My Review: Kristeen Young - Full Scrotal Scorpio

 

Kristeen Young – Full Scrotal Scorpio

Review by 

Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld 

28 September 2026

Salford

1 – Quotes

“As if you were ablaze from within. The moon lives within the lining of your skin” – Pablo Neruda

“Say beauty, lives somewhere” – Beelzebop, Kristeen Young

2 – Introduction

The concepts of beauty and magic have given rise to a whirlwind of publications, films and songs, all seeking to turn exploration into yet another way of experiencing them – often with good results, sometimes less so. Yet it remains undeniable that self-interpretation risks dividing and obscuring the real truths. 

Then, like flashes of objective insight, come signs that teach us silence, to recognise what places the concrete on the wise stage of indisputability. 

They are phenomena – and therefore rarities – ultimately a singularity that takes one aback, disconcerts and unsettles; it can cast a shadow over one’s convictions and habits, and alter one’s dreams and abilities.

Full Scrotal Scorpio is one such phenomenon, having landed on planet Earth with immense impetuosity and a colossal personality – a shower of petals torn from the grip of gravity to shake things up, change the rules and seep in like a poison worthy of applause, accompanied by the feat of a series of unexpected shatterings that seal a definitive verdict. 

Listening (a sentence for those seeking easy access) is a protected nature reserve by Kristeen Young, who writes her masterpiece – a Way of the Cross that is ahead of our confused capacity for understanding – and not only does she precede us, but she is aware of the need and the intention to disappear, for this album is a hiding place for her soul, a bunker to which one cannot gain access…

3 - Analysis

We find ourselves in front of an artist’s garden as she steps onto her own ground, taking a moment to remain pure, unspoilt, intensely faithful to an identity in constant expansion: her DNA does not lie, as it is made up of opposites coexisting with agile ease, whilst for others it would be a place (even if only hypocritically so) where one might enjoy the same fluidity of movement amidst these creative extremes.

 Then she returns. And it is, squared this time, yet another confirmation that her talent knows no cage, no boundaries, no loyalties she needs to prove. These are songs that shatter; they work a treat for those with the patience to take twelve bullets, each steeper, more complex and more turbulent than the last. 

A powerful energy permeates this work – which has nothing to do with the musical genres employed (one could write a novel on this subject alone) – capable, in its carefully calibrated nonsense, of casting a net from which to fish out our preconceptions: she delights in ruffling them up, in letting them fall, and Full Scrotal Scorpio thus becomes a storm, a climb leading to a leap into the void, because when listening to this work, one embraces it, like infinity, where everything—absolutely everything—exists. 

Rock makes a resounding comeback, underpinned by her gritty piano, supported by electronics that enhance the sound, and a production that captures the essence of the narrative, the journey, and the subtle threads of thought that constantly defy logic, ensuring originality and scope for majestic passages. Kristeen does not waver; she pays no heed to the comparisons she is often drawn to, and creates a marvellous album of classical music (from which all that contemporary music springs!), but she does so better than others, grasping the essence of an era that is being forgotten and cast aside. She, however, does not. She understands its value and thus navigates various stages: those of composition, orchestration, instrumentation, harmonisation, counterpoint and thematic development. She employs homophony, polyphony and the fugue (to perfection), with an impressive continuity that deserves unreserved praise. 

And then she adds to this a sense of rarity and persistence: through a dynamic which, however robust, never ceases to be gentle, she finds the means to give the song structure the capacity for striking, precise nuances, with various changes of rhythm, a persistent shower of counter-rhythms and shifts in direction. Each instrument is a finely balanced chisel, crafting diamond-like oceans – shimmering, full-bodied and resounding – within textures which, alongside flashes of brilliance and moments less rich in volume and full-bodied sonority, seek contact with the silence of the soul. 

