‘Everyone needs a place to go, capsized lives sink to depths unknown, drones circle above while flesh and homes turn to ashes below, the watchers’ eyes remain stoic and cold’ (Late Stage Harm Reduction)

During the bloom of melodic hardcore that defined much of the US scene in the noughties, there was perhaps one band above all who defined this period for me – Rhode Island’s Verse.  Releasing four albums across Rivalry and Bridge Nine, of which perhaps 2006’s From Anger And Rage was the definitive release, they captured all of the key elements that defined that particular era – a re-engagement with the musical and political roots of US hardcore, while still calling upon more contemporary metallic influences.

And as Love Letter’s debut album, Everyone Wants Something Beautiful, unfurls you can’t but help draw comparisons with Verse.  This is not simply due to their powerfully distinctive shared vocalist, Quinn Murphy, but the arrangement of the songs itself.  Hardcore can be forged in many different ways, from distorted low-end driven to providing a tableau for a guitar onslaught.  But Love Letter, as with Verse, craft their songs with the clear intent of pushing the vocals to absolute front and centre.  And this is a weight that Murphy has always proved very adept at carrying.  We live in an age of manufactured, synthetic outrage, which is used to distort, rather than inform, debate.  Yet Murphy serves as the antidote to this – their fiercely rhythmic vocals burn with a palpable, heartfelt sincerity and seethe with an unvarnished rage at the inequities that define our society.

But this is no one person show.  The balance of the band comprises former members of Defeater and Death Of A Nation (including Jay Maas on guitar), and they unleash a furious yet nuanced onslaught.  The cleaner than, perhaps, expected guitars unfurl with a gleaming fluidity, while slab-like eruptions of metallic fury are entwined with bleakly dark melodies and passages of reflective, at times almost post-metal tinged, introspection.  A fluently supple rhythm section expertly harnesses these oscillating dynamics and forms a lock-step partnership with Murphy’s vocals, while inventively layered backing vocals and occasional flares of electronic dissonance add further texture.  Stand-out moments are myriad from the cathartically surging Wellness Checks And Dear Friends to the haunting spoken word of Settlements, from the searing Meds And Taxes to the swirling, bristling Late Stage Harm Reduction.

The causes and manifestations of social and economic inequality form the album’s coruscating lyrical core as does a cry for us to recognise the human needs that we all share.  Misanthropic Holiday Or Vacation examines the devastating role of ‘Big Pharma’ in US society (‘Tailored pharmaceutical fits to suit you, until the side effects rip you apart at the seams’), before Popular Memes delves into the twisted logic of the alt-right (‘You conquer and divide to expand the grift – sleep well’), and Unhousing Projects explores the human costs and slow violence of homelessness and the relentless financialisation of housing (‘Eviction sealed fates – a new section-eight waitlist dates lock your mind in a prison’).  Meds And Taxes (‘Can’t pull yourself up by bootstraps you’re under heel’) and Late Stage Harm Reduction (‘We work for less in the name of faux progress – we’ve normalised apathy and callousness’) focus on the relentless exploitation of our economic system, while Settlements (‘An impossible world to love’) details the horrors of illegal land grabs in Palestine and the dehumanising day-to-day realities of a segregated society, which have, of course, subsequently taken an even more horrific turn. Something beautiful certainly, but equally something deeply sobering.

‘Hoy vivo reprimido confinado al olvido, Condicionado para vivir enjaulado, El pasado me asecha producto de falsos pasos, no soy dueños de mi destino’ (Enjaulados – Rostros Borrossos) ‘Today I live repressed, Confined to oblivion, Conditioned to live in a cage, The past haunts me as a result of false steps, I am not the master of my destiny’ (Caged – Blurred Faces)

I first encountered Tijuana’s Habak in 2020 through their excellent second album, Ningún Muro Consiguió Jamás Contener La Primavera (No Wall Ever Contained Spring), which is soon to be repressed by Alerta Antifascista Records.  Subsequent split releases, including last year’s blistering partnership with Lagrimas, have seen the band continue to relentlessly hone their melodic crust fuelled hardcore.  So, I was rather excited to see that Persistent Vision were reissuing the band’s remastered 2015 debut full-length, which had eluded me to this point, on vinyl for the first time.

