Since its inception, the internet has perpetually found itself in a cycle of death and rebirth. Trends accelerate, build, and compound on themselves, morphing aesthetics into amalgamations and turning anything out of the vogue into nostalgia or cringe. What’s come of scenecore and the My Little Pony fandom? Of those Geometry Dash playthroughs from 2016? Of anyone who frequently uttered the word “poggers” back in the day and still whispers it to themselves under their breath?
In a seemingly endless search, food house holds the answers. A staple of internet subculture that ran through pandemic-age hyperpop like a freight train, the duo dips their ladle into the web’s primordial soup to speak (well, sing) on behalf of those less often heard: for furries, for freaks, for Massachusetts residents, and for 2025 former Tumblr users with a strong affinity for autotune.
The duo is composed of Gupi and Fraxiom, a blue-haired pronoun-having tag team who know how to dig into the circuit guts of the online age. The pair met in 2017 and seared and served bombastic hyperpop through their partnership on the self-titled “food house.” They followed it with a nearly five-year hiatus, both going solo and briefly off the map. “two house,” the group’s aptly named sophomore album, presents a full showcase of this world in all its absurdity, euphoria, and anxiety.
Food house may not have been able to write “Hamlet”, but Shakespeare certainly couldn’t write “two house” either. Despite the disparity in their place and age, many of the themes remain the same between the two. Like the aformentioned Shakespearean drama, “two house” provides a spanning tale of soliloquy, brazen humor, and occasional murderous intention, simply a “girlypop bussy cunt vagina”-ified 2025 version of the Bard’s work.
Lyrics like “and can we call it furry music if you don’t slap a fursona on the cover of the album?” or rather “how did you both come up with something that inspired other people to come up with something more?” take the place of Hamlet’s churning internal monologue, just as “dancing as your grave” chews insults like bubblegum as the duo goes “fucking […] upstairs neighbor” on the hypothetical tomb of their alleged abuser backed by club-pop sensibilities.
It’s an album with range akin to Julie Andrews’, oscillating between outlandish speech and sincere sentiment. Fraxiom deems herself a “FreakyBob”-esque figure and ketamine-carrying saint for “he/him lesbians” while retaining a sense of earnestness, reserving verses to voice pride in her trans identity, personal anxieties, career growth, and moving past abuse and struggles with depression. Beneath the synth noise, the autotune, and the absurdity, is authenticity.
For food house, rawness finds itself at the strangest extremes. “credit card knife” presents an enraged murder ballad, the bloodlust fantasy of killing a chaser (in this context, someone who fetishizes and looks to sleep with trans people purely because they’re trans) over a spur of drums and a Greek chorus of chipmunk-pitched background vocals. “computerpunk”’s tidal wave of digital riffs and crunched tones loop the circular question of “is this ironic?” into infinity as Frax screams above the noise, so certain of itself that its brashness becomes its unbreakable backbone.
Food house won’t grow up and go acoustic, and it’s a well-needed declaration. They do it for the love of the music, for the love of the game — although it might not be clear what they’re playing (5D tic-tac-toe, perhaps). “two house” is just as much an ode to being silly and stupid as it is a personal manifesto and an electronic (cybergrind? digicore?) amalgamation of self in the internet age.
