Rage, Rage against the Dying of the Light (Review: False Light, ST 7" 2013)

There is something wholly necrotic rippling through the powerviolence bloodstream, a  malefic smear that has seen the genre eclipsed in darkness as a new cabal of misers take hold of its artistic reins, cascading it ever deeper into an unknown and seemingly endless subterranean abyss. Among those crepehangers endorsing if not orchestrating this penumbra of punk would be False Light, a dour four piece clinched in a curious squirm between dissonant sludge-bound exhalations and violent seizures of enmity. Vision and execution align precisely on the microscopic parallels as False Light seduce a vast array of nameless phantasms into the coil of their tightly bound claustrophobic covin, antagonizing and brutalizing each and every fragment of musical expenditure in an overzealous exorcism. False Light just reek of unrequited artistic passion bordering on the insane, every kilojoule of energy spent and every decibel ruptured has been compelled towards the continued construction and maintenance of the oily fume laden atmospheric density, nothing ever leaves the paradigm nor does anything foreign ever enter. Despite the insular essentially of it all, there is a positively organic albeit pestilential growth to it, an ever expanding blot of ink that by the end of it will see you quoting Nietzsche and assessing the futility of artistic endeavor

Inaugural track Rotting Teeth is an ordeal of grit punctuated with various mosh moments and knuckle scraping goodness, a jagged mode of operation that resurfaces with the physical penultimate track Lung, whilst tracks such as The Great Unwashed and Praxis are far more rigid in their uncompromising attitude, hemorrhaging ire and ichor as a result of continuous musical self mutilation, and lest we forget 36 second sprinter Almighty Thief that jumps on the offensive with a blast beat blitzkreig. Alas 7" of wax couldn't hold what would of been their dirge-ing finale ///, an almost 6 minute epoch of lamentation and echoes in the jaws of darkness, a drop-me down that shares little in the way of form from and presentation to its predeceasing tracks yet all of its grizzly vision. 

False Light

Dead Chemists Records / Headfirst! Records

Rise of the Planet of the Apes (Review: Various Artists, Incident At Ape Canyon 2013)

Take Your Stinkin' Paws Off Me You Damn Dirty Ape! To the untrained ear grindcore may indeed sound like a bunch of unwashed hairy apes proceeding to violate instruments as pieces of paraphernalia to bludgeon and caterwaul in the most graceless of customs... wait that's exactly what grindcore is, erm right, lets move along. 

Spain's Violent Headache lead the vanguard of the compilation levying a sooty rag-tag patchwork of early Dahmer and earlier still Napalm Death into an overzealous crust crusade. The band themselves represent one of Spains most accomplished yet criminally underrated grind contributors, their hard featured loom of extrovert crust and primal grindcore is as deadly as it is musically repugnant, a combination like to bring a singular approving nod from any self respecting grindcore fan; and their contribution to the comp is no different.  It might be a bit moth-bitten at times as its archaic blusters reek of the early 90's,  but that may easily be forgiven since the material itself dates back to 1996 yet more importantly its one of those timeless still breaking from the Siege blueprint inspired grindcore affairs that never gets old. 

Far less serious, but equally visceral in delivery are Captain Three Leg who depart from their traditional make noise not music competence and go for an all out punk attack that easily ranks as one of the greatest musical U turns to date, because Captain Three Leg are killing it as if Slap-a-ham 1 to 50 were the only albums ever conceived in the history of punk. Its the excitability of Spazz with the delivery of Lack of Interest ; have I just come across my new favourite old-school style Powerviolence band? I think so. Stylised mischievous vocals are sprayed against a wall of spasmodic riffs and holding an equally evasive drum rhetoric necessitates that at the end of their 15 track contribution to the comp you will need both scoop up your grey matter and pick up your jaw from the floor. If Captain Three Leg are reading this then I demand/beg of you to make more of this. 

