Sludge as fuck, wet crust with black hearts and glue eyes or something similarly unpleasant and appealing like the smell of a freshly picked scab. A glum trudge punctuated by electronic squealing. The name’s appropriate.
I’ll kind of always be a sucker for that mystery-guy hardcore thing what with its MFA as high nihilism vibe and total man crush on black metal. Not that Mercy Ties are as manufactured as all that. Hell, they seem like they might just be some fucking guys from the Pacific Northwest but their frantic caterwaul has all the makings of a white drugs death trip. A blunt force palette rendering mental illness in proper context. I’m a little surprised there wasn’t more bleeding but I’m glad I got to keep my teeth.
Birds in Row
There’s a lot of heavy these days. A lot of frenzy. A lot of bleak. There’s skull crushing and ear splitting and hope sucking and monoliths that tower underneath the long grey winter that just keeps coming and coming and coming and, yes, Birds in Row has a historical affiliation with some of the Western world’s more terrifyingly humorless riff-wielding titans but what they do is different. It’s special. Unhinged as City of Caterpillar and relentless as JR Ewing, Birds in Row forge a light up from hardcore’s long desperate shadow to illuminate reason, purpose and being like a cave fire smoldering into the thunderous night.
Danny hates Sprechgesang but I fucking love it. Traps the melody under the prose and just let’s the jugular go on bleeding. Craig Finn’s my hero in that regard (if a hero could be had) and so, of course, I’m gonna pit Listener up against Lifter Puller and unfortunately (it seems), though the Twin City trashbins had some GREAT fucking tracks, Listener might be better suited to the true, lonesome luck of humanity. Who wants to be Charlemagne, anyway?