Latest news with #ViagrAboys
Mint
11-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Mint
Punk rockers Viagra Boys mix bizarro humour, nihilism and empathy
On his critically acclaimed Netflix sketch show I Think You Should Leave, American comedian Tim Robinson specialises in lampooning a very particular brand of insecure, overcompensating manhood. His sketches are full of men whose inability to fit into a changing world leads to outbursts of impotent rage, self-loathing manifesting as deeply embarrassing misanthropy. These are men who mistake Wikipedia factoids for actual knowledge, who ruin parties and funerals with their misguided self-righteousness, whose refusal to admit their own ignorance leads them down increasingly dark and absurd rabbit holes. So exactly the sort of men that populate Viagr Aboys, the absurd, hilarious and occasionally grotesque fourth album by Swedish post-punk group Viagra Boys. Since forming in 2015, the sextet—helmed by slouching, beer-bellied American transplant Sebastian Murphy—have excelled at blending brutalist post-punk with gauche, tongue-in-cheek political satire. Their 2018 debut album Street Worms was a brutally effective putdown of hypermasculinity and Sweden's rising far-right, while 2022's Cave World was steeped in commentary about gun violence, conspiracy theories and online right-wing cults. On their latest record, the band dials back the political grandstanding. There are still plenty of critiques of, say, late capitalism and wellness culture, but they are embedded within ridiculously funny character sketches of the 21st-century manchild, soundtracked by deliciously off-kilter amalgamations of punk rock, electro, funk and free-jazz. The absurdist humour and over-the-top sleaze are what catch your attention first, but what really elevates these songs is a surprising undercurrent of tenderness. Murphy may not agree with the deeply flawed characters he portrays, but he refuses to turn them into one-dimensional caricatures, instead plumbing their emotional depths with real sensitivity. Punk-funk opener Man Made Of Meat's lines about 'subscribing to your Mom's OnlyFans" and 'chat[ting] with her on the AI chat program" are laugh-out-loud funny, but the misanthropy of its refrain ('I hate almost everything that I see/ And I just wanna disappear") is heartfelt and authentic. On the surface, the sludgy and manic Bog Body is a deeply unserious song about a Neolithic corpse so well-preserved that it makes your girlfriend jealous, but it's animated by very real anxieties about mortality and being forgotten. Uno II, written from the perspective of Murphy's aging dog who had to get all his teeth taken out, is a sprechgesang-punk exploration of the conspiratorial thinking and lack of institutional trust that leads to the anti-vaccine movement. The same theme pops up on album highlight Pyramid of Health, a scuzzy alt-psychedelic track that invokes the slacker nihilism of 90s grunge—including a fairly obvious nod to Marcy Playground's breakthrough 1997 hit Sex And Candy. But here, instead of 'hangin 'round downtown" the protagonist is in a doctor's office, with a camera down his throat. This health scare sparks off a descent into a wormhole of desert mysticism, Instagram health cults and psychedelic 'healing', the character spiralling out in an effort to regain some control over his body and mortality. Murphy's incisive, razor-sharp lyrics are accompanied by some of the band's most thrilling and eclectic compositions—rattling, relentless, teetering on the edge of collapse but never quite tipping over. Store Policy's ominous bass and shrieking saxophone perfectly capture the nightmarish tension of being kicked out for 'touching myself by the health food shelf". The grimy disco-punk of bad-boy anthem Dirty Boyz is genuinely sexy in a knowingly louche way, while the ludicrous fever-dream of Best In Show pt. IV is soundtracked by breathtaking jazz-punk that would fit neatly onto a The Birthday Party b-sides collection. Soaring above this freewheeling noise is Murphy's husky baritone, moving between Sleaford Mods-esque sing-speak, alt-rock croon and even old-school country as he alternates between punk-rock prophet and self-debasing standup comic. There's only two songs on Viagr Aboys that vary significantly from the band's formula of crunchy guitar riffs, bodacious synths and freakish humour. The first is Medicine For Horses, whose aqueous keys and indie-rock vocals invoke the Pixies at their most morose (lyrics like 'Take the fluid from my spine/ Put it in a mason jar and give it to a child" also bring to mind the body-horror vulnerability of Kurt Cobain.) The other is album closer River King, a disarmingly sincere love ballad. After spending a whole record riffing on fetishised misanthropy, corporal violence and the horrors of contemporary life, Murphy finds himself singing wistfully about getting bad Chinese food over painfully sad piano. 'Lookin' at you/ Everything feels easy now," he croons, suggesting that the antidote to all the insanity that Viagr Aboys documents lies in the simple charms of love and companionship. It's as vulnerable as the band has ever been, underscoring the fact that for all the bizarro humour and shock-jock nihilism, Viagra Boys' real strength lies in their understanding of—and empathy for—the human condition. As Murphy told the Guardian in response to a question about whether they're finally going soft, 'we've always been soft. That's been the problem all along." Also read: 'Mezok': A play featuring six actors and a shapeshifting table
The Guardian
21-04-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Swedish punks Viagra Boys: ‘It's freeing for people to see a dude let his gut hang out'
