LIVE REVIEW: Cape Ov Bats / Deathmonger A.D. / Horse Drawn / Coastal Plain

Cape Ov Bats / Deathmonger / Horse Drawn / Coastal Plain

September 4th, 2016 - The Storefront

So I’ve only been in Philadelphia for a month, and I should be way better about learning the city’s trolley and train routes. But I was running a little late to a show in the Kensington neighborhood, so I skipped advancing my local transportation education and grabbed an Uber. On the way, the driver – a native Philadelphian – asked why I was heading out to Kensington. “Music?” he incredulously countered to my reply. “Use to be, the only music you heard in Kensington was the rhythm of the gunshots.” That’s his opinion, even before I explain my destination is an unmarked venue known only as The Storefront.

The Storefront feels like someone converted a budget travel agency into a make-shift squatter space then into a venue. That means foam board ceilings bedazzled with Christmas lights and floral couches flanking a coffee table littered with spent beer cans. Despite the David Lynchian setting, I was excited to hear the four bands booked for the DIY show.

Coastal Plain calls themselves “dark metal” and that’s an appropriate but admittedly vague description. The New Jersey trio’s compositions felt like technicolor death metal textured by blackened discord, spacey soul-searching, and tangents into Gorguts weirdness. Their drummer pounded out stark rhythms, doubled over behind the kit with his hair obscuring his face. They let their music speak for them, limiting between-song banter, which really allowed time and space for the progressive compositions to breathe. Will definitely seek out more.

Ohio black/death gravediggers Horse Drawn followed. They overcame early technical issues with the vocal mic to deliver an onslaught of blast beats and Jonny Doyle’s barbed riffs. With or without amplification, Bryce Seditz paced in front of the crowd screaming with full conviction. He was an electric performer, his forehead bruised and scraped from a short tour’s worth of microphone-bashing, channeling G.G. Allin’s venom without all of Allin’s other body fluids. Their four song set absolutely ripped, staying true to the spirit of American black metal without feeling like a cut ‘n’ paste retread. After truncating their Horse Drawn Death Machine moniker, I’m eager to hear the material recorded as they continue the demoing and recording process.

Deathmonger A.D. and Cape Ov Bats closed out the evening, two local crews that share members (who all seemingly have wardrobes of Integrity shirts). Deathmonger A.D.’s shadowy and metallic death punk got the first (tiny) pit of the night stirring, playing to a passionate room of hometown supporters. Cape Ov Bats’ spirited set blended crust and melodic black metal while thrashing in the shadow of death rock. Each band definitely had their own identity, but the overlap between each seemed more obvious because of the tight-knit crowd. I’d love to see both bands on separate bills, preferably in venues where the crowd’s less restrained by the fluorescent-lit surroundings.

All in all, it was a hell ov a night. There was a tangible sense of unity and camaraderie at the show, which ultimately felt more like a social club with music than a music venue. Beers and gear were shared freely, with laughter resonating over the surf rock and luau music blasting over the speakers between sets. I’m still becoming acquainted with the city, and sometimes to really understand the pulse of a music scene you need to knock on the door of a locked storefront and hope it’s the right place to see some bands with a sonic mean streak. I knocked on the right door.

REVIEW: SEALCLUBBER - STOICAL

Starting with a song titled “Tales of a Romanian Horse Whisperer,” UK mood-ruiners Sealclubber immediately bludgeon the listener with noisy sludge. Based on the prevailing sense of dread and hostility in the scabrous songs on Stoical, I’m guessing this horse whisperer has more in common with the deranged theatrics and animal mutilation of Equus than that Robert Redford snooze-fest.

