Posts Tagged ‘dirty’

Regenerative Productions – 7th June 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

The last couple of years – and 2024 in particular – has seen a huge upturn in acta reconvening after lengthy breaks. Anticipation for the Autumn drop of the first album from the Jesus Lizard in over two decades is immense, but then only this week I wrote – extremely favourably – on the new album by The March Violets, released eleven years on from its predecessor, and From Fire I Save The Flame by Three Second Kiss – twelve years down the line from their last album. They all have their reasons for pausing, and for the timing being now, but as much as its perhaps coincidental, it makes for exciting times for fans who had little to no expectation of ever hearing new material. And what’s more, and perhaps most remarkable, is that these albums have been proving to be GOOD – not some damp squib, reheated soufflé reunions which sully their catalogues and make you wish they hadn’t bothered (in the way Bauhaus’ Go Away White was such a monumental let-down).

And so here we have Norwegian death-metal outfit Okular with their first full-length release in eleven years since their 2013 second album Sexforce.

I will confess to being unfamiliar with their previous work, which means I’m unqualified to comment on how the aptly-titled Regenerate stands in comparison. But I do feel able to consider Regenerate on its own merits.

Blasting in with ‘Back to Myself and Beyond’ the sound is dirty, murky, dingy as fuck, snarling, gnarled vocals spewing venom and gargled gasoline over churning guitars, from which emerge the occasional squealy note before flicking into a quickly-woven blanket or fretwork wizardry. Underneath it all, the bass and drums thump and thud away at a hundred miles an hour, muffled, muddy, and manic.

The two-and-a-half-minute title track follows this five-minute titan, and it’s a fast-and-furious fretfest, on which the vocals switch between menacing growl, strangled rasp, and raw deep-throated demonic howl.

All of the requisite tropes are in place: a hefty percussive barrage and super-fast fingerwork provide the backdrop to ugly, bowels-of-hell vocals, with some rapid drops and sudden breakdowns, and when it comes to genres, missing these elements is case for disappointment. That said, there is still scope for invention, and ‘A New Path’ brings what its title proffers, opening with a soft acoustic almost country-tinged grunge intro, before doom-laden power chords crash in, an unstoppable chuggernaut – and the two elements play off one another to forge a really interesting dynamic.

The album’s shortest track, ‘Debauchery’ surprises again, with another almost folky acoustic flavour to start, before simmering up to a boil to deliver what it promises in the shape of some spectacular soloing, preceding the album’s longest track, the six-and-a-half-minute epic what is ‘Another Dimension of Mind’. It’s a delicate, lilting, layered acoustic segment – which is really quite technical and borders on a blend of folk and neoclassical – which plays out on the album’s closer, ‘Elevate’, and it’s really quite nice. Of course, everything blasts in at double the standard intensity for the final minute, and it’s positively incendiary, a ground-scorching flame-thrower assault that hits like a tsunami before an abrupt and unexpected end.

Regenerate is a smart album. By its nature, technical prowess and musicianship is portrayed almost extravagantly, but, as is the law, it’s contrasted with the dirtiest, hardest, fastest riffs. But Regenerate offers so much more – more texture, more stylistic diversity, more range, a really ambitious approach to songwriting that goes beyond the confines of genre.

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CNTS are back!

The noisy punk band from Los Angeles, CA are back with their second album release for Ipecac Recordings, Thoughts & Prayers (29th March). Pre order/pre save here.

The band features guitarist and producer Mike Crain (Dead Cross, Retox, Festival Of Dead Deer), drummer Kevin Avery (Retox, Planet B) and vocalist Matt Cronk (Qui).

Today, they share a first taste of their second album, the track ‘Smart Mouth’.

Watch the video here:

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Following a devastating car accident in which frontman Matt Cronk lost his vocal cord – couldn’t speak, let alone sing – the band thought they might have to call it a day. Then against the predictions of his doctors, Cronk’s injured vocal cord began to heal and within two months his voice returned, as did CNTS.

“We got together and ran through a song and it sounded good.  We kept playing and my voice held up, sounded cool, and we all felt good playing together.  It was clear immediately that we could do it again, that we’d really missed playing together and we wanted to do it.” says Cronk. “Personally, the experience was a significant marker in my recovery. I got a little teary after that first song.”

