Wednesday, 11 June 2014

In School - Praxis of Hate

Purposeful hardcore punk outta New York spat with bloody finality. With tumbling drums and a thin desiccant guitar sound worked in a relentless moil, scraped up against the churn of the bass, kicking off dry sparks, each instrument distinguishable and hurtling onwards with deadly precision. No noise, just power. Bidi Choudhury's vocals snarl, ferocious, clear and unbowed, digging into lines, repetitions spiralling, screwed down into the mortar. "THE DOGS ARE HOWLING. THE DOGS ARE HOWLING. THE DOGS ARE HOWLING." Each strained iteration eking out more shades of threat and fierce disdain. "APOCRYPHAL SCUM. I KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE. APOCRYPHAL SCUM. I KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE. APOCRYPHAL SCUM. I KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE." From the tugging guitar squeak of Fear to the snap/drawl of Maggot Rot, five tracks of second person violence, scratched out with lucid spite, peeling and sore, grating against bone.


Saturday, 7 June 2014

Decraneo - s/t LP

Chopping punk from Mallorca. Catchy and cutting, brash and brief, it rocks and it rolls, short and smiling nasty, the swipe and slash of the vocals clear, pointed as the guitar licks. 13 fast punk numbers in Dangerhouse pose, bitten and kissed off parts of The Bags or The Dils, Mi Cuerpo tumbles up and down urgently, Turbulencias rumbles with surf sinisters, Sistema Del Olvido drives hard, Vida Ideal gets down into a kinda Dead Kennedys Police Truck shimmy, but each song is snapped off abruptly, like drumsticks brought across knees shattering into splinters and shivs. A dancefloor sharp punk album of decurt viciousness, potent, all edges and spiked charm.

EEL - Endless Fucker

"I think the ICA probably started to realise something was afoot when a cement mixer was set up on stage, alongside electric drills and jackhammers. There was a piano, too, but that would be smashed to pieces." Alexander Hacke, Einsturzende Neubaten

Reflecting on Einsturzende Neubaten's use of power tools in their infamous ICA performance Alexander Hacke ruminated on the band's intent of "leaving the stage from underneath. The plan was to dig through the stage into the tunnel system underneath the venue". A plan he describes as 'Utopian'. Pittsburgh punk band EEL, take a different approach to the use of (the other) DIY equipment proclaiming themselves to be "OBSESSED WITH DEATH AND DESTRUCTION AND DRUNK WITH POWER TOOLS" in Discharge font on the insert for their new EP Endless Fucker, a 7" on Even Worse in Europe, a 12" on Mind Cure and Konton Crasher elsewhere.

Power tool pogo madness, the fizz and screech of building sites, taking the mechanised destructionlust of power electronics and industrial and using it not as some world-cracking exploration of unfeeling present, avant-garde expeditions into the outer reaches of sonic insanity or a ranging search for a holy harshness to rearrange and rework the cosmic shape of things like the earshredding glories of Ramleh or similar noise bands, but just as a wild piercing backscatter to stomp and career through with breakneck stumblings and pogo lunges, getting bladdered and dancing silly buggers with dangerous machinery, not a care that you might wake up with infected bloody stumps where your thumbs used to be.

It's just the furious scummy shitground for an explosion of bursting punk madness. Bouncing with Tom and Boot Boys/00 Squad swagger through teethgrinding panic squirts. Terminal runs into real ugly muck, in alleys and prisons and divebars, dead bodies and puke piles, squeaking guitar solos, hatefilled drawls. Jisatsu  "VIOLENT ANARKY IS ALL WE NEED/RADIOACTIVE GLUE AND SPEED!" in desperate shouts and monster growls. Endless Fucker writhing with the mauling facts of fuckedworld realities. Combat Amputee Victim and Dead crowing at corpses, giggling at veterans. Sneering and cackling with that sort of teenage untouchable vitriol, no social niceties, no conscience, deliberately dulling it with drugs, cheap fixes, quick highs, chaotic shapings. You're dead. I'm alive. In an uncontrollable runaround, switching from hating on boring drunks, to drinking yourself unconscious, jumping up and doing it again. Squealing into Jisatsu Noisy, a strippedbare mess of toolnoise and drum clatter and looped plunderphonics speech samples, like some weird kid drumming along in his room as the world ends outside. Delinquenx punx, knock it down.