Wednesday, October 26, 2011

its a fucking trap - s/t

Hailing once upon a time from the punkier mores of olneyville, this ensemble of nine (i think?) unleashed a heap of life-loving, early-00s grinding metallic hardcore with art school flourishes —a barely audible saxophone being one tell-tale sign. for better or worse nary a note of anything from pageninetynine to integrity graced these ears through the agony of my teen years, so i can thank this punk frat for a proper introduction to music that no freshman really needs but seizes regardless. more brutal than local white belt superstars as the sun sets/daughters, this clown car of musicians only ever croaked out one cd-r in early 2003 after many a show played in utter darkness. notable not only for the considerable attention the band has paid t the craft of their riffs, but also for the the band's treatment of the punk convention of call and response vocals. with two vocalists given no other task but to scream, they offer this tried and true convention a novel, glass gargling texture—one that can be spotted even in this album's first few seconds.

given the recent shape of the metal and hardcore media and its entrenchment as an alternative to the softer sounds of gentrification (i suppose one could generalize metal, punk and all their possible combinations as the self-critical sound of gentrification hating itself), had these guys kept up the heat they pressed onto this first album they very well could have played the new museum last week. shucks. perhaps you know some of these guys nowadays? sorry forgot to scan the album art.

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