duo rambles with Adderall bluster, begging a man who appears to be like like Elliott Smith “please don’t stab your self” and singing the praises of the coding language Javascript.
The jumpy lyrics are matched by stressed vocals: crinkly whispers and lost-in-reverie hums, bratty jeering and demented screamo. At instances, they’re like a kawaii-ified Le Tigre or Bratmobile, or Blectum from Blechdom, one other pair of digital pranksters who wove an obscene and grotesque fantasy world. It’s enjoyable as a result of it sounds just like the Femcels are simply speaking shit and geeking out, doodling on the combination. They’re lampooning pick-me varieties by yelling about ingesting Stella Artois and chanting the phrase “guppies” till the beat soars skyward like a rocketship. It’s the marginally perverse pleasure you get from snooping on a dialog, listening to the 2 confabbing at their most zoinked and unfiltered.
