‘Czujesz to gdy mnie tam nie ma, Widzisz gdy światło gaśnie,Oba brzegi coraz bardziej odległe, Ciężka fala pochłania,Odpływam, znikam’ (Ostre Przedmioty) ‘You feel it when I’m not there, You see it when the light goes out, Both shores more and more distant, A heavy wave swallows, I float away, disappear’ (Sharp Objects)

I had the good fortune to catch Träume’s (Trauma) rollicking set at last year’s Damage Is Done and it had rather whetted my appetite for this, their debut album, Wrzask (Scream).  And from the darkly pulsing synth intro to the opening track Pieśń W. (Song Of W), I sensed that my anticipation had not been misplaced.

The Warsaw band’s foundations are rooted very much in the shapeshifting cadence of their rhythm section that dextrously recalibrates from the jittery anxious to the fluently propulsive.  This is eagerly matched by the vocals, which emerge as a densely rhythmic incantation, a tribal chant seemingly perpetually caught between impassioned exclamation and urgent question.  The intrinsic intensity of this intoxicating partnership gives freer rein to the guitar, which veers from locking into a robust matching groove and unfurling sinewy, melancholic melodies of a more post-punk hue.

Meanwhile, the Polish lyrics render a forbidding dreamscape of loneliness, dashed ambitions, and dark impulses.  Each song seeps unerringly into the next ensuring that Träume don’t relax their grasp on your no doubt juddering, contorting movement for even the merest moment.  Personal stand out tracks amid this sonic possession are the hauntingly entrancing Kraina Snów (Dreamland) and the desperately insistent Tylko Przez Chwilę (Just For A Moment).

‘Oh god, I can’t believe, This PMC, Is taking over me, I’m lost, Not whole, Just another victim of their mind control’ (P.M.C.)

Pest Control are back with another exuberant slab of crossover thrash as they follow-up their excellent 2023 debut LP, Don’t Test The Pest.  As the Leeds band sweep seamlessly from thrashing fury to passages of groove-laden intensity, each of their hallmark traits is vividly ignited.  Waves of crisply muscular riffage and wildly spiralling solos are propelled by a spryly fluid rhythm section that injects the swinging bounce unequivocally demanded by this genre.

The rasping vocals lock in with a compelling rhythmic synchronicity as they playfully evoke dystopian imagery of parasitical invasion and infestation to explore rather more sobering themes of anxiety and isolation in the technocratic age.  The band’s hardcore pedigree is evident throughout the four tracks, each tautly constructed for maximum velocity.  Personal highlights are the bridging riff into the title track’s bruising breakdown, the suitably contagious chorus to P.M.C. (Parasitic Mind Control), and the raw cry of ‘It’s time to say goodbye’ fuelling the searing solo on the crushing closer, Good Grief.

‘Et j’aimerais qu’enfin disparaissent ces souffrances. Et j’aimerais qu’enfin cessent toutes ces maltraitances. Rejoins les rangs de la cause, rejoins les rangs du changement’ (Sans Souffrance Ajoutee) ‘I would like this suffering to finally disappear, And I would like all this abuse to finally stop, Join the ranks of the cause, Join the ranks of change’ (Without Added Suffering)

Fine Equipe (Fine Team), who feature members of Syndrome 81 and Grisaille, are not a straight edge band themselves, but their music is an explicit tribute to the straight edge bands who helped to shape their own initial ethical and intellectual engagement with hardcore.  This I’m sure will provoke a shared recognition among many of us, including those of us who have never shared this specific commitment.

Of course, the musical expression of straight edge bands is a decidedly broad one.  The starting point for Moral D’Acier (Steel Morale) can, perhaps, be narrowed down to both the mid-1980s’ originators of the youth crew sound, and the wave of more melodically inclined bands who reanimated it during the early to mid-2000s.  There is always a danger when a band, no matter how musically talented, seek to pay homage to a specific genre.  It can lack the fire of authenticity, inadvertently dissolve into pale pastiche.  But there are no such concerns here – Fine Equipe absolutely nail it.