Reinvigorated by Cronk’s recovery, CNTS spent the rest of the year hard at work on their new record, Thoughts & Prayers, the title inspired by the banality of our collective reaction to crises. With a great deal of inspiration from their recent challenges, CNTS have channeled several years of frustration and hardship into a well articulated and aggressive statement. Songs such as the aforementioned “Smart Mouth,” and “Thoughts & Prayers,” chronicle Cronk’s pain and anger throughout his various injuries and subsequent recovery. “I Won’t Work For You,” and “Eating You Alive,” deal with the inequity inherent in modern life. “For A Good Time (Don’t Call Her)” is a screed about the age-old theme of fighting with one’s romantic partner.

Guitarist Michael Crain adds, “I really wanted to have SONGS on this record. Hooks. Choruses. Shit I listen to. In all times of confusion or indecision during the making of this album we’d stop and ask ourselves… What would AC/DC do?”

Equal parts catharsis and blood-letting, CNTS as a live entity is an unapologetic display of rage and sex, of belligerence and contempt, a warm gob of spit in the eye, all done with a sarcastic smile.

The future belongs to CNTS.

CNTS

After the announcement of their new album Ashes, Organs, Blood and Crypts, Autopsy peel back the skin of their new record with a bloodied single, ‘Throatsaw’. The track is whirling dervish of razor sharp riffing and serrated vocals that slice through the mix delivering that signature Autopsy sound.

Regarding the single, Chris Reifert had the following to say:

“For this selection we have decided to cast aside musical acrobatics, high-brow labyrinthian showings off of scales, sweeps and noodlings, lush sonic passages and deep audio journeys rare and untold, egotistical trains of thought and neo-classical wizardry and well…just cut your fuckin’ throat wide open and giggle like cretins while the blood sprays in every direction. Doesn’t that sound like fun, kiddies?”

The single is accompanied by an animated lyric visualiser created by Andrea Mantelli Productions.

Watch it here:

Hot on the heels of 2022’s universally lauded opus, Morbidity Triumphant, the US death metal greats now return for a new sermon of sickness, with ‘Ashes, Organs, Blood & Crypts’, featuring brutal bouts of riffery feral attacks, soul crushing doom and all out skull splitting heaviness.

Emerging from their sepulchre comes yet another horrendous piece of art from long time collaborator Wes Benscoter (Bloodbath / Slayer). Inspired by the title, the band let Wes’ imagination run amok, conjuring up yet another horrifying monument to Autopsy’s latest musical offering.

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Photo by Nancy Reifert

1st April 2022

Christopher Nosnibor

Details of this eponymous EP release from Leeds-based The Reflecting Skin are sparse. It’s only since the advent of social media and the ubiquity of the Internet that we’ve come to expect to know everything about an act and its releases – the who played what, the lyrics, the inspiration for and meaning of songs, who their musical influences are, favourite films, etc., etc. And why do we need to know? What actual benefit does it serve, and to whom?

What matters is that this is seriously harsh and heavy. A grinding chord booms, overloading the speakers by way of a welcome with ‘Ceramic Rash’. It’s slow, doomy, dirty and dark, and devoid of percussion, crawls like larva. The vocals are half-buries and swathed in so much reverb as to sound like they’ve coming from the bottom of a well – a well the shaft of which goes down, not to the water table, but the very pits of hell.

It stops abruptly, and it straight into the crashing thud of ‘Limb Off’, which finds The Reflecting Skin go full band and full-throttle gnarly hardcore nastiness. The production is authentically primitive – it’s so dirty, so rough and raw, with the feel of a Walkman recording, and playback with fluff-encrusted tape heads, but this isn’t an impedance, because it simply sounds right. If it slots right in along the mid 80s hardcore vintage, it’s equally very much contemporary Leeds underground / DIY. It’s not slick by any stretch, even the track editing sees each one cut and the next begin, but this is very much integral to the appeal and the form of genre – and it’s totally nonstop no-fi brutal racketing, punching in your face.

I’ve no idea what the title is about, but ‘IMA-IW-BF’ is so distorted it hurts: a raw, raging rehearsal tape from a damp basement or clungy garage, it’s a descending chord sequence that grinds and growls, like a half-pace Melvins trudge but with raw-throated roars for vocals… while ‘Split Wires’ clocks in at a half a minute and just quite simply the sound off punishment at a hundred miles an hour. They really do save the gnarliest noisiest shit for last, though: the six-and-a-half-minute ‘Nocturnal Cough’ is built around the nastiest, most gut0churning bass imaginable. It makes your stomach lurch to the point you want to puke, and it’s propelled by thumping drums that threaten to burst your eardrums.

It would be a stretch to describe The Reflecting Skin as a fun or enjoyable listen, because, quite simply, it hurts. But as ultra-heavy and uncompromisingly brutal releases go, it’s an absolute beast.