If you are anything like myself then after listening to Captain Three Leg for about the 100th time you will finally decide to move along with the compilation and will be greeted with the familiar surfs-up warm breeze of Wadge. For the uninitiated Wadge represent the most outrageous of matrimonies by unifying the Hawaiian culture and history to the cold and ultimately hostile spirits of Grindcore, the dedication to the theme extending well beyond lyrics and album arts but a full fledged substantive foundation to the rhythmic direction. Wadge without a doubt are an acquired taste, but they also happen to be one of the most creative bands and somehow have not exhausted the whole Hawaii-Grind type theme yet, who would of thought there was enough blood in such an affair? Give me tiki-bearing surfing midget spirits over Transylvanian grimoire any day of the week. 

Next up are Iron Butter, an Anal Cunt Noisecore incarnate of sorts, marginally more co-ordinated in form, although still wholly skeletal orchestrally, but with a far greater arch of devastation as they release their tortured grind scrawl. Indomitably untamed throughout, as each track bursts in from the other a sort of grand sense of delusion seems to tighten its grip almost justifying the band as the expressions of some sort of misunderstood lunatic. Their ending track is a total buzzkill however, If I wanted to listen to a full minute of autotuned hip-hop nonsense I would of turned on MTV.

Rupture bring the comp back into the flow of things, its easy to forget just how fast this band are/were, either that or someone has been a bit too overzealous with the fast forward button. Production is ungracious and for the most part a diluted blur of elements and crackling feedback, and there are moments when I am not sure if I am listening to Rupture or Gorgonized Dorks. Bad production has never stopped me from liking a band before, and if you concentrate hard enough demystifying the opaque cling film that obscures the lot, there are some really choice riffs going on and a lively vocal throttle too,  yet the percussion remains the key casualty of the sandpaper production.

You ever seen the Sopranos? There is this one trivial minor reoccurring character, a comedian whose comedy is so vapid more laughs may be derived from the presence of a dead animal than the entirety of his routine; and I feel the same about Fossil Fuel. Its click drum seedy rock n roll comedy wrought with artistic licence, joyfully teasing its parts and sources, its own self-deprication intentionally a source of humour, but it just all falls flat from the very beginning. Sticks out like a sore thumb, pity the CD is not CD-RW. 

Pantalones Abajo Marinero are gore drum machine set up, some really good riffs in there and considering that its a drum machine there are quite a few commendable choices in how the drums are employed, but its the Gremlins vocal style that throws me off, the more I hear it the more infuriated I become. As you may know I am not a fan of gore type stuff, but I would imagine that for those of you that are then Pantalones Abajo Marinero would be just the ticket for blood splatter and manic smiles.

Whoretorn are a form of goreish band  I can get behind, nothing but pure pummelling fury, although they only contribute two songs to the compilation the density of their tracks easily remedies any misgivings and puts them among the top contributors to the comp in terms of blast beats served and blunt force trauma inflicted. Vocals sound identical to Seth Putnams idiosyncratic banshee shrill, combining that with the low end elastic grooves Whoretorn serve up with mean efficiency and control makes them a force to be reckoned with.

Dysmorfic are somewhat more casual than Whoretorn, but offer a solid grind masquerade no less, higher on the register and alot more dexterous in delivery. Real solid effort with little to moan about, alot of tension in the works and while guitars more often than not are rather conservative delivering what they do best; short controlled bursts of punk bile, their guitar adventurism doesn't go amiss and put on offer some rather unexpected turns that hook nicely deep. 

Mortville Noise / At War With False Noise / DIY Noise / Hurts To Hear / Pure Fckn' Hate Prod. / Luchacore Records

'An Impulse Of Compassion' (Review: Cloud Rat - Moksha, 2013)

When Cloud Rat's furious debut was unveiled to the world at large via Grindcore Karaoke a few years ago, their intense, emotionally charged interpretation of grindcore felt like a welcome breath of fresh air. Whilst keen eared listeners may have picked up on subtle crust punk and early screamo influences in their sound, there really is no other band that sounds like Cloud Rat - their subtle melodic sensibilities didn't come at the expense of outright brutality at all. The splits that followed were equally as awesome, meaning their sophomore album 'Moksha' had the pesky burden of expectation resting on it. Would the three-piece be able to maintain that same hair raising fervency?

