Posts Tagged ‘Rage’

Lay Bare Recordings – 9th May 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

One may be inclined to jest that a release like this should carry a warning – but the joke falls flat when technically, it does: the notes which accompany the release on Bandcamp sets the scene for the debut EP from Dutch experimentalists of A Plague of Lighthouse Keepers thus:

Whilst most drone-metal outfits focus on creating atmosphere by composing ambient compositions with tremendous power and volume, the Lighthouse Keepers use more traditional doom/sludge metal as a starting point and explore its differences and similarities with genres such as free jazz, raga, noise and classical minimalism.

Elsewhere, they’re described as sounding like ‘a disturbed lovechild of OM, Sumac, Swans, Miles Davis, and Pandit Pran Nath, combining lengthy improvisations with ear-shattering explosions of intensity’. How could a lovechild of that lot be anything but disturbed?

And so it is that we enter by way of ‘The Massacre of Flour’, a title of which conjures images of a bloodbath in a bakery. What is sounds like is…. nothing short of wild. Its seven minutes leads the listener through a series of conjoined segments, arriving in a crazed blast of shrieking noise, a frenzied cacophony of feedback and squealing sax before lunging into a thick, sludge riff, which in turn yields to a slow, almost ambient drone passage with mystical swirls which rise like desert mirages. Each is gripping itself, and the transition to the next takes place almost imperceptibly: one moment you’re here, then, somehow, you’re there, in a completely different scene with no recollection of how you came to be here – rather like the way scenes change in dreams. And suddenly, the hazy serenity is torn asunder, lurching into a tectonic rift from which burst larval torture resembling Swans circa the Young God EP. It’s absolutely fucking brutal, the sound of pain, distilled and amplified

‘I Fuck People’, the shortest song on the EP, goes in hard on the avant-jazz noise chaos, forming a heavy undulation of bleats and shrieks by way of a backdrop to savage, ravaged, demonic vocals. It’s the sound of purgatorial torment. But all of this is simply a prelude to the main event, the nine-minute ‘Towers of Silence’, on which they really flex all of their muscles. Easing in gently with some abstract desert folk with hints of Eastern esotericism, it’s a slow, gradual build. There’s something meditative, spiritual in the vocals, until things begin to get twisted, mangled, and tangled. There’s anguish, there’s tension, and unease grows… breathe. But ululations which begin soothingly grow tense, and things spiral to a hypnotic cathedral of sound.

Towers of Silence may only contain three tracks with a combined duration of just over twenty minutes, but its range and intensity are something to behold. It’s drone metal, but not as we know it.

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5th June 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

I laugh, because the phrase ‘survival of the shittest’ was a phrase I used – a lot – in the late 90s, in my early years of being thrown into the corporate world after completing a degree in English literature. Back then, the belief still existed that a better education would lead to a better job, although in the three years between starting my degree and finishing it, a lot changed, and none of it for the good. ‘Graduate jobs’ stopped being a thing, meaning that it was a feat just to land a temp job doing data input work at an insurance company. It was fucking soul crushing, and Charles Bukowski’s Factotum became a book I came to relate to all too closely as I trudged my way through what felt like endless drudgery. And the managers, those who got promoted, those who did well? The common trait among them seemed to be that, when you boiled it down to the basics, they were all cunts. Backstabbers, self-promoters, overconfident wankers, twats with all the ambition but none of the skills… these bastards were killing it on the career ladder, while I sloughed away in a pit of despair. Scum floats, and all around me, it did. I wasn’t envious of their lives or their ‘careers’, but it was a gut-wrenching showcase of the shitshow that is capitalism and the greasy pole of corporate life: the survival of the shittest in sharp relief. This is now true of all aspects of life: as politics has become indistinguishable from business, and capitalism has taken over all aspects of existence, every bugger is using business-speak and striving to attain success not by means of hard work and talent, but by connivery and cuntishness. And it needs to be called out, and blocked wherever possible.