The St. Louis-based artist directs this birth – full of blood, slime, emotional outbursts, insights and palpitations – with extreme precision, fuelling the adrenaline with immense bursts of madness, revealing and offering just one billionth of her inner treasure. An album that offers no comfort, no embrace, no invitation to dinner; there are no hypothetical friendships to be forged: FSS is art, it is a principle, it is a personal endeavour, a need in search of transformation and a way of making her professional existence a home that never falters. What remains intact is the impression of a pleasantly and inevitably ‘terrorist’ approach to noise, to the jolts in volume and the tensions that are never quite deafening at first listen, but whenever they are, they instil a certain emotional tension: when things are like this, one can only be grateful.

We often find ourselves faced with a unsettling, twisted, cacophonous and uncontrollable catchiness. A powerful visual counterpart remains at our fingertips, bringing us close to a sonic essence prone to nuances and styles akin to industrial music. 

The structure – evident and a blessing once you’ve got past the initial shock of listening – allows these twelve compositions to distance themselves from hypocrisy, from toxic behaviour, from the pretences of those who inflate their egos without realising that Kristeen does not use black magic or tarot cards, nor does she pin her hopes on luck. No, she sits down, stands up, stirs things up, shakes souls, enters the social and political arena with vehemence, risking misunderstanding, offers a new sexuality to creation and distances herself from everything and everyone.

Young is an Apis mellifera, a Lucilia sericata and a Danaus plexippus: a collection of insects setting out to make one lose all sense of direction, to feed on phosphorescent metals, to connect with the avant-garde and the misleading systems of post-punk without actually practising its methods. She enters the world of sound experimentation like a siren and a fairy at the end-of-year ball. 

The splendid cover art already hints at the themes: everything is central, peripheral, cyclical, with visible protagonists who hold the power to oppress and partially mutilate the body, yet are also destabilised by a gaze that seeks no help, preferring instead to offer its own steadfastness.

Then comes the listening experience, and one shudders as one observes age-old human movements finding a centre of gravity in the music, an adoption amongst adoptions…

She dances, makes others dance, softens the intensity of the flashes, then sets them ablaze; in a Gethsemane transported onto the stave, she bestows fresh flowers and then kills, shuts out every dream and transforms reality into a drawing of mud and tears. She must exaggerate, and she does so brilliantly. She is moved and conveys this state of mind to us; then she rattles our nerves and seeks refuge in ancient times, distrusting modernity (save for certain vibrant sounds) and composes, in fact, a work of classical music, disguised as apparent modernity. Often, with a light touch, she tackles weighty subjects, only to distance herself from her past and finally return to it; like a hostile oyster evading capture, she refuses to conform, and her freedom is not synonymous with happiness but rather with her own equilibrium—which she has no intention of bestowing upon anyone.

On this, her twelfth studio album, everything seems clear: over nearly thirty years of releases, concerts and events, she had sown a seed – perhaps unconsciously – to reach this island, which can and must be deserted, because her past rears its head here but then retreats in the face of the vehemence, the confidence and the sacredness of songs that are often anachronistic, always futuristic, yet ultimately capable of being invaluable contributors to the evolution of time. She does not narrate, explain, suggest or provide details. She goes beyond that. Starting even from an evident indifference and impatience towards conventional modes of expression, she gathers in scents, smells and impulses, generating words and bursts of song like a necessary frenzy. Yet I believe it is not just that. She challenges only herself, putting herself to the test, out of necessity and curiosity, to become Nature rather than a human being.

It burns, it soars, it vanishes to become one with eternity, and this album feels like one of her concerts, where the veil of exhaustion finds its match in the fervour of rebirth…

Songs that offer up demons, by which she does not seem to be possessed but is able to transfer them elsewhere (the very essence of art par excellence), transforming them into glimmers of light, a ride between madness and wisdom, here Siamese twins intent on standing up to the challenge, and succeeding. The sarcastic humour, the mental spray spattered across every track, the frenetic collection of multiple ideas, and the pleasure of pain—because it challenges the neutrality of false well-being—are just some of the cornerstones of this masterpiece.

