The third angle. If When the World Burns Down (2021) surveyed a collapsing world, and FUK (2022) mapped the interior wreckage, Dangerously Happy (2023) lands where those two things have always collided most violently: sex, religion, and the radical act of surviving both.

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The album opens with its narrator — a figure who wanders darkly through luxury apartments and internment camps, smirking, slightly giddy, wrapping his cloak, leaving the party. Dangerously happy. Deliriously happy. He is the through-line. Everything that follows is his world.

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And what a world. "All Meaningless" strips existence down to its bones — put your mind to rest, it's all meaningless — with the particular calm of someone who has made peace with the void. "C'mon Confess" takes the absurdity of organized confession apart with deadpan precision: it'll be just between you, you and the almighty — oh, and the priest. "Almighty Dollar" collapses the distance between the strip club and the church into a single equation. "Ballistic Dreams" turns its gaze skyward — where humanity is busy weaponizing space — and sings hallelujah anyway.

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Running through the record like a spine is a series of Latin-titled songs MarQuis calls his Homo Hymns — sacred music forms turned inside out, the language of the church repurposed to say the things the church never allowed. "Parce Domine" — spare me, Lord — turns a Catholic penitential chant into something startlingly autobiographical: I came inside a guy / was young and suicidal / now joy shines in my life.

"Stabat Mater" places a mother at her son's bedroom door in a moment of reckoning — you stepped into his room in the morning / two teenagers embraced fornicating. "Sex Scandal" reframes a very famous story, the immaculate conception. "Tragic End" chronicles a lifetime of being told who you are by people with authority and the wrong answers — history teachers, neighbourhood preachers, doctors — the oldest code of laws / penned by men / highly recommend / my tragic end.

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And then the album ends with "Miserere Mei" Lord have mercy. Just those two words, repeated. After sixteen tracks of dismantling every system humanity has ever built to explain itself — that's what remains. Not despair. Not resolution. Just the oldest prayer, stripped of everything but its own necessity.