If rage had a rhythm and rebellion had a remix, it would sound a whole lot like Half Ball Pit Half Bloodbath, the newest sonic grenade lobbed by Devin James Fry. Released April 7, 2025, this ten-track shapeshifter of a record is as much a protest manifesto as it is a genre-defying musical experience. Fry, who made waves as the frontman of Austin’s experimental alt-rock outfit Name Sayers, returns with something far louder, weirder, and more necessary than ever—an audio Molotov aimed straight at capitalism’s glass house.
The title track, in its original “Soapbox Version,” kicks things off with a pared-down, gloom-bap punch that leaves no ambiguity about its purpose. Fry isn’t just upset—he’s scorched-earth furious, and for good reason. “I’m angry at the rich,” he says, and you believe him. This isn’t abstract rage—it’s focused, personal, and born from a real tension: the cognitive dissonance of surviving in a system that erodes us while demanding our participation. Fry’s day job, a boutique surgical sharpening business called The Sharpist, provides a stark contrast to his creative outlet, but even that, he admits, can’t fully shake the guilt of complicity. It’s this dissonance that pulses through every beat, lyric, and unexpected left turn across the album.
But Half Ball Pit Half Bloodbath & Remixes isn’t a one-note war cry. It’s a fully realized, genre-agnostic journey that dives headfirst into Denver’s avant-electronic underground. Fry tapped into the city’s modular synth scene—known for its no-laptop ethos and chaotic brilliance—and the result is eight wildly distinct remixes that warp the track’s bones into unrecognizable but compelling new forms.
Early on, manmademadman (half of Reverb and the Verse) revs up the intensity with the “Vundermix Remix,” a restless, pulse-raising club cut that flips the track on its head. Just when you think you’re catching your breath, Atonal Stimulant comes swinging in with a raw, rave-ready remix that would feel right at home in a subterranean warehouse party. ALX-106 softens the blow slightly with a retro-futurist throwback laced with analog warmth and neon nostalgia, like flipping through static-soaked late-night TV in the ‘90s.
The project keeps shapeshifting—Sxlf Destruct’s remix turns up the pressure with a relentless techno burn that bleeds into the psychedelic disco high of “Can’t Say If It’s The Drugs.” That standout track, co-created with Brendan Hunt (Fry’s longtime friend and collaborator), serves as a lush, glitter-soaked centerpiece—equal parts indulgence and introspection. Fry’s vocals hit different here, floating above a sea of swirling synths and glittering beats, proving that political messaging and pop sensibility can dance together under the same mirrorball.
The album’s back half brings even more surprises. Otem Rellik delivers a glitched-out, hi-fi trip-hop reimagining that feels like a fever dream from your bedroom speakers, while Plack Blague—the lone contributor from outside Denver—drags the track into the depths of industrial hellfire with a soundscape that’s equal parts menace and mayhem. Then, when you think you’ve been dragged through every emotional and sonic terrain imaginable, Fry offers a final meditation with “No Last Warning.” Fueled by taishogoto (a Japanese string instrument), ukulele, and hand percussion, it’s haunting, minimal, and impossibly beautiful. Like a late-night confession whispered through static, it lingers long after the track ends.
This record isn’t just about sound—it’s about statement. Fry, also an organizer with the Denver chapter of the Industrial Workers of the World, makes his ethos clear. This is protest music for a post-genre world, a collection that refuses to sit still or stay silent. Whether it’s through stripped-down soapbox sermons or chaotic club reworks, Half Ball Pit Half Bloodbath is a demand for accountability in a world that too often rewards exploitation.
Everything about this release feels deliberate: the wide-ranging collaborators, the hardware-only production choices, the raw lyrical honesty, the juxtaposition of fury and fun. It’s an album that’s equally suited for protest marches and midnight raves, for political meetings and bedroom breakdowns. Devin James Fry isn’t just pushing boundaries here—he’s setting them on fire.
In a musical landscape often afraid to get its hands dirty, Half Ball Pit Half Bloodbath & Remixes is a welcome mess. It’s loud, abrasive, thoughtful, and relentlessly human. Fry doesn’t just want to wake you up—he wants to give you something to fight with. So plug in, turn it up, and get angry. The revolution just dropped a beat.
