A Funeral for a Fly: Gabi And The Fly’s Initiation of Decay Boxset

by Tara Adams
The Creature Beat

I received the Gabi And The Fly Initiation of Decay Demo Boxset today, and opening it felt like cracking open a reliquary that survived a fire.

This is a limited-edition artifact, not a bundle of stuff. Twenty-five made. Gone already. Mine is stamped No. 5, which somehow feels right: early and close to the ignition point.

The band itself is a two-headed creature: vocalist and visual architect Gabriella Lindland and Matt Montgomery, aka Piggy D., Marilyn Manson guitarist and former longtime Rob Zombie bassist. Together, they’re not chasing polish or radio sheen, they’re building something feral, emotional, and uncomfortably honest.

The boxset includes:

• One of two Gabi And The Fly t-shirts
• A signed CD featuring the band’s debut recordings (five tracks)
• A signed letter explaining how the band started and why they’re making music
• A numbered collectors box
• Five photo/lyric postcards
• An embroidered patch
• Two buttons
• Guitar pick
• Bottle opener
• Vinyl sticker
• And yes, a bunch of dead (fake) flies

Naturally, the flies demanded chaos.

I pulled one from the box and quickly tossed it onto my husband’s hand, who wasn't expecting it.

“It’s a fly!”

“Is it real?” he asked, immediately flinging it off himself.

“Yes, honey. They sent us a box of real dead flies,” I joked.

“Well, would it surprise you if they did?”

“No. No, it would not,” I said in jest.

And honestly? He had a point.

Because everything about this boxset commits to the bit. The flies aren’t a joke or clever packaging. According to the band’s letter, the Initiation of Decay demos were recorded in a cabin in Alberta, in frigid temps, under genuinely harsh, isolating conditions. Somehow, despite the cold, a single fly managed to survive inside the cabin for a few days.

“We cherished that fly and took it as a high-five that we were making this demo,” the letter explains. 

When the fly finally died, they didn’t shrug it off. They gave it a funeral and put it in the fireplace. The two stayed inside for days after, letting the isolation shape the sound, letting the silence and confinement work. What emerged, according to the letter, was “raw, heavy, and deeply personal: the first real document of Gabi And The Fly.”

Decay as initiation. Rot as a starting line. Creation born from dying and transformation.

That idea is spelled out plainly in that letter:

“Initiation of Decay is about beginnings, rot, transformation, and the beauty that comes from building something for the sole purpose of creating art. It is not meant to be perfect or polished, but it’s meant to make you feel something—anything.”

That philosophy bleeds straight into the artwork. The Sacred Heart imagery isn’t reverent or safe. It’s pierced, exposed, overloaded with symbols that clash instead of harmonize. Doves linger like nervous witnesses. A hand reaches upward, not in prayer, but, perhaps, in need. Perhaps as a hand that's offering and taking at the same time. Everything feels assembled under pressure, scraped together, chaotic, and distressed on purpose.

It looks the way the music sounds: raw, unstable, emotional, and alive. No smoothing. No cleanup. No apology.

This isn’t merch for collectors who keep things sealed. It’s for people who like their art messy, physical, and a little confrontational. Something you touch. Something that leaves a mark.

Initiation of Decay doesn’t want to be admired from a distance.

It wants to be handled.

It wants to make you uncomfortable.

And it absolutely succeeds.