Unconventional, anti-conformist, purplish, it uses the piano’s eccentric sound to infect all the surrounding elements: from the scorching, sinful guitar (Don DeVore), to the enveloping bass (Mr Tony Visconti!), to the drums and percussion of the magically talented Jefferson Wayne ‘Baby Jef’ White, with the whole thing brought to life by a woman who writes nine tracks all by herself. The magic lies in the fact that the other three seem to be entirely  her own as well…

The synergy between the musicians, however, is evident: they are not merely performers but thinking beings, capable of translating precise artistic directives, resulting in a cohesion that benefits the album and is conveyed to the listener. A continuous hum that rummages through cognitive rubbish and illuminates a wall that absorbs barrages of sound, a fluid apparatus that causes normality to hide away: Young’s music is nothing but a marvellous series of acts alien to a mass in which she does not recognise herself and, as she herself says in the verse of the first song, ‘I thought I was born human but it’s clear I’m not’. 

She is not like that, nor is her music, and all that remains for us is to cast off a millennia-old passivity and make her monumental art our own – art that is unorthodox, unregulated and therefore free. The craters of notes merely confirm an ancient tendency to strike out, just as primitive man did: she does so with her piano, with her lyrics, with the spectacular staging of her presence on stage; and so, in this artistic project, we find her essence – the absence of pretence, a subtlety not found at this level in any of her peers.

Given that she possesses mnemonic processes that are no longer understood or taken into account in this day and age, Kristeen stands out and excels. FSS is a unique book, in which the songs are not chapters, but rather a puff of air that becomes a scream, then a shadow, a cloud from which metallic fragments emerge, before transforming into a solid feather that collides with stupidity without being tainted by it – a behavioural farewell where madness does not govern the whole. We are dealing with a consciousness of extremely high IQ and therefore beyond comprehension. An album brimming with arrangements, tentacles and moments that envelop the initial compositional framework to become a sumptuous overture, free from any constraints. The more you listen, the more you realise that the inputs, the cultural foundation, the intention and the capacity for development dwell in the forests, in the inaccessible realms of both the physical world and the mind; they are a lens through which to view what lies beyond the common gaze. 

Kristeen, no – she does not stoop to being a mere reporter of reality; she goes beyond that, restoring our sense of recklessness to us, striving to equip us with critical faculties, whilst being the first to ensure she does not simply endure life. Her compositions are continuous pieces; they are ordeals, thorns and multiple orgasms, executed with impressive military discipline: freedom is not doing whatever one pleases, but working hard to achieve, through study and application, a space in which to create a form of independence that knows no tsunamis. 

Here, then, this album offers us the maturity born of hard work, a breaking free from clichés, a personal sky. And its lyrics are the embodiment of a fusion with the movements of the notes, as well as an intimate layering that binds itself to a whole which remains – and this must be emphasised – a universe that absorbs in order to be a nebula in constant flux, in that the songs, more than ever before, know how to transform themselves, through a miracle that is neither divine nor human, but simply, magnificently, incomprehensible. The courage to use syllables, to use phonemes as solos, like a pack leader, like a wooden stick drifting with the current, remains a constant in her repertoire of qualities; yet now everything has become a tornado – one is left powerless, swept away – and it is a beautiful and immensely useful sensation. If one trusts her art/web, then one has a chance to become something else…

Words that penetrate nature, the microscopic world of the body as well as that of thought – a colourful whip resembling a rainbow – yet which also know how to render the presence of black appropriately essential in an exceptional way, to bring out its effect. They sand away banality, through their thematic choices, the moment they arrive but above all through their intention: in this work, when she sings, the words are ebbs and flows, seeds, vomit, arthritis, cries and whispers that surround the mind, with the effect of an electric chair that leads not to death, but rather to transformation. Lyrics that go beyond genetics; they are numbers, geometry and orthogonal projections, a compass that knows the magic of impetuosity and that knows how to oust the comfort zone, imposing itself rather than offering itself, and this is where she makes the difference…