This new EP by GURT is nothing less than an absolute beast. With three tracks clocking in at ten and a half minutes, there’s no flab, no extravagant solos, no wanking about. They’re described as purveyors of ‘party doom’, but they’re a bit too uptempo to be doom and far too doomy to be party for most. Ultimately, their thing is a rabid racket, and at times, I’m reminded of the Leeds scene circa 2010 and shortly after, specifically around the emergence of crazed guitar noise acts like Pulled Apart by Horses and These Monsters. These were exciting times, particularly as it predated the need for professionalism to make it even onto a stage. Don’t get me wrong: these were great bands, but they were also wild, and things feel a lot more contained now.

GURT do not feel contained, GURT feel deranged, unhinged, rampant. ‘Live Nation, Dead Scene’ goes in all guns blazing, a rabid rager presumably targeted at the multinational ticket agency – operating what’s probably one of the biggest legal scams on the planet right now, with their exorbitant fees and dynamic pricing. The music industry has always sought to gouge every penny from fans while the artists themselves wallow at the bottom of the pile when it comes to benefiting from the proceeds, but Live Nation have hatched a whole new level of exploitatious robbery. They are literally – and yes, I do mean that – killing music for profit, and should be boycotted at all costs. I doubt this is a major issue for GURT.

The title track is a low-slung, sludgy, riff-driven roar, propelled by some ferocious drumming. The vocals are mangled to all hell, and it’s seriously gnarly.

Their cover of 2 Unlimited’s ‘No Limit’ simply shouldn’t work. It’s truly preposterous, audacious, and absurd. Metal covers of pop and dance tunes is old hat, predictable, corny… and yet they overcome all of this to conclude the EP with a ballsy, over-the-top take on a dance-pop song that’s as maligned as it was successful. This version’s not going to be making number one in a hundred countries around the world or filling dancefloors in perpetuity, but credit to GURT for the inspired choice. And now ‘party doom’ makes sense. Get on down, motherfuckers!

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Damage Control is an electro-industrial music project centred around its current core members Bill Barsby, Richard Thacker and Alex Wise, who are all based in Australia, plus Markus App from Germany. Both Barsby and Thacker are originally from Birmingham, England.

Having collaborated with a number of other like-minded musicians from all over the world on their well received 2017 debut album, Ultranoia, they have repeated the trick for its long-awaited follow-up, Oblivion Grid, a release date for which will be announced shortly. As with the first record, they have also retained the skills of Canadian producer Chris Peterson (Front Line Assembly, Noise Unit, Unit:187) and engineer Greg Reely (Skinny Puppy, Front Line Assembly, Fear Factory).

‘Rage’ is released today as the first single from the new album and features the Danish musician Leæther Strip aka Claus Larsen on vocals. “We like working with guest singers and have always loved Leaether Strip since the early ’90s industrial and darkwave club scenes,” states Barsby. “We were curious to hear what the combination of our song, Claus’ vocal and Chris’ production would sound like.”

Peterson adds: “Ever since my first conversations with Bill Barsby over a decade ago that led to the first Damage Control album, I believed in the project and that he was making music from his heart that was something special. This is also the case the second time around and holds true with the artists we were lucky enough to have come on board; we all wanted to help and be a part of it. The result is a wonderful release with a variety of songs that is their best work yet. It is a testament to the creative spirit and joy of making and sharing music that attracted so many valuable contributors to lend their talents over the time it took to realise.”

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Christopher Nosnibor

Benefits exploded onto the scene not long after lockdown – and I mean exploded, an atomic detonation of rage. The essence of the setup was pretty simple: angry sociopolitical spoken word delivered with blistering vitriol, backed by a blinding wall of noise. The result could reasonably be described as something in between Whitehouse and Sleaford Mods, but the fact is that from day one, Benefits created their own niche. The live shows were jaw-dropping, and the debut album, Nails captured that raw energy with a rare precision.

The arrival of second album, Constant Noise marked a necessary departure – sonically mellower, far more beat-orientated, a lot less shouty, angry-sounding. My first impression was that it was decent, more produced, but still packed some sting in the lyrics., and will be hard to top in terms of the number of mentions of dogshit in albums of the 2020s. But it’s a fair reflection of post-lockdown Britain: dogs have proliferated exponentially, and concordantly so has the volume of dogshit – and, just as bad, bags of dogshit tied and dropped, piled next to or on top of bins, and hung in trees. What kind of twat does that? A selfish one is the only answer. But as for the album, I kinda let it sit for a while. But over time, with more – and more – listens, the album’s depths reveal themselves. Constant Noise is every bit as angry as Nails, and if anything, the more moderate, tempered delivery hits harder. It just takes a little bit longer to reveal its depths and quality. But how would this translate live, especially now they’ve been stripped back to the founding duo of Kingsley Hall and Robbie Major?

