Spending time “At the Humanoid Motel” with Naked Brunch

In its debut EP At the Humanoid Motel, Chicago-based rock band Naked Brunch lives up to its name. A reference to William Burroughs’ 1959 novel “Naked Lunch,” the six-track offering charts a surreal course through a playfully compelling dystopia. 

How does one find pleasure in a society that insists on stripping the individual of its ability to slow down? To reconcile this question, Naked Brunch explores the journey of a Humanoid. “Everyone wants the pleasure, without tasting the pain” this humanoid howls into a grunge microphone reminiscent of the Arctic Monkeys. The drums rumble in the background, creating a sense of ominous prophecy. “You get seven years of plenty with your Gucci and Fendi, til you go down, down, down!” 

There’s a moment of silence, allowing this vision of mischievous doom to settle in before the song and the album kick into full gear. 

What Naked Brunch does well is rhythm. It’s propulsive and intoxicating. It creates a groove that you can fall into without getting lulled to sleep. “I had a dream I was a human being /but then I woke up / running!” is the song’s whispered mantra, served before every chorus dripping with more and more sarcasm each time. 

The next track shoots out of the gate with an off-kilter bass line that sounds like a cocaine heartbeat. “Supersonic” feels like the marriage of a William Burrough’s junkie with a Real Housewife of Salt Lake City (my bet is on Lisa Barlow). It’s campy and dangerous. The guitar climbs and falls, like a hamster in a wheel as the lyrics take us on an exploration of progress, culture and the never enough. That relentless bass line climbs a staircase to nowhere, with a manic explosion of drums that keep the song ratcheting upwards. “Feel good! Feel better! / Take your medicine / clear up all your weather!”

After the high energy of its first two tracks, Naked Brunch is smart enough to give us a breather (or their version of it for a rather high-octane album). The EP’s first single, “Kiddie Pool” slows us down into the personal. Psychedelic guitar arpeggios create a groovy surf rock vibe before breaking into an anthemic chorus of self-empowerment. Swirling with moody energy, the track dives off the pedestal of a trophy wife relationship with cheeky aplomb and genuinely funny lyrics. “This ain’t sea world, b*tch” vocalist Michael Hanna murmurs, before a hard hitting break down. 

  It’s accompanied by a Bojack Horseman-style animated music video. Atlanta-based animator Eleonore Dendy creates a delightful world surrounding an adorably awkward shark trying desperately to fit in. “It won’t work babe, I’m too big for this pool” the song admits, as the shark takes the plunge off the high dive with hilarious consequence. 

“Come Clean” is a Phrygian ode to a relationship gone awry, a release from the stagnant waters of unfulfillment. The bass line mirrors the manic mind of our narrator, looking for salvation or escape. “Fetch the leeches / draw it out” the vocals search for a cure, knowing full well the inevitably fatal outcome. “Goodbye is not always a dirty word” the bridge whispers, reminding us that no matter the pain, sometimes letting go is the right choice. It releases into an absolute banger of a chorus, thrashing with pain and ecstasy. 

  “So Bad” creates a sonic atmosphere that haunts us like a radio going in and out of range. It explores unrequited longing with, at turns, tender then humorously bitter lyricism. “Tell me all your issues, Daddy issues, Mommy issues / pass the tissue; I got the time.” Simplistic yet effective, the song’s spareness opens outwards into a vista of deep yearning. “I love you for free” is whispered again and again in the outro, then humorously undercut by the line “in this economy.” The production choices lean into a more stylised, vacuous atmosphere with a drum kick that feels almost trap-esque. It’s digital and disarming after the rest of the EP’s more classic rock approach.

And then there’s 1-800-SATISFY, a charmingly idiosyncratic track that returns us to pleasure with a voice-mailbox message. “Thank you for calling 1-800-SATISFY. If you believe you’re already satisfied, please hang up and ask your lovers if this feeling is mutual,” the voice greets us, with no small amount of sass. 

Veering in and out of funk and ska (I could practically hear trumpets), an arabesque anti-chorus, and an eruptively anthemic conclusion, the song is a smarmy juxtaposition between the concept of relief and satisfaction. “Relief may have gone and killed the cat, but satisfaction brings the pussy back,” sings the narrator in one of my favorite lines from the album.

Thematically, it reminds me of Salt-N-Pepa’s “Let’s Talk About Sex”. Musically, it reminds me of….well nothing really comes to mind. The song feels like the epitome of Naked Brunch’s style as a self-proclaimed slut rock band. It’s campy, unpredictable, and terrifically fun. It’s delivered with bravado and playfulness that makes you want to sing along, and then start “asking for what you want, instead pretending that you’re getting it.”

“Can we get some satisfaction?” a gang vocal chants at the song’s conclusion, to which Naked Brunch responds, “I know we can!” It’s delivered with so much conviction, you’re bound to believe them. 

Replete with genre experimentation, undeniable musicianship, and an unflappable delivery, At the Humanoid Motel is an exciting first offering from a new band I hope to hear more from. It’s the first delicious meal from Naked Brunch; I doubt it will be the last. 

Cover photo by Vicki Holda