Noise music: a genre that polarizes like few others. Is it a boundary-pushing art form or just an excuse for cacophony? I once thought the more noise, the better—bands like Theatruum and La Torture des Ténèbres seemed to weaponize it with purpose. But then came acts like Ulveblod and the infamous Ordeal & Triumph collaboration, which made me question everything. Noise, it turns out, is a double-edged sword. It can be either utterly unbearable or strangely captivating, with little middle ground. Enter Mrs. Frighthouse, a Glasgow-based duo that navigates this treacherous terrain with their album Solitude Over Control. They’re a faint glimmer—or perhaps a flicker of fright—in the vast, often overwhelming sea of noise.
Comprised of the wife-and-wife team Carys and Luna Frighthouse (known on stage as Mrs. and Mrs.), the duo delivers an unflinching lyrical assault on misogyny, homophobia, and transphobia. Their musical approach is equally venomous, evoking comparisons to early Lingua Ignota, Couch Slut, and Julie Christmas. What caught my attention was the album’s mastering by Khanate bassist James Plotkin—any nod to the menacing drone of his work is a win in my book. But here’s where it gets controversial: like much noise music, Solitude Over Control is an acquired taste. Its focus on ugliness and discordance limits its audience, and its replay value is nearly nonexistent. Yet, it’s undeniably charismatic, a novelty that demands attention—for better or worse.
What sets Mrs. Frighthouse apart is their ability to wield opacity and density to their advantage. Unlike the cringe-worthy collaboration between Läjä Äijälä & Albert Witchfinder, Solitude Over Control feels intentional and calculated. Plotkin’s mastering creates a suffocating, all-encompassing soundscape that mirrors the colossal density of drone music. Layered with haunting ritualistic drumming and minor organ trills, the duo crafts horrific soundscapes that blend clarity, melody, and discordance in surprising ways. This isn’t mindless noise—Mrs. Frighthouse knows how to write songs. Beneath the surface hum lies smart songwriting waiting to be discovered.
The album’s most divisive element is its stark contrast between clarity and density. Tracks like “DIY Exorcism” and “White Plaster Rooms” pair an aggressive industrial pulse with thick waves of noise, while “Seagulls” (parts 1 and 2) and “Let My Spit Be Poison” offer subtler, crawling pieces with screeching soprano trills that feel oddly confrontational. Melodic motifs are warped by static in songs like “Our Culture Without Autonomy” and “My Body is a Crime Scene,” creating a tour-de-force of metallic aggression without a single riff. The themes are worn boldly, sometimes awkwardly, as the duo spews vitriol against the very real horrors they address. The title track’s slow-burning crescendo is a fitting end—a maddening, nerve-frying culmination of the album’s highs and lows.
Almost every element of Solitude Over Control feels deliberate, but it’s unrelentingly uncomfortable. The vocals—a blend of shrieks, growls, operatic belts, whispers, and shouts—are insanely charismatic, propelling the noise as it swells and recedes. Plotkin’s mastering adds a claustrophobic quality that amplifies the menace. Some tracks engulf you in their industrial harshness, while others leave you blushing at the stark clarity of the vocals. Mrs. Frighthouse delivers a noise album that’s better than most, but its divisiveness ensures mixed reception. Noise enthusiasts will revel in it; everyone else, proceed with caution.
And this is the part most people miss: beneath the chaos, there’s a method to Mrs. Frighthouse’s madness. They’re not just making noise for noise’s sake—they’re crafting a statement. But is it a statement you’re willing to hear? Let me know in the comments—do you think noise music can be both art and alienation, or is it just a sonic dead end?
Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Self-Release
Websites: mrsfrighthouse.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/mrsfrighthouse
Releases Worldwide: September 26th, 2025