Her adolescence and her surroundings emerge in her verses, but these are not mere glimpses; rather, they are electric shocks, stimuli that enable her to turn her own shell into a sanctuary without prayers – or, I would say, a continuous private affair. I adore the impossibility of singing: these verses cannot belong to us; instead, we have the opportunity to remain silent, to listen whilst our minds burn as they attempt to make understanding avoidable. And it is total ecstasy; the detachment from the repetitive notion of being able to do so makes us prisoners of this further aspect of its uniqueness. 

Her voice, which for many comes as a shock, serves as a point of comparison and other such things, is in fact part of a unique whole, a journey that draws on both natural and acquired talents – but let us not forget how she sings: a collective blend of restlessness, tribulations and necessary imperatives to transform a code into a series of questions, in which the elasticity of her vocal range is like ancient hieroglyphs – a phenomenon comparable to a photograph, where black and white seem motionless, defining health and illness. Yet the way she uses her vocal cords pierces through that frozen image… 

When she employs chromaticism and ornamentation (two truly demanding techniques), she does so with outstanding and astonishing skill.

The same happens when she employs the melisma technique, leaving you pleasantly impressed: Kristeen uses layers of sound that constantly overlap, creating effects that envelop the whole of the notes.

The combination of techniques employed in these songs utilises technology not only to be redundant and incisive, but also to multiply the senses and meanings, creating a complete palette – a painting which, through the multiplicity of media, allows us to encounter the mental blueprint behind this unique work of assemblage.

This is what classical music used to do, and it is exactly what Kristeen does: a stroll through time, taking possibilities by the arm to create a bold work, unconcerned with its surroundings. 

The musical genres (many, yet always just a hint, and constantly intertwined) are details, a means of transport rather than a means of identification – a kick up the backside for labels, for my colleagues who are thirsty for definitions that amount to nothing: Young is serious; she uses music and allows herself to be used by it, without needing to be pigeonholed into definitive categories. 

Rock, post-punk, electronic music and so on are merely small elements, but they do not define the framework or the aesthetic of this work. Rather, it takes the form of a gaseous molecule that craves both company and solitude, creating gaps and oxymorons, in a fray that seeks, amidst the noise, an ally that desires not refinement, but simply the right place in which to exist. 

4 - Song by Song

1 - Beelxepop

“I thought I was born a human being.

But it’s clear I’m not one.”

A bluesy undertone, immersed in an electronic bubble, sets the stage alight: it’s neurotic magma, with drumming that builds tension which is channelled through vocals that brush against the highest reaches of the sky, before a rhythmic acceleration that incorporates a powerful falsetto. The distorted bass and emotional flashes translated into shards of sound make the opening track a restrained, immense scream, right up to the dramatic climax of the finale, enveloped in vocalisation and a veiled croon… 

2 - Not Like You

“All the things you say we did, I

never experienced at all.

You renovate the cage with age.”

A brief introduction precedes a rush that brings back the alternative rock of the nineties, but it is the vocals in the chorus that render any precise – let alone valid – reference unlikely: the voice and its delivery defy all expectations to become a marvellous, deadly metastasis, in which the intensity that scrapes at her vocal cords to become a witch standing by a pyre truly excels. Incendiary, with her famous ‘key smashing’ (here stripped bare, less shielded by effects from the pedalboard to become a lethal uppercut to the stomach), the artist allows her beloved piano to mesh perfectly with this searing guitar and the piercing work of the drums, resulting in the wail of an animal seeking new places to attack. Sensational…

3 - Phone

“Take all this thought.

Make it smooth and fevered.”

