You don’t exactly “talk” with Taylor Momsen—you ride a wave with her. One moment, she’s detailing a gothic hymn about social unrest. The next, she’s telling you she doesn’t know how to drive. But what she does know how to do—better than most—is transform grief, rage, and candy corn vibes into something that sounds like it could rip your face off and make you dance.
On Death by Rock and Roll, The Pretty Reckless’ career-defining album, Momsen is wielding both middle fingers and a broomstick. “I don’t think we ever apologize for anything,” she shrugs. “I certainly don’t for anything I’ve ever written.” That tracks. This is a record written in the long shadow of death—Chris Cornell, Kato Khandwala—and still sounds like it should be played while shotgunning a beer at a haunted carnival.
“This record kind of wrote itself,” she explains. “Like, the universe smacked me in the head and went, ‘You wanted something to write about? Here it is.’” The result is a collection of songs that sound like they were exorcised, not recorded—bruised, honest, and bigger than anything the band has attempted before.
And then there's “And So It Went,” a song that could soundtrack a riot or a Tim Burton prom, depending on the lighting. It has a children’s choir, a Tom Morello solo that bursts through like an air raid siren, and a vibe that somehow feels like both prophecy and confession. “I wrote that before the pandemic,” she says. “And then everything went to hell. It’s like… did art imitate life or did life imitate art?”
There’s a similar foreboding to “Witches Burn,” a biting takedown of—well, everything—and a masterclass in how to make righteous fury sound like a séance. “You want songs to be fun,” she clarifies. “They’re not news articles. You’ve got to leave room for imagination, for the listener to find their own meaning.” Somewhere between a war cry and a fairy tale, Momsen’s version of fun feels more like the kind that wears black lipstick and drinks absinthe.
But Death by Rock and Roll isn’t just about vibe. It’s got legacy in its bones. On “Only Love Can Save Me Now,” Soundgarden’s Kim Thayil and Matt Cameron step in to resurrect something that shouldn’t have been lost in the first place. “When I finished writing it, it just had this Soundgarden-esque feel,” she says. “So I thought, if I don’t ask them to be on this, we’re just going to sound like we’re ripping them off.”
They recorded it in London Bridge Studios, where Louder Than Love and Ten were born. “The first time Matt hit his snare, I thought the speakers were gonna explode,” she beams. “It was absolutely mind-blowing.”
Of course, pulling Soundgarden back into the world—even for a moment—carries a kind of weight. “They still change my life,” she says. “Even now. You put on those records, and every time you’re hit with something new. It’s magic. They needed to exist.”
So does she, frankly.
There’s a mythology that follows Momsen—child star turned rock queen, outsider turned insider, fashion icon who’d rather wear smeared eyeliner and talk about aliens. But when she says something like, “Music doesn’t die. Even if the person’s gone, their voice lives on,” you remember that for her, this is sacred. Or at the very least, it’s carved into the universe, riding radio waves into the void.
Which is where “Rock and Roll Heaven” comes in—a track that’s equal parts autobiography and eulogy. “Aside from the car—I didn’t buy a car, I can’t drive—I gave up everything else for music,” she admits. “That song’s sad, but also uplifting. You make a mark. You’re part of the world forever.”
Also: she’s not kidding about not driving. “I grew up in New York. I never learned,” she laughs. And just in case you were wondering, yes, she celebrates Halloween as soon as the candy hits the shelves. “I love horror movies. Love carving pumpkins. Halloween is my Christmas.”
As for whether she sees herself carrying the torch of rock’s old guard into the future? She doesn’t entertain that kind of pressure. “I just like making music. We all do. We’re just kindred spirits.”
If the aliens are listening, they’re lucky. Because Death by Rock and Roll isn’t just a great rock record—it’s a Ouija board for everything this genre ever meant, and Taylor Momsen is the one brave enough to summon it.
Watch the interview above and then check out the videos below.