Speaking of animal mutilation, you might have frowned at that band name already. If it’s any solace, the violent intentions of these songs don’t stop at aquatic mammals, and humans are very much in danger once pressing play. With their barbed riffs and the pitch-black ugliness of Drunk Dad and Trap Them, Sealclubber feel like Deadguy if they lasted long enough to have an experimental sludge phase. Like the bands mentioned, Sealclubber’s songs aren’t just sutured opiate-abusing crusty gutterpunk riffs tuned to the brown note. Even in a furious barnburner like “Haima,” the song scavenges elements of hardcore and stoner metal to create a richly textured soundtrack for giving and receiving shit news.

Despite a three-plus minute atmospheric interlude frustratingly murdering momentum, the album quickly regains its footing with “Vows of Silence.” Between suckerpunches of distortion, the reverb of callused fingers scraping over guitar strings leads to a foreboding bass tone that floats above the song like a storm cloud ready to empty apocalyptic rainfall.

It’s a fitting prelude to the disarmingly pensive epic “I Only Desire the Things That Will Destroy Me in the End.” That title likely applies to most fans of heavy music, whether it be regarding their bad habits, currently undiscovered crimes, or the headbanging riffs that will eventually snap their necks. The song proceeds patiently, feeling its way along desolate corridors. Two-thirds of the way through its almost twelve-minute runtime, the song confronts the bloody aftermath it was seeimngly trying to avoid. While the climax isn’t as destructive as hinted by the album’s first half, it still feels like the inevitable victory of baser instincts, where volume rules and subtlety burns away like bong resin. It’s a nuanced track that lingers in the listener’s mind long after it gently fades out.

While their two-song EP Sticky River was impressive, this is a definite leap forward for Sealclubber. While retaining their nihilistic bite, they also build soundscapes that reflect a rotting metropolis in a puddle of mud, blood, and petrol. Looking out my window right now, the view sure as hell sounds familiar.

Follow Sealclubber over on Facebook and check for news on a Stoical pre-order, available from Medusa Crush Recordings on February 5th.

GUEST REVIEW: MAMMOTH GRINDER - UNDERWORLDS

Continuing our series of metal reviews by non-metal fans, Mister Growl welcomes back guest reviewer Shane Frasier, manager of Acquired Taste Bookings and creator of the Behemoth Music Festival (a series of concerts in Upstate New York that recently reached down into Brooklyn). He has also been a member of roughly seven thousand bands, ranging from hardcore punk (Daytime Soiree) to electronic/dance music (Mr. Owl) to eccentric insanity (The Lanky Mofos and The Bumblebees). He was nice enough to accept our invitation and review the new Mammoth Grinder album, Underworlds:

“You don't need much of an active imagination to guess what kind of music Mammoth Grinder is. It'd be funny, and yes, kind of unique, for them to be a jazz quartet, but no, these guys play a thrashy version of hardcore that demands you to throw down in a pit. But fitting the bill name-wise doesn't save one from ridicule, especially in the music world. Thankfully, I have little to gripe about with their new album, Underworlds.

Mammoth Grinder is fast-paced and destructive, but they stay just out of reach of the term “brutal” to save them from being bogged down by such associations. It's the kind of music I feel a psychopath would listen to to get pumped about hunting down some moronic teens in a horror film. While it mainly stays grounded in its fast-paced hardcore roots, it does try to stray often enough to not warrant it being considered bland.

"Wraparound Eyes" and "Paragon Pusher" really emphasize what these guys are trying to do here, sporting quick beats, growling vocals, and thrash-induced riffs that never overstay their welcome (but how could they at under 3 minutes anyways?). The guitar work on these songs takes center stage, with harmonizing parts that effortlessly blend together to create a wall of cacophony so great that I'm sure somewhere, in the vast ruins of space, some universe has been torn apart.

"Barricades" and "Roperide" work at a breakdown-like pace, chugging through with a sense of dread. They feel slightly metallic in their approach, but don't stay true to their tropes. "Barricades" really takes the cake out of these two, mainly because it’s so damn catchy. I've often found it's hard to make slower paced songs more memorable, mainly because, in these genres, they're more focused on being destructive more than anything. It’s nice to be reminded there are exceptions to the rule.

"Born In A Bag" and "Breeding" bring back the speed, displaying a punk attitude in the songs. I know, thrash and hardcore are pretty close siblings to punk in the music world, but really getting them to fit together is hard work. Others like "Moral Crux" deviate from the prominent fast-paced setting, relying on its intensity and slow-paced doom to instill wonder in the audience.

Underworlds is very solid, and while nothing is really different from anything I've heard before, it doesn't matter. Mammoth Grinder has set up an album that never finds a middle ground, opting to either go fast or slow. That black or white mentality might be a turn off to some people, but that's what kept me going with it. I’ve always wanted a variety of tempos and genre influences in each song, but for some reason, Mammoth Grinder wooed me away from that mentality. It's about time someone did.”

- Shane Frasier

(Editor’s note: This album is in my list of top albums for the year. I will be releasing a Top 50 list in December. - Mister Growl)

Many thanks to Shane for covering this release, and we seem to have some momentum with THREE positive guest reviews in a row from Mister Frasier. Note to self: Send Shane all crusty grind/punk/hardcore/d-beat releases we need reviewed.

Stream Underworlds over here at Bandcamp and buy it for a well-spent $6.66:  http://mammothgrinder.bandcamp.com/

REVIEW: NO FEALTY - IN THE SHADOW OF THE MONOLITH

Some band names require no exploration. Death, or Grave, for instance. Standard death metal band names obsessed with mortality. For No Fealty, a political hardcore crust/grind band from Copenhagen, I admittedly had to do a little research. It turns out “fealty” has the following definition: The fidelity, or an oath of loyalty, of a vassal or feudal tenant to their lord. So it’s safe to say that in No Fealty’s world, if you’re one of the 1% you better watch your privileged ass. Combine that with the (awesomely) disturbing cover, and there’s enough fury here to inspire god to eat his cherubs.

Leaning a bit more on the grind side of the spectrum than traditional hardcore punk, No Fealty peel through twelve tracks in about 25+ minutes on In the Shadow of the Monolith. The album title would be perfect for a classic doom album by Candlemass, but it’s just as poignant here, referencing the nearly unfathomable amount of tyranny and oppression we face (and often ignore) daily. Well, this is one album that’s impossible to ignore. Beginning with the pissed-off stomp of “Deprivation,” the album slams ahead like the first furious charge of a rioting crowd. There are plenty of surprises and enlightened moments of texture here, with the thrashy groove of “Strict Seawater Diet” and the chilling, cold-blooded sludge of “Discomposure” being especially memorable. And of course there are the burners that rage forward at a thousand miles an hour, destroying everything casting a shadow; “Animalism” bares its teeth with prominent bass work, “Savior” takes a jab at D-beat punk with Ramming Speed’s intensity, and “Rabies God” closes the album like a smear of blood on a church’s front door.

There are a few choices that don’t work for me, like the momentum-killing audio clips and spacey atmospherics of “The Emperor is Laughing (While You are Making Plans),” and a queasy bridge riff (around 2:15) in “Feed the Leviathan,” but these are minor complaints compared to the overall unruly energy and DIY, buzzsaw-guitar aesthetic the album successfully captures. When No Fealty employs gang vocals (like in “Damnant Quod Non Intelligunt” and “Deprivation”), that manic approach translates even further to a unified voice of unrest and anger. In the Shadow of the Monolith may not be totally revolutionary in style and execution, but it’s definitely the soundtrack of a rebellion. Combining the blazing speed of Weekend Nachos with the political sludgy, hardcore punk of Ravage Ritual, there’s plenty to look forward to in No Fealty’s future, even if humanity’s future doesn’t seem quite as bright.

Listen to In the Shadow of the Monolith, available now as a “name your price” download over at Bandcamp:  http://nofealty.bandcamp.com/album/in-the-shadow-of-the-monolith

And check them out on Facebook for news, including their account of their recent record release show:  https://www.facebook.com/nofealty

REVIEW: SEALCLUBBER - STICKY RIVER

I’m gonna go out on a flimsy limb and guess that the seal this band threatens to club (jokingly, they revealed in a recent interview), is the semi-aquatic marine mammal and not the singer of “Kiss from a Rose.” Both acts are illegal, but the imagery here is important. Sealclubber are from Black Country, UK, which to an ignorant American like me sounds exactly like what I picture Cormac McCarthy novel landscapes look like: Brutal deserts, harsh temperatures, and unforgiving rain droughts. After some investigation it’s totally the opposite of some barren cowboy wasteland and is one of the first heavily industrialized areas of Britain.

The idea of the ground covered in black soot and the air thick with gaseous pollution totally makes sense when you hear this band’s music, though. On their two-song debut EP, Sticky River, Sealclubber dips crust punk in hot tar and drags sludge through toxic, black water populated with fanged, mutated fish. There is nothing manufactured about this music and it doesn’t fit perfectly in any mold, but it’s deformed, disgruntled, and ready to throw you into the gears of whatever machine will pulverise your bones the quickest.

“Losing a Fighting Battle” opens the show with harmonized guitars before diving through a landfill wall of garbage and discarded rotting pets and blasting into a greasy crust punk riff. The guitar parts groove with inspired flourishes that invoke dusty rock’n’roll and swampy sludge that would fit in the Savannah, GA scene. The heaviest moments remind me of The Abominable Iron Sloth if they grew up listening to Cro-Mags, but with less predictable structure. Simon Blewitt’s vocals are husky, harsh, and could give a colony of seals cardiac arrest, making them easier to subsequently club.

“Pissing in an Open Wound,” besides being at least mildly uncomfortable for the recipient of the urine, is also a noisy little patchwork of twisting post-metal, nasty knuckle-bruising punk rock, and the same black-water sludge appearing in the first track. Blewitt’s vocals drop an octave as his growl guides the song into darker territory and the band’s second Simon (Ingram) provides stand-out drumming as the song writhes riff to riff. In the most discordant sections of the song it sounds like the guitars are being played like a cello with a bonesaw, and that someone could step into one of these songs and drown in the muck.

This is a great teaser from a new band that likely doesn’t hate seals with enough zeal to club them, but will settle for clubbing eardrums instead. If you follow this blog you’re familiar with my label-crush on Witch Hunter Records, and this is another example why. Each band on their roster flashes originality, ugliness, and intensity, and none of them feel like clones created to fill a need. Sealclubber don’t care if you’re offended, and luckily I’m only offended by uninspired music. This nasty slab of scuzzy sludge is so good even the most hardcore seals would wear their logo as a backpatch.

Sticky River releases on August 2nd, but go listen to it now over at Bandcamp: http://sealclubber.bandcamp.com/music

And follow them on Facebook for news on merch and gigs:  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sealclubber/473306152706632

GUEST REVIEW: P.O.O.R. - EXTINCTION OF TRUST

Continuing our series of metal reviews by non-metal fans, Mister Growl welcomes back guest reviewer Shane Frasier, Acquired Taste Booking owner and creator of the Behemoth Music Festival (a series of concerts in Upstate New York that recently reached down into Brooklyn). He has also been a member of roughly seven thousand bands, ranging from hardcore punk (Daytime Soiree) to electronic/dance music (Mr. Owl) to eccentric insanity (The Lanky Mofos and The Bumblebees). He was nice enough to accept our invitation and review the new release from P.O.O.R. (Point of Our Resistance), their album Exttinction of Trust. With the NSA ‘bating while listening to our calls and reading our e-mails and more toxins filling our food every day it’s a perfect time to listen to this album:

“I always thought the saying, 'It's the little things in life', was bullshit. Really? Are you really content with the little things in life? If a gentle breeze whiffed by your face for a few seconds on a brutally hot summer day would you really say to yourself, 'That made my day'? No, you wouldn't, and don't lie to me, because I know who you and know where you live and will make you tell the truth. But, for the first time ever, I found myself uttering this phrase while listening to P.O.O.R's album, Extinction Of Trust.

What I am trying to say here is that you don't need to be fancy in order to deliver good music, and P.O.O.R does it well. Fitting itself somewhere between thrash, grindcore and hardcore, Extinction Of Trust passes you by quickly (Not having a song longer than 2:26), but leaves a fun, lasting impression because of the obvious joy these guys clearly had making this music.

The album is comprised of 24 tracks, each one more mosh-pit inducing than the last.  “Bastard Complex,” “Flip The Scripture” and “Your Bullshit” remain my favorite tracks on the album, delivering quick hardcore punk ditties in an otherwise growly thrash album, which, I must admit, is a welcome addition if for any other reason than I am a huge hardcore punk fan. That's not to say I don't appreciate the other songs, on the contrary, they're all great, I just have to make my loyalties clear sometimes.

Songs like a “A Man Called Disease” often wake you up to the fact that you are listening to a grindcore album, but the fact that every song is different in a way really makes you love what these guys are doing. One second “Christian Science Fiction” makes you wonder if you're listening to a metal-influenced tough-guy hardcore band then, like clockwork, a song like “Cherrorizer” smacks you in the face waking you back up to the fact that the grindcore roots of the album are back into full swing. Also, putting one of the biggest smiles on my face is the cover of “Religious Vomit,” a Dead Kennedys song. Being a huge Dead Kennedys fan, I find myself embarrassed saying that I kind of prefer P.O.O.R's version more. I think my only problem with the album is that it ends, and I know that might come across as a cliched answer, but I could care less. It's how I feel. I didn't want this album to stop playing when it did.

Overall, P.O.O.R's Extinction Of Trust totally made my day. It's a wake up call, and a welcome one at that, knowing music like this is out there. Too often are we shoveled the same genre-sticking music day in and day out, knowing full well that, somewhere out there, a diamond in the rough awaits our discovery. If you have a soul, you'll love this album. If not, you'll be crying in your bedroom by yourself, slamming your head against the wall wishing you had a soul so you could like this album.”

- Shane Frasier

(Editor’s note: I also wanted to mention that Matt Harvey from Exhumed also appears for guest vocals and solos. I will be reviewing Exhumed’s Necrocracy sometime over the next week.)

Many thanks to Shane for covering this release, and YAY we finally landed a positive review from outside of the metal community. Sure, maybe I cheated a little, knowing he was a Dead Kennedys/Minor Threat fan and hearing a lot of that influence deep in the belly of this grinding punk album, but I digress.

Stream Extinction of Trust over here at Bandcamp and buy it for a totally modest $7 to support these Californians:  http://poorgrind.bandcamp.com/album/extinction-of-trust

And follow them on Facebook for touring news and info on future releases:  https://www.facebook.com/POORGRIND

REVIEW: SPLIT - TEETHING / RAVAGE RITUAL

This nasty little 12 inch split shares the meanest cuts from two bands prepared to kick the religion right out of your keister. Teething and Ravage Ritual team up for a record that stinks like an unwashed political prisoner and bites like a cannibalistic hermit.

Teething are somewhere between the buzzsaw death grind of Napalm Death and P.O.O.R. and the growling d-beat blasts of Skitsystem. Formed in Madrid, Spain, their music is loud, fast, and storms into brawls prepared to fight dirty, taping glass and chunks of brick to its knuckles. Teething’s songs are a violent call to action that takes Tool’s passive “fuck all the [insert item(s) here]” mantra from Ænima and takes it the next rebellious step forward, like the brutal blur of anger in “Starting Fires.” This is music that fights lies with pyromania and oppression with razors. From the thundering, familiar bass drum gallop to the toxic gang-shouts of “How To Kill A Child,” Teething know how to bring a mosh pit to a boil and bust eardrums with crusty hooks and immediately recognizable hostility.

Ravage Ritual have a more varied approach, introducing elements of death metal into their charging hardcore grind that only occasionally resembles fellow Finnish band Rotten Sound. “Deadbeat” slams a Disfear-styled attack into a sludgy breakdown that feels like dragging your body across a slaughterhouse floor sticky with blackened, moldy meat and old blood. “Drown Beyond Insane” introduces metallic riffs over blastbeats before switching gears into an acidic groove tailored for possessed headbanging. Then there’s “Hymn II,” a grimy slab of street-gutter doom that sounds like it was cooked up in a basement meth lab, ending with ambient guitar work like a snarling cloud of flies descending on the masses. It’s an eerie, foreboding conclusion to the split album, and I appreciated the tempo shift as it crawled to a stop.

This is a great split from Nooirax Productions that should be sought out by fans of extreme music everywhere. Maybe you don’t share the anti-cop sentiments of Teething, maybe the slower moments in Ravage Ritual’s songs aren’t your poisoned cup of tea, but there’s no denying the passion and aggression in these songs. You get the idea that these guys mean exactly what they’re shouting, and that sort of sincerity amplifies the music even louder for me.

Check out the split album for FREE over at Bandcamp, and donate what you can if you like this album as much as I did:  http://nooirax.bandcamp.com/album/split-12

Then check out Teething over on their Facebook page:  https://www.facebook.com/teethingband

And do the same for Ravage Ritual:  https://www.facebook.com/ravageritual

REVIEW: CONFINE - SETTING FIRE TO THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE

Take a breath before you listen to Setting Fire to the Western Hemisphere, because it’s the last time you’ll taste air for almost eight minutes. Depending on where you live, that could be a good thing. Here in Brooklyn the air tastes like old deli meat, diesel fumes, and sun-baked dog shit.

Written and recorded in a span of four days (that probably saw black clouds raining rusty nails and suicidal stock market traders onto the roof of their UK recording compound), Confine assault listeners with a relentless blast of grinding powerviolence that strips extreme music down to the bare essentials: Loud and heavy. I’ve never seen a picture of drummer Rich Speakman, but with his gatling gun fills I’m guessing his arms and legs have bionic components. The riffs may share DNA with the dirtiest strands of punk, but Confine are to punk what salamanders are to Komodo Dragons. If this music bit you the bacteria would kill you within the hour.

While most of the album feels like the blur of a hollow-tipped bullet racing towards its target, there’s also the drum’n’vox breakdown transitioning into murky hardcore of “Perception,” the filthy sludge intro of “Abstraction,” and the queasy roar of “Formation and Transformation,” my personal favorite track that feels like it’s high on white phosphorus. But the band excels at grind, and cuts the oxygen supply while Chris Reese siphons just enough air to peel the skin from inside his throat with possessed shrieks that bring to mind Todd Jones of Nails. The only song that didn’t work for me was “Legacy,” with its jarring stop-and-start rhythm. This is still a vicious release from Witch Hunter Records, and would be perfect for a grindcore picnic with a portable stereo, accompanied by Napalm Death and Full of Hell LPs in the picnic basket. It’s officially summer here in the states now, so I hope I’m not the only one having grindcore picnics.

Listen to Setting Fire to the Western Hemisphere over on Bandcamp here:  http://confine.bandcamp.com/

And follow Confine on Facebook for news and merch:  https://www.facebook.com/confinegrind

REVIEW: MOURNING CLOAK - NO VISIBLE LIGHT

Hat tip to Headfirst! Records for pointing my crusty ears in the direction of Mourning Cloak, who have one song available over on Bandcamp called “No Visible Light.” The title is apt, because this track is an ominous cloud blocking the sun, raining down charcoal dust, black mud, and infant ash on us all.