Across the five tracks, the swaying bass lines, emotionally cathartic peaks, and impassioned group vocals are delivered with a high voltage vigour.  Shades of Go It Alone and The First Step are subtly conjured, but this is a blistering record in its own right.  And, with Fine Equipe’s own musical pedigree, it is little surprise that they prove notably adept at lacing their onslaught with darkly enticing melody.  Meanwhile, the French vocals tackle themes of collective action, animal rights, and the fight for personal growth.  So, dust off your two-step because Fine Equipe mean business.

‘Gazer, matraquer : c’est l’esprit français, Régner avec autorité: l’esprit français, Un jour, on détruira tout l’esprit français’ / ‘To gas, to club: it’s the French spirit, To reign with authority: the French spirit, One day, we will destroy the whole French spirit’ (Anti-France)

Hailing from Lyon, Faux Départ (False Start) return with their first release since 2020’s full length, Vie Ordinaire (Ordinary Life) and it is an absolute treat.  Every element, from the brightly sharp guitar to the briskly buoyant rhythms, by way of the energetically layered vocals, is expertly woven together as the cleanly enunciated French vocals explore surveillance capitalism, the rise of authoritarian populism, and the travails of the middle-aged punk.

The first two tracks brim with a jauntily upbeat energy and an utterly infectious pop sensibility, the flaring organs of Si Tu Disparis (If You Disappear) and the melody fuelled climax to Drone hitting home with invigorating vitality.  Things take a rather more feverish turn on the flip side.  Both tracks are faster, notably more agitated, with the darkly swirling Anti-France feeding into the raucously bittersweet closer, Toujours Lá (Always There).  Faux Départ is a consummate lesson in deftly crafted melodic punk.

‘Quand je mets ma tête dans mes mains, je revois un bout de ton sourire, tu crois que c’est ça au fond les humains, paumés pour le meilleur et pour le pire’ (2 Dégres) ‘When I put my head in my hands, I see a bit of your smile again, you think that’s what humans are deep down, lost for better and for worse’ (2 Degrees)

Litige (Dispute) are following up their 2020 full-length, En Eaux Troubles (In Troubled Waters) with a new three-track 7-inch.  The Lyon band, who include Deletär’s vocalist on guitar, continue to deliver darkly melancholic punk liberally laced with a buoyant power pop energy.  Brightly melodic guitar and a lock-step rhythm section set the tone.

But it is the clean sung yet vibrantly expressive French vocals that take centre stage as they explore themes of time, memory, and inertia in the face of climate change.  The three tracks knit together perfectly with the plaintively understated 2 Dégres and the more stridently jaunty Ça Reviendra (It Will Come Back) proving particularly persuasive.

‘I malgrat tot encara queda esperança, Que els fets ofeguin les paraules, Bufa fort el vent que empenta a aquells qui avancen, Trepitgen fort les seves passes’ (Abraça’m Fins Que Cremi La Generalitat) ‘And despite everything there is still hope, That the deeds drown out the words, The wind blows hard that pushes those who advance, They tread hard on their steps’ (Hug Me Until The Generalitat Burns)

Enyor is Catalan for longing and serves as the perfect embodiment of the spirit that fires the band’s debut album, Catalunya En Blanc I Negre (Catalonia In Black And White). The warmly hazy guitar tones elicit thoughts of bleakly melodic early 1990s’ UK punk, which are blended with burlier UK82 rhythms, and stirring, emotionally charged choruses.

The hoarse vocals explore themes of memory, nurturing Catalan cultural identity, and the cross-section of both with the region’s deep-seated anarchist traditions.  The result is a vividly evoked sense of place and our interaction with the natural landscape.

From the fiercely rousing Ferides (Wounds) and Apreta Els Punys (Clench Your Fists) to the more reflective Tinc Una Bèstia Dintre Meu (I Have A Beast Inside Me) and (A) Ultrança (To The End) , it is an album that smoulders with fury and swells with cathartic reverie in equal measure.  The album also includes a reimagined Catalan language cover of Negative Approach’s Preparats Per Lluitar (Ready To Fight).

But this is no exercise in nostalgia or wallowing in defeated melancholy.  Rather, it is an exploration of how demands from the both the past and the sought-after future can be harnessed to pursue change in the present and ensure that we do not settle into a resigned acceptance of the status quo.

