Rat Saw God by Wednesday
Listening to Wednesday’s Rat Saw God is like attending a raucous party where half the guests are reminiscing about their small-town misadventures, while the other half are wrestling existential dread—and somehow, you’re having the time of your life. This album, their most ambitious yet, is the kind of gritty, genre-blurring rock that clobbers you with emotional weight and sonic chaos, and makes you thankful for it.
Rat Saw God marks Wednesday’s full dive into the deep end of the indie rock pool, with plenty of sludge, twang, and a few untethered screams to keep things interesting. With roots in North Carolina, this record wraps its arms around the American South, embracing the dirt and contradictions of small-town life. If you’re familiar with their 2021 Twin Plagues, you’ll recognize the blend of grunge and alt-country, but here, they’ve ratcheted it up several notches with rawer emotions and sharper execution. It’s like a scrapbook of messy youth and fractured memories, all set to a soundtrack that’s equal parts distorted feedback and pedal steel.
On Rat Saw God, Wednesday spins a sonic web that’s both chaotic and intentional. Tracks like the sprawling, eight-minute “Bull Believer” mix bone-crunching guitars with a relentless build that practically forces you to ride along. The production, helmed by Alex Farrar, is a marvel of controlled chaos—balancing layers of feedback-heavy guitars with flashes of serene lap steel from Xandy Chelmis. It’s the musical equivalent of watching a storm unfold from the safety of your porch—tumultuous, but mesmerizing. There’s no over-production gloss here, just raw emotion laid bare, and each chord feels like a punch.
Karly Hartzman’s lyrics are a masterclass in storytelling, blending vivid snapshots of life’s darkest corners with sardonic wit. Whether she’s recalling teenage misadventures on “Chosen to Deserve” or observing the underbelly of rural America on “Bath County,” her words feel deeply lived-in, like notes from a well-worn diary. The juxtaposition of tragic and comedic elements—like getting shocked because “the room was on two different circuits”—grounds the album in a strange but poignant reality. It’s like catching a glimpse of a local dive bar through the lens of an arthouse film: ugly, captivating, and unmistakably real.
The highlights are as varied as they are unforgettable. “Bull Believer” is an epic that begins as a slow burn, eventually exploding into a cathartic frenzy that could leave even the most jaded listener speechless. “Chosen to Deserve” has an undeniable anthem quality, taking a more straightforward alt-country approach while still thrumming with the band’s signature grit. And then there’s “Turkey Vultures,” which combines raw vulnerability with a haunting melody—it’s the kind of track that feels like it was recorded at 3 a.m. with all the lights off.
At just over 37 minutes, Rat Saw God is a lean, intense experience that feels more like a narrative than a collection of songs. The album doesn’t drag, but rather propels you forward, much like flipping through a dusty photo album full of long-forgotten Polaroids. There are no filler tracks here—each one feels like it has something crucial to say, even when it’s just howling into the void. The pacing is relentless but not overwhelming, striking a balance between reflection and chaos that keeps you engaged from start to finish.
Listening to this album is like going on a road trip through a forgotten corner of America where everything is dilapidated but strangely beautiful. It taps into that gnawing nostalgia for places you might never want to visit again, but can’t quite forget. For anyone who grew up in a small town, this album hits like a memory you didn’t know you were still holding onto. And if you didn’t? Well, it’ll make you feel like you did.
If you’re a fan of messy, emotionally raw indie rock with a side of twang, Rat Saw God will likely be your next obsession. Fans of acts like Hop Along, Momma, or even the Smashing Pumpkins will find plenty to love here. However, if you’re looking for neatly packaged pop melodies or sanitized production, steer clear—this album is not here to hold your hand.
Rat Saw God cements Wednesday as one of the most vital voices in indie rock today, with a sound that’s simultaneously jagged and heartfelt, loud and introspective. It’s an album that dares you to dive deep into its frenzied mix of grit and grace, and by the time it’s over, you’re not quite sure what hit you—but you know you want more. In short, Wednesday has delivered a bruised and beautiful masterpiece.
