Who Loves the Dentist?

September 11, 2026

Or: What It’s Like Listening To Chat Pile While Having Your Tooth Ripped Out Of Your Fucking Head

Chat Pile are a band that needs no introduction, but shall receive one regardless*. Coalescing in the dark recesses of Oklahoma (no one’s favorite state), the group has had since 2019 to develop a sound that’s taken the world by storm. Realistically, there’s no logical explanation to how a band with this level of depraved heft and desolation in their sound could have risen to the heights that they have, other than the fact that they’ve struck a chord with the shared misery of living in the corpse of colonialist and capitalist excess. Their style draws from the post-hardcore tinged ’90s noise rock of acts like Cherubs and The Jesus Lizard and the sludgy, industrial metal stylings of Godflesh, an easy comparison to make due to the electronic drum kit that’s grown to be an iconic part of the Chat Pile formula. Other than groups like Nerver, Intercourse, Tunic, and Couch Slut, the unhinged spirit of what the internet music dorks call “Pigfuck” hasn’t been carried into the 2020s to the degree that Chat Pile does. As such, the group has carved into a niche that’s unique, yet surprisingly engaging to audiences moreso conditioned to listen to Geese or Black Country, New Roads.

Their new LP, Who Loves The Sun, coincided with an event of personal anguish—I had to get a fucking tooth removed. After a chance encounter with a Dorito, I was left with a broken tooth, unable to be saved through a root canal or anything similar. In the effort of keeping myself from having further problems, I resided to the fact that the tooth had to hit the road, so to speak (not before I speed-ran the five stages of grief). Due to severe dental anxiety (and anxiety around everything else), I’ve opted to bring my earbuds to these appointments to help keep myself calm while various professionals force their digits into my mouth. Originally intending on the calm, soothing melancholy of The Cure‘s Disintegration, it occurred to me that the perfect way to enjoy the new Chat Pile record would be in a setting of great discomfort.

In the effort of journalistic integrity, I had previously heard the album early through the Bandcamp release party and was able to soak in much of the album experience from that first stream. While the LP carries the dread-inducing atmosphere and heft on songs like “PEN I S MALL” and “Creature,” it’s also clear that the group’s time collaborating with Hayden Pedigo has stuck with them in the incorporation of dreamier (nightmare-ier?) segments of songs like “Same Rules” and “October All the Time” (this also comes courtesy from contributions and influence from members of slowcore group Nightosphere). This melding of sounds results in some of the group’s most nuanced songwriting and darkest atmospheres.

Much of that nuance is hard to appreciate in the context of my second listen, as all I could think about was the crushing weight of album opener “Creature” as local anesthetic was injected into my gum and I began to lose feeling in my mouth. By the time we get to the slow burn cut titled “Same Rules,” the process of pulling the tooth has begun. They had to push and pull on it to loosen the root and, as they worked the tooth, I felt a splatter of blood splash on my face. I try to focus in on the record in my ear while I can faintly hear Sublime‘s “What I’ve Got” outside of my headphones when suddenly:

CRUNCH

Even without being able to feel my teeth, the mere idea of a tooth getting crushed in my mouth made me audibly yelp. I’ll spare you the rest of the details, but the actual visit was remarkably short; I really only made it through half of the record in that sitting, listening to the rest of it while recovering. As such, I was able to focus in more on the details of the back half. “Intruder,” “Christable ’26,” and “Influence” carry warped, yet catchy, vocal melodies that hang through the uneasy compositions. The record goes to places that makes past records from the band seem tame comparatively, particularly “Family Funeral.” It, and a few other tracks on the record, hits like a freight train and carry lyrics that are soul-crushingly macabre; much of this record further improves the formula of blunt societal critique and sharp story-telling that the group has been honing since This Dungeon Earth. So, now listening to the record back again, I see this as another notch in the belt of a band whose rise to the top of independent music seems almost impossible, yet well-deserved. Much of the record focuses on downfalls of humanity and the dehumanizing nature of the internet age, making the band’s ascent in the age of algo-slop that much more heartening. Closing out this dour experience, “October All The Time” sees a post-human world that’s only barely alive, much like the dead-ass tooth I had to get pulled out. As such, did this experience add to my appreciation of the album’s themes and ideas?

Fuck no, I miss my goddamned tooth.