Wow. Just wow. Words cannot describe the sheer brutality and audio-terror inflicted by California hate-crew NAILS on their third full-length opus. This album brings all of the hatred bubbling under every human’s seemingly still skin, and causes it to erupt with the force of Eyjafjallajökull. NAILS has flawlessly perfected their blend of the blasting Metalcore fury of TRAP THEM with the powerviolent swagger of CAPITALIST CASUALTIES and MAGRUDERGRIND, galloping D-beat in the vein of ANTI-CIMEX and RIISTETYT, a savage dose of thrashcore leaning that hearkens to fellow warriors EARLY GRAVES and TRASH TALK, topped with a classic Swedish Death Metal guitar tone like that of ENTOMBED and UNLEASHED. Taking influence from diverse, yet brutal sources, NAILS was born ready to destroy, and they have been quite successful.
2009′s Obscene Humanity and 2010′s Unsilent Death held you by the throat and didn’t let up until they were over, but now, they beat you with shovelfuls of hot coal. Last year’s split with SKIN LIKE IRON and revamped Obscene Humanity joints showed that they were doing anything, but lying and occasionally diverting energy to the upcoming LP. NAILS has a work-ethic that makes their brand of Hardcore so vital and punishing for the listeners, just how they like it. With Abandon All Life now unleashed on the world, no one is safe in the pit.
From start to end, NAILS has shown that yes, they can up the ante as far as violence goes. Pure American aggression was plentiful in previous releases, and rest assured, it’s the same blood-bolstered beast of old, but they’ve only grown more violent, and more willing to see death and destruction unfold before them. Their newly added guitarist Saba may have a lot to do with this increase in their merciless musical gnashing, as guitars were once solely on the shoulders of vocalist TODD JONES (ex-TERROR, ex-BETRAYED). Armed with another soldier to cover more killing ground, it’s game-set-match for your face.
I could sit here and describe all of the tracks, but it’d just become hyperbole relating to how the band will metaphorically kill you. Just know that you’re in for a ride, start to end, as the album wastes no time in opening with “In Exodus”, a punishing breakdown busting in the doors of your ears, and leads immediately into a furious grind section with Todd’s howls doubly vitriolic, and the drums crashing like thousands of buildings collapsing at once. It’s nuts how much speed and aggression NAILS can pack into a single track, and yet still do sludgier hits like the closer “Suum Cuique” justice in the same fashion. Even more amazing is how even though this is their third full-length outing of misanthropic grinding hatecore, we’re still eagerly anticipating the next ravaging. In short, this is some good shit, homie. They are currently on tour with XIBALBA and EARLY GRAVES, so I look forward to hearing how well you fare just being in the venue when
NAILS may just have turned in the album of the year. Photo by Vanessa Harder.
RAMLORD, since their inception in 2011, haven’t quit exciting depressed and depressed-leaning people worldwide with their ethereal, yet uncompromisingly heavy take on Blackened Crusty Sludgy D-Beat Stenchviolence. It’s brutal, though not in the sense of slamdance ignancy in the pit. It’s brutal in terms of being trapped in an ice cave where the only exit is a glazed shaft that is impossible to climb with human hands, stark naked, covered in cuts and sores,encrusted with frozen blood and pus, awaiting your slow and agonized death by passing out of existence as your internal organs freeze and shut down. It’s nihilistic, bleak, and fucked up on heroin in a blizzard with only a sparsely studded denim vest and not even a threadbare blanket to its name. And it’s very good.
Right from the opening of “Nihil Fucking Lifeblood”, which wastes no time in getting started with a chord progression that’s at once beautiful and melodic, yet thrives on the energy from interruption by heavy chugs. It flawlessly creates the atmosphere of hopelessness and misanthropy that the band has perfected since their debut Stench of Fallacy, and builds off of their 10-minute epic, “Affliction Of Clairvoyance” from a split with Texan icemongers CARA NEIR. There are few, if any pauses in the beating the band gives in their surprisingly melodic attack. “Weakness” opens with freezing tremolo and blasting that is sure to appease Black Metallers who believe they aren’t Black enough. And it throws in a tunefully constructed punk groove at the end, for all of those who revel in filth and mid-tempos. This track is followed by three songs under a minute long, but just as punchy as any of their longer cuts. The only real gripe (should one even want to call it that) I have with this release is that the closer, “Extinction Of Clairvoyance”, is not quite as massive and catchy as “Affliction”, but I’m really hopping that the psychic madness does not cease, because it’s looking to be a great saga of depression and brooding hatred that I can’t get enough of in my already broken mind. It doesn’t care if it’s catchy, and for that I respect it.
