Don’t take it personally, but Daughters really want you to hurt. Eight years after the Rhode Island outfit’s self-titled album appeared to be the end of an impressive but relatively brief career that started in grindcore and concluded in Jesus Lizard-worship noise rock, Daughters are back and they’re not going through the motions; they’re going through a lot. The title alone of their vicious assault of a comeback album, You Won’t Get What You Want, sends a sharp warning to fans: They aren’t here to appease you.

Leaning more towards industrial rock and no wave, Daughters opt for the slow burn. It’s far removed from the bombardment of Canada Songs but no less intense. At 48 minutes, it’s their longest album by far (runner-up Daughters clocks in at 27 minutes). Unremittingly punishing even for ears that seek out this kind of music, your experience listening to You Won’t Get What You Want may end with you exhaling a deep breath you didn’t even realize you were holding in.

Familiarity doesn’t make it any friendlier, but it will reveal its complexities. Daughters are offering one of the year’s most thorough treatises on misery, from fury to alienation to depression to ennui to resentment. For all the volume, dissonance and Alexis Marshall’s singing in the form of a nervous breakdown that keeps breaking down further, it’s not meant to be an easy catharsis. If you’re angry or frustrated, these songs aren’t going to be a pillow for you to punch or a stress ball for you to squeeze. Some heavy albums are for dusting yourself off or at least finding some sort of comfort in shared anguish. When you feel like you’re digging your own grave, the Daughters solution is to give you a bigger shovel.

It wouldn’t be worth it if it wasn’t so on point. Art can be grim for grimness sake, and Daughters succeed by not trying to present any kind of moral or temper their hopelessness. On opener, ‘City Song,’ Marshall sounds like he’s already lost faith in himself and everything around him. “This city is an empty glass. Words do nothing. No one sleeps,” he blearily intonates against grinding distortion and blasting snares. It’s as though he wants to admit defeat now rather than wait for it to inevitably pummel him. The drums add toms and become more of a gallop, but it’s still very tortuous, as are the higher frequencies, which act like a branding iron, searing Marshall’s flesh.

The fear at the heart of You Won’t Get What You Want is one of stagnation. David Yow could weave a yarn for the ages about losing an arm or unspeakable acts around the family piano, but Daughters exhibit frightfulness in a gallery where everything is wretched for no reason other than it simply is. How well you can relate to their struggles depends on how you respond to the mantra at the end of ‘Satan in the Wait,’ (following a gorgeous passage of keys): “Today’s gonna feel like tomorrow, someday. Tomorrow’s gonna feel like yesterday.” Later, ‘Ocean Song’ is a masterful existential narrative that would be at-home, lyrically, on Spiderland.

Looking on the bright side only adds to the gloom and enhances the final product. “It’s funny how it works; someone’s always got it worse,” Marshall muses on ‘Long Roads, No Turns’ after admitting he doesn’t “know what to say when people come apart.” He’s much too busy losing his mind on tracks like the ever-shifting ‘The Flammable Man’ and the ‘The Lords Song,’ where he cops to crying for the sake of crying. The screaming tones of the comparatively calm ‘Less Sex’ might remind you of Nine Inch Nails, and few contemporary performers are more deserving of the title of “Mr. Self Destruct” than Marshall.

Everything about You Won’t Get What You Want is carved out of sheer insert-synonym-for-unhappiness-here, from the guitars to the drums to the vocals, but there’s more than enough nuance and versatility to earn your respect, even if it’s not something you’re typically drawn towards. When you seek to ruin your day in the grandest of fashions, put on this album, and you’ll get exactly what you want.