And Insania does not disappoint, hitting home with a stark, fierce clarity in its own right, while also intimating the direction of the band’s later evolution.  All the hallmarks of Habak’s trademark sound are in place.  Impassioned, roared Spanish vocals, sometimes layered, occasionally call-and-response, intertwine with soaring, darkly melodic riffage and a powerfully limber rhythm section.  Shimmering passages of clean guitar and flourishes of melancholic strings are deployed to powerful effect and clearly hint towards the hauntingly evocative post-metal influences that the band have subsequently embraced.

Crushing opener Immune Al Dolor (Immune To Pain) sets the tone perfectly and highlights follow thick and fast – from the spectral spoken word climax of Orbe De Almas (Orb Of Souls), to the raucous fury of Enjaulados – Rostros Borrossos, from the soaring yet sombre beauty of Condenado Al Olvido (Condemned To Oblivion) to the bleakly euphoric title track.  Lyrical themes are, perhaps, more directly personal exploring as they do a sense of time passing and the vagaries of memory, feelings of loneliness and alienation.  This reissue includes a previously unreleased live studio version of Orbe De Almas.

‘They want to be god, To let them is our sin, Our freedom is theirs, We’re strung up like a puppet, Hanging by a thread’ (Abattoir)

Subdued made quite the bang when they first arrived with a fine EP and 2020’s cracking Over The Hills And Far Away full-length.  Yet, four years is a long time in our contemporary era of shortened attention spans and fickle fashions.  However, as anyone who has had the good fortune of catching Subdued over the past year knows, this time has been put to very good use indeed. An even darker, leaner, angrier band has emerged from the shadows.

And the high expectations primed by these live performances are fully justified on this, their second album, Abbatoir.  The band’s sound remains rooted in the traditions of anarcho-punk, but vividly reimagined, indeed remorselessly hardened, and imbued with a menacing intensity to reflect our times.  Rasping, sneering, semi-shouted vocals carry a distinctly London cadence as they are intertwined in lockstep with powerfully fluid, almost tribal, rhythm section.

This creates the perfect complement for an utterly inspired guitar attack as it seamlessly segues from the muscular and metallic to the densely complex and breathlessly fast.  Seething, discordant melodies shroud and envelop each tightly crafted track and ensure that the bleakly ominous atmosphere never relents even for a moment.  Each listen reveals new layers, new flourishes of intrigue – whether the infectious dissonance of Vulturemen, the writhingly serpentine Children Of God, or the venomous Abattoir itself.

The imagery of the abattoir provides a consistent motif throughout the album – quite literally on the bruising opener, Machine Hell, as it tackles the horrors of the meat industry (‘They are cold and alone, waiting for the killing blow’), and then more allusively as tracks such as Vulturemen (‘They strip the world and sell its skin’), Finish (Where’s true peace? Where’s true worth? Poisoned everything’), and the title track explore our exploitative economic system.

Meanwhile, Who Dies If England Lives? grapples with the legacies of empire (‘Justice died a million times’) and Children Of God the violence fuelled in the name of religion (‘Is it worth making hell for an unknown heaven?’).  The album climaxes on the raw cry ‘We deserve anarchy now’, when instead all we are promised is the protection of the very status quo that got us into this mess in the first place.

‘Siamo stati morti per troppo o troppo poco tempo, guardate questa follia, questa farsa colorata, preferirei che andassimo per la nostra diversa strada, piuttosto che giocare al gioco che ci lega’ (Pomeriggio Dorato) ‘We have been dead for too much or too little time, look at this madness, this colourful farce, I’d rather we go our different ways, rather than playing the game that binds us’ (Golden Afternoon)

Festa Del Perdono (Feast Of Forgiveness) comprise three parts of Italian hardcore punks Kobra, whose members have also featured in a myriad of other projects including Mirrorism, Ceremonia Secreta, and Spirito Di Lupo (SDL).  And it is perhaps this last reference point that is the most pertinent as Festa Del Perdono share both SDL’s anarcho punk leanings and impressionistic lyrical leanings, but take them in a notably less abrasive, even more determinedly otherworldly, dark wave infused direction.

