Naked Rat Dance commits to a sweat-soaked world inside the strobe-lit corners of a goth club, and never once breaks character. Red Light opens with gloomy synths and a rigid drum machine dropping you into something nocturnal and ominous, and the second the huge guitar riff kicks in the mood flips from introspection to a party. Everything looks dark, with crusty analogue synths, distorted vocals and primitive drum machines, but everything feels euphoric. Imagine a packed room where nobody’s smiling but everybody’s dancing and sweating, with a clear lineage back to Siouxsie and the Banshees in the commanding delivery cutting through the wall of sound. Catchy choruses are howled with force as Emma Anitchka’s voice dissolves into the synths and guitars until everything feels like one unified surge of energy.

There’s no interest in modern polish, and Naked Rat Dance feels proudly outdated, as if it could have been tracked straight to tape and left to distort at the edges. The drum machines are simple and blunt, giving the music a backbone that’s direct and physical with chunky guitar riffs and glittering synth lines colliding into something that’s grungy but shimmers. Naked on My Own (LP Version) has a filthy bassline and a freak ethos, inviting you to revel in the ridiculous, and there’s far too much conviction in the over-the-top theatrical performance to feel ironic or pretentious. Dance to the Revolution stands out as a peak, pushing everything into overdrive with verses that thump with intent before the hi-hats explode in rapid motion telling you exactly how to move. What makes Naked Rat Dance so compelling is the real, unfiltered joy underpinning it all, existing in a scene that values cold, miserable detachment and flipping the aesthetic on its head. A great goth record you can throw your whole body around to.