I could go track-by-track, but it would just devolve into me saying “Damn, this breakdown’s heavy as fuck” or “This song makes me want to stab myself in the heart with a hypodermic needle full of Grade-A dope in the best way possible”, so I won’t, just know that there isn’t a bad track or moment on it. Listen for yourself and write your own damn review if you’re unsatisfied with this one, poser.
The whole album doesn’t let up, musically or lyrically from the themes of addiction, death, and hate. The themes are superbly handled by this most malodorous power trio. Vocals that sound like gale-force winds reborn with a throat full of ashes, rumbling bass that serves to accent the sublime audio crystalline daggers created by the not-too-intricate yet not-too-simple guitar work, and drumming that keeps the pace at wolves’ pace. There’s equal part beauty and horror in death and despair, as exemplified by music of this type. Read the lyrics and get sad that you’re not this creative, or something. You can buy their album here.
For fans of: ILSA, DARKTHRONE, BUZZOV*EN, DEVIATED INSTINCT, WELKIN DUSK
Give them the Maryland seal of quality while the ink’s still wet, fellas, because that state can do no wrong as far as quality extreme music. From the Deathgrind virtuosos MISERY INDEX, to the indomitable DYING FETUS, and the fast growing Hardcore act COKE BUST, it’s safe to say that STRONG INTENTION will naturally follow suit and be awesome. the only thing I’d change about this release is the cover art, but that’s a rant I’ll save for someone more judgmental than I. SI have been around since the mid-nineties, but mysteriously haven’t gotten as big as their aforementioned contemporaries. Something went highly amiss, as their mixture of CHARLES BRONSON/SPAZZ style Powerviolence with the new-school Thrash sound that’d find a home on the latest TOXIC HOLOCAUST joint, alongside a hearty dose of Southern fried Sludge should have hooked this godless country by the nose.
This EP immediately opens up with its title track, a Sludgy number with Mike Williams of EYEHATEGOD infamy performing the bulk of the vocals. It dips in and out of a Thrashcore inflected MAGRUDERGRIND vibe, which is honestly something I didn’t think that Mike Williams would ever sign up for, being accustomed to muggy, heroin induced grooves that can only be properly born south of Virginia. Mike’s on top form as far as sounding angry and acrawl with various diseases, so this change of speed actually suits him, and I’d like to see him (and any other willing Southern Metal vocalists) try it more often.
“Messiah Whore” begins immediately with the musical equivalent of artillery rounds entering your home while you sleep. Here they also showcase a bit of Death Metal influence as well as their dirty brand of what I’ll dub Grindviolence, with punishing blasts and sporting a riff that sounds not unlike some I’ve heard on EXHUMED’s Anatomy Is The Destiny. The breakdown is highly reminiscent of some I’ve heard by MISERY INDEX, which is not odd, as bands in that area seem to swap sounds as bored teenagers sexually transmitted infections. A solid track overall, and probably one of the standouts.
“Holes In The Wall” boasts a more straightforward Crossover style; think of the vocalist of BANE if he jammed with the band members of PUNCH and MUNICIPAL WASTE. The riffs that kick in at the very end are probably the most melodic thing to happen on the album, as they point towards SI’s ability to lock into killer grooves. I was a bit sad to see this track end so abruptly, as it promised a bit more variation from a mental nailbombing, but instead leads to the next track.
Mike Williams appears also on “3rd Space Gorilla Generator”, which is a title that shall give me nightmares for years to come. Pure DADA. This one’s a bit more by the numbers Hardcore, with the vocals being more like Jay Randall of AGORAPHOBIC NOSEBLEED. Aside from a small Sludge section where Mike steps up to the mic to howl in pain, it’s pure circle-pit mayhem.
“Rat Factory” continues the vocal tradition of the last track, which gives me the impression that either the vocalist’s larynx morphed over the course of the EP, or someone else stepped in due to an unfortunate neck-related incident. Curious indeed. This track is the second shortest, but packes a helluva punch, with a breakdown at the end that could knock down buildings.
“Slaughter Intelligence” is quite similar to the last track, but ends much more abruptly at only 54 seconds as opposed to “Rat Factory”s even minute. It makes me almost go against my very instincts, which aren’t a fan of the slow, 3-4 minute down-tempo tracks that Hardcore influenced bands usually toss in, often at the end of their releases, but this band actually made me hunger for one. Yes, EPs are short, but this was almost demo length, and was the equivalent of being given a handy when you expected whole night in Paris. That was gross, and I sincerely apologize.
The Verdict: It becomes more of a teaser than an actual appetizer for an album, but overall it’s still a sweet treat from the balmy climes of Maryland.
Canadian grinders Fuck the Facts have one of those encyclopedic discographies; one which is chock full of split, EPs and compilation releases with countless contemporaries…never mind the fact that the quintet also has eight prior full lengths to their credit.
Die Miserable is more of the same sort of spastic madness we’ve come to expect from the group; a jagged, visceral exercise which exorcises its demons via a relentless riff onslaught. Speaking of ‘exorcising,’ frontman Mel Mongeon comes through once again on this album, sounding frantically possessed and off-her-rocker pissed. Screams, howls and gutteral growling all erupt from Ms. Mongeon’s larynx with all the restraint of a rabid wildebeest, while her bandmates proceed to torture their instruments through eight gnarly tunes of death.
“Lifeless” serves as a big time highlight here, opening up with a priceless and brutal opening riff barrage, before degenerating into blastbeat madness. This is par for the course with Die Miserable; the album doesn’t really let go for a second, digging its fingers deep beneath the listener’s skin and pulling out all kinds of nastiness. If you want subtlety, look elsewhere, for Fuck the Facts are here to chew bubblegum and kick ass…and they’re all out of bubblegum.
Following up the killer Abuse record was probably no mean feat for Singapore’s grindcore saviors Wormrot, but Dirge does its damnedest to try and once again turn the genre on its collective ass.
For the most part, it succeeds. Dirge is a no-frills, no-filler affair which has only one setting: KILL.
In other words, don’t look for long, drawn out songs, or minute-long songs, for that matter. Nope, Wormrot aren’t messing around much, and instead come here to clean house, taking all self-importance and genre flippery out of the equation.
In their place, we have hyper-blasts and near-chaotic level noise, anchored/saved by the band’s super-tight delivery and devilish intent. Running a mere eighteen minutes long, Dirge probably could’ve been a little longer, but that isn’t really the point. Instead, Wormrot only reiterate their music’s intensity, as well as its freedom from needless exposition. Songs come and go, bleeding into one another as a coherent collective; an effort which sounds birthed from excitement and thoughtful execution.
Leaving behind most of the death/grind Terrorizer influences which permeated Abuse, this record attacks with a more stripped down and raw production, and a focus which speaks loudly of a more shut-up-and-grind aesthetic than that of the ‘let’s get everything sounding perfect’ set.
If this sort of mortar blast floats your boat-and you already know it does-then go out and DOWNLOADDirge today! While you’re at it, however, thank these blokes and buy a t-shirt.
Noisear don’t create your average, everyday sort of grind.
No, Subvert the Dominant Paradigm is way more of a spastic proposition than anything remotely associated with traditional death/grind morays. This isn’t exactly a bad thing, however, because the band-which features Phobia/Kill the Client drummer Bryan Fajardo on near-heart attack duty-manages to capture and reign in all of the excitement and edge-of-the-cliff wildness which can so dutifully separate the grindcore wheat from the chaff.
Yes, Noisear have the goods and the talent to back up all of this craziness with an above-average musicality and control, lending Subvert the Dominant Paradigm a certain, palatable freshness which embodies both grind traditionalism and power-violent experimentation with exciting, energetic results.
Guitars sqeuak, squeal and torment the listener with endless discord, yet there’s a definite memorable twinge lurking beneath it all; a catchy semblance of structure which lifts Noisear and Subvert the Dominant Paradigm above their recent contemporaries in terms of real, kick ass grind done right.
Crazier than Nasum, more solid than Spazz, Noisear is somewhere stylistically in between these two grind extremes; a satisfying compromise which should serve fans quite well regardless, taking this oft-difficult genre to task all its own.