Each of the EP’s four tracks are skilfully arranged around the fulcrum of the hypnotic, rhythmically infectious Italian spoken word vocals.  Sharp guitars and mechanically propulsive percussion form a similarly consistent component and are then blended throughout with varying fusions of flaring organs, soaring brass flourishes, and ‘woah’ backing vocals, perhaps, to most notable success on the urgently gripping Corpo Di Smeraldo (Emerald Body).

And then, just as you feel you are getting a handle on the band’s trajectory, they unleash the mesmerising, dub fuelled closer, Pomeriggio Dorato (Golden Afternoon).  The EP’s mystically evocative lyrics call upon natural world imagery of sea, fire, and stars to create an atmosphere that is on the one hand almost hazily dream-like, yet on the other, still rooted with firm clarity in the concerns of the actually existing.  A vibrant, unexpected gem.

‘Kuasa pemusnah hati, mati dalam kotak delusi sendiri, tutup mata, tutup telinga dandiam membodoh dalam diri sendiri!’ (Kuasa) ‘The power of heartbreak, dead in the box of self-delusion, close your eyes, close your ears, and keep fooling yourself!’ (Power)

Instrumental opener, Kebangkitan (Resurrection) is electrified by the entrancing howl of Malay string instruments that first intertwine with squalling guitar and then a pounding, percussive rhythm before finally erupting into raw hardcore fury.  So, Berlin-based Sihir (Magic) take their bow on Ular Akan Patuk (Snakes Will Strike) and what a fiercely uncompromising one it proves to be.

A crashing, punishing rhythm section underpins brutish, noise-infused riffage, leavened by occasional flares of bleak melody and a further haunting string instrumental, Pencarian (Quest).  Meanwhile, snarled Bahasu Malay vocals tackle themes of abortion rights (Pengguguran Percuma / Free Abortion), misogyny (Anli Sihir / Witches), and the entrenched mistreatment of migrants (Tak Masuk Akal / Nonsense) with a stark directness.  The album’s stunningly vivid artwork is courtesy of Javanese artist, Enka Komariah, and weaves a tale of tigers, death, and sorcery.

Abyetca are a two-piece operating at varying times between Barcelona and Chile.  This full-length brings together the band’s two savage four-track EPs, 2020’s Infrafuturo (Infrafuture) and 2022’s Enemigos De La Razon (Enemy Of Reason).

‘Ha llegado el momento, No te lo haré tan fácil, Seré una bengala humana, Muerte en vida es tu silencio’ (Justicia Personal) ‘The moment has come, I won’t make it so easy for you, I will be a human flare, Death in life is your silence’ (Personal Justice)

The latter of these two EPs constitutes Side A of this compilation and perfectly captures the band’s distinctive blend of fast-paced hardcore punk, which draws liberally on both Burning Spirits Japanese hardcore and mid-1980s thrash metal.  Dense yet catchy metallic riffage is underpinned by a rolling, surging rhythm section.  Meanwhile, fiercely rasping, rhythmically nuanced Spanish vocals – which include harrowing screams on the title track and Justicia Personal – dissect themes ranging from religious oppression and the mistreatment of migrants to the fight for personal autonomy.

‘No gana la guerra quien más armas tenga, El que no hace ruido ya esta muerto’ (Las Fuerzas) ‘He who has the most weapons does not win the war, He who does not make noise is already dead’ (The Forces)

Side B then captures the band’s debut release.  The sound is a rawer, looser one, more avowedly bass driven.  And while the d-beat rhythms and metallic guitar flourishes are still very much in evidence, there is also a more pronounced nod towards aggressively paced, melodically complex hardcore punk in the vein of Burning Kitchen.  Perhaps, the stand-out tracks across the album are the urgently propulsive Final (End) and the bleakly melodic Las Fuerzas.

‘A fairytale or myth, So far removed from life, But when its at your doorstep, There’s nowhere safe to hide’ (Right To Your Door)

French political philosopher Michel Foucault developed a compelling theory of the ‘boomerang effect’ to examine how techniques of social and military control deployed by colonial powers in overseas territories often migrate back to the West in the form of domestic oppression, ‘an internal colonialism’.  This effect has become ever more powerful in contemporary society with militarised patterns of policing, incarceration, and surveillance flowing back from the “war on terror”.

The rampaging new album from British Columbia’s Bootlicker explores how we all currently suffer a 1000 Yard Stare from this very process.  Sonically, the band’s template remains consistent.  A burly and satisfyingly fluid blend of UK82 and 1980s’ US hardcore with a healthy dash of driving d-beat.  The blistering guitars remain notably clean, almost scratchy in texture, which gives plenty of space to breathe for the thunderous yet dynamic rhythm section and aggressively guttural vocals.

The human costs of military adventurism form the initial lyrical fulcrum on tracks such as the opener State Property and Held By Threads.  The focus then shifts to how these ills have fed back into wider society in the form of social control (On All Fours), economic inequality (Billionaire Bunker), and a willingness to blame the most marginalised for our predicament (With Reason).  While Red Serge traces the roots of the first paramilitary presence in Canada, who later evolved into the The Royal Canadian Mountain Police.  So, drop the needle and strap in for the Bootlicker Effect!

‘Le monde trop vide, la vie trop courte, Le néant droit devant, Le monde trop vide, La vie trop courte, La peur au ventre et puis plus rien’ (La Fin) ‘The world too empty, life too short, Nothingness straight ahead, The world too empty, life too short, Fear in my stomach and then nothing’ (The End)

Faucheuse, featuring both current and ex-members of Bombardment, hail from Bordeaux and Rêve Électrique (Electric Dream) is their debut album.  The foundation of the band’s sound is ferocious, galloping d-beat riven through with a vivid rock’n’roll swagger.  Thereafter though, they meld a range of unexpected elements to this rock-solid backbone.  Bouncily elastic bass lines and fiery blues meets metal solos are interlaced with flourishes of dissonant electronics and a flaring, cascading organ.

Perhaps, most distinctively, the French vocals, which are clean sung and robustly melodic, conjure thoughts of classic heavy metal delivery.  Dramatic, at times almost operatic, yet injected throughout with a bristling punk energy and supported by catchily harmonized backing.  Somehow these somewhat unlikely bedfellows are honed into a powerfully cohesive, urgently energetic whole.

Stand out moments range from the skilfully crafted opener Foudre Fatal (Fatal Lightning) to the rollicking organ fuelled Le Cri (The Cry), and from the breathlessly infectious Vague Destructrice (Destructive Wave) to the ethereal harmonies of closer, Faucheuse (Reaper).

‘All of life, it happens here, in the light outside of the Spar, across the road, the neon sign for Leisureland still glows, they forgot to turn it off, when it closed’ (Leisureland)

There are many ways to tell a story.  The linear – you know beginning, middle, end.  Or you can take a more interwoven route to exploring the origins and consequences of an idea.  It is this latter approach that Neutrals take on this, their second full-length, and follow-up to 2022’s Bus Nights EP.

The starting concept for the album is the ‘new towns’ that were constructed in the UK during the 1950s and 1960s, many being overspill estates adjacent to major cities.  And, while by the 1980s, many of these cities from London to Liverpool were in a febrile state, the new towns had often become bywords for a more attritional, isolated social alienation.

Now, I know what your thinking – why would a band based in California’s Bay Area be concerning themselves with UK new towns?  All will become clear though as the vocals – a soft, broad Scottish brogue – appear, interlaced with a very British indie punk of bright, sharp guitars, with just a shimmer of jangle, underpinned by a sprightly, limber rhythm section and harmonised backing vocals.

The album unfolds through a rich tableau of short stories, each inspired by real life news stories from the era, expertly evoking a sense of both time and place.  After the sample-led title track, the regret-tinged Wish You Were Here is a tale of a Spanish holiday romance, while the stridently robust Stop The Bypass remembers the widespread environmental protests against road expansion schemes, and the surging Last Orders is a tale of volatile, headstrong friendship.

Side Two sees the jaunty The Iron That Never Swung tell the bizarre story of the golf club without a course, before segueing into the pulsing electronics, spoken word, and haunting choral crescendo of ‘another paunchy middle-aged raver’ on How Did I Get Here.  The album closes on the spikily infectious, tightly crafted Substitute Teacher and Phantom Arcade, a darkly comedic tale of stolen arcade games, copper theft, and an unfortunately timed demolition.

And as with all social historical excavations, the album also casts light on how little has changed.  Politicians still tout new towns as a panacea to a housing shortage created by their policies, communities are still compelled to fight council attempts to drive them from their homes in the name of ‘progress’, and we still work remarkably hard to make sure that the young have nowhere to go but the corner outside the local Spar.

‘Hoard The Land, hoard the houses, collect the rent, collect the wages, passive income…If you can’t inherit someone else’s wealth, you’re going to be left living on a shelf’ (Landlord Nation)

Now, this is an absolute steamroller of an album. Melbourne’s Cutters deliver a rampaging lesson in burly, no nonsense hardcore, but its seething intensity does not dictate any lack of subtlety or invention.  Hoarsely impassioned vocals are intertwined with venomous, infectious riffage and flares of dissonant melody, while underpinned by a rhythm section of strutting, swaggering intensity.

The utterly raucous fury of Landlord Nation, the brilliantly discordant Depresso Rant No.69, and the surging First Of Many set the tone.  But the band prove equally adept in their more expansive moments, from the relentless slow burn escalation of Frail In The Mind to the groove fuelled crescendo of Glass Tomb.

As with the band’s earlier three EPs, the lyrical focus is a coruscating deconstruction of our current bleak social malaise.  The fierce opener, Airport Smoking Lounge, delivers a powerful allegory for environmental degradation (‘Draw it in around you, take in the sights and sounds’) and Doomscroller deals with the consequences of all permissive technology (‘Books don’t hit the same, songs don’t hit the same, life don’t hit the same, I can’t think’).

Meanwhile, Landlord Nation has the excesses of rentier capitalism firmly in its crosshairs and Jobs For The Boys deals with how those in power relentlessly fail upwards in our supposed meritocracy (‘Insincere, insipid, redundant, not even fit to sell real estate’).  But the album ends on an almost hopeful note with closer, Revelations Of Divine Love, defiantly seeing the chance for a better future amidst the squalling guitars (‘There’s a strength in every living creature against every fiend from hell’).

‘Nothing changes in the land of parking lots and killing sprees, They don’t care’ (Lost Illusion)

Invertebrates share several members with fellow Richmond, Virginia band, Public Acid.  However, while the latter unleash savage metallic hardcore, Invertebrates move in rather different circles stripping their sound back to classic 1980s’ US hardcore.  There is no room for indulgence or flamboyance – this is a debut album pared to the bone, defined by rasping vocals, blistering riffs, and pounding drums.

But this should not be confused with simplicity.  The riffage is fluid yet complex and the band prove experts at judging the tempo changes and melodic flare-ups that ensure maximum impact.  Personal standouts include fierce opener No More, the bristling Bated Breath that builds to an utterly crushing crescendo, and the infectious melodic flourish that defines Humid Crypt.

The album proves the perfect soundtrack to examine the financial exploitation of our cities on Lost Illusion and Sterilized Decay (‘Stagnant social disease, aimed at killing all culture, profits the only intention’), while the title track focuses on our march to environmental catastrophe (‘Too busy with their greed to stay alive’) and Laughing System on the systemic indifference that drives our economic system (‘Numb from constant casualties, They laugh when they see you, Just another failed statistic’).

‘Explosion of wealth, by murderous events, environmental and civil threats.  Constructed to loot prosperity, system benefiting from trading death. Parasites don’t suffer’ (Security By Sacrifice)

Hailing from Austin, and featuring members of Severed Head Of State, Vaaska, and Program, Peace Decay return with a self-titled follow-up to their 2022 debut Death Is Only….  The band continue to evolve their sound, which is a searing fusion of Burning Spirit Japanese hardcore and more contemporary neo-crust influences.  Setting the foundations are gruff, guttural vocals, galloping crust riffage, and a thunderous rhythm section surging forward in punishing lockstep.

