Orange Hell

Andrew Ross, contributor and host of Spin This!
 

Alongside the standard Halloween records Vince Guaraldi's "It's The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown", Dead Man's Bones 2009 self titled, and the Disney classic "Chilling, Thrilling Sound Of The Haunted House" that spin on my turntable songs this time year after year,  a new one has moved into the top spot for getting the most spins around the spooky Halloween season. It's the 2021 self-titled album by the band Orange Hell. 

 

Orange Hell's self-titled album emerges like a fog-shrouded ritual. Why you ask? Well,  this isn't your standard Misfits tribute—it's a reimagining, a 10-track kaleidoscope that strips Glenn Danzig's devil-lock anthems down to their melodic bones and drapes them in ethereal dream-pop veils. Clocking in at a brisk 27 minutes, Orange Hell feels like eavesdropping on a séance where the ghosts of punk's golden era are summoned not with distortion pedals, but with reverb-drenched guitars and sighs of synth.

 

The album compiles singles from 2018-2020, plus unreleased cuts like "She" and "Halloween," all rearranged by the anonymous collective behind Orange Hell (a "shrouded crew of guys you probably know," as one review slyly puts it). Opener "Hybrid Moments" sets the tone: what was once a frantic horror bop becomes a slow-burning lament, all swirling guitars and breathy vocals that evoke Mazzy Star more than Walk Among Us. It's disorienting at first—punk fans might miss the snarl—but that's the genius here. Tracks like "Skulls" and "Bullet" transform into hypnotic earworms, their hooks amplified by the space left for introspection. "Some Kinda Hate" floats on a bed of chamber-pop fragility, turning alienation into something almost romantic, while "Die, Die My Darling" pulses with a subtle menace that's equal parts seductive and sinister.

 

Not everything lands perfectly. The closer "Halloween" teases more bite but settles into a too-gentle fade-out, leaving you craving a sharper edge. And if you're allergic to irony in covers, this might feel like sacrilege—why soften "Angelfuck" into a folk-tinged dirge? Yet that's precisely where Orange Hell shines: it proves the Misfits' skeletons were built on timeless melodies, ripe for reinvention. Production is intimate and lo-fi in the best way, mixed and mastered in-house, with artwork by Chaotic No Good that mirrors the album's orange-hued apocalypse vibe.

 

At its core, this is music for late-night drives through empty streets, where punk's aggression dissolves into something prettier, sadder, and strangely comforting. Orange Hell doesn't just cover these songs; it resurrects them, proving that even in hell, a little dreaminess goes a long way.