The inevitable good news is that, yes, all those things that made you fall in love with this band first time round haven't been dulled whatsoever; Rorik still shreds out those piercing, gut-wrenchingly visceral riffs, Adrian still blasts like a video of Rob Proctor in fast-forward and Madison still sounds as though every tortured lyric is her farewell to a cruel world. The even better news is that, incredibly, they now sound even more exhilarating.

All of this is confirmed within seconds of ferocious opener 'Inkblot', as Madison reasserts herself as one of the most impassioned vocalists in grind today. There are moments throughout this record where her bitter, seething screams bring to mind Khanate's Alan Dubin in terms of sheer pant-shitting intensity, and indeed, the cryptic, hugely personal and darkly sinister poetry she's penned here easily puts her in the same league as the likes of the aforementioned Dubin and Pig Destroyer's J.R. Hayes. Of course, the two dudes behind her are no slouches either, as Rorik's riffs switch on a dime from aggressive bombast to heart-rending pathos in tracks like the massive 'Corner Space'. He also gets a chance to showcase some truly baffling fretboard acrobatics on tracks like the furious 'Caisse'. Adrian shines through on pieces like the stop-start 'Olympia', kicking out tightly controlled blasts in measures that would give your friendly neighborhood prog nerd a serious headache, as well as fist-pounding d-beats and tom rolls that'll have mohawks rocking back and forth like pendulums. Of course, Cloud Rat is more than the sum of its parts, and this trio coalesce in the most glorious way. When they're on fire, they're untouchable; just marvel at how much apocalyptic album highlight 'Vigil' genuinely sounds like the end of the world if you need proof.

There's a number of surprises here too, the first of which being the frankly beautiful 'Infinity Chasm', with sumptuous male/female vocal harmonies that are strangely reminiscent of indie minimalists Low. The staggering depth is enough to stop you in tracks, so much so that when the band do eventually kick back into grind mode it's rendered all the more devastating in context. We also get a tasteful cover of Neil Young's 'The Needle And The Damage Done', which fits perfectly with the record's aesthetic, and even manages to be one of its most haunting peaks. Finally, there's a sombre ambient outro (courtesy of Adrian's side project Found Letters), which closes the record on an introspective note, drifting off into pools of delicate, reverb splashed fuzz.

Unlike the pure aggression of many of their contemporaries, Cloud Rat invoke a myriad of different emotions (not that there's anything wrong with that approach, but variety is the spice of life, y'know?), and nowhere is that more apparent than on 'Moksha', which paints with a much broader palette than they've ever used before. In addition to the expected anger and hostility, there's moments of cathartic sadness, bittersweet nostalgia and even desperate optimism (most notably on the triumphant 'Inimitable Sea'). Cloud Rat really are a unique band, (seriously, how many grind bands could you name that could cover Neil Young and resist the urge to turn it into a flat-out Anal Cunt style parody? I know I couldn't!)  and 'Moksha' is perhaps their most powerful statement thus far. Regardless of genre, this is certainly one of 2013's most essential records, and deserves a place in any music lover's collection. - Kez Whelan

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Halo of Flies

The Great Southern Buzzkill (Review: Koresh - Chump, 2013)

It's a testament to how varied the world of extreme metal has become when even a descriptive term as nuanced as 'sludge' has come to mean entirely different things to different people. Take London based riff merchants Koresh's latest for example; a release that falls firmly in the sludge category, and yet anyone expecting hour long dirges will likely come away disappointed. If, on the other hand, you've been on the hunt for a collection of filthy, Sabbath infused punk songs about Terry Wogan (and I'm pretty sure that's what I've been searching for my whole life, I just didn't know it yet), then you're in luck! Koresh's sound borrows from all the great sludge luminaries (you know the score by now, Eyehategod, Iron Monkey, Buzzoven, all that good stuff), but ramps up the speed, resulting in a furious blast of down-tuned nastiness.