‘Niemand leeft, als niemand geeft, En niemand geeft, als niemand heft, Niemand leeft hier lang genoeg, Niemand vecht terug!’ (De Wereld Draait) ‘No one lives if no one gives, And no one gives if no one has, No one lives here long enough, No one fights back!’ (The World Is Turning)

Montreal-based Impotentie return with their second full-length and continue to hone their thoroughly distinctive, darkly melodic punk.  Musically, this feels like the band’s most fully realised release yet as they weave intriguingly inventive arrangements around the lightly fuzzed guitar that drenches the album in a sombre yet infectious melodicism.  This is, perhaps, best exemplified by Nat Vuile Land (Wet Dirty Land), while flourishes of additional texture are added with everything from gregorian-style chanting on In De Koolmijn (In The Coal Mine) to flaring organs on the woozy Wijken (Neighbourhoods).

Gruff Flemish vocals and catchy choruses remain central, with guest backing vocal appearances from fellow Montreal bands, Puffer and Béton Armé, as well Terre Nevue from Brussels, adding vocal heft to proceedings.  And, indeed, Brussels remains central to the Impotentie’s lyrical focus due to the Belgian origins of their vocalist.  The band’s debut album, Leopold II Is Niet Dood Genoeg (Leopald II Is Not Dead Enough) explored Leopold’s savage colonial legacy in Congo, with the title gaining popular usage during Belgian BLM protests that specifically targeted the many public monuments still dedicated to his bloody reign.

However, the anger that fuelled this focus has now morphed into a growing sense of resignation at the lack of meaningful progress in Belgium addressing this dark passage in its history, directly tackled on Die Staan Daar Nog (They Are Still Standing There), coupled with horror at the wider rise of the far-right.  The title of this release, Zonder Title Deze Keer (No Title This Time), reflects this unease.  The album ends with the chanted call ‘Wij blijven gaan’ (‘We keep going’), a recognition that no matter how bleak things may look, the fight continues.

‘Violence and hatred runs in the family, I am drowning in this hostility, My resentment towards this world, Now echoes through your suffering’ (Wilkman’s War)

As its full title implies, Years In Permafrost, brings together all of Killing Frost’s recorded output since the band formed.  This includes the band’s debut demo, 2021’s Declaration Of W.W., and 2023’s self-titled 7-inch EP, plus a 2024 compilation track, and two brand new tracks recorded specifically for this discography.

Hailing from Helsinki, and featuring members of Foreseen and Yleiset Syyt, Killing Frost forge a brutal fusion of sludge fuelled doom with monolithic slabs of fiercely groove laden riffage.  This visceral onslaught brings to mind a rawer, more hardcore inclined interpretation of Tower Of Spite-era Cerebral Fix.  Soaring NWOBHM inspired solos, swirling swells of dungeon synth, haunting choral backing vocals, and splendidly timed death metal grunts are all inventively integrated into the venomous battery.

The gutturally roared vocals call upon bleakly allusive imagery of frozen arctic darkness to explore the ongoing personal battle to escape the numbing childhood legacies of violence and isolation.  Sweeping from the swaggering Cross Of Mourning to the searing Wilkman’s War II, by way of the more mournfully introspective Killing Frost, this is a collection of pulverising intensity.

‘Paranoid circus machine, maintain control through monotony, smiling ear to ear, blissful in your deceit, mass psychosis, menticide’ (En Mass)

More War is a compilation that brings together both of Armor’s previous releases, 2019’s Some Kind Of War 7-inch, and last year’s Afraid Of What’s To Come 12-inch. Hailing from Tallahassee, Armor’s core sound is rooted in unhinged, cymbal awash d-beat.  This is then overlain with a much more fuzzed out groove that is in turn melded with stomping start-stop dynamics, and a healthy penchant for breakdowns of the most bruising hue.

Across the ten tracks, the burly, growled vocals examine themes of the surveillance state, the dehumanising repercussions of military service, and our unerring ability to build our own self-imposed constraints.  Stand out moments are, perhaps, the barging ferocity of Fraud, the innately swinging Fodder, and the more expansive yet still utterly bludgeoning Proper Treatment.

‘And it’s turning me into something, I could never stand behind, Jaded and out of touch, But still looking for my reason to fight’ (Through The Dark)

Forced Humility may hail from Finland, but their core sound is rooted in a fiercely raw interpretation of mid-1980s East Coast US hardcore.  The lacerating guitars are underpinned by a notably supple rhythm section, while the rugged vocals tackle themes of resentment, a suffocating lack of direction, and seeking to break free from the chains of a dysfunctional upbringing.

But while Forced Humility’s formative influences are clear on this, their debut four-track EP, equally the band are not constrained by the traditions of what went before.  They unashamedly unleash sonorous anthemic choruses and feral solos amid their otherwise lean, stripped back barrage.  Personal highlights are the powerfully rhythmic Through The Dark and the utterly contagious Withering Spirit.

‘Aurrian daukaunaz konturatezen gara, Ez ikusijenak eixten bajolku bizija. Zuk sinistu, komeni jatzuna, Zuk sinistu, entzun nahi dozuna’ (Zuk Sinistu) ‘We realize what’s ahead of us, but we don’t see it anymore.  You believe it, it’s a good idea, You believe what you want to hear’ (You Believe)

Zikin (Dirty) hail from Lekeitio in the Basque Country and Bala Galdua Zure Buru Galduan (A Lost Bullet In Your Lost Mind) is their second full-length, and follow-up to 2022’s Zementua Armosaten (Cement Armosaten).  A taut, sinewy garage punk energy continues to underpin their surf tinged guitars, which are in turn interlaced with dark flourishes of death rock melodicism.

Meanwhile, the clipped, urgent Basque vocals explore themes of self-deception and lethargy in the face of our current predicaments.  The rollicking opener Diktaduru Mentala (Mental Dictatorship), the raucously surging Zuk Sinistu, and the more off-kilter Marmoletan Itxota (Marbles In The Sky) hit home with particular vigour.

‘I wanna do the best, To do the best I can, But everything I hold, Melts in my hands, But if I stare too long, It all turns just turns to sand’ (Wanna Be Good)

I must admit that I fell in a rather big way for Faze’s 2021 debut 7-inch, Content.  And I was just getting to the point where I feared that it might prove to be the Montreal band’s solitary, if rather splendid, statement.  But I needn’t have worried, as they are back with a new 12-inch, Big Upsetter, and it has most assuredly been worth the wait.

Faze’s defining virtues are the ability to infuse their avowedly hardcore punk base with a myriad of trippy psychedelic-meets-noise rock influences.  These flares of invention are woven into the very fabric of their sound and lend the hypnotic, contagiously relentless riffage an intoxicating, hedonistic headiness.  When combined with their equally unerring focus on building each track towards an almost rapturous climax, Faze transport us to somewhere entirely unexpected.

And Big Upsetter is undoubtedly an album that brims with an innate swing courtesy of a rhythm section that is as bouncingly sprightly as it is fiercely pounding.  Meanwhile, the echo drenched vocals conjure a surrealist tapestry of modern-day frustration as if through a loudhailer, perfectly amplifying the euphoric, otherworldly energy that permeates the six tracks.  The closest proxy I can think of would be the child of an unholy union between S.H.I.T and The Drin.

And amid this groove-laden intensity, stand-out moments abound – from the unhinged velocity of opener Célébration and the cathartic, hi-hat fuelled solo of Wanna Be Good, to the squalling brass finale to the title track.  And, if you’re not soon bellowing out the chorus to the throbbing bass propelled Who Does Your Daddy Sell His Guns To?, you are better person than I.  Who knew bliss could be so bruising?

‘Welcome to the city nobody’s from, Lots of people have money and others have none, Don’t let the disparity get into your head’ (Land Of Opportunity)

Hailing from San Francisco, The Losers unleashed both their debut 7-inch and full-length, You Win, We Lose, in 2023 and are now back with a fresh 12-inch.  It combines two brand new five-track EPs, Land Of Opportunity and Storm The Beach, the latter of which was originally a cassette only release.  The band’s core sound reaches back to the West Coast hardcore punk of the early to mid-1980s (think, perhaps, early D.R.I’s rather louche, more atavistic sibling), before they inject it with their own snotty, contemporary vitality.

An organic looseness permeates the band’s rapid-fire barrage, melodic flourishes and reckless blues fuelled solos flaring through the languidly raw aesthetic.  As both EPs were recorded last year, there is satisfying coherency across the album with the bleakly discordant SF Decay, rabid California Dukha, and the two fiercely fluid title tracks hitting home with particular vigour.

The rhythmically sneering vocals drip with unrestrained disdain, occasionally taking a breath to fleetingly segue into semi-spoken word diatribes.  The greed, gentrification, and inequality that have come to define the band’s home city, and the exhausting battle to survive in the face of such a distorted environment, form the coruscating lyrical focus.

‘Greedy, why you don’t you get back to work, They say it’s all that your worth, And you’re making things worse’ (Ingrate)

Prey return with their second full-length, Loathing, an uncompromising, venomous battery in keeping with their 2023 debut, Unsafe.  The emphasis remains on taut, lean, furiously fast hardcore as they unleash 14 tracks in as many minutes.  The trio, who feature members of Pi$$er and The Shitty Limits, shed almost every adornment in pursuit of honing their sound to its absolute key essentials.  Their velocity is only heightened by the darkly flaring melodies and deftly deployed slab-like eruptions, as, perhaps, best exemplified by Street Scraper, ‘Til It Snaps, and Cannon Fodder.

This whiplash fusillade proves the perfect foundation for the band’s feral, savagely interchanging, three-pronged vocal assault.  Lyrically, the band take aim at the corrosive forces shaping modern day Britain and their dehumanising consequences.  A seething narrative that ranges from the hyper-capitalist architecture ravaging our cities on Street Scraper (‘Decadence on show, Built of those below’) to continued entrenched misogyny on A Woman (‘I’m less than anything…But also too much’), by way of soul-sapping workplaces on Hacks (‘Tip of the cap and slap on the back’).  All rounded off with some nifty collage artwork and a rather natty lyrics booklet.

‘3 melted candles, And you’re out of time, Poisoned flower, On the vine, Cut down, Punished, I become something more free’ (Blessed And Punished)

Midwest hardcore has an admirable habit of evolving in its own quite distinctive directions, a tradition proudly upheld by G.O.O.N. on this, their second full-length and follow-up to 2019’s Natural Evil.  It is an album that positively bristles with a nervously instinctual energy.  It swings almost incessantly between discordantly chaotic hardcore and swells of cosmic-tinged melodicism.

But its defining feature is, perhaps, the band’s ability to maintain a remorseless sense of groove throughout these oscillations.  The key to this dynamic is the band’s strident, resonant bass lines. These inject a consistently swaggering thrust, while the guitar weaves its intriguing interlacing of the burly and the psychedelic.

This juxtaposition is also reflected in the vocals – the delivery is snarled and urgent, while the lyrics contrastingly evoke a hazy montage of absurdist imagery and fractured dreamscapes.  Highlights include the bludgeoning fury of Black Egg and the frenzied Nobody’s Calling.  The album also features a sweeping cover of 1971’s Do It by experimental London rockers Pink Fairies.

‘Social lobotomy of the masses, Don’t dare to think there are no answers, We are powerless, If we are divided, Get off your arses, The suffocation is madness’ (Imposed Restrictions)

Seeking an antidote to the bleak greyness of early January? Then look no further than this utterly feral slab courtesy of New York’s Suffocating Madness.  Featuring members of Savage Pleasure, Anti-Machine, and Nurse, to name but a few, this is the band’s debut album following-up on their 2021 self-titled EP.

Blown-out guitars, squalling solos, and a pounding rhythm section unleash a thoroughly uncompromising battery of thrash fuelled metallic d-beat.  But this barrage is anything but monochrome.  The band are not averse to letting their more brutal groove-laden riffs breathe, such as on Slaughter and Reality, or conjuring rhythms of infectious, swaggering intensity, most notably, perhaps, on Burn and the aptly titled Wankers.

