LOS ANGELES, CA- Genesis Owusu has never been afraid to turn a political sermon into a party. His new single, Death Cult Zombie, is proof that you can package heavy commentary inside a high-voltage, campy spectacle and still make people move. It’s a delirious, body-shaking track that gets the blood boiling and the bodies swirling, a reminder that anger and amusement can dance together just fine.
The song opens with a warning that sounds more like a taunt than a prophecy: “Feed on your mind, he say jump, you ready falling in line.” It’s Owusu’s way of setting the stage, calling out blind obedience and the easy comfort of groupthink. But he doesn’t do it with finger-pointing solemnity; he does it with a grin, riding a filthy bassline that slithers beneath the chant-like repetition. When he snarls, “Think too hard and you bleed,” the absurdity of it makes the threat even more cutting.
Death Cult Zombie bangs with the force of a punk anthem, but it’s also laced with the wit of someone who sees through the hysteria. “Andrew Tate pod while you working your fitness,” he jabs, mocking the new avatars of toxic masculinity. “Still can’t figure out why you can’t get any women.” The way he delivers it isn’t angry… it’s amused, sharp, and just detached enough to make the truth sting harder.
What I love most about this track is that it’s unafraid to laugh at its own apocalypse. “Fuck round, find out, you a zombie now” isn’t just a hook…. it’s a sneer dressed as a chant, the kind of line you want to scream with a crowd that half-knows it’s part of the infection. Owusu’s power lies in that self-awareness. He’s dancing in the fire, not pretending he’s above it.
Musically, it’s a collision of styles (bass-heavy funk, Brit-rock grit, and flashes of electro-anarchy) that recall his early records but feel even bolder. Beneath it all is that signature Owusu confidence, the same showman energy I saw when he took the stage dressed in black and red, surrounded by masked dancers and chains at This Ain’t No Picnic a few years ago. I remember the mosh pit below him moving like a single living thing, beating and breathing to his rhythm. That same chaos breathes inside Death Cult Zombie.
By the time he spits, “No culture war when there’s bombing at your feet. It’s not left and right, it’s up and down,” the laughter fades, replaced by the sobering core of his message. The camp gives way to clarity: our obsession with sides, labels, and cults of personality blinds us from the real machinery grinding beneath. Yet Owusu refuses to sermonize. He’d rather make you dance your way into understanding, one stomp and shout at a time.
Death Cult Zombie is absurd, furious, and alive. It’s a protest chant disguised as a mosh pit anthem. It’s the sound of someone refusing to live on their knees, even if it means laughing in the face of decay.
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