The Oh Sees wasted no time in racing headlong into nightmarish battle with the mighty Orc, clawing even farther up the ghastly peak stormed so satisfyingly by their previous A Weird Exits. The band is in tour-greased, anvil-on-a-balance beam, gut-pleasingly heavy form, nimbly braining—with equal dashes of abandon and menace—on this fresh batch of bruisers and brooders, hypnotically stirred into to the cauldron of chaos you’ve come to expect. On Orc, fresh blood Paul Quattrone joins Dan Rincon to form a phalanx of interlocking double drums, alternately propelling and fleet-footing shifting ground to pinion John Dwyer’s cliff-face guitars to the boogie. Tim Hellman keeps it swinging like a battle-axe to the eyebrows. The tunes veer toward the violence of their live shows, with a few tasty swerves into other lanes: heavy to lush, groovy to stately. Throughout, it remains sinister in its swaggering skulk, manic in its fuzz-fried fugues. They hit all the sweet spots the heads foggily remember, and there’s plenty to sweat over if you just hopped into the sauna. More evil…more complex…more narcotic…more screech… more blare…more whisper…there’s even more Brigid. Less “Thee,” but more of everything else.
*BLUE VINYL REPRESS* Started during lockdown by three friends from Leeds, UK who wanted to make some crossover thrash, having been fans of the music for years, Pest Control is the classic story of DIY music straight from a time of crisis. Jack (from Death Metal bruisers Mortuary Spawn) joined soon after the release of the Demo in 2020 and the line up was complete with Pest Control’s first show commencing in their home town the week lockdown ended. Influenced by classic thrash giants such as Metallica, Testament etc. but with a healthy spoonful of crossover like Crumbsuckers, Ludichrist and Municipal Waste, the members grew up with one foot in the Leeds metal and hardcore scenes, taking the best from both worlds. Topping it all off, Leah's powerful vocal reminds one of the great Dawn Crosby from Detente. For the recording of the LP they were joined by Luke on second guitar and now have a permanent second guitarist in the shape of Joe Williams (Big Cheese, Fate) and will be seen touring Europe with the almighty Foreseen, having already played across the UK with Municipal Waste, Eternal Champion and as well as appearances at Outbreak and Wrongside Fests. With this LP the band have truly shown their technical chops from the fast and furious title track to the almost operatic thrash style of The Great Deceiver. There is a fresh range of ideas and most importantly catchy songs for the Crossover Thrash fan to sink their teeth into. Mastered by Arthur Rizk, who knows a thing or two about thrash metal excellence having worked with Power Trip and Fugitive, expect to have your brain well and truly FUMIGATED.
VINTAGE CROP serve to serve again. Over the last four years the Geelong group have become a burgeoning force in the Australian punk scene. Their burly, brusque yet supple songs have evolved from the garage rock of 2017’s ‘TV Organs’ album into the post-punk panic attack of last year’s ‘Company Man’ EP. Now they’ve sculpted their sound further, the barrage now offset with robust songwriting, their full-pelt bounce tempered with flailing guitar lines and sardonic commentary. Bringing to mind Wire tackling tracks from early 7”s by The Yummy Fur, it’s an inspired approach, both striking and effortlessly mirthful. Vintage Crop still dish-up plenty of commanding stomp, their lyrics remain as keen-eyed as ever, but now they’re unafraid to mess with the tempo and drive their point home.
‘Serve To Serve Again’ is Vintage Crop’s third full-length album. It was recorded by Mikey Young after a year of playing solid shows, including tours in Europe and the UK alongside Louder Than Death and URSA and some of the band’s biggest shows to date in Australia with Amyl & The Sniffers, R.M.F.C. and The Stroppies. This allowed Vintage Crop to nail the songs live before committing them to tape, pulling and pushing ideas, stretching them into new-found territories. ‘First In Line’ races off the blocks with its sawtooth riff and splintered beat, all jagged edges and ragged vocals. Quickly follow a pair of totemic bruisers in the guise of ‘The Ladder’ and ‘The North’, both brimming with a nigh anthemic quality, confident in their faculty to rouse the rabble. ‘Jack’s Casino’ is a lurching romp about gambling, ‘Streetview’ is similarly propellent, only choosing to meander and divert itself with cryptic trips around the neighbourhood: “He only moved to that side of town because the postcode is worth it’s weight in gold”.