The raw, rasping vocals meanwhile launch a searing indictment of our society’s distorted priorities and one that resists with every fibre the notion that there is no alternative.  Entrenched economic inequality, religious intolerance, and the rise, indeed institutional acceptance, of the far-right are all tackled with a fierce directness before the visceral, yet unifying climax of Their Legacy Shall Die.  The album also includes a bruising cover of Thermonuclear Devastation Of The Planet by 1980s’ Bristol thrash metal pioneers Onslaught.

‘Escrevo frases apagadas, Nego o empenho das memórias, Algum olhar é capaz de mudar o rumo da história? Um quarto tomado por imagens, Mostrando onde eu devo estar’ (Rio Frio) ‘I write erased phrases, I deny the commitment of memories, Is any look capable of changing the course of history? A room filled with images, Showing where I should be’ (Cold River)

Lasso, who hail from Salvador in Brazil, have evolved in an admirably old school spirit.  Three 7-inch EPs and relentless touring have laid the impeccable groundwork, and it is bearing rather rich fruit now that they have turned attention to their debut full-length, Parte (Portion).

That the 14 tracks whip through in a blistering 17 minutes will reassure that we are not talking about a radical reinvention here.  But rather the relentless honing and finessing of the band’s trademark sound.  The emphasis remains very much on dense, precise, frenetically fast hardcore, laced throughout with an understated deathrock sensibility.  The progression emerges through the sheer dexterity of Lasso’s musicianship, the subtle accents, textural shifts, and flares of melody that they fluidly braid into the remorseless rapid-fire fusillade.

Lyrically, the concerns reflect the tense, anxious energy of the band’s delivery – cryptically allusive, rooted in a fragmented, uneasy sense of ill-defined dread.  Personal stand-out moments include the shimmering, serpentine Enquanto Descana, Carrega A Pedra (While Resting, Carry The Stone), the off-kilter frenzy of De Onde Vejo (From Where I See), and the absolutely stomping closer Ilha De Silêncio (Island Of Silence).

Tokyo’s Life and Richmond, Virginia’s Destruct are both purveyors of darkly metallic crust, the former one of the founding creators of the genre over thirty years ago, the latter at the forefront of the contemporary wave of bands taking it forward.  And while both bands are exploring similar sonic terrains, they both bring quite distinct interpretations to bear.

‘Nature exists not only as a resource for humans, co-existence is what saves both sides, we humans are not special’ (Losing Biodiversity, Life)

Life focus on unleashing an almost elemental wall of noise.  Heavily distorted guitars, cleaner bass, roared vocals, and almost crumpled sounding, cymbal drenched drums are barbarously fused.  And just when it feels as if this savage bombardment may overwhelm, the band prove unerringly adept at offering just a glimpse of respite – surges of groove laden riffage, bass and drum fuelled eruptions, and frenetic solos. Personal highlights among their five tracks are the rampaging opener Don’t Give Up Hope and the absolutely rabid title track.

‘Loss makes the road to now, where death sings in the wind, dream of peaceful tomorrow, love and hope instead’ (We Survive, Destruct)

Destruct deliver six tracks that match this fierce velocity, but with each of its elements more singularly delineated.  I would hesitate to call them more restrained, it is rather that their sound is, perhaps, a more consciously disciplined one.  The vocals remain guttural, the drums a touch less primitive and equally awash with cymbal.  The guitars are, however, more discernibly front and centre, the riffs unfurling in menacing waves, interspersed with searing metallic solos.  The escalating violence of Endured and the crushing final track We Survive perfectly embody this brutal intensity.

The lyrical preoccupations of both bands – the wastefulness of war, environmental degradation, social oppression – form a similar unifying cohesion across the album.  Life favour a direct call-to-action, Destruct lean into a more bleakly poetic imagery.  A powerful, generation spanning split.

Iris Paralysis speaks to a condition when the pupil fails to respond to external stimulation.  And while it may at times feel like we are similarly paralysed in the face of a world slowly eating itself, Dormant Visions will soon stir you from your horrified stupor.

