The first thing that stands out about Porridge Radio is singer/guitarist Dana Margolin's completely unique voice—so charmingly odd and unusually sounding like it's on the verge of collapse. On the Brighton band's third album (not counting some previously self-released titles), nowhere is the intensity of that more clear than on "Birthday Party," as she endlessly recites "I don't want to be loved" until you can't track the intention—desperate, bratty, defiant? And then the last verse turns into absolute hysteria, 40-plus seconds of bloody-raw emotion, a run-on rant that includes "Invite me to your birthday party/ Watch me cry across the room/ I don't want to be forgotten/ I don't want to be alone." She's doing all the work, but it will still leave you breathless and spent. Margolin has talked about how the album's title—hinting at slippery slopes and aspirational ascents—was inspired both by a collage by the surrealist artist Eileen Agar and also Jacob's Ladder from the Old Testament. The latter, she said, "symbolizes the ups and downs of human life, of virtue and sin." Indeed, this collection of songs is an emotional rollercoaster that never plays it subtle or lives in the gray area. "Lock all the windows and shut all the doors/ And get into the house and lie down on the cold, hard floor," Margolin sings on "Back to the Radio." That song, like many others here, has the feel of early Modest Mouse circa The Lonesome Crowded West, with its pinball bounce between stark simplicity and full-to-bursting kinetic energy, dripping with anxiety and determination, and always with a touch of prettiness. "U Can Be Happy If U Want To" features an organ that walks the line of church and creep show, before lightening up to become calliope-like. The chords draw out almost too long, creating a sense of unease, as Margolin explores co-dependence: "My voice is stuck to your voice/ So everything that I say belongs to you/ My head is stuck to your head/ So everything I think belongs to you." She finishes by repeating the words "and back" until they lose all meaning and start to sound like a foreign language. It's a move she also makes on "End of Last Year," chanting "I don't want to go back" until you're completely disoriented. She's called it a "love song"—but it's also about "not trusting my intuition, not trusting my body to heal itself, not trusting the people closest to me." © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz