Street Sects, The Morning After The Night We Raped Death 2014

And now for something completely different. 

Before you get round to listening to The Morning After The Night We Raped Death there is an accompanying manifesto/backstory, well worth a read and whilst I don't want to ruin any surprises  to you, its inferred that TMATNWRD is a concept album dedicated to being aware of our own mortality. And whilst one might come to expect existentialist philosophy to be the most tangential piece of mental stimulation a band might have going, with Street Sects the music is en par in the brain cranking department.

The Morning After the Night We Raped Death is a mind numbing digital phantasm sprung from catatonic beats and erratic rhythmic headway, synthesizing a genre frankenstein that takes life from everything between its vanguard of hardcore of the electronic variety in texture and suit, teeth grinding industrial blare, breakcore's infamous aggression in tempo and percussion heavy spiel and to a lessor extent the sonic palette cleanser of noise too. Populated with pneumatic drums, deranged samples and in possession of all the ambiance one might expect of a landfill of mangled circuitry to possess, Street Sects are harsh manipulators of all things digital, be they sample, machine drum or those nameless slithers of noise/ambiance that penetrate through. Street Sects seemingly erratic process of re-appropriation and corruption leads to a devastatingly disorientating yet also subtly euphoric sort of experience. 

Review: Archagathus / Nak'ay 2013


Mince-sleaze mongers Archagathus are at it again, and by it I refer to that unholy guttural clamour of vomitous GISM-eque bellows, sordid riffage and splintering percussive spiel, all slathered in a nauseating excess gloop of production muck and slime; delightful. Whilst the prince of mince and co's discography seems to be swelling at an exponential rate (every time I pick up an Archagathus release at least another two seem to stem forth) the band have a pretty cool non-linear progression about them that never makes for a dull Archagathus release. Having besieged all things gorey, noisey and absurd in their ever bastardising breed of mince this split with Nak'ay takes a more direct attitude: maximum pulverization, making this one of if not the most gut wrenchingly heavy and brutal of Archagathus' records to date (its hard to quantify when you have half a billion releases), even still that inherent and charismatic goofiness and dankness is not lost on this pulverizing pursuit.

If the idea of Archagathus in and around their heaviest did not leave a puddle of Pavlovian drool below you then the thought of 12 tracks of post-Insect Warfare blare from the bestial miscreants Nak'ay will without a doubt do the trick.Very similar in texture to the now gone Cellgraft, Nak'ay possess all the acidity one would expect of the madness that manages to combine the raw appeal of Excruciating Terror with the sheer nuclear weight of Insect Warfare. I can only imagine that Nak'ays instruments are made of something as cutting and acrid as themselves, guitar heads made of rusted pipe, barbed wire strings and a drum kit made from rusted steel drums and and chunks of corrugated iron, meanwhile vocals lack any sort of human civility and are a feral ferocity that will trigger a hapless sense of fear from even the boldest of men. Any sense of rhythm, and I use the term loosely consists of cramming as much carnage as possible in as short time as possible, this coupled with Nak'ays ear for abrasive tones ranks them among the most fierce, loud and destructive bands in existence right now, and currently this being a 12 track venture its the closest we have got to a Nak'ay full length, so get behind it!

Archagathus / Nak'ay

EveryDayHate , Haunted Hotel RecordsPickle Dick RecordsD.I.TSuburban White Trash RecordsInsurgency RecordsWitch Bukkake RecordsAdamant Blasts,Grindfather Productions

Review: Slavestate 641A, Masochist 2013

On this recording, we created our own microphones from aluminum cans and piezo discs, software for structuring lyrics, semi-working hydrophones, and made our best attempt at drowning ourselves by screaming underwater. I think part of my goal was to look at our influences, and our beginnings as a hardcore band, and try to make in unfamiliar. It really depresses me to see so many people fuck up this kind of music. It should fairly apparent what I think of ironic retro acts from the track “Screwdriver”, similarly I hope to avoid the pretension of attempting to link it to whatever “high art” is in vogue. This is something that is a focus of my work lately. The past is important, but I think we should investigate how we incorporate previous perspectives rather than simply retread them. Otherwise you end up creating more material to be easily appropriated as cultural capital or trivia some ironic dick head will use to get laid.

The title ‘Masochist’ was provided by Luke, he said it encapsulated our working process, and reminded me of how literal that was (I used to have him hit me with a belt in between vocal takes to maintain energy).
— Ryan,

Slavestate 641A is punks very own antihero, gone is the vitriolic vibrancy and adolescent furor we have come to expect of the genre and in its stead stands a bled out nadir of punk, a drone of mangled chords and circuitry set to insomniac servitude under the slow burn of skulking rhythmic collapse. Masochist reeks of dilapidation and despair, existing - if we can call it such, in a state too fragile and cold for gainful exertion, instead it passes its torment with crumbling therapeutic throes and anodyne sedation that permeates deep under the skin for an unsettling crawling sensation. In many respects Masochist reminds me of those slow motion videos of destruction one finds around the internet, those with an almost hypnotic allure as we witness destruction take place on the micro scale with Masochist drawing from that very same cruel curiosity very much in the same way a moth is drawn to the flame. Ambient noise throbs weakly in and out of the foreground suffocating what little life is found in this decaying and mutilated musical husk, but it is equally feeble and battered, both elements fighting for survival among this arid soundscape. Slavestate 641A is the dying breath of music, it turns punk and industrial music's various parts and mechanisms against one another, negates their meaning, bleeds their life and voids their existence; it is the ashen shadow of what once was reduced to a scribbling stain upon silence and mind. Caged among those serpentine chords of misery are soul piercing screams of industrial death suicide, suppressed and distorted they strike with unnatural emphasis, a horror skewed to more perturbing resonance. 