Iris Paralysis are an English / German synth duo, featuring Marco Palumbo of Zuletzt on vocals and Tobo Schazmann marshalling the electronics.  Dormant Visions, their third full-length, playfully weaves together cold wave and post-punk influences into a bleakly dystopian, yet infectiously danceable soundscape.

The darkly pulsing synths, underpinned by coldly clinical percussion, tease out swells of recurring melancholic melody, the skittering electronic effects fuelling a growing sense of unease across the seven tracks.  Meanwhile, the enigmatically detached, deftly layered vocals deploy the power of repetition to potent effect as they evoke a society being relentlessly drawn into the predatory thralls of technocracy and surveillance capitalism.

From the futuristic slow burn of Non-Registering Body to the insidiously catchy Trapped Within A Dreamscape by way of the pulsating austerity of Paraffin Sky, Iris Paralysis inexorably lure you into their enticingly ambiguous embrace.

‘You wreak of bad faith, With the games that you play, Your actions betray, The outrage that you fake, You claim civility, Feign morality, Hate with impunity’ (The Pearls You Clutch)

San Diego’s Blue Bent return with their debut full-length, So Much Seething, following two earlier EPs, most recently 2022’s Where Do Ripples Go?.  The band’s sonic roots reach back to the melodic hardcore of the early 2000s.  But they continue to complement this with elements drawn from DC’s Revolution Summer to post-hardcore by way of dark punk, even dashes of mid-1990s’ alternative rock.  In this respect, they rather bring to mind Syracuse’s Another Breath. Not so much in the final musical execution, but rather the combination of their shared magpie instincts and their innate ability to hone disparate, unexpected influences into a compelling whole.

The opening three tracks perfectly capture these dynamics.  The supple bass lines of the swinging Born On Third feed into the contagiously layered chorus of The Other Half, before the bristling fury and gang vocals of The Pearls You Clutch erupt.  The production is bright and bold, ensuring a crisply punchy delivery, the sheen never threatening to overwhelm the grit.  The vocals match this virtuosity step for step, sweeping from rasping anger to more melodic expressions with impressive versatility.

Lyrically, the album explores the self-serving myths of meritocracy on Born On Third (‘You flex fake elbow grease, Yet others wear the stains’) and hypocritical morality on The Pearls You Clutch that in turn fuel the social conflict of Shatterbelt Blues (‘Worn necks the boots try repressing, Are attached to a name’).  Grappling with such a polarised environment shapes Home In My Head (‘The outlook’s bleak, I just can’t take it, No tried and true, only unknown’) while Rough Mason is a more introspective reflection on the value of craftmanship and collective endeavour (‘Brick by brick, foundations laid, For those obscured, no thought for gain’).

‘I was the wrong you raised, I was the first fire to smolder, I was the last forgotten, I was the first in drifting days, I was the last in fatal fears’ (The Wrong You Raised)

Heiress have been scratching a very particular musical itch for me ever since their early split EP with Narrows back in 2010.  Since the outset, the Seattle band have harnessed a unique blend of post-metal that draws on inspirations from doom, early 1990s’ death metal, and even classic heavy metal, while forging them in a crucible that is equal parts shaped by the competing dynamics of hardcore and sludge.

Throughout their evolution, Heiress have sought to balance aggression with reflection, discordance with melody, and heaviness with melancholy, to create a deeply atmospheric soundscape.  Over time the band’s pacing had become slower, ever more expansive, only to be interspersed with short cathartic eruptions to cleanse the palette, before locking into the unrelenting groove all over again.  Their song writing has always retained a lean, yet intricately detailed elegance.

Yet on Nowhere Nearer, the band’s fifth full-length, it feels like their always present hardcore instincts have been given greater rein.  The velocity has been notably increased to a surging, more mid-paced tempo and the song structures are even more tightly constructed.  Their inherent, bone shuddering heaviness though is undiminished and there remain flourishes of hauntingly beautiful introspection, but a conscious attempt to relentlessly funnel their power though a more disciplined lens is evident.