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Benefits

Before we would get to find out, there was the equally intriguing support. The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster are one of those acts who may have only attained cult status during their time together, but it’s one which has expanded since their demise. They were always a band destined to implode, as was apparent when I witnessed a particularly fractious gig here in York circa 2007. But this was always a band which had derangement and volatility wired into their makeup. Guy McKnight formed DSM IV in 2018, and they’re an altogether different proposition, trading in gothy electro with some tidy guitar textures woven into the fabric of the songs, and Guy seems altogether more settled. It’s all relative, of course, and he ventures into the crowd on numerous occasions, and at one point around the middle of the set, tosses mic stand over, drops the mic and busts some tai chi moves. It’s a solid set, both compelling and entertaining, and they’ve got some tunes, too.

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The DSM IV

Benefits don’t really have a great many tunes in the conventional sense. Choruses and hooks aren’t the primary focus of their compositions. Hall’s words range from reflective and ponderous to outright roaring rage, the backing spanning sprawling barrages of obliterative noise to quite chilled dance grooves. But at this volume, and when delivered with this much passion, there’s nothing chilled about this live show.

Here, I find myself returning to the topic of seeing an act you’ve seen before and been blown away by, and going to see them again in the hope of replicating that first time – only it’s a weak hope, because the first time has the element of surprise which is unlikely to be repeated. Yes, a band may be consistently awesome, but that first bombshell experience, that initial high… very few bands have the capacity to have that impact more than once. Benefits, however, hit even harder on this outing than any before.

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Benefits

There was word online that their current tour was as brutal as any they’d ever done. Having seen them three times previously, and never with the same lineup, it seemed like that claim might be a bit of a stretch, particularly without a live drummer. But synthetic beats have a way of bludgeoning and cracking in a way that live drums don’t always, and when paired with gut-churning low-frequencies and ear-bleeding top-end noise, the sonic impact of what blasts from the PA is positively immolating.

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Benefits

Kingsley gets most of the chat out of the way at the start, with a bit at the end: in between, they power through a relentless set uninterrupted. And relentless it is, and not just sonically: with the sole lighting consisting of blinding white strobes for the entire duration of the hour-and-twenty-minute set, the stark, uncompromising nature of the music and lyrics is amplified. They put every ounce of energy into the show, Hall positively streaming with perspiration by a third of the way through. And we feel the passion; the whole room is buzzing and aglow with a sense of unity through a shared experience of catharsis. These are shit times. Dark times, bleak and scary times, domestically and globally. Benefits capture the zeitgeist, and rail against those who will one day be proven to have stood on the wrong side of history – the right-wing, flag-shagging, pro-Brexit, racist, xenophobic, hatemongering, exploitative, manipulative capitalist shits and their supporters and enablers – articulating thoughts and feelings with a unique precision and an intensity which is positively nuclear. The experience is nothing short of mind-blowing.

Philadelphia’s industrial sludge metallers WORST ONES is back with a new powerful single, entitled ‘Deny Reality’. The song channels the bleak pulse of Godflesh, the twisted hooks of Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson, and the sample-driven chaos of Skinny Puppy, creating something both claustrophobic and hypnotic.

‘Deny Reality’ is a mid-tempo industrial sludge anthem built on relentless electronic percussion and skittering hi-hats that slice through layers of noise loops. The guitars have been shredded, resampled, and reconstructed into something ripped and inhuman. A towering chorus cuts through the haze, while a crushing breakdown in the middle drags the listener deeper into heaviness.

Lyrically, ‘Deny Reality’ confronts the culture of wilful ignorance that has metastasized into complicity. Lines like “Cast out your empathy, behold your tragedy” and “My nightmares are dreams, you deny reality” attack the blindness that sustains power and allows violence to thrive. The song reflects a world where denial has become survival, even as that denial drives us toward collapse. In its imagery of poisoned breath, hollow faith, and the erasure of empathy, the track positions ignorance not as escape but as the very engine of destruction.

