Trash Decade

HEALTH’s Trash Decade is a spiraling transmission from a future built on ruin. The band has always mastered the art of making emotional devastation sound digital, and here they refine that formula into something corrosive and uncomfortably beautiful. Saw-toothed synths slice like exposed circuitry, industrial percussion clanks with dystopian discipline, and Jacob Duzsik’s voice hovers above it all like a dying satellite signal broadcasting heartbreak instead of data. The track feels less written than eroded into shape.

The song unfolds like a procession through collapsing infrastructure rhythmic loops feel intentionally stiff at first, giving the impression of emotional paralysis, a mechanized numbness that mirrors the album’s themes of societal burnout. But the longer it plays, the more that rigidity begins to crack. HEALTH doesn’t hypnotize you here they corner you, stacking repetition until it feels like malfunction instead of mantra.

And just when the track seems ready to dissolve into complete entropy, it combusts.

The final seconds unleash a blast beat eruption that rips the song out of its digital despair and hurls it into pure flesh-and-bone violence. It hits like a panic response, like machinery suddenly discovering a pulse. The contrast is staggering the cold mechanical scaffolding collapses, replaced by extreme velocity, total breakdown, total overload. It’s easily one of the most shocking and purposeful moments HEALTH has ever engineered.

That blast beat doesn’t feel like an add-on it feels like the inevitable failure state of everything that came before it. A decade ending not with a whimper, but with max-RPM obliteration. Trash Decade is industrial music as self-destruct sequence, a digital eulogy that exits in scorched-earth hardcore fury.