Meanwhile, it is the lead guitar that takes centre stage, at times working in parallel with the wider band, and at the other times carving a more distinct path.  Throughout, it maintains a highly melodic, dramatic, rhythmically dense texture with soaring solos that very much draw on New Wave of British Heavy Metal traditions.

Highlights include the groove laden Lights Out, Hell In and swaggering Repetition.  Lyrically, the band favour darkly allusive imagery as they explore the slow violence of capitalism on Lights Out, Hell In and Security By Sacrifice, while Parasitic Jackal and First Order grapple with the corrosive consequences that ensue.

‘Because these days are ours to take, Seize with union, love, and rage’ (Retribution)

The story of this island over the past forty years has been one of grossly distorted economic priorities that have led us to our current juncture of dehumanising poverty, entrenched inequality, crumbling infrastructure, and hollowed-out public services.  If you were to conjure the sonic manifestation of the rage that this induces, it would almost certainly sound an awful lot like Stevenage’s Bad Breeding.

Returning with their fifth full-length, Contempt, and follow-up to 2022’s searing Human Capital, Bad Breeding are in rampaging form.  Ominously distorted guitars, laced with bleakly melancholic melodies set the tone, while a richly resonant bass injects a healthy swing to proceedings alongside the pounding, propulsive drums.  Meanwhile, rasping, semi-shouted vocals compete with eruptions of squalling solos and blast beats, fuelling an atmosphere of sinister, disorientating menace.  The result is an even heavier iteration of the band’s anarcho-punk hardcore, veering at times into an almost industrial intensity.  Lyrically, the album explores the continued degradation of our society through neoliberalism, as well as examining our own complicity in the stranglehold that this rationality has exerted.

Proceedings open with the swaying, post-punk-tinged Temple Of Victory, that dissects the continued grip of the monarchy on our national imagination (‘Behind the callow smear and parades of ecstasy, is weakness sown in costume and buried in conceit’), before the viscerally furious Survival (‘Sold as a spectre, but fed on a drip, Crushed by the sanctity of capital worship’) and the savagely stomping Discipline (‘We feed on the necessity, to plunder flesh and earth, for a surplus we will never see’) tackle the conspiracy of inaction in the face of climate catastrophe.

Side Two opens with a swaggering call to action, Retribution, and the discordant, serpentine Gilded Cage / Sanctuary, then explores the harrowing impacts of economic austerity (‘In the haze of someone’s prosperity, Count the boarded shopfronts and eyes glossed with grief’).  Meanwhile, the bristling Vacant Paradise is a brutal denunciation of our willingness to co-operate with a system that degrades us (‘The warmth of uniformity, Gutted of self-respect’).  The furiously dissonant title track brings the album to an utterly crushing climax (‘Is this the house we really built, or just the ruins we’re forced to bear?’).

An accompanying booklet contextualises the album’s themes as well as including short essays on our failure of will to tackle homelessness, and the ongoing badger cull, which is as barbaric as it is illogical.  The package is completed by stunning artwork courtesy of renowned campaigning photomontage artist, Peter Kennard.

Modern Life Is War return with a new album that brings together the three volumes of the Tribulation Worksongs into a single release.

Modern Life Is War were initially active between 2002 and 2008, releasing three full lengths, the most acclaimed of which was, perhaps, 2005’s Witness.  They were to prove a defining band in the wave of melodic hardcore that came to shape that decade.  But while most of their contemporaries emerged from traditional coastal hardcore centres, MLIW hailed from Iowa, imbuing their music with a distinctive Midwestern accent.  A voice that favoured politics with a small ‘p’, framed in a humane, ground-up perspective and rooted in a clear sense of the value of community.

The band reformed in 2012, releasing a new album, Fever Hunting, in 2013 and then a series of three 7-inches – each a volume of the Tribulation Worksongs.  This LP is a compilation of the tracks that spanned this series.  Now, typically, with a compilation of 7-inch material, you might expect some unevenness.  But, in fact, there is a powerful coherency that unites the tracks, both sonically and thematically.  Indeed, as aesthetically lovely as the EPs were (vocalist Jeffrey Eaton typed the lyrics to each song on his vintage typewriter), the songs as a musical statement build even more impact in this unified, reordered form.