We enter the Greek theatre; a chord and an electric hum open what is an episode showcasing Kristeen’s eclectic voice, generating a shower of thoughts on communication, error and blatant horror, with a subtle arrangement that, in the end, makes the whole thing seem like a punk cloud, even though it takes on the appearance of an electric semi-ballad. The track is a performance; it cuts through with a slowness that hardens at times, only to highlight, through a high register, the evident spirituality – an interpretation that holds onto the shards in its pocket. Slow, heavy punk…

4 - Numbers

“Waxed and fat,

shoot off the graph.

Bursting out.”

Here comes the lyrical nonsense: a cabaret song that brings to mind the drama of Pasolini’s *Uccellacci e uccellini*, with that breathtaking greyness, a deliciously decadent loop that turns the whole thing into a pleasant, almost nightmarish experience…

The dynamic, compact and rigorous arrangement also offers us the delightful, hazy digressions of Prokofiev, from his unrivalled Concerto No. 2, with an epic quality that demonstrates Kristeen’s inevitable artistic growth…

The song thrives on a rapid counter-melody, on descending piano passages, on  alert senses, on a terrifying killer chicken, on the drama of a clash between the true and the real, in a kaleidoscopic emotional journey… Disturbing and mesmerising…

5 - A Coup at the Zoo

“You’d better build stronger walls or

stay underground.”

Young’s venomous, justified, essential and indisputably necessary invectives are back – perhaps more subtly veiled than in the past, but still capable of shaking us up and forcing our minds to find fresh air. The latter is compressed by the sensational interplay of the instruments, each with its own perfectly assembled parts, to carry Kristeen’s battle cries into the German avant-garde theatre, on whose stage we might imagine Klaus Nomi dancing in a lopsided manner, dangerously close to falling. A shredding track, the piano slashing through the low notes, the march-like vocals transforming into a nightingale in a predatory flight. Devastating!

6 - Falling

“God could save us all.

But, there is no God at all.”

In a world seeking freedom, sincerity is a nuisance, and Kristeen knows this all too well. And there she is, fearless, tackling with an angelic voice a series of situations that separate lies from the truth, with a small, moving vibrato, whilst the atmosphere of a 1930s American nightclub slowly leads her to her downfall, like a capsule in repeated descent… The extremes are explored: tears of pure emotion on the one hand and despair on the other, as the American artist completely captivates us… The track takes us back to the rhythmic openings and harmonies of classical music, in a crescendo where falling may be the only pleasure allowed… Heart-wrenching…

7 - Full Scrotal Scorpio

“She doesn’t feel as lonely

as I do all the time.”

A silent film by Charlie Chaplin finds its perfect soundtrack: a hysterical, stammering track, with fluctuating rhythms, escapades, landslides, harmful scratches, a constant poison leading to asphyxiation – for the track that not only gives the album its title but also encapsulates its essence, a perfect expressive theorem that circumnavigates creativity and the need for lyrics. 

Remarkable is the irony of a lyric that is only partly cryptic, using musical flashes to slip into the infinity of our almost certain incomprehension. It is an ordeal, a delightful struggle that must be transformed into a precious experience. The ‘old’ Kristeen and the ‘new’ one are here Siamese twins with their bipolar moods, in a union that is maddening in its spectacular nature…

8 – I, Claudia

“Not allowed to grow.

Bound to below:

Stunted child.”

The opening piano seems to continue the previous work, but then we find ourselves in a cotton-wool-like texture typical of the second half of Einsturzende Neubauten’s career, in which the more pop-oriented and cabaret elements seek a logical landing point without losing intensity. The voice is a tear in a vacuum that pushes, pops the cork and breaks free, whilst in the verse, Kristeen’s meticulous production work creates a dynamic that preserves every mood, colour and tension right up to the tribal drumming, where the filtered vocals become acid coursing through the brain. 

9 - Editedit

“My body, my face, then my thoughts, my whole state, so wait.”