In addition to its digital release, Deny Reality will appear on Abolish ICE, a compilation CD of Philadelphia-area metal, hardcore, and punk bands. The CD features 16 artists, including Trunk, L.M.I., Sunrot, Boozewa, SOJI, Detox Meds, and Get Well. Copies are available from the bands in exchange for donations to Juntos, a community-led Latine immigrant rights organization based in Philadelphia. Through this release, WORST ONES aligns its music with direct action, using its sound as both protest and support for those most affected by systemic oppression. With Deny Reality, the band continues the mission of turning noise into resistance. The result is not just another sludge anthem, but a dirge for a society choking on its own denial and a demand to confront the truth, no matter how unbearable.

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Brooklyn bruisers Cash Bribe are back with their third EP, Demonomics, dropping June 13, 2025, via Futureless. This marks their first release on the label, and they’ve never sounded louder, sharper, or more furious.

The band is debuting their new single, ‘Bay of Pigs’ ahead of the EP’s release. Guitarist Kirk McGirk explains the inspiration behind the track: “One thing that really gets to me about the world today is how the rich, powerful, and privileged constantly gaslight everyday people—making us believe everything’s fine or that there’s nothing wrong. It’s like they’re pissing on your head and telling you it’s raining. Some folks have a real stake in keeping the rest of us from trusting what we see and feel.”

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Cash Bribe

ROT ROOM – 6th December 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Super-spiky, not-really-legible font? Check. White on black cover art? Check. Goats galore? Check: in the title and on the cover. This is going to be some gnarly metal din, right? Right. Sometimes, you can judge a book – or a record – by its cover.

Goatslayer is the second EP of 2024 for North Carolina ‘southern-fried sludge quartet’ Fireblood, following the Hellalujah EP, released in April.

They promise a work which ‘take[s] the genre in a somehow meaner, more extreme direction, they employ massive atonal guitars, booming drums, and churning low end to create a caustic, thick-as-molasses sound that has a physical weight to its thunderous mid-tempo grooves. Lumbering ever forward, each stomping beat comes laden with the threat of eruption, and when the top does blow it’s an explosion of seething rage.’

While I wasn’t aware that theirs was a specific genre, I’m on board with this, not least of all because the EPs four tracks are magnificently mangled, feedback-strewn heavy as hell riff-fests with an obsession with death.

‘A Perfect Place for Death’ is a lumbering chuggernaut, with overdriven power chords galore and processed, fucked-up vocals which add a deranged psychedelic edge to the purgatorial experience. As much as there are hints of Melvins in the blend, the vocal treatment reminds me of Henry Blacker, knowingly over the top and uncommonly high in the mix, but everything congeals into a thick black tarry sonic soup. ‘Death Comes Rolling’ thunders in hard, beating its chest and stamping its feet against an industrial-strength riff and roaring, glass ‘n’ gasolene gargling vocals. It ain’t pretty: it’s not supposed to be. It’s not subtle, either, but again, it’s not supposed to be.

They slow the pace to a crawl on the trudging ‘Burning Underground’, and it very much feel like being dragged by the collar down an endless staircase hewn in rock, the temperature rising as sulphurous lava and eternal flames draw ever closer, before ‘A.I.G.O.D.’ locks into a relentless and powerful groove, and pummels away at a dingy riff for seven and a half punishing minutes. Around halfway through, something twists and suddenly it seems to get even denser, sludgier, heavier, the guitar overload threatening to do damage to your speakers. The long, slow fade comes almost as a relief in easing the cranial pressure. This is a beast, and no mistake.

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It may have been out a few weeks now, but it would be remiss of us to pass on the opportunity to shout about the debut single from Hull trio Wench! following their blistering York debut…

Bursting out on to Hull’s vibrant live music scene are WENCH! & they’ve already made a massive impression at a handful of explosive gigs & local festivals. Fuelled by female rage, this angry punk trio now share their debut single ‘Shreds’ – a track about being wronged in a relationship & getting emotionally ripped to shreds by the experience.