Their Facebook page refers to their music as “funeral doom/punk,” but I only hear the former in this track. But this song doesn’t sulk through the cemetery, it grooves hard enough to split the catacombs in half, releasing the crypt bats into the air. After the quickly dissipating opening ambience the guitars crawl from open graves and shake the rust off their bones with godless black-and-blues riffs. There is suck a thick layer of slime and sludge on this song that it reminds me of that barrier of grime and giant centipedes Indiana Jones’ love interest sticks her hand through in Temple of Doom. If you don’t get that reference, here it is in non-geek language: This song is nasty and unpleasant in the most sadistically delightful ways possible. The vocalist sounds like he’s plummeting into a bottomless pit, shaking hands with the devil to make a pact to finally break his fall. The song concludes with a (slightly overlong) cacophony of mayhem and sirens, which sadly just sounded like the usual Brooklyn madness outside my window, home of serial-arsonists and fisticuffs. I’m really anxious to hear more from these guys from Greensboro, NC, especially if upcoming songs mix in the punk influences they mention as well. I’m not sure if they named themselves after the butterfly species (Latin name: Nymphalis antiopa) but I did notice that the pre-butterfly larvae form looks exactly like the type of creature who would jam out to this music: Mean, dressed in black, dotted suspiciously with red stains, and covered in spikes. This is some seriously bleak stuff that fans of Bongzilla and Cough should feverishly inhale.

Listen to “No Visible Light” over at Bandcamp here: http://mourningcloaknc.bandcamp.com/

And follow them on Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/mourningcloaknc

REVIEW: KORESH - CHUMP

I judge books by their covers all the time. Albums too. Luke Drozd’s cover art for Koresh’s new EP Chump perfectly captures the music’s brutal, impish mania, with rage-possessed unicorns dueling for unknown reasons, but probably for something ultra-important, like to impress a nearby unicorn chick who totally digs blood-slicked horns, ‘cause really, who doesn’t? Koresh, who have been churning stomachs with punk-infused sludge for a decade now in London, kick out ugly, nasty tunes that smirk at you the whole time if you’re in on the joke. And the music ain’t the joke.

This release from Witch Hunter and Withered Hand Records, a follow-up to 2010's excellent Crippledriver, crackles with the reckless punk energy of The Stooges or Junkyard-era work by The Birthday Party while dishing out crusty sludge overdosing on groove and grit. The Paul Newell/Donny Hopkins vocal tandem reminds me of Weedeater’s Dave “Dixie” Collins, if his vocal cords were grafted with cells from Nocturno Culto’s throat. There is definitely a sense of fun that permeates Chump, from the celebratory “woo!” in “Straight Edge Till Midnight” to the hilarious audio clip from American Juggalo opening “Wogan” to the T-shirt worthy song title “Adolf Hipster.” Also, “You Can Call Me Gaahl” is my favorite title parody since Carcass’ “Keep On Rotting In the Free World.” Koresh, named after the Branch Davidian leader involved with the infamous Waco incident, share a twisted sense of humor that’s absolutely on my wavelength. You know the friend you can send any joke to, no matter how offensive and reprehensible? Yeah, that’s Koresh. This music is like laughter at a funeral, the type of chuckling that’s contagious and soon overtakes the crowd of mourners.

“Cheer Up Glasgow” shows Koresh at their most bleak, offering tortured doom until it blasts into hardcore punk and a stoned groove that brings to mind the slimy tempo shifts of Eyehategod’s In the Name of Suffering. Koresh crash into jagged noise-rock territory in “Bin Juice,” ripping worlds apart with catchy, spastic riffs that skip gentle head-nodding and go straight to tearing your own head off and tossing it in the air in celebration. The bass-heavy rock of “Shitbird” seems a bit rigid and lifeless compared to the rest of the album, but the final minute still slithers to awesomeness thanks to a killer bass line. Chump is the soundtrack of a bender destined to go bad, the sort of party where hundreds of laws are shattered and at least one person loses a limb. Then years later, when the traumatized partyers break vows to never speak of that night again, everyone admits that secretly, despite the debauchery and limb-loss, it was the best party they ever experienced. Koresh is not polite. They will make fun of your mom, even after you tell her she’s dead. But the joke will get you laughing, and their music will make you swear off civility.

