Deathtrap doesn’t walk in quietly, it announces itself like a force that’s been gathering pressure in the dark, waiting for the moment it can finally tear through. Jenks delivers a track that feels less like a song and more like a surge of unfiltered energy, the kind that comes from surviving something that could have swallowed you whole.
The release channels the unrest of metal into something deeply personal. Guitars grind like thoughts that won’t let go, drums hammer with the intensity of a heartbeat on high alert, and Jenks’ voice cuts through it all: raw, scorched, and impossibly human. There’s no hiding behind polish here; every scream carries the burn of lived experience.
Its creation story becomes part of its pulse. Recorded in a sweltering caravan: no insulation, no studio comforts, just grit, heat, and the resolve to keep going; the track carries the atmosphere of that space. You hear the sweat, the claustrophobia, the urgency. That caravan becomes symbolic: proof that truth doesn’t need perfect conditions, only an artist willing to face what’s inside.
And what sits inside Deathtrap is a moment of reckoning. The song was born after Jenks’ mental health collapse, during a period when a close friend stepped in and reminded him that music wasn’t just a passion, it was a lifeline. The result is a piece that doesn’t flinch away from dread, anger, or emotional exhaustion. Instead, it reaches out to listeners who know those sensations intimately, offering a rare blend of heaviness and solidarity.
What makes the track stand out is the sheer honesty and vulnerability driving it. Jenks doesn’t perform the emotion, he releases it; and in doing so, he transforms Deathtrap from a heavy metal single into a visceral confession, one that listeners can hold on to when the mind becomes a maze.
This is a beast of a song, yes; but it’s also a heartbeat: fierce, imperfect, and defiantly alive!