Here we are on an extraordinary level: beams of light laced with madness seem to have emerged from the corridors of the Overlook Hotel in *The Shining*, with a theatrical form that demands searing, disjointed, deranged images, in a circuit of almost atomic perversion towards the human darkness that seeks to deny itself as such, but Kristeen unmasks it, and it is a rhythmic outburst that leads to a delicate downfall… Top!

10 - Muleskinner Blues (Blues Yodel #8)

“If you don’t like your job,

well, you can throw your bucket down.”

Imagine a post-punk atom steeped in eclectic movements, a doubled vocal line, a consuming rhythm, shadow puppets, words from a dialogue in which context, meaning and expressive continuity know just how to explode in a restrained manner… There you have it: a vivid oxymoron, a gem that seems to spring from M.C. Escher’s optical illusions, in a masterpiece brimming with projections and allusions. You dance like spirits imbued with courage, guided by the echo of Kristeen’s trills and a piano that sounds wonderfully mocking…

11 - Honey

“I wanted to stay; it felt like where I belonged.

But now, with my true name, I could find my long-lost home.”

An opening guitar riff echoing U2’s *Boy* era lasts but a few moments: a complete shift follows, and the song (one of the most intimate on the album) shows us how a loop can find allies along the way, starting with oblique guitars, drumming skilfully poised to separate continuity from pauses, a driving bassline, and vocals that recite as if they’d emerged, disgusted, from a church and tedious gatherings. A delinquent yet wise frenzy, fiery words and the whinnies and meows of a six-string on the prowl – and undoubtedly in a state of grace too… Classic rock finds its Everest here, and the high notes are the naked angels seeking peace. There is also talk of orphans and, for myself – having been one – it is not easy to come to terms with the malevolent whole, but in the end this enchanting work becomes a guiding hand for the future…

12 - Prime Ape

“See my hands.

It’s complex how my thumbs can move.

I’ll embrace the gun.

Go click click, pop pop.”

A razor-sharp track reminiscent of the Bad Seeds at their most raw and the venomous edges of Kristeen’s own early career tracks, it shows us, in the final act, her ability to heighten the intensity even further, in blood-spattered bursting grapes, where the belly struggles to contain all this delicious neurotic pill… A mad way to conclude this work, with a futuristic twist that doesn’t forget the past, with a hysteria that blesses those who pay no heed to these forms of expression, and it is the winning track that confirms its triumph, with her final words—acclaimed without music—which sum it up perfectly: “All I want is what I have coming to me. All I want is my fair share”…

5 – Conclusions

One must listen to this absolute marvel, for it is art that reigns supreme, mocking rather than pleading, always offering fragments of denied truths and bringing those stifled, blatant uglinesses to the fore, deliberately pushing the boundaries to create distant roles.

There you have it: Full Scrotal Scorpio is a flock of plovers, capable of dramatic changes of course, yet possessing the undeniable ability to stay together to avoid predators. An album in a league of its own, uncategorisable, free to offer what it is, not giving a damn about success, yet the result of hard work, planning and architectural structures that make it stand out clearly from the rest.

Please note: it’s addictive – you pay for it just once, but it stays in your blood for the rest of your life…

You can pre-order the album via this link:

https://kristeenyoungmusic.bandcamp.com/album/full-scrotal-scorpio

Full Scrotal Scorpio:

releases October 23, 2026

All vocals, piano, keyboards - Kristeen Young

All drums and percussion - Jefferson Wayne Baby Jef White

Bass - Tony Visconti

Guitars - Don DeVore

Guitar on track 9 - Kristeen Young

Additional guitar on track 6 - Rob Durando

Additional guitar on track 2 - Tony Visconti

Acoustic guitar break on track 7 - David Haynes

Album in studio:

Meet Miss Young and Her All Boy Band 1997

Enemy 1999

Breasticles 2003

X 2004

The Orphans 2006

Music for Strippers, Hookers, and the Odd On-Looker 2009

V the Volcanic 2011

The Knife Shift 2014

Live at the Witch's Tit 2017

The Subset 2019

Beauty Shop 2022