Asesinato Del Poder - demo

Dry punk fury from Spain. Asesinato Del Poder snap with eight tracks of elemental hardcore. Dedicated to breaking down the powerstructures with an onslaught of basic aching punk, power drawn from relentless repetition, you never know which hammer blow will break the rock, you never know which dirty nuts/bolts riff will cause the rent in the fabric of society, cause the explosion in a head from which epiphanies and revolts will spring, from the prison chug of Celdas, the violent squeal of Tortura y Crimenes de Guerra, the razing gallop of Sabotaje, the drained dirt stumble of Atrapado. Straightforward, uncompromising. "Destroy your city streets/NO OTHER SOLUTION IN THIS PLACE/set fire to the town hall/NO OTHER SOLUTION IN THIS PLACE". Keep it simplistic, get inept, do punk, kill the power.

Stranger - demo

Evil punk with a mutant goth heart. Taking the fluttering deathrock guitars and grounding them in rawer sounds, less ethereal, dirtied up, echoing the scratch and punch of anarcho-punx Decadent Few, the cackle of Finnish weirdos Melusaaste, the worn-in desolate aggression of Yugo punx Tozi Babe. Martyr thumping forward, the vocals snarling/rasping, spat with finality, severity. Down Into It getting coarse, the voice here dry, measured until it bites again "With your infantile interests and COMMITMENT TO STUPIDITY!" and it the bass and drums tumble down relentlessly like killing blows. False rants chaotically, breathlessly. You ride with Not Laughing as it tears mellow shivers to ribbons with its rhythmic force and venom and gets squirming nasty as it screams "GO THE FUCK HOME", any disaffected distance and alienation of the genre drawn close and threatened with knives on throats and spit flecking into eyeballs. A lot of deathrock might aspire to be spooky, but this puts in scary, and in the primitive shudder, the Nausea vocals strapped to the vulgarised goth groove, the shuffle and sway sharpened, hoodlum hard and beaten in versions of bands like catchy depressives The Bellicose Minds, it touches a weird darkpunk violence that's all its own.

Aborticidio - s/t EP

Trashfuck noise from Mexico. Swankys by way of Ataque Frontal and M.E.L.I. 時々私は死ぬしたい is a deep ugly slop, barely held together. Basurales De Miseria is a pierching smear of cackle, cruddy fizz and drumsplats. Asdfghjk! rumbles and groans. "PUNK! I LOVE YOU MORE THAN MY LIFE!" it screams as it shouts about The Comes, Confuse and Gudon. Está Culero opens with the shitbass, breaks open the cockroachbox of feedback, kills and eats a rotten staticsqueal solo. Let's Dance to Noisepunk is tired old rocknroll riffs detourned bloodily, buried and burnt, like People's nutty Kyushu/Pistols-shuffle, but more unforgiving in its crashing inept harshness. Hellish, relentless, rudimentary, punk.

Piss - demo

Housed in a small facsimile of a bible, Berlin's Piss bring a nasty hardcore punk, rippling with blown-out scumfuzz, Die Kreuzen energy and collisions. The scrape and sparks of metal on metal as furious riff grinds to a halt and then explode again in a redoubling of manic scratched-out punk effort on stop-start blasts like Spranga Allt and Civil Cops. Tight Jeans rumbles and stomps, flexes and squeals. There are breathless sub-30 terrors on D.I.Y. and How Simple Can Punk Get?, terrifying screams, male/female vocals, equally tortured and destroyed. Piss change things up, throwing a catchy guitar line into the middle of Puke on the Patriarchy's 50-second torrent, dropping into snappy chants and drum breaks on Civil Cops. But it never feels like a forced technicality, it's restless, but it's progression is smooth, when a riff or a guitar line sneaks out of the mess in order to drive the song forward for a couple of seconds before disintegrating, it always feels like a natural outcome of the noise.

These clatter dynamics stretched to breaking point on Snake Vomit, the final track, touching on eight minutes, its dragged out sludgey intro goes on longer than most of the other seven tracks, before sticking into a noisy bass and drums groove, held together with a sturdy rhythm, it gives space to a crash and alarm-squeak of guitar, the echo of screams, and then building in a sample of a real wild freakout lifted from Japanese avant-garde saxophonist Kaoru Abe, squealing and squawking, unhinged and free, its tremulous pain and caustic life, rolling with the bloody momentum and then outstretching it.

Gutter Gods - Innersense LP

Pulsing negative futurepunx, mechanistic hardcore chomping broken up with cyberparts, building a swirling surreality of samples, feedback sparks and guitar crunch, all encased with this kind of scummy hum. Virtual Reality squealing manically, barking rabidly as the song grumbles into life. Mind Corruption rolling slowly with the harmonica squawk of alarm blares reaching you through the din, then the feverish screech, then exploding, slowing, cracking onwards with its psychotic shifts."A SICKNESS TAKES HOLD ALL TOO OFTEN/ACCELERATING THOUGHTS/MIND CORRUPTION"

Constantly brutalised and confused, Gutter Gods attack with such relentless cynicism and antagonistic fervor as to spray its hostility on all it contacts, including itself. Hang Out burns with a rancor for all social scene shit, but as that kind of dismissive scream often is, it's matched to a stabbing self-loathing (which explodes on Rut) rather than an arrogance. And Street Walker might seem like a bleak scathing portrait of a prostitute, but it switches up between third and first person so quickly, marries itself to its target and then jumps away from that, snaps between the specific and the general, that all you're left with is just an overwhelming sense of unease and gathering despair, all thrust into your head by the thump of the hardcore.

Even the hearty Oi!-shot crew-stomper of Chosen Few oscillates between being the prototypical celebratory fist-in-face fucker-upper, and a snide, self-lacerating satirical take on that brainless violent mentality "BUNCH OF APES THROWING SHIT/WE DON'T TIRE WE DON'T QUIT/RUIN THE NIGHT FOR YOU/WHAT THE FUCK YOU GONNA DO?" Even at one point breaking down into peppy goofy handclaps, heightening the ridiculousness of that thugpunk shield-wall unity. "SPILLIN' GEAR CAUSIN' FEAR/SPILL A PUNK ROCKER'S BEER/SLAP OF REALITY ACROSS YOUR FACE/CLEAR THE POSERS OUT THE PLACE" Cos maybe even a brawl is a level of interaction that can't sit right with the forceful isolation of Community: "HUMAN NATURE/SUCK IT DRY/NO COMMUNITY/JUST ALIVE"

Allan where this all disintegrates, the purposeful noise losing that momentum, breaking apart with the strain of pessimistic totality, the energy previously corralled let loose, the constituent parts wild, damaging, unformed. Background turmoil and a rant of paranoia and nihilism, the coiled and wriggling thoughts that fester and live with mental quarantine, but this break is shouted again with such ferocity as to cut and bloody, just digging deeper as it's dragged out uncomfortably long.

As well as the uncompromising desire to push this negativity to hard blank endpoints, what makes Innersense really live is the way the album matches malevolent fury to the space-smooth sterling guitar whispertone, rocketship fuselage sheen over mucky snarls, Innersense chugs and cuts with Gutter Gods' perverse anti-faith, anti-human swivel. Hate articulated and thrown in all directions, animosity towards self and others and torn up with thunderous hardcore stomp and drive, but the psychshiver guitar that bookends Streetwalker, stabs out of Community, whips and swoops through Mind Corruption, and that constant wheedling squeal that lives to itch out of the quieter moments, take this venom into way weirder, darker, creepier places yet than simple fuck-you with a riff strapped-on.