Slouched on a sofa in a former cement factory in Stockholm, Viagra Boys' Swedish-American frontman and lyricist Sebastian Murphy is recalling a low point in his life, several years ago. He points to a tattoo on his heavily inked torso that sums it up. 'It says 'You need me',' he explains in a tobacco-stained California burr. 'When I did this tattoo, I was such a piece-of-shit drug addict who only cared about himself. I thought it was funny. I don't need you guys – you need me.' It inspired You N33d Me, one of the best tracks on the sax-blasting post-punk band's electrifying, sort-of-self-titled fourth album Viagr Aboys. Hooked on amphetamines, pills and Valium at various points in his past, Murphy has been, by his own admission, the last person anybody needed around. But the strongest thing Murphy is consuming when we meet on a recent Thursday afternoon is black coffee. We're in the lair of Shrimptech Enterprises, the independent label and umbrella company for the Swedish band's increasingly hectic operations: they've gradually climbed out of the toilet circuit over the last decade, and business is booming. This is where Viagra Boys write and record, design merch and poster art, all six members punching in for regular hours most weekdays. Our chat is soundtracked by the insistent chime of a piano being tuned. Here, Murphy is a cog in an increasingly smooth-running machine. Born in the small city of San Rafael, California, to an American father and a Swedish mother, Murphy's upbringing was strict. 'They were very obsessed with healthy foods,' he says. 'I never drank soda, didn't watch TV, all that stuff was kind of banned.' Would it be fair to say the rest of his life has been a reaction against that? 'It really has.' A bored, unruly skater kid in his teens, Murphy began drinking and stealing from his parents to buy whatever drugs he could get his hands on. He was arrested for the first time aged 15 and was in rehab for drug addiction by 17. In an initially successful bid to get sober, Murphy then moved to Stockholm to live with his aunt and ended up staying. He dropped out of high school and became a tattooist, but sobriety didn't last, especially after rock'n'roll, he says, 'swept me off my feet'. The other Viagra Boys, Stockholm punk scene veterans, recruited Murphy after seeing him sing a Mariah Carey song drunk at karaoke. He had never been in a proper band and felt out of his depth, but he pressed on with the attitude of: 'OK, rock'n'roll, let's go. Let's do this until we're dead. I maybe thought that would come sooner than later.' Viagra Boys' 2018 debut single Sports was an addictively funny satire of hypermasculinity (their name drew from similar inspiration); their debut album Street Worms, released that year, railed against Sweden's growing rightwing populism with wit and muscle. But the band's steady rise has been built chiefly on relentless, riotous touring. Murphy, shirtless and tracksuit-trousered, stokes the crowd into rising levels of derangement – at their 2023 Glastonbury set, someone in the crowd was tossing their toddler into the air – as saxophone player Oskar Carls writhes around the stage in outrageously short shorts. In an uptight world, a group dedicated to getting loose like this – so loose Murphy has the word tattooed on his forehead in Swedish – has major appeal: last year Viagra Boys played US arenas supporting Queens of the Stone Age. Their biggest world tour yet began this month at Coachella and will end 60 dates later at London's Alexandra Palace. Murphy surmises that a lot of the fans 'are just freaks, you know. Freaks recognise freaks. It's freeing for a lot of people to see some dude that has clearly no muscles and is just letting his gut hang out have a good time.' There was a time when Murphy wouldn't get on stage without taking amphetamines first. But as his bandmates started having kids and settling down, the pace had to slow to remain sustainable. Murphy credits bassist and de facto bandleader Henrik 'Benke' Höckert with gradually tightening things up. 'I would always be so pissed off at him if he decided to stay sober for a tour,' Murphy says. 'I was busy with doing drugs and thinking about myself; he was busy planning shit. Making it work as a viable source of income. Which would not be possible if we were fucked up every day.' At the same time, the crippling hangovers and attendant anxiety started to become too much. 'I still know how to party for sure,' says Murphy. 'But I definitely know my limits now.' Drugs will never be entirely off the menu – 'I can't really help it when I'm on tour,' he admits – but these days he mostly sticks to beer (just the 30 or so a week). He goes to the gym and plays squash to try to stay in shape. He's even stopped getting tattoos because he says he can't take the pain any more. 'These days if I stub my toe I'll be crying for a week.' In 2021, the band's founding guitarist Benjamin Vallé died aged 47, shaking them all hard. They supported each other through the loss: where some men struggle to discuss difficult emotions, Viagra Boys have no such problem. 'We talk to each other about everything,' says Murphy. I ask him if a newfound respect for death prompting him to change his lifestyle. He prefers to think of it as not wasting a good thing. 'I've got a great fiancee, I've got an apartment,' he says. 'I can afford things. Life is really easy and really good. I don't want to fuck it up.' His visual artist fiancee Moa Romanova, who did the artwork for their third album, 2022's Cave World, has a studio next door to Shrimptech. At one point she drops in with their dog Uno – both are subjects of songs on Viagr Aboys. Uno II is a strange tale of conspiratorial anxiety seen through the eyes of an Italian greyhound with chronic dental problems. River King is a piano ballad in which Murphy croons with charming imperfection about Chinese takeaways and calming domesticity. It's a disarmingly gentle end to the album: have Viagra Boys finally gone soft? Murphy smiles a gold-toothed grin. 'We've always been soft. That's been the problem all along.' Viagr Aboys is released via Shrimptech Enterprises on 25 April
