LOUD ENOUGH TO REWRITE HISTORY. Nova Twins aren’t just making noise, they’re making the future.
NOVA TWINS – PARASITES & BUTTERFLIES - An Album Review
Some albums crawl into your headphones. This one kicks the damn door down. Nova Twins’ Parasites & Butterflies is a Molotov cocktail lobbed straight into the stale corners of modern rock—a record that doesn’t ask for permission, doesn’t care if you flinch, and dares you to keep up.
For years, Amy Love and Georgia South have been writing the rulebook on what “heavy” can mean in the 21st century. Their third album feels like the manifesto: half razor-wire aggression, half venom-dripped seduction, every track wired like a live bomb. They call it a bridge between chaos and beauty, but don’t mistake that for balance—this is turbulence bottled and served with a snarl.
The opener sounds like an exorcism in real time: choral highs collapsing under seismic bass, until all that’s left is distortion and fury. By track two, you’re already knee-deep in Piranha, teeth bared, synths gnashing, the groove shaking the floorboards like a basement rave. South’s bass isn’t an instrument here; it’s a demolition tool, warping and snarling as if she wired her pedalboard straight into a reactor core.
Then there’s Soprano—a flex and a threat rolled into one, dripping with femme-fatale swagger. Amy Love struts through it like she owns every mood swing in the room, flipping between sultry croon and banshee scream as if both were loaded weapons. It’s the kind of track that makes you want to kick down a catwalk in combat boots.
The back half is where the record shows teeth in different ways. Hummingbird is the curveball—slow, aching, haunted, its Iranian vocal sample stretching the band’s reach into something almost sacred. It’s the rare moment where Nova Twins stop to breathe, but even then, the air feels electric, heavy with meaning. Moments later, the storm rages back: Hurricane, Black Roses, Hide & Seek—songs that sound less like tracks and more like survival tactics.
Not every chorus detonates the way you want it to. A couple land just shy of catharsis, teasing the explosion but never quite letting it rip. But even those near-misses radiate attitude, and attitude is half the point. Nova Twins aren’t interested in giving you easy dopamine hits—they’re building a world that’s abrasive, messy, and alive.
Culturally, this record feels vital. In a rock scene still clinging to nostalgia and boys-club headliners, Nova Twins crash through like a necessary riot. They’re proof that the future of heavy music doesn’t look or sound like the past. It’s louder, smarter, more dangerous—and yes, more fun.
Parasites & Butterflies isn’t background music. It’s a fight, a seduction, a breakdown, a rallying cry. Play it too soft and you’re missing the point. Crank it, let it bruise you, and you’ll understand why Nova Twins aren’t just pushing the genre forward—they’re dragging it by the throat.