Ultimately, Every Bad is a definitive document of the "inner critic." It is an album about the struggle to find solid ground when your own mind is a shifting landscape. By leaning into the chaos of her own emotions, Margolin created a work that resonated deeply with a generation feeling increasingly untethered. It’s a loud, bruising, and deeply vulnerable record that proves there is a strange kind of catharsis to be found in simply admitting that everything is, in fact, "bad."
The sophomore album from Brighton-based quartet Porridge Radio, Every Bad (2020), is a masterclass in the architecture of emotional volatility. Emerging from the DIY scene, the band—led by the singular voice of Dana Margolin—crafted an album that feels less like a collection of songs and more like a psychological exorcism. Through repetitive lyrical mantras, jagged post-punk instrumentation, and a refusal to shy away from the ugly parts of the psyche, Every Bad captures the exhausting, circular nature of modern anxiety. Porridge Radio Every Bad zip
Musically, the album balances on a knife-edge between melody and discord. While there are moments of shimmering indie-pop, they are frequently interrupted by discordant guitar stabs and a heavy, driving rhythm section. This "push and pull" dynamic reflects the lyrical themes of indecision and self-doubt. In "Born Confused," the opening track, the climactic refrain "Thank you for making me happy / Thank you for making me special" is delivered with such agonizing intensity that it sounds more like an indictment than an expression of gratitude. Ultimately, Every Bad is a definitive document of
At the heart of the record is the "mantra" technique. Margolin often takes a single phrase and repeats it until its meaning mutates. On the standout track "Sweet," she oscillates between shouting "I’m charming, I’m sweet" and "I’m back, I’m back," turning affirmations into desperate pleas or threats. This repetition mirrors the way obsessive thoughts function—how a simple idea can become a cage if you dwell on it long enough. By the time a song reaches its crescendo, the words often lose their literal meaning, becoming pure, raw sonic texture. Emerging from the DIY scene, the band—led by
The record also excels at capturing the specific claustrophobia of interpersonal relationships. Margolin’s lyrics navigate the messy middle ground of wanting to be seen while simultaneously wanting to disappear. She dissects the power imbalances and the performative aspects of intimacy with a bluntness that can be uncomfortable. It is a "messy" album, but intentionally so; it rejects the polished, stoic veneer of traditional indie rock in favor of something that feels lived-in and frayed at the edges.