“A Murmuration of Capitalist Bees is math-rock with a pulse — chaotic, cerebral, and snarling with soul

In an era where genre lines are blurred and experimentation is the new normal, Denude storms onto the scene with A Murmuration of Capitalist Bees — an eight-track debut that’s as frayed and ferocious as its title suggests. Hailing from the Midwest and forged in the fires of the DIY underground, Denude’s lineup boasts serious credentials: James David (Murder in the Red Barn, Fuiguirnet), Jesse Schomisch (Fuiguirnet), and Matthew Parrish (Piglet, Dr Manhattan). These guys aren’t new to this – but the way they rewire math rock into something nervy, chaotic, and entirely their own absolutely feels fresh. Despite the name, Denude’s sound is anything but stripped down. It’s dense, emotionally loaded, and teeming with rhythmic complexity. Vocals drift in and out like haunted broadcasts, guitars twitch and spiral in fractured time signatures, and the drumming? Somewhere between the calculations of a mad scientist and the pulse of a riot.

The record opens with “Oh Friend Entropy,” a track that lays out the band’s intent loud and clear. It’s messy in the best way — drums churning like gears in a broken machine while vocals erupt like end-time sermons. There’s panic in every measure, urgency in every shouted word. “We must make a friend of entropy,” the track insists, and by the time it’s done, you just might agree. “Animal Tracks” is a standout — a syncopated slow-burn that feels like being chased through a collapsing forest. Angular guitar figures tick like time bombs while the rhythm section keeps things grounded in menace. When the vocals finally burst through, they don’t soothe – they flare up like a warning siren. Tracks like “A Flying V” and “Single File Marching Orders” extend the band’s ethos — less traditional songcraft, more controlled chaos. They take their time building strange, beautiful patterns before crashing them into a wall. And often, the vocals only arrive after the damage is done. On “Single File…”, they don’t enter until the final third, landing like a final gasp after a barrage of jagged instrumental shrapnel. Then there’s “Phalanx” — the closest thing to a punk track here. It surges forward with wild-eyed energy, preacher-style vocals, and a full-frontal wall of noise. Lines like “I get mistaken for a salesman / People tell me I’m a godsend” hit like barbed satire aimed directly at a world of political absurdity. It’s furious, it’s fun, and it absolutely rips.

“The 12th Battle on the Isonzo” lives in the same chaotic landscape — but instead of explosive rage, it simmers in existential dread. The vocals drip with paranoia, and the instrumentation is unsettling, as if everything could fall apart at any second. “Ypre” and “All Fours” follow suit with twisted, almost cinematic layering — the former slithering with tension, the latter turning its jangly intro into a downward spiral of distorted psychosis. Closer “All Fours” is a jagged piece of math-rock noir — the guitar sounds like it’s on the edge of breakdown, the bass snarls underneath, and the vocals? Completely unhinged. Think Pere Ubu funneled through the dark heart of the Midwest. What’s remarkable is how A Murmuration of Capitalist Bees manages to be so complex yet so emotionally raw. It’s math-rock with soul — angry, unpredictable, and full of teeth. The songs are drilled in with militaristic precision, but still feel feral and untamed. It’s as if the band built these tracks in an abandoned bunker with broken clocks and a stack of bad dreams. This is post-punk for people who crave something that challenges, math-rock for listeners who want more than just cleverness. And it’s a debut that doesn’t ask for your attention — it demands it.