Campfire Stories by Haus of Sound isn’t your standard “we jammed in the garage until we found our sound” narrative. Haus of Sound started as a cover band, which usually means doomed-to-mediocrity bar sets and endless requests for “Free Bird.” But instead of collapsing into irrelevance, they somehow converted that origin story into something interesting: a Frankenstein of influences glued together with operatic female vocals, nu-metal angst, synth theatrics, and enough emo sincerity to make a Hot Topic cashier cry. They went to Robert Lang Studios in Seattle to record it, which, if you don’t know, is one of those “real rock history happened here” places. And yes, they tried everything. Industrial stompers, nu-metal grooves, power ballads, ska-punk interludes. It’s ambitious to the point of absurdity, and that’s what makes it fascinating.
Take the opening move, “Houdini (Campfire Story).” It’s not even really a song; it’s an interlude. A bit of narration, a bit of atmosphere, a flicker of firelight before the storm. It tells you up front that this isn’t going to be a conventional record; it’s an attempt at world-building. Then “Cold Shoulder” slams the door open with industrial crunch. Think Rob Zombie and Nine Inch Nails, but someone thought to put actual opera vocals on top. It sounds like two genres that should reject each other violently, but instead they fuse into this gleefully sinister anthem.
“Pain in My Eyes” is more personal, less theatrical, but still carried by that same refusal to tone anything down. It’s got that confessional emo quality that makes you feel like you’re trespassing on someone’s diary. And then you get “Legend of Hollow,” which is Muse if Muse had the self-awareness to lean into their Dungeons & Dragons energy instead of pretending they’re about geopolitics. It gallops forward with pomp and circumstance, crashes into a big synth outro, and without a breath we’re in “Bloodbath”, a gothic ballad so melodramatic you’d think it was auditioning for the soundtrack to a vampire opera.
And then there’s “Anxiety,” a ska/punk anthem that feels like someone swapped the CD halfway through. It’s absurd, jarring, and completely deliberate. And somehow, it works. It’s the musical equivalent of throwing cold water in your face mid-album.
Of course, the band can’t resist storytelling for its own sake. “Mayor Butch (Campfire Story)” introduces “Butch’s Song,” a weird, theatrical character sketch that suggests Haus of Sound secretly wants to write a rock musical. And honestly? They probably should. They’re clearly good at it.
The whole thing winds back down with another campfire interlude, which means the album ends not with a bang, not with a cathartic scream, but with a quiet flicker and fade. It’s not resolution; it’s an invitation to sit with the weirdness. Which, honestly, is the correct choice.
Here’s the thing: Campfire Stories is not perfect. It sprawls, it indulges itself, it leaps genres with all the grace of a caffeinated toddler. But that’s exactly what makes it compelling. Too many debut albums play it safe; this one doesn’t even seem to know where “safe” is. And thank God for that. The operatic vocals tie the chaos together, the stories give the tracks a thematic spine, and the sheer nerve of it all is what makes it work.
If you’re into the dark theatricality of Muse, the industrial crunch of Rammstein, the nu-metal heart-on-sleeve drama of Linkin Park, or just the idea of someone throwing all of that into a cauldron and then accidentally writing a ska song in the middle, Campfire Stories is worth your time. Haus of Sound aren’t here to give you a polished debut. They’re here to light the fire, tell you some wild stories, and dare you to follow them into the shadows.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for various publications around the world, the former lead writer of review blogspace Atop The Treehouse and content creator for Manila Bulletin.
