Austen Starr – ‘I Am The Enemy’

(Frontiers Records)

I Am The Enemy, the debut release from Austen Starr, doesn’t politely introduce itself or ease the listener in with a handshake and a grin. It kicks the door off the hinges, storms into the room, and demands that you take a long, uncomfortable look in the mirror. And in the grand tradition of loud, confrontational, soul-baring rock, that’s exactly where this record finds its power.

From the first moments, it’s clear that Austen Starr isn’t interested in nostalgia for its own sake. Sure, the DNA of classic hard rock and gritty alternative runs deep here, but this is no retro exercise. The production is thick without being suffocating, aggressive without losing clarity. Guitars grind and roar like rusted machinery clawing back to life, while the rhythm section moves with a sense of urgency that suggests something is always about to fall apart. That tension, between control and chaos, is the album’s lifeblood.

What stands out immediately is the emotional nakedness. There’s a long tradition in rock of bravado, of deflection, of turning pain into swagger. Starr does something different. The bravado is still there, but it’s cracked, chipped, and bleeding. The album’s title isn’t just a hook, it’s a thesis statement. This is a record about self-sabotage, about facing the darker corners of your own mind and realising that the villain in your story might be staring back at you.

Vocally, Starr delivers extremely compelling performances throughout the album . There’s range, not just in pitch but in emotional texture. One moment, there’s a wounded vulnerability, almost whispered, as if she is confessing something she’s never said aloud. The next, there’s a raw-throated howl that feels less like performance and more like survival. It’s that unpredictability that keeps the listener locked in. You never quite know whether the next line will comfort you or cut you open.

The album thrives on contrast. There are passages where the instrumentation pulls back, allowing space and atmosphere to take centre stage. These moments are crucial. They give the heavier sections more impact, but more importantly, they create a sense of internal dialogue. It’s as though the record itself is arguing with itself, rage versus reflection, defiance versus regret. This push and pull gives the album a narrative arc even without a traditional storyline.

Lyrically, the focus is relentlessly inward. There are no grand social manifestos here, no attempts to paint the world in broad strokes. Instead, the scope is intimate, sometimes uncomfortably so. Themes of guilt, identity, addiction to destructive patterns, and the difficulty of change recur throughout. Yet the writing never feels self-indulgent. Starr has a knack for vivid imagery and direct language that cuts through the clichés that often plague confessional rock.

One of the most refreshing aspects of I Am The Enemy is its refusal to offer easy redemption. There are flashes of hope, yes, but they feel earned rather than handed out. Growth is presented as messy, incomplete, and ongoing. That honesty gives the album a sense of authenticity that many records strive for but rarely achieve. You get the feeling that these songs weren’t written to impress an audience, they were written because they had to be.

Sonically, the record is adventurous within its framework. While rooted in rock, it borrows textures from industrial, alternative, and even electronic music in subtle ways. These elements never dominate but instead add layers, like shadows behind the main performance. The result is an album that feels modern and alive, not trapped in a single era or genre box.

The pacing is another triumph. At around the halfway point, the record shifts tone in a way that feels both surprising and inevitable. The early aggression gives way to deeper introspection, and when the heavier energy returns later, it carries new weight. It’s the sound of someone who has confronted their demons and come back changed, perhaps not healed, but aware.

‘Remain Unseen’ opens with tension rather than explosion. There’s a slow burn here, a sense of someone trying to stay invisible while everything around them closes in. It builds atmosphere first, then muscle, setting the emotional stakes with a dark, restless energy.

‘Medusa’ hits harder and sharper. The guitars bite, the rhythm stalks, and the mood is venomous. It feels like a confrontation with toxic obsession, turning the myth into something modern and personal. There’s swagger, but it’s dangerous swagger.

‘I Am The Enemy’ is the emotional centrepiece. It’s raw, brutally self-aware, and driven by a sense of collapse and defiance at the same time. The performance walks a tightrope between control and meltdown, making it one of the most gripping moments on the record.

‘Read Your Mind’ sees a shift in groove and attitude. This track leans into tension and paranoia, with a hypnotic pull. It feels more psychological, less explosive, showing the ability to create unease without just turning up the volume.

‘Get Out Alive’ – Urgency defines this one. Fast, aggressive, and survival-driven, it’s the sound of running toward something or away from something, maybe both. The momentum is relentless, making it one of the most immediate cuts.

‘Effigy’ is dark and theatrical; this track has a ritualistic feel. The arrangement breathes, allowing the atmosphere to grow. It’s less about speed and more about weight, and it adds depth to the album’s emotional palette.

‘Running Out Of Time’ – This is pure pressure. Everything here feels compressed, as though the clock is ticking louder with every second. It balances melody and aggression in a way that makes the anxiety hit harder.

‘All Alone’ is a vulnerable moment. The instrumentation pulls back and allows space for reflection. It’s haunting without being soft, showing emotional fragility while maintaining intensity.

‘Not This Life’ is defiant and determined, this track carries a sense of rebellion against fate. The energy rises again, but now there’s clarity behind the anger, giving the song a powerful forward drive.

‘The Light’ - Here, hope finally breaks through. The tone is more expansive, almost uplifting, yet it never feels naive. It’s earned optimism, fragile but real.

‘Until I See You Again’ – The closer is emotional and reflective. It feels like both an ending and a promise. Rather than a dramatic finale, it leaves a lingering resonance, closing the album with heart and honesty.

By the time the album closes, there’s a sense of exhausted catharsis. Not triumph, not defeat, something more complicated. The final impression is that the battle with the self is ongoing, but the act of acknowledging it is a victory in itself. That lingering ambiguity is what makes the album stick. Long after the music fades, the questions remain.

This is not background music. It demands attention. It demands honesty. And most of all, it demands that you confront your own reflection with the same intensity that Austen Starr brings to every moment of this record.

If rock music is meant to challenge, to provoke, and to reveal something true about the human condition, then I Am The Enemy succeeds in spectacular fashion. It’s the kind of album that reminds you why this genre still matters, because sometimes, the loudest sound in the room is the truth you’ve been trying to ignore.

8/10

Essential Track – ‘Not This Life’

Review by Woody