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Southern Lord – 29th September 2017

Christopher Nosnibor

The arrival of this album in my inbox gave me pause for thought. Their debut album, the brilliantly-titled Iron Balls of Steel was a full five years ago. I reviewed it, and raved about it. And I realise I’ve been doing this for quite a while now. Over that time, bands – great bands, shit bands, mediocre and forgettable bands – have come and gone. And now, Loincloth, whom I praised for their ‘megalithic chunks of undecorated, heads-down behemoth guitar riffage and earth-shuddering rhythms hewn from colossal slabs of basalt’, are entering the catalogue of bands gone.

The press release includes the following statement: “Loincloth is no longer a live band, so this record is our final offering not only to the great horned one below, but to the committed ladies and gentlemen of the Cloth.” Still, what a sign-off. Never mind the ladies and gentlemen of the Cloth: the nine shuddering riffcentric sonic barrages that form Psalm Of The Morbid Whore are terrifyingly heavy, dingy and gut-churning enough to leave the listener close to touching cloth. As such, while their departure is sad news, the delivery of this awe-inspiring musical gift is a cause to rejoice for those who like their shit heavy.

The press release pitches Psalm Of The Morbid Whore as ‘packing nine new instrumental passages of white-knuckled twists, and by-the-throat percussion, into a half-hour’.  But this fails to convey, even slightly, the grungey riffs which jolt and jar, shuddering through a stop/start chug of thick distortion. Between the blastbeats and thunderous culminations of bass and rhythm guitar twist sinewy lead guitar lines that spread and unfurl like foliage spreading in a mystical forest. Also emerging from the swamps are fleeting moments of prog-hued illumination.

It also overlooks the progression between Psalm Of The Morbid Whore and its predecessor. While the tracks are, on the whole, short, there are a number of longer workouts, with the final cut, ‘Ibex (To Burn in Hell Is To Refine)’ running to almost eight minutes (twice the length of the lengthiest piece on Iron Balls). And, significantly, the tone has shifted, from the slightly jokey or flippant-sounding ‘Underwear Bomb’, ‘Shark Dancer’ and ‘The Moistener’ of the debut the to the subterranean savagery of religious / pagan coloured titles like ‘Necro Fucking Satanae’, ‘Pentecost Dissident’, ‘Bestial Infernal’. Psalm Of The Morbid Whore is dense, dark, and heavy, and while in some respects less claustrophobic than its predecessor, it feels more focused, less metal, more grunge, and also more groove orientated.

But most importantly, Psalm Of The Morbid Whore retains the dirty, unpolished primitivism worthy of a band named Loincloth.

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Christopher Nosnibor

For those who aren’t fans of extreme music, it’s often hard to see the appeal. ‘How can you listen to that, let alone enjoy it?’ is a common line of questioning. Often, the response can be boiled down to a single word: catharsis.

The one thing that always strikes me about events like these is just how friendly the atmosphere is. The fans are friendly and many, like me, seem shy and reserved – until they completely go mental in the moshpit. And it’s in this context that extreme music makes perfect sense. I may be nursing bruised ribs today after my quest for photos landed me in the line of danger but never once did I feel in any way threatened: it’s all freaks, outcasts and oddballs together in a safe environment.

What had initially been booked as a standard date on the UK leg of Full of Hell’s tour metamorphasised into an eleven-band extravaganza when circumstances dictated a change of promoter. And there wasn’t a weak act on the bill, and the first couple, Cheap Surgery and Hoof Glove both stood at the punkier end of the musical spectrum than the screaming metal end. It’s not so much that it was welcome to be eased in gently as a positive thing to be treated to some musical range: it’s not as if either was light or poppy, with Cheap Surgery evoking the spirit of bands like Penetration. Hoof Glove, meanwhile, are a band of two halves with a metal rhythm section onstage and an electronic noise duo at a table in front of it. Processed-to-fuck female vocals add a different shade of intensity to a grainy noise reminiscent in places of the abrasive angst of Xmal Deutchschland.

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Cheap Surgery                                               Hoof Glove

A close-cropped screamer in a Crass T-shirt leads the full-throttle attack of Hex, and it was midway through their confrontational, fiery set that the slam-dancing commenced, hinting at the shape of things to come.

Led by the Throat may look like four ordinary guys, but they’re the first band to bring the full-on snarling metal assault to proceedings, and they bring it from the first bar of their tight, powerful set. As he paces the stage, the singer emanates a malevolent energy that’s as powerful as his patterned shirt is tasteless.