The disjointed, lurching grooves of 'Bin Juice' are pretty damn irresistible, whilst the aforementioned 'Wogan' sounds like a bunch of meth fiends fumbling their way through 'Electric Funeral' (in the best possible way, of course) and the supremely titled 'Adolf Hipster' wouldn't sound out of place on a later Black Flag record. In fact, the closest they get to that standard sludge dirge is on 'Cheer Up Glasgow', but even then their tongue remains firmly in cheek!

These guys fit right into that lineage of filthy, punked up sludge that the UK seems to do so well. Indeed, with their dual vocal approach and heavy punk influence, it's tempting to view them as spiritual successors to Nottingham sludge heroes Bumsnogger, and anyone who dug that band's lairy, booze soaked take on the genre will also find much to enjoy here. There's a subtle noise rock influence at play here too, most noticeable in the massive sounding closer 'You Can Call Me Gaahl', but it also manifests itself in a number of quirky, weird riffs that occasionally shine out from between the sludgy murk (check out that bizarre, jazzy little break in the midst of opener 'Straight Edge Till Midnight'.)

There's also a strong sense of good ol' fashioned, hard rocking fun; if Eyehategod are the sound of the worst comedown you've ever had, then Koresh are surely the delirious sense of intoxicated jubilation that followed the night before. Koresh may not set the world alight, but they're a fine addition to the already impressive Witch Hunter Records roster - plus they're sure to absolutely destroy any venues they hit in support of this EP, and ultimately, isn't that what really matters? - Kez Whelan

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Witch Hunter Records

D-Beat to the Roll (Review: Fredag Den 13:e, Tjugohundratretton 2013)

Terrible name, good premise. Friday the 13th has to be the most horribly cliched and resultantly bland name conceivable, the norse spin / vernacular take  on the name grabs as much attention to the perusing punk as an endorsement from the Smiths down at 24 Aviary Avenue. However if life has taught us anything we should never judge a book by its cover nor by its title, because these Swedish riffaholics have a great knack for intrigue, alloying classic Swedish D-beat with the more wieldy rock influences. Its not punk-rock though, or at-least not by my understanding, because its soul deep in Scandipunk territory, calling it punk rock would diminish too much of what it is in favour of too little of what it really defines it. By my calculations if you can bend your minds to think of something like Wolfbrigade by way of Poison Idea you shouldn't be too far off the margin. 

This exclusive supposition of punk and rock is an exotic marriage like to grab attention, and song writing delivers it in the strongest of terms, piecing together various kaleidoscopic shards that range from  full throttle scandipunk steamrolls, leading guitar sections in familiar faces of punk or rock, to more sensitive ethereal dithers and a special onus on those shout along sections; all choreographed into one climatic and kinetic mesh, each phase etched into the other making for each song one continuous arching thrust of majesty. It should be of little surprise in conformity to the Scandinavian modus operandi production values are  like to cause envy amplifying every resonation of string, drum-skin and vocal chord to a fine and distinct point, spaced far enough apart to make each part audible in its own right, but close enough for collusion. For a genre that is named after a drum beat (D-Beat), I generally tend to find drums fall into the backdrop and guitars dominating the foreground amongst the pristine and clean shaven D-Beat ventures, but in the instance of this release I found drums to have a more equal standing, more often than not the songs felt like a group undertaking rather than "I have just found an awesome progression of riffs, write a drum pattern to follow them" type of process.

If Swedish D-Beat / Scandipunk is your choice of poison, the added spice of rock and roll may just be the extra kick you have been looking for.

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