If you’ve ever wanted to witness the musical equivalent of a late-night existential crisis, Oliver Jordan’s ‘Death Rodeo’ might just be your new obsession. It acts like a series of transmissions from a parallel universe where heartbreak, madness, and genius hold hands in a burned-out chapel.
Jordan, who reportedly does everything himself- from writing and performing to production- operates like a solitary conjurer. You can hear the isolation in every distorted vocal, every frayed guitar note. There’s no polish here, no major label gloss, just pure, untethered emotion erupting from the void.
Tracks like ‘Menticide’ and ‘Black Butterfly’ dig deep into the meat of modern despair, peeling back layers of numbness with unflinching precision. There’s something apocalyptic in their delivery with apathy and anguish compressed into lo-fi fragments that feel both ancient and urgent. ‘Correction Center’ slinks like a nightmare lullaby, the kind of song you don’t remember hearing, but somehow know by heart. It’s a descent, a soft crash into emotional wreckage.
‘Death Star’ and ‘Secret 13’, the previously dropped as singles, serve as disjointed landmarks in this musical wasteland, strange and shadowy but undeniable in their pull. The instrumentation across ‘Death Rodeo’ is jagged and jarring, yet unexpectedly hypnotic, like glitches in the matrix where the human condition reveals its rawest layers.
The lore surrounding Oliver Jordan only adds to the mythos. A recluse. Possibly deceased. Possibly busking in some forgotten European alleyway. An artist with enough psychological baggage to drown a ship, who still manages to produce deeply human, oddly transcendent work. The man behind the curtain may be long gone, but the echo remains- and it’s not polite, not easy, not even always musical. But it is unforgettable.
‘Death Rodeo’ doesn’t want your approval, it wants your soul to flinch.
Listen with the lights off.
Feel everything.