The album opens with Feels Like End Times and Revival Fires, two classically constructed MLIW tracks – raw, impassioned vocals interplay with lean, darkly melodic guitars, and a surging rhythm section, defined by peaks of almost winding emotional intensity.  Both tracks tackle the social and economic malaise gripping the US heartlands, the former tackling its political exploitation (‘Find another working class apologist. I am not your shill’) and the latter a plea for renewal (‘This land was begging for breath and pleading to be peeled back’).  The side closes with the raucous, swinging Survival, which adapts the lyrics to Marcia Griffith’s reggae classic of the same title.

The flipside opens with the darkly brooding Lonesome Valley Ammunitions (‘Steal someone else’s dreams, to satisfy your own’).  Then follows the slow burn, spoken word brilliance of Indianapolis Talking Blues (‘Countless broken backs for countless useless products’), the impact of which is ferociously amplified by segueing into a rollicking cover of The Stooges’ I Wanna Be Your Dog, before End Times Dub, a percussion fuelled remix of the opening track, brings the album to a thunderous conclusion.

‘Profit is everything amidst a crumbling vile decay.  They don’t care; just useful plebs in their power game’ (Those Who Gave Us Yesterday)

Let’s be honest if you are not even a touch angry with the state of the world, then you have not been really paying much attention.  A silver lining, and a rather welcome one at that, is that this bleak state of affairs has provoked a return to action for Boston’s The Hope Conspiracy.  Featuring current and former members of All Pigs Must Die, Harvest, Paint It Black, and The Suicide File, the band was originally active during the noughties, releasing three albums, and a slew of EPs.  Following their return with last year’s Confusion/Chaos/ Misery EP, this is, in fact, the band’s first full-length since 2006’s Death Knows Your Name.  And time has only stoked their fury.

As the ominous opening riff to Those Of Who Gave Us Yesterday unfurls over wailing air raid sirens you brace yourself for what is to follow – roared, impassioned vocals, wisps of sombre melody overlay menacing groove-laden riffage that feeds into a punishing chorus, while a thunderous rhythm section unleashes an almost tribal barrage.  And the intensity never diminishes as the band evoke a relentlessly desolate, claustrophobic atmosphere.  This brutal battery is leavened by flourishes of discordant melody and passage of dissonant foreboding, from the surging The Prophets And Doom to the slab-like Shock By Shock, and from the bruising The West Is Dead to the unsettling The Specter Looms.

This is an album literally steeped in rage – every sinew of its being is straining to challenge the distorted priorities of our age.  The mirage of our increasingly zombified democracies, their knowing capitulation to the rapacious demands of capital, and the resultant exploitation and oppression are the defining themes, ‘A tragic noose, tight around all our necks’ (Of A Dying Nation).

‘They live inside your brain, they’ll take control, they’ll take your soul, outside the limits of your sight, they hide behind the static’ (Nuclear Age)

You could probably write, in fact, I’m sure someone will have done, a pretty diverting thesis on the interactions between place and music – how one shapes the other.  That is not to say that musical styles cannot travel with reasonable success, but rather that there exists an organic connection between certain places and certain ‘sounds’.  A clear example of this would be the melodic hardcore punk that has emerged in waves of varying intensity over the past forty years from Southern California.

The latest flagbearers are Orange County’s Bloodstains.  The band took their 7-inch bow in 2023 and this, their self-titled debut full-length, has swiftly followed.  All the hallmarks you would anticipate are firmly in place – the nasal, back of throat vocals, darkly melodic guitars that are just the right side of burly, an aggressively supple rhythm section.  But, perhaps, more importantly each track is tightly crafted and delivered with an undeniable vigour as the band explore themes of political disaffection, social control, military adventurism, and police violence.

In a reasonably ballsy move, the album kicks off with a surging surf-infused instrumental, The Last Rites, which sets up what follows perfectly.  The stomping Nuclear Age and the fierce crescendo to Combat Shock are highlights of side one.  Meanwhile, side two includes the remarkably infectious Anti-Social, which is defined by a haunting melody that you will quite possibly never shake.  However, perhaps, the stand-out track is the irresistibly constructed Suburban Suicide, before the melancholic Stray Bullets provides a bleakly robust finale.