There’s no better poised nod to frustration than ‘Gridlock’ - “the hustle and bustle of inner-city traffic is driving me nuts because the radios on static”. Guitar lines entwine and wriggle wildly free from the song’s pouncing rhythm and potent vocal, making for the most vigorous of rackets. ‘Just My Luck’ prowls with a shared thrumming verve, whilst ‘Everyday Heroes’ closes out the album with measured flair. Skewed and fervent, rangy at times yet always assured in its intent ‘Serve To Serve Again’ is long-legged leap for Vintage Crop into the delirious now. These songs strive to make sense of futility, they criticise the chain of command, question privilege and most importantly make us want more from life. Now all we have to do is turn up the volume!
Wretched, bleak, hopeless and incredibly dark. Canadian dark hardcore crust bruisers Dark Circles and American black sludge destroyers Abstracter bring forth waves upon waves of utter misery and horror on this crushing 12" split. Dark Circles' stark, rabid and virulently embittered dark hardcore is a firestorm of crust punk, grindcore and black metal that marvelously brings together the best and most confrontational elements of bands like Catharsis, Gehenna, Cursed, The Secret, etc. On the other hand Abstracter's bleak and hallucinatory side fuses doom, crust, drone and black metal to incarnate a staggering twenty minutes of total and horrific devastation, yielding a similar sonic hell as seen in dark and miserable slower bands like Triptykon, Primitive Man, Coffinworm, Indian, etc
Halloween has been and gone for another year, but darkwave-inflected hardcore punk never goes out of fashion, right? And frankly, who gives a solitary fuck if it does? Nag’s sinister second album is too busy being an ear-bleeding good time to care about shit like that. It’s too wrapped up asking questions like ‘is this real reality?’ - too caught up in pushing Bernard Sumner minimalism into furiously energetic bruisers and ever-darker corners. It’s the record you’ve been waiting for throughout 2021, whether you knew it or not. This RIPS. Formed in Atlanta, GA, Nag have already dropped an LP (last year’s ‘Dead Deer’, on Die Slaughterhaus) and a handful of 7”s - all must-haves - but they’ve never quite cut loose like this. Vocalist Brannon Greene pitches his delivery somewhere between a caustic holler and a dead-eyed sneer, taking the blank generation for a midnight drive and hurtling straight into a brick wall. Meanwhile, the band nab ideas from no-wave, the wilder ends of Goner Records’ almighty roster, and the best (and sometimes synthiest) aspects of gothed-out post-punk - the resulting concoction may be composed of familiar elements, but it feels like no one else other than Nag. A more hyperbolic and verbose hack than me might say this is the moment that signals the band have ‘arrived’, but not me. I’d just say this is a damn fine record - one of the very best things to have emerged from the wider punk rock mess in the last 12 months. Oh, and I’d add that if you don’t buy it, you may as well sever those things called ears, toss ‘em into the woods and let any of their redeeming qualities seep out into the soil, ‘cause that’s the only way you could continue to argue that they’re serving any useful purpose. But you know, that’s just me. You do you, friend. Actually, scratch that. Buy this record, you idiot.
If you went down the wrong alleyway, took a shortcut through the park or crossed the wrong open space after dark in the UK in the 1970s, you stood a fair chance of being accosted by someone with a big mouth, low morals and some gurning mates to impress, usually reeking of fags and cheap booze and always ready to put the boot in. And, before you could say, “sickening violence”, a short but chaotic scuffle would ensue and a winner eventually emerge, battle scarred and bruised. The boot boy was the worst kind of hooligan. There wasn’t anything you could do or say to appease him. You had the same chance as a fly caught up in a spider’s web. Zero. Your best bet was to run. His intent was always to give you, and vicariously the rest of the world, a good kicking. Thugs, long-haired louts, short-haired louts; the anti-hippy. Birds, booze, bovver and football on their criminal minds. So fasten your braces for a white knuckle-duster ride. 14 bovver rock bruisers for all of you peace-loving losers. Somebody’s going to get their head kicked in tonight... Put the boot in.
