Car Seat Headrest
– Teens of Denial
Will Toledo didn’t just write an album—he wrote a long, awkward, funny, occasionally devastating letter to himself and mailed copies to the rest of us. Teens of Denial is indie rock that remembers what the word indie used to mean: fiercely personal, gloriously imperfect, and willing to risk embarrassment for a shot at truth. It’s garage-band philosophy filtered through too many sleepless nights and just enough Pavement records.
Best of…
The whole record feels like a punchline you’re not sure whether to laugh at or cry over. Toledo slings lyrics like he’s got nothing to lose, stacking lines until they tilt, fall, and land in a tangle of wit and anxiety. He turns mundane thoughts—existential dread, car rides, internal screaming—into catharsis, shouting them over guitar lines that sound like they were built in a basement and polished with sheer willpower.
What’s great here isn’t perfection—it’s persistence. It’s the gall to make a rock record that sounds this loose but feels this tight. The band crashes through songs with a chaotic grace, riding extended builds, throwing in false endings, and somehow making a song called “Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales” sound like a rallying cry. Teens of Denial is messy and brilliant. So are you. That’s the point.
Choice Tracks
Vincent
This one lumbers in slow and thick, then erupts with the kind of riff that feels like it’s trying to punch through the floor. It’s a breakdown, a panic attack, and a garage rock opera all at once. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” Toledo mutters. But it is like this—and he’s dragging you through it, loud and alive.
Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales
Starts with a shrug, ends with a scream. One of Toledo’s finest tricks—using repetition like a hammer, pounding one simple idea until it starts to matter more than you’d expect. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” becomes less a lyric and more a lifeline by the time he’s done with it.
Fill in the Blank
Opens the album like a mission statement: defiant, anxious, and loud. “You have no right to be depressed!” is both a mockery and a confession. It’s self-loathing shouted through distortion, wrapped in a melody catchier than it has any right to be.
Cosmic Hero
At nearly nine minutes, it’s the kind of song most bands wouldn’t dare attempt anymore. It shifts from piano ballad to noisy meltdown, and by the time Toledo’s yelling “If you really want to make it last…” you’re fully on board with the spiral.
The Ballad of the Costa Concordia
This is the emotional centerpiece. It’s absurd, tragic, deeply funny, and weirdly moving. The metaphor of a sinking cruise ship shouldn’t work—but it does, because Toledo commits to the bit with raw sincerity. It’s a slow-burn epiphany set to a low-fi storm.
Teens of Denial isn’t interested in cool. It’s interested in honesty—the kind that’s a little gross, a little funny, and way too loud. And that’s exactly what makes it sing.