And it works an absolute treat.  The guitar tone alone is utterly spine-tingling, underpinned by a powerfully limber rhythm section, the onslaught perfectly embodied by the fiercely fluid Take Me Away, the slab-like riffage of The Chain To Thread, and the seething oscillations of The Wrong You Raised.  Meanwhile, the ferociously roared vocals (courtesy of John Pettibone formerly of Undertow / Himsa) explore bleakly allusive themes of lost hope, misplaced optimism, and yearned for redemption.  This is Heiress distilled to their very purest form – balancing the meditative and the malevolent.

‘If it was real progression, greed would not dictate our souls, If it was real progression, we’d give back what we stole, If it was real progression, we’d burn these lies all down’ (In The Name Of Progression)

San Diego’s Unbroken were originally active between 1991 and 1995, and since reforming for a memorial show for guitarist Eric Allen in 1998, the band have made periodic returns to the live arena.  A year after the release of their debut album, Ritual, Unbroken returned to the studio to record 1994’s Life. Love. Regret. While the band’s sound was one that continually evolved and reformulated itself around its central tenets, this record is for many the band’s definitive statement.

From the moment that the darkly ominous opening riff to D4 unfurls, the intensity never dims.  The riffage still bristles, but feels more muscular, the haunting melodicism that flared throughout Ritual is now riven through the music, and the vocals remain raw, impassioned as they explore both our society’s distorted socio-economic drivers and more personal reflections of emotional isolation.  Defining moments abound.  The spoken word interlude of In The Name Of Progress before the cathartic climax, the menacing melody that fashions the utterly ferocious Razor, the swinging bass line that propels Final Expression, the stomping aggression of Blanket with its frantic mantra of ‘It won’t save you’, the fraught, intense, almost brittle, closer Curtain.

Indecision Records have pulled together a special edition to celebrate the 30^th anniversary of this seminal album.  The first 12-inch is, of course, the album itself.  The second is a live recording of Unbroken’s full set at Indecision 30, the 2023 festival to celebrate the label’s own longevity.  Now, recording a live hardcore show is inherently challenging – how do you accurately capture the sheer energy, the coming together of band and audience in common purpose?  Yet, this recording vibrantly succeeds in capturing the texture of the show.

The sound is raw, without losing the integrity of the songs themselves, the vocals straining and impassioned.  The between song chat, the surges of recognition coursing through the crowd as each track opens, and the bellowed audience participation vividly evoke the positivity in the room.  You can literally envisage in your mind’s eye the utter chaos as the show progresses – the mic-grabs, pile-ons, and flying stage dives seem to be physically woven into the soundtrack.  A thoroughly worthwhile addition to the Unbroken canon.

‘Falling into the same trap, so brittle and broken, one twist and I snap.  Now I’ve burned the wicks at both ends, I’ve done it to myself all over again’ (At Both Ends)

Undertow were a hardcore band from Seattle.  Although the band has made a handful of live appearances since, most recently at Indecision 30 in 2023, they were primarily active between 1990 and 1999, the year of their final show.  Having released five EPs and splits in the early 1990s, the band recorded their sole length album, At Both Ends, in 1994.  This album has now been given a welcome 30-year anniversary reissue and remastering by Indecision Records.

And have no doubt that At Both Ends is one of the defining albums of 1990s’ hardcore.  Darkly foreboding, harshly metallic, Undertow forged a very different sound to many of their West Coast predecessors.  Spryly bouncing bass lines and notably fluid drumming underpin the groove-laden guitar, hints of dissonant melody flaring throughout.  Meanwhile, the rhythmically spat vocals explore the experiences of a young band forging an understanding of the world – a raw, honest exploration of their hopes and disappointments, of seeking to escape the stifling social constraints of tradition and religion.

Densely rhythmic, structurally fluid, At Both Ends is, perhaps, a reflection of a time when genre was less rigidly prioritised.  Undertow already having shared a stage with bands as diverse as Poison Idea, Seaweed, The Accüsed, and Jawbreaker by the time it was recorded.  It is also an album that continues to impressively stand the passing of time.  From the swaggering fury of the title track to the utterly bruising Taken, by way of the brooding menace of Where Do We Go and the crushing closer Sink, its searing intensity is undimmed.

Members of Undertow went on to play in a myriad of (post) hardcore bands including Ensign, Great Falls, Heiress, Himsa, Nineonspitfire, and Shift.