My New Mixtape—Virginia-based producer and mad scientist Jarrett Nicolay—drops a bomb of scathing social commentary with their latest single, “Who’s Your Daddy?”. Nicolay, whose work has soundtracked gritty cinema like Sundance winner “I Don’t Feel at Home in This World Anymore”, dials his doomsday pop to the red zone, swapping the gloss for grit and gravel and lyrical napalm aimed squarely at Trump-era delusions.
Nicolay is a solo demolition unit, handling every element of the track with the precision of a producer and the fury of a punk-rock poet. It’s more like Nicolay grabbed a bunch of instruments, got really pissed off, and channeled all that anger into music. The result is literally pure, unadulterated chaos – but the good kind, you know? The bass hits you like an anxiety attack, the guitars sound like they’re having a mental breakdown, and the drums? They’re basically screaming “You’re guilty!” at hypocrisy.
“Who’s Your Daddy?” is a merciless interrogation. Nicolay fires off questions like bullets: “Are you happy now?”, “Are you better off?”, and the gloriously confrontational title refrain. This isn’t subtle metaphor—it’s a direct challenge to the cultish devotion of Christian Trump voters and their messiah complex for a leader who’d sell their faith for a fist bump. The track’s dystopian vibe mirrors its message, blending apocalyptic noise with a sardonic, almost insult-comic sneer. Spoiler alert? The song’s answer isn’t pretty, but damn if it doesn’t feel cathartic to hear it screamed into the void.
What makes “Who’s Your Daddy?” so addictive is its duality. Nicolay marries nihilistic themes with a chorus that’s catchier than a virus. You’ll headbang while your brain processes the bleakness, an attestation to his knack for wrapping hard truths in riff-driven earworms. It’s a wake-up call drenched in amplifier feedback, a protest anthem for anyone who’s ever wanted to shake a MAGA hat off a true believer’s head.
My New Mixtape isn’t here to coddle or compromise. With “Who’s Your Daddy?”, Nicolay plants his flag as the punk prophet of late-night panic and broken faith, holding a cracked mirror to America’s soul and laughing darkly at the reflection. Play it loud, play it twice, and let its fury fuel your next revolution.