Listen to Crush now and order an awesome CD/Shirt bundle over here:  http://witchhunterrecords.bigcartel.com/product/koresh-chump-cd-and-t-shirt-bundle

And check out the Koresh website for more information:  http://straightedgetillmidnight.blogspot.com/

REVIEW: FULL OF HELL - RUDIMENTS OF MUTILATION

Don’t be afraid, be very afraid. Full of Hell’s new album, Rudiments of Mutilation, is what all those fairy tales were warning you about. All the ugly, cruel, dangerous elements of the world have packed their bindles and trekked across broken glass and glowing embers to join the sonic fray in this release. While quotes from the band suggest that the album is simply about “meaningless suffering” I created an entire narrative of a tortured soul recounting violent deeds and troubling experiences post-mortem, waiting for the revelation of what exists when our pulse ceases, and finding nothing. In the street-wise words of Blood for Blood, “What have we got? We got nihilism.”

Full of Hell blast pitch-black, grinding crust’n’doom at their audiences like they have a lifelong grudge against anyone in shouting distance. After “Dichotomy” lures the listener in with howls from a bottomless pit and eerie scattershot drumming, “Vessel Deserted” taps into the hardest core of crust punk before slipping into the abyss for one of several funeral sludge passages, where Dylan Walker’s vocals trail away like smoke from bodies burnt to destroy evidence. Full of Hell rip through a few grinders before pounding out “Indigence and Guilt,” a vicious hardcore song with stop-and-start riffage over a grimy wall of tremolo noise. When Full of Hell muscle up and aim to maim there is no place safe to hide. You don’t want to have an arm wrestling contest with Rudiments of Mutilation. Remember Jeff Goldblum in The Fly? Compound fracture just waiting for you, son.

The middle of the album opens up into a gaping pit of despair as “Embrace” features lifeless, droning musing over feedback and a swampy, groovy bass line. The song bleeds over into the doom track “The Lord Is My Light,” whose dissonant opening chords dive cranium-first into a pool of coagulated blood. This portion of the album is the harshest, scraping along on its belly like a dying snake trying to swallow its last rat-meal before it stops breathing. Then it’s back to the daily grind, with “Bone Coral and Brine” and the title track cranking out crusty, savage hardcore punk with barbed-wire texture. The album closes with “In Contempt of Life” marching bleakly to a halt, with barked vocals reverberating restlessly through a purgatory of ash and bone dust that I assume looks frighteningly like Wyoming. In Full of Hell’s nasty reality there’s never a moment of silence, just the shrill ringing in your ears after a speaker explodes or a gun goes off.

This release is exactly what makes A389 Recordings one of the most important labels in aggressive music. Full of Hell has a versatile and downright scary sound that needs to be celebrated and appreciated by fans of sonic extremity. The Dude was totally accurate, even in jest, when he suggested being a nihilist is exhausting. So even the most dedicated nihilists should take a break and seek out Rudiments of Mutilation, because this album will make you believe in nothing except the lasting power of a musician with a bad mood. Full of Hell are also touring extensively through June, so support these bad mofos on the road. Can’t wait to catch them in Brooklyn with Trap Them and Seven Sisters of Sleep, that sounds like the best excuse for a concussion I’ve ever heard.

Check out the album streaming NOW at:  http://www.terrorizer.com/2013/04/23/full-of-hell-rudiments-of-mutilation-stream/

And though vinyl pre-orders are sold out, get a CD/Shirt combo over at A389:

http://www.a389records.com/site/