REVIEW: So Dead – ‘A Wet Dream And A Pistol’

There’s something feral lurking in the shadows of Coimbra, and its name is So Dead. On their latest full-length ‘A Wet Dream and a Pistol’, the Portuguese trio take the raw ingredients of their early work, such as jagged edges, haunted synths, and feverish basslines, and push them deeper into the dark, crafting an album that feels like a midnight confession whispered over broken glass.

Sofia Leonor’s bass pulses with a sultry menace, her vocals moving between seduction and threat with a casual ease that leaves you spellbound. Miguel Padilha’s synth work flickers like a dying neon sign, casting everything in a cold, otherworldly glow. Meanwhile, Samuel Nejati’s drumming drives the songs forward, relentless and breathless throughout.

Where their debut LP ‘Play Me Like A Doll’ hinted at catharsis, ‘A Wet Dream and a Pistol’ fully embraces the spiral. It’s a record that bathes in its own noir universe, where desire and danger share the same cigarette. The title alone hints at a juxtaposition of intimacy and violence, and that tension vibrates through every track.

What sets So Dead apart is their fearless devotion to atmosphere. Each song unfolds like a Lynchian dream; murky, seductive, and just out of reach. There’s no attempt to sanitise or soften as they revel in discomfort, turning vulnerability into power and melancholy into momentum.

It’s rare to find a band so early in their life willing to rip open their own seams and let the audience watch them bleed. But that’s precisely what makes ‘A Wet Dream and a Pistol’ so arresting. It’s an album that leaves you with a strange, intoxicating ache long after the last note fades.

With this release, So Dead prove they’re here to build entire worlds from the fog and fire of their imagination. And if you’re brave enough to step inside, you might never want to leave.