Over the 13 tracks, Howarth spins her fishnet web, capturing
tales of gore, lust, and fame with an aptitude for storytelling that many
writers will envy. The ability to blend melancholy, metaphor, and melody
creates a love letter to those who have ever fallen for the wrong person or
never quite belonged. A letter naturally penned in blood.
‘Vicious Delicious’ throws us down a rabbit
hole of subversion and debauchery with a beating heart clenched in one fist and
a severed ring finger in the other.
From the seductive highs of ‘Lipstick’,
we fall to the dizzying lows of ‘Alien’. Backed by swelling
instrumentals, the track laments the universality of not fitting in, balancing
the fantasy of extra-terrestrials with the everyday feeling of not knowing
where you belong.
Changing pace again, Howarth surrenders in ‘Matador’, blending
the ruined innocence of smashed porcelain and flashes of red cruelty; the
accompanying video encapsulates the thrill of the chase around a labyrinthian
maze.
The macabre continues in ‘He’s My Man’, where Luvcat dons
the lustful roleplay of the doting housewife who has a murderous secret.
Joining the halls of figures like Love
Quinn, Olivia
Crain, and Lucille Sharp,
the dreamlike confessional shows the dark side of devotion; “He wakes,
head aches, funny taste to his tea / I want him to stay here forever / He’s
happiest with me”.
The merry-go-round of deceit and debauchery continues to
turn on ‘Spider’, a tale of the man you cannot trust, subverting the
innocence of the music box with the darkness of insatiable and demolishing
desire. The surge of staccato strings with Howarth’s echoing vocals creates the
ghostly feel of spider legs down your spine.
The dizzying descent into madness is continued in ‘Emma
Dilemma’, the erratic changes in instrumentals echoing how inescapable
villainy of women can be. In this instance, perhaps deserved—after all, she’s
got “Two fellas caught in her fishnet web”.
What’s so great about the album is its relatability. It may
hide behind a fantastical world of gothic grandeur, but at its heart, it’s raw
and real. From the Liverpudlian landmark honoured in the shadowy interlude
of ‘The Kazimier Garden’ to the naive insecurities that
come to the surface in ‘Blushing’ alongside tableaus of
McDonald's and Ferris wheels, the last quarter of the album faces the horrors
of the everyday.
A true standout on the album is the melancholic ‘Laurie’,
verbalising the ‘what ifs’ that run through a heartbroken mind, from
what happens if the end comes before reconciliation to the “Do I really
need to die to see if you cry?”. The piano and guitar guided by Thomas
James Fripp make the touching subject matter even more emotive,
leaving you on your knees, not in worship but pleading to be remembered and
loved.
Luvcat feels like the cigarette at the end of a meal,
and ‘Bad Books’ is the closest to a musical equivalent you can
get. A final injection of jazz-camp seduction, she weaves a theme for
the transgressive characters who once lurked in the shadows, now loud and
proud.
Blending the over-the-top high notes with the mundanity of
being the villain in someone’s story, it’s the final lipstick kiss left behind.
And it’s one that no one can wipe off. And with unforgettable lines like “I’m
just a Victorian lost in the Playboy mansion”, it’s left with a sarcastic
smile.
‘Vicious Delicious’ is unlike anything before
it. It’s Frankenstein’s monster's ideal bride, a combination of the dark
underbelly of the gothic and raw humanity. It will stalk you, haunt you, and
make the hairs on your neck stand up in bliss. Luvcat has created a
world laden with pearls, subversion, and sickly sweetness—just remember not to
drink the tea.
Megan-Louise Burnham
Image: Barnaby
Fairley