Produced at Hull’s renowned Warren Records studio by local indie, alternative producer Adam Pattrick, ‘Shreds’ is about the courage it takes to allow yourself to be
vulnerable in situations & how this is often disrespected by abusive people we come across in the everyday.

The band explain:

“’Shreds’ is a song for anyone who feel intimidated by social situations to an extent they don’t say what they mean. We believe in expressing ourselves in a raw & unfiltered way which can sometimes backfire but enables us to speak from the heart. As a band, although we feel our songs can have a deeper meaning, we like to describe said songs
in just a few words, being direct while refusing to be polite & quiet about the issues we face”.

The innovative WENCH! comprises Kit Bligh (Lead Vocals, Drums), Hebe Gabel (Bass, Flute) & Sev Speck (Guitar, Backing vocals). Fusing Riot Grrrl punk with & alternative rock & pop, this all-female, all-queer outfit are actively speaking out about misogyny & mistreatment of women, ensuring their gigs are a safe space. Inspired by a whole host of artists including Eddi Reader, Steve Gadd, Patti Smith, Lambrini Girls & Hull’s burgeoning folk scene, the band were formed while at college, with each member
coming from a differing musical background. Sev being influenced by folk, Hebe by blues & Kit by a mix of soul, jazz & rock, but with a common bond of aspiring to be in a riot grrrl-style band.

WENCH!’s music is for those who feel they’ve been mistreated, for the powerful women who’ve been tied down by the patriarchy, for the weirdos who’ve been told they don’t fit in, as well as anyone who wants to have a memorable time at a one of their sweaty gigs.

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15th November 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

“Do not tell me to smile / I’m feeling volatile,” Eva Sheldrake warns menacingly against a dense, churning chug of overdriven, distorted guitar. Sporting a pink bikini but wielding a baseball bat, you can sense things are about to kick off. And oh boy, do they kick off.

Eville have balanced fire and fury and dense nu-metal guitars with killer hooks and keen melodies from day one, and ‘Messy’ represented a peak in terms of their accessible but hard brat metal stylings, but something has happened here.

Eva’s clearly the band focal point, and as the vocalist and lyricist, to some extent sets the agenda, and on the evidence of ‘Ballistic’, she’s reached her limit and she’s calling it out on shitty men being fucking cunts.

Daily, there are articles in the news and music media about men who are sleazy, rapey, slimeball abusers as victims – exes, fans, colleagues – reach their limit and speak out. Even when there’s no abuse involved, women are faced, daily, with leering, with looks, with salacious comments, patronising mansplaining, being told to cheer up, or to smile, and simply endless shit from twatty men who feel entitled to invade their space in any way they please. ‘Ballistic’ is an explosion of rage that simply says ‘enough is enough’. As such, there’s less focus the accessible melodic elements and everything is channelled into the message, with the medium corresponding with zero compromise.

The familiar stuttering beats kick in at the start before ‘Ballistic’ fulfils the title’s promise and explodes like ‘Firestarter’ on steroids. The band’s performance sees Eville take a giant leap to a brand new level: the guitar is a concrete wall, the drums thrash frenetically, and the vocals… Sheldrake howls like a demon, a full-throated roar, while simultaneously, the accompanying video shows the band taking their bats and smashing various objects in pure unbridled anger.

‘Fuck the system! Go ballistic!’ It’s a simple hook, but pure perfection in its concision. It’s a battle cry, it’s rousing, it’s time to fuck shit up. It is not time to accept the status quo, to tolerate bullshit and plain shitty behaviour.

It’s sheer coincidence that ‘Ballistic’ has landed just a week after the dismal US election result, and misogynistic wankers started ‘your body, my choice’ trending on the festering cesspit promoting every ‘ism going in the name of ‘free speech’, but with this timely release, Eville have delivered an uncompromising anthem that shoves it to all the incel bros and all the other douches. They’re not all necessarily rabid Andrew Tate fans, but just your everyday casual sexist creep.

Clocking in at two and a quarter minutes, ‘Ballistic’ is everything Eville have promised to date, and more, delivering an absolutely definitive statement, and one the most powerful songs you’ll hear for a long time to come.

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