Rett Smith, the post-punk artist acclaimed as a master of gothic Americana, has a new album out. ‘A Physical Presence’ marked his 5th official studio release.

Using analog tools in an isolated room, Smith took his thoughts on religion and gender constructs (and their toxicity), gothic vibes, and the inspiration of the ground-breaking William S. Burroughs, coalescing them all into an 11-track album.

“(An) album that has taken humanity’s darkest fears and desires and splayed them out on an oak runeboard for all to see…”

The driving opener, ‘End On Top,’ was the first single released. With its epic guitars and ‘Crazy-Train’-level of intensity, ‘A Physical Presence’ begins confidently yet hauntingly.

“A midnight howl…a cold wind…
Steal my soul…”

Through the chuggy, driving wall of sound, there’s this raw, emotional kernel of feeling: The desire to reckless abandon.

Then, ‘Tell Me There’s A God’ tackles comic thought and religion in a way that has not been done before. We’re painted a stark scene; snow-covered boots. This god being sung about isn’t perfect, no, he’s scared of his deeds. This is a god from beneath. There are moments of grimey guilt, cloying fear, desperation, and then, amidst it all, waves of devil-may-care. Finally, this line sums it up curtly: “Save me from your wisdom, most of which I’ll toss.”

Next, ‘Seaside Regret’ treats us to its dark, catchy melodies, strumming beneath the angst… Shortly after, ‘Desert Downfall’ stands out with earwormish desert-meets-bayou vibes and stompy Black-Keys-esque percussion.

Rett Smith utilizes his vibrato, mysterious… “Stay, I’d stay away for now”.

The middle of the album dives into core themes, a collage of places and rising moments…matriarchs, Cape Cod, dirty deeds…and familial bonds that have been long-fractured.

Tracks 5, 6, and 7 sonically explore a broad range of compositional ideas and genres. From vocal distortion to grooving stepwise bassline motifs, vintage-style drums laced with complex fills, and even surfer-punk, we’re beginning to wonder if there is anything Rett Smith hasn’t covered in ‘A Physical Presence’.

Leading up to the last act of this punk-rock opera, the composition of the percussion becomes unforgettable. ‘Straight Into Me’ leans into proto-punk with its quickened boom-boom-chick beat. Then ‘L.Y.S.I.O.M’ takes a heartbeat kick drum and combines it with exotic, chromatic guitars. As the plot thickens, themes of woods and being thrown to the wolves arise…

The penultimate ‘In Flames, My Fear’ starts at a fortissimo. It has layers and layers of vocals, all with different timbres for a thick, spine-chilling kind of texture.

“Finally clear, playing dress up, in flames my fear…”

Then we reach the top of the mountain, ‘Old Dog, New Tricks,’ which is a self-confident closer.

“You see this old dog, it got new tricks….You’d better watch this. Think you’re gonna make me fall?? Nah!”

Reminiscent of eighties punk meets surfer rock with the twist of Southern echoes, this album forms a truly one-of-a-kind sonic landscape. ‘A Physical Presence’ is an album that has taken humanity’s darkest fears and desires and splayed them out on an oak runeboard for all to see…making it a perfect 11-track October jam for late-night drives.

Why did you choose to record this in isolation?

Recording alone began as a necessity during the pandemic, and has grown into more of a fascination with the process of being solitary. Staying in the artistic mind that long while making a record can tell you a lot about yourself!

Do you feel analog gear is better than digital, sonically?

Honestly, I do—there is no comparison for this type of music. I’m not some purist yelling at kids to get off my lawn with their digital modelers, but there’s a massive difference in how they feel compared to the real stuff. If I were playing a different type of music or wanted it to sound like the garbage on the radio, I’d use modeling gear too. I also think it’s cool when heavier artists carve their tone with modern gear—but if you’re trying to sound like a cranked Plexi, you’re gonna need the real shit.

In ‘Mobile Lord,’ who is tired of their occupation?

This was one of the first tracks I recorded for the album. I was writing the riff and again found it through the tempo—super fast and without any generic filler. The lyric continues the theme I touched on in ‘Soft Boy.’ It felt like everywhere I looked, people were shouting into their phones, convinced it meant something. ‘Mobile Lord’ is about that—performative outrage, social media self-worship, and how the powerful feed off that noise to keep us divided. “Tell that man on Instagram about my useless fucking vote” should clear up how I’m feeling regarding the electoral college.

Would you say that in the closing track, ‘Old Dog, New Tricks,’ the emotional climate has changed for the better—resolved?

I wouldn’t say that. What I would proclaim is that I’m not going anywhere—and surely not ready to tone down or relax.

What does the mannequin head on your album cover represent?

The album cover was shot by the extremely talented photographer and creative director Cristina Fisher. The empty head represents the empty value and mindlessness modern culture—especially in the United States—places on art and true creativity in general.

Throughout ‘A Physical Persistence,’ are the songs a collage of thoughts and feelings, or do they follow a chronological plotline?

There’s a common thread and narrative meant to flow with the listener. It’s not a concept record about a specific story, but it is a narrative lyric. The lyrics have to hold up on the page without any music on my records.

Tell us more about ‘Soft Boy’—who it’s about, and why it was written.

‘Soft Boy’ came from watching a generation of guys cosplaying while never taking any responsibility in their own lives. It’s not about one person—it’s about a type. I wanted to write something that mocked the curated masculinity you see everywhere—the faux grit, the influencer cowboy, the guy who thinks irony is depth. We all know the performative male.

There’s humor in it, but underneath that is disgust at how detached it’s all become. The idea of rebellion got hijacked by branding and conformity. Real struggle got replaced with self-pity disguised as sensitivity. It’s not anti-vulnerability—it’s anti-social media savior boy.

I cut the track like a punk-blues séance—I wanted it to sound sweaty and alive, the opposite of the slick image the song’s calling out. “You’re not John Wayne / Just a sad little lame” sums it up—that false toughness built on entitlement instead of conviction. Soft Boy isn’t a diss track, but a reminder to us all—myself included.

Was this album inspired by fall or October? It feels like autumn, somehow.

I know what you mean! It feels like a fall record to me as well. I’m personally inspired by fall and winter. I loathe the heat here in Austin, so it’s probably an unconscious push against the October heat here.

Headline photo: (Credit: Christina Fisher)

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