Seth Patrick Bleeds Out His Truth on Debut Album 'Hell and Heartbreak'

Seth Patrick doesn’t just make music—he bleeds it. On his debut album Hell and Heartbreak, the Cleveland-born, LA-based alternative rocker opens a door into a soul scorched by love, faith, and the disillusionment that lingers in the ashes. More than a collection of songs, Hell and Heartbreak is a concept album built on themes of death, decay, and transformation—the kind of slow, internal death that comes from losing who you used to be and becoming someone you don’t recognize.“I’ve been reborn as something worse,” Patrick says bluntly. It’s that line—raw, sharp, and almost too honest that captures the emotional core of Hell and Heartbreak.

The album follows a loosely cyclical structure, kicking off with the track “Death Grip” and ending with “Cover Me in Roses,” written in closely related keys to subtly suggest the full-circle journey. But unlike typical narratives of death and rebirth that end in hope, this one ends in a fade to black, both metaphorically and literally.

The final track, “Cover Me in Roses,” doesn’t tie things up neatly. Instead, it ends abruptly after a false ending and a searing final guitar solo, leaving the listener suspended in the unresolved. “I didn’t want a sense of resolution,” Patrick explains. “The abrupt ending mirrors what the song means. It’s the nail in the coffin after a relationship—and it’s also me putting the idea of love to rest.”

At the heart of Hell and Heartbreak lies an unflinching commentary on modern relationships and the darker truths Patrick sees in both male and female nature. “When I do everything right in a relationship, it generally makes things worse,” he says. “When I do everything wrong, it gets me what I want.” That toxic contradiction is explored in songs like “Heartbreak Fever” and “Frostbite,” where he sings about becoming cold as if it’s a virus, learned and contagious.

The track “Original Sin” dives even deeper into gender dynamics, where Patrick pens lines like “I can’t wash it away, it’s in my blood” and “she’s haunted by hypergamy.” These aren’t casual lyrics—they’re deliberate, challenging, and meant to provoke. “Men adapt to what women find attractive, whether we realize it or not,” he says. “And that can bring out the worst in us.”

Yet Hell and Heartbreak doesn’t just unpack heartbreak in the romantic sense. There’s also a spiritual fracture running through the album—a deconstruction of Patrick’s faith in religion, love, and even in the idea of good and evil. “I’m struggling to see how true love exists if we have these conditions around how we choose our partners,” he admits. “I used to believe in love and God blindly. Now I’m questioning both. And those two things are intertwined.”

Even the vinyl edition of Hell and Heartbreak reflects this duality. Packaged with a 12-page lyric booklet styled like a Bible—down to the font and design—the physical release drives home the religious symbolism that permeates the record. It’s not just an album; it’s a personal scripture of doubt and existential reflection.

The next chapter in Patrick’s vision is already forming. He’s currently working on a follow-up album titled Resurrection, intended to be part two in a trilogy that began with Hell and Heartbreak. What comes after resurrection is anyone’s guess, but if Patrick’s debut is any indication, it’ll be just as honest, just as painful, and just as profound.

Hell and Heartbreak” feels like a spiritual and emotional autopsy—how did writing this album help you confront or process the parts of yourself you say have ‘died’?

Coming to grips with the reality of the way the world works can be a helpless feeling, but it also reminds you of what you really value. On the other side of that, it becomes easy to give up and become self-destructive or indulge. It’s actually been harder for me to ignore those things than to confront them. I have to remind myself that it’s not always good to focus on things that I wish were different, but the plus side is that it gives me a lot to write about. My spiritual and emotional journeys have become related, and it felt like such a strong concept to build around.

You’ve said the album explores the darker sides of both male and female nature, and that love and faith are intertwined in your personal experience. How did it feel to publicly wrestle with these ideas that many people avoid or sugarcoat? If you’re worried about how something will be received, you’re just holding yourself back. I don’t necessarily try to piss people off, but if it happens it’s not gonna stop me from saying what I need to say. Having artistic integrity means being real with yourself, and I don’t want to compromise that. 

Your lyrics are simultaneously raw and poetic, with lines that reference everything from biblical imagery to Cobain and Hendrix. How do you balance vulnerability with symbolism when you're writing?

The more you throw at the wall, the more you’ll see what’s connected. The more you dig, the more you’ll find a deeper way of saying it. I often wait to see what comes to me, and then compile over time. I think it’s about recognizing when you have an idea that excites you. It feels very powerful. I take my time when I write. This whole thing took three years to make. I don’t want to always use the first thing that pops into my head. I may try it a million ways and end up using the first one, but I’m going to make sure I try it a million ways first.

You produced, wrote, sang, and played guitar on every track—and even directed your own videos. What does full creative control mean to you, and did that ever feel like a burden while making this record?

I wouldn’t have done it any other way. I think the epitome of being a true artist is having full creative control and making what you want. All of the moves you make are like your own fingerprints on your work, and that’s the whole point of being an artist. When you do that, it can’t really be critiqued. I think that the more people you let touch your work, the more it dilutes its artistic value. True artists create for themselves at the end of the day, and ironically, that’s what ends up being best for the listener, too. That also means you don’t make something based on how you think it will be received.

The last track ends with a false resolution and abrupt cut. In a world obsessed with happy endings, why was it important for you to leave the listener hanging?

I think there’s some ambiguity with the ending. It wasn’t necessarily just about trying to do something unexpected. I just did what I felt aligned with the story that I’m telling. It wouldn’t have made sense to have a happy ending cause I don’t have one yet. It’s album one, and the rest of my journey is yet to be written.