For all of its neon atmospheres and purple-hued aesthetics, shoegaze is a little monochromatic when it comes to skin tone. The demographics of both shoegaze fans and musicians typically skew a bit more caucasian than their relative populations.

This isn’t a unique phenomenon in alternative, punk, or metal genres, and I’m not here to dissect the myriad of social issues that created it. But to my knowledge, there haven’t been too many notable exceptions in shoegaze (please correct me if I’m ignorant).

But then there’s Cold Gawd. Originally formed as a solo project of lead singer Matt Wainwright, their brand of shoegaze is as equally indebted to genre mainstays like Nothing and Slowdive as R&B artists like Solange and 90s hip hop aesthetics.

The crossover is glaringly obvious at times, like the profanity-heavy sample that kicks off “On the Pale Silver Sofa” or “Comfort Thug,” an instrumental track running beneath a conversation that could almost be a skit. But even when it’s not overt, the influences are still there. Tracks like “Gin” or “You The Well” sound like conventional shoegaze at first blush, but if you were to isolate the melodies, speed up the tempo, and put some more breath behind them, they would fit neatly on an R&B track.

There’s also a heaping helping of post-hardcore and metal influences at play here. When the guitars get heavy, they invoke the detuned fuzz of doom metal. Opening track “Sweet Jesus Wept Shit” and closer “Passing Through the Opposite of What it Approaches” even include some screamed vocals in the background. In fact, there’s so much heaviness on this record that when I got the press release in my inbox, I assumed it was a metalcore record based on the description. Let me tell you, I was delightfully surprised when I figured out how wrong it was (I also ordered a copy halfway through the second song).

Maybe the most stunning track on the record though is “Two Iris Prints,” which finds Wainwright at his most restrained, both in tempo and volume, with stunning Cocteau Twins-esque atmospheres blooming between blasts of fuzz. He sings almost sighing as he meditates on death and purpose, concluding with the couplet, “dark skin, present youth. It’s all I can do.”

It would be easy to combine shoegaze, hip hop, and R&B as a novelty act. In fact, before hearing this record, I’m not sure I could have anticipated anything else. But even for the n-word-laden skits, tongue-in-cheek song titles, and 90s rap aesthetic, God Get Me the Fuck Out of Here has an earnestness that cuts through any irony or jokiness. There’s an emotional resonance that can’t be ignored, even as much as he buries it in walls of sound or sarcasm.