“My Twink Death” is a piece of ‘violent pop’ that feels like a celebration held in a room that is slowly catching fire. Moving with a jittery elegance, Not Richard & Her Majesty have crafted a sound that is deceptively bright by lacing a 60s feel good vibe with garage-punk grit that refuses to stay polite.
The chaotic swirl of handclaps, synths, and the soaring guitar solo provide the soundtrack of a gender ruin. Rich Frownes says,
“Getting a bad haircut a while ago, I didn’t recognise the person in the mirror. I was saddened not to see the “girly me” that I expected. My femininity was getting stolen by age, and I never knew how important it was until it wasn’t a certainty any longer.”
The unflinching honesty of watching a version of one’s self slipping away is captured through sugary melodies that allow the lyrics to be raw and unstable. By documenting the friction of being gendered correctly instead of incorrectly, “My Twink Death” becomes a double edge sword itself. One that acknowledges the empowerment of recognising who you are and being proud despite others opinions and one that feels saddened by the fact that you may now fit the definition of
By turning the embarrassment of others into a position of strength, “My Twink Death” is a sonic ritual of reclamation. In choosing to stand proud instead of hiding, the song celebrates both an ego death and an awakening of acceptance. It might be a warped lens, but it’s one of truth.
