Album by Pouty
Man, I love this album.
Pouty taps directly into the loud, fuzzy heart of 90s alternative rock, blending power pop, grunge, punk, and indie rock into songs that feel equally indebted to The Breeders, Smashing Pumpkins, Weezer, Throwing Muses, and Matthew Sweet. The guitars roar, the hooks are enormous, and every chorus feels destined to become an anthem.
Yet beneath all that glorious fuzz sits something surprisingly vulnerable.
Forgot About Me isn’t simply an album about insecurity. It’s about the complicated relationship we have with our own flaws.
Sometimes we wear them like armor. Sometimes we celebrate them. Sometimes we laugh about them because the alternative is admitting how much they hurt. And sometimes we finally have to acknowledge that the very things we’ve embraced might also be keeping us from becoming the people we want to be.
Pouty never pretends that journey is neat.
“Salty” immediately announces exactly what kind of album this will be. The quiet verses suddenly explode into roaring guitars that immediately reminded me of Hole, Pixies, and Smashing Pumpkins at their loudest. That dramatic shift mirrors the emotional conflict at the center of the song.
On paper it’s almost painfully self-deprecating, cataloging destructive tendencies and the relationships left behind because of them. Yet the chorus refuses to wallow. Instead of apologizing, Pouty turns confession into catharsis. The noise itself becomes empowering, transforming regret into something almost triumphant.
It’s one hell of an opener.
Where “Salty” wrestles with self-destruction, “The Big Stage” decides it’s time to dream again. A chunky, bouncing bass line drives everything forward with infectious momentum, recalling Throwing Muses while carving out a personality all its own.
The song feels wonderfully optimistic. Trust your instincts. Use your voice. Believe you deserve the life you’re chasing.
Then everything slows down. The distortion disappears, replaced by slide guitar, gorgeous melodies, and one of the prettiest vocal performances on the record.
Like Elvis Costello dropping “Little Triggers” into the middle of This Year’s Model, the change of pace only makes the surrounding rock songs feel heavier.
Once again Pouty takes an image with overwhelmingly negative baggage—burning bridges—and quietly reframes it. Sometimes walking away isn’t failure. Sometimes it’s survival.
This quiet moment doesn’t last too long. Because “Virgos Need More Love” is pure fuzzy 90s alternative rock with one of the biggest choruses on the album. The Breeders immediately came to mind, especially in the layered vocals and thick guitar textures.
I also love the humor. Instead of apologizing for needing reassurance, the song blames astrology. Maybe Virgos simply require more love. It’s funny. It’s clever. And underneath the joke is another refusal to apologize for emotional needs.
Four songs in, the album hasn’t missed once.
The album takes a fascinating turn after that. “Denial Is a Heavy Drug,” “I Can’t See It,” and “TV on TV” gradually chip away at the confidence established earlier. The guitars become muddier. The production grows heavier. The optimism harder to find.
Earlier songs transformed flaws into strengths. These don’t.
Instead, denial becomes a coping mechanism. Depression becomes something impossible to escape. California itself begins to feel less like paradise than another fantasy we’re sold to distract us from ourselves.
The music remains incredible.
The emotional victories become much harder to come by.
As the roaring fuzzy distortion fades, Pouty ends the album with a smoky, almost jazzy arrangement. The lyrics acknowledge something the earlier songs only hinted at.
Knowing you need to change isn’t the same thing as changing. You can recognize unhealthy habits. You can understand exactly what’s holding you back. You can even want something better. None of that guarantees tomorrow will be different.
Rather than manufacture a triumphant ending, the album simply stops inside that uncertainty. It feels unresolved because real emotional growth is unresolved.
That’s what makes this album resonate.
One of the reasons this album works so well is Rachel Gagliardi vocals. She has such a distinct voice that can sound sweet, weary, defiant, or absolutely ferocious depending on what the song needs. There is so much versatility on display here. She never oversings. Every choice feels deliberate, and she always seems to know exactly what each song needs.
Forgot About Me is one of the strongest 2024 rock records I’ve heard. The guitars have real teeth. The hooks are massive. The songwriting is funny, vulnerable, and brutally self-aware. And it understands that getting better isn’t a straight line.
Sometimes self-acceptance feels empowering. Sometimes it feels like an excuse. Sometimes it feels like both at once.
Pouty never tries to untangle those contradictions. Instead, they turn them into unforgettable, awesome songs. I had an absolute blast with this album, and I think it deserves a really big audience.
Verdict: Masterpiece
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