I can’t remember when or where I last saw Groak, but I remember them being good, and this evening’s performance confirms my memory is correct. Singer / guitarist Ben Southern is wearing a Rudimentary Peni t-shirt and the band’s sludgy, dirgy churn is propelled – slowly – by Steve Myles’ crushing percussion (how many bands is this guy in?). This is music dredged from the pits of the lower regions of hell, and pretty much as intense as it gets. Or so you’d think. But it’s only 6:30 in the evening by the time they leave the stage, and we’re not even halfway through the lineup.

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Groak

Masters of Powerviolence Lugubrious Children, who released a spit EP with Groak last year are up next, and they’re punishing too. The trio bring the power and the pace, and the result is carnage.

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Lugubrious Children

It only gets better, and more intense, with Gets Worse. Very much a beards and long shorts band, they’re bristling additional strings, with a massively overdriven five-string bass bringing the low-end that grinds below a pair of seven-string guitars. And all of those stings are downtuned and sludged to the max. A single power chord sustains for a full minute before the juggernaut chug slams in. This is a full-on, balls-out racket that draws together the slow trudge of Godflesh and the tearing frenzy of Napalm Death to devastating effect.

Famine are one of those bands who just get better with every outing. Having seen them grow from a snotty two-piece into a thunderous, ferocious gut-ripping threesome who are tighter and more ferocious with every show. My notes from their set are sparse and only semi-legible, but in front of a home crowd, they’re assured and received the violently rapturous reception they deserved.

I’d been recommended Unyielding Love by a friend whose opinion I very much respect, and they didn’t disappoint, taking the snarling gnarliness to a whole other level. The seven-string guitar and five-string bass congeal into a thick glutinous sonic slime with optimum low-end. It’s driven by rapid-fire drumming that’s hard enough to crack any skull, and overlaid with brain-shredding electronic noise. Their relentlessly savage set can be perhaps defined as the sound of a goat’s skull being dragged underfoot about the stage echoing amidst a heavy organ drone, before processed reverby vocals erupt into a howling vortex of noise. And tat all actually happened, in real life.

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Unyielding Love

I’ve no idea who I saw performing a ‘secret set’ in the Meatlocker (the venue’s second stage, still draped with original plastic curtains because it was absolutely fucking heaving and I’d had a few beers by this point but they were intense and loud and brutal. But Full of Hell… Fucking hell. I’d run into Dylan Walker shortly before the set and was struck by just what an affable guy he was. On stage, of course, it’s another story: blasting ear-bleeding electronics and brutal vocals with a violent energy amidst a raging tempest of the harshest grindcore around, live shows don’t come more intensely visceral than this. How much of the set was lifted from the latest long-player, Trumpeting Ecstasy, I couldn’t say: I was too busy avoiding flailing feet and flying bodies, and clearly, the pain in my left side tells me I failed somewhere during the mayhem. But this…. THIS is catharsis.

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Full of Hell

I stopped to have my photo taken with some random strangers on my way out: they liked my hat. I may have drunk too much beer, but in the main, I was hitting the cool night air elated and exhilarated, and on a different plane from the one I had arrived on.

Southern Lord – 25th November 2016

Christopher Nosnibor

Anyone who’s been awaiting Martyrdöd’s pop covers album is going to be immensely disappointed by List. However, anyone else who’s on the market for a proper gnarly Martyrdöd album is likely to be happy enough with List. That said, it does mark a clear progression from previous outings. List is very much a more refined work, but of course, these things are relative. Every song still hits at three hundred miles an hour. The drums are still relentless, pounding. The bass is still a snarling throb, partly submerged beneath a messy mas of treble. It’s still as brutal as hell. But there’s a greater sense of focus, and the sound is clearer.

The title track introduces an almost Celtic lead guitar motif and a huge sense of bombast to the full-throttle thrashabout that lies beneath It’s a remarkably structured, and, even more remarkably, melody-focused track, but the demonic vocal snarl is still ever-present and ever terrifying.

‘Över på ett stick’ slows things down and takes on an amost anthemic, stadium rock quality, before ‘Harmagedon’ brings things back to familiar, snarling, dark crust territory. ‘Drömtid’ goes all folk / Metallica by way of an interlude, but it is just an interlude: the barrage that is ‘Intervention’ proves once again that they’ve not got soft, but have simply developed their appreciation of dynamics, texture and range, and it’s reflected in ‘Intervention’, which exploits, if not loud / quiet dynamics, then loud / louder / punishing dynamics and with a degree of intricacy and detail that’s impressive on a technical scale. Rather than diminish the impact, it heightens it.

Martyrdod - List