Whilst Masochist exudes a hypnagogic grimdark quality I am yet to come across, the colouring is found in its thematic and lyrical subject matter: from Orwellian realities in name, cultural anti-capital and masochistic (hence the name) recording process it is far from an ordinary release. But this is no devil in the details release, the cold sombre stinging sensation left by Masochist is more than skin deep and highly contagious, and after coming back to it again and again there comes a point of realisation that in order to create one must destroy  and Slavestate 641A creates by destroying itself.

Soon to be Available on Cassette through Laugh Now Records

Review: Gripe, In His Image 2014

“I will sweep away everything in all your land,” says God. “I will sweep away both people and animals alike. Even the birds of the air and the fish in the sea will die. I will reduce the wicked to heaps of rubble, along with the rest of humanity,” says God
— Zephaniah 1:2-6 NLT

Violence is never the answer - unless of course you play extreme music, in which case the more violence the merrier. Gluttons for decibel punishment Gripe know just how to serve up an ensanguined parcel of tortured sonics and unfiltered aggression, every shard of musical expenditure a piece of charred shrapnel from their unyielding rampage of sonic annihilation. Their latest blitzkrieg "In His Name" is an 18 piece pipe bomb of punk terrorism that sees their feral bastard breed of dissonant hardcore and rabid grindcore let off the chain once again for an indiscriminate kill frenzy bound to leave rivers of blood in its wake. I personally felt the band would never of been able to exceed the sour spews and tones of Pig Servant, the recording managed to capture one of those rare instances where lashing out on the instruments and screaming profanities into the micropohone genuinely  felt like it was the only thing stopping the band from going all red army faction and waging a bloody and indiscriminate campaign of urban guerrilla warfare; the emotional authenticity was incredibly phenomenal. Yet with In His Image they manage once again to replicate just that threshold of anger, an iota removed from a Rambo styled psychotic episode, and perhaps even more astonishingly Gripe have succeeded in fleshing out a more defined character, slathering  substantive details to the indignant face of Gripe. The majority of tracks sees Gripe doing what they do best namely seeing red and going into a boisterous fury armed with blast beat hammer and hacksaw riffs, a grisly mess of mangled rhythmic ejection and right in your face confrontation, now more uglier than ever before. However its with midpaced burners like Sick Fuck, Cotton Fever and final track Snowden that we see Gripe recoil from their charge and reveal their volatile chemistry in a discernible pace, an insight that proves very seductive whilst retaining the life or death pressure the band exude in all its pestilential glory. 

Gripe - Facebook , Bandcamp

Hygiene Records - Store, Facebook, Bandcamp

Witch Bukkake Records - Facebook , Blogger, Bandcamp

Review: Horrible Earth, ST 2013

Alien 1: "So how was your covert mission to Earth? Are we the interstellar league to make contact with its inhabitants?"

Alien 2: " I am afraid not"

Alien 1: "But why not, the species man has shown it capable of wondrous things?

Alien 2: "They are clearly set on interstellar warfare"

Alien 1: "And what makes you say that?"

Alien 2: "Because they have a nuclear arsenal capable of destroying their planet many dozens of times over, no one set on internal conflicts would be stupid enough to stockpile that many weapons, therefore they are clearly set on interstellar conflict"

Alien 1: "Ah rightio, best we avoid them then"

Alien 2: "Yeah no major loss, as it happens I found earth to be a horrible place, they have the most terrible taste in music."

Horrible Earth are sister act / evil non-indetical twin to the musical jack of all trades Guilty as Sin, and whilst they don't share the same scope of genres (In Guilty as Sin's case we are dealing with a global encyclopedic scale ranging from oriental to the Dead Kennedys) there is certainly both commonality and comfort to be found in the spitfire of those regimented ensemble of raging punk riffs. The approach aims for brutal delivery by means of tried and tested riff battery, horrible war cries and millitant drum routines all of which deliver with perhaps too tight a rigor of form. That being said I do myself find something incredibly important lacking amongst the patter of those skull stomping marches, I can't say precisely what, but maybe its the lack of a disruptive melody, sonic chaos or a factor so horrendously harsh it curdles your blood, Horrible Earth just flows too smoothly and lacks a certain bitterness , bile or all round ugliness. Its the sort of evil that will still stick to the right of the pavement and move out of the way for elderly people before carrying on its death march, I on the other hand am looking for something that drives a mad-max-a-mobile on the pavement and considers the vehicular trampling of the elderly as sport. Its all perspective however because by your typical punk standard Horrible Earth are the devil incarnate, but to my skewed grindcoreised palate Horrible Earth are relatively mild mannered. But that in itself is not a bad thing, in fact its a good thing, just not a great thing.