‘Overthinking a thing or two, Thinking my brain and body isn’t right for you, Maybe I might just be losing a screw, Or maybe I’m doing this cause you told me to’ (Confused)

Hailing from Leicester, Sex Germs’ debut full-length is an absolutely rollicking, genre-distorting ride.  Whiplash furiously melds the band’s hardcore punk base with crossover thrash eruptions, garage punk struts, and quirky art punk flourishes before unleashing crushing sludge-mired breakdowns.

Impressively, this febrile shapeshifting feels entirely organic.  In part, this reflects the off-kilter energy that burns throughout.  Equally integral are the irrepressible vocals that match the musical virtuosity step for step as they sweep from sarcasm dripping snarls to just shy of death metal growls, by way of exuberant yelps, without even a moment’s pause.

It won’t surprise that the lyrical themes are equally eclectic.  The pain of anxiety, sexual aggression, the pressure to have children, and the joys of a good veggie lasagne (although the inclusion of aubergines is not without controversy) are all handled with acerbic relish.  The savage oscillations of Choke and the woozily grunge fuelled Drive capture the chameleon essence perfectly.

A fistful of stomp and a gobful of venom?  Welcome to the uncompromising debut self-titled release from Plymouth’s Sneer.

Taut melodies skitter amid the filth-tinged waves of distortion, while the rhythmically barked vocals lock-in with a rhythm section that positively bristles with a menacing swagger.  Flares of dissonant electronics intersperse the tracks, serving only to amplify the intensity of the onslaught as it mercilessly resumes its confrontation with the decaying world around us.

The sheer energy levels that fuel the ten tracks recall the breathless intensity and boisterous bounce of Exit Order but with the added burly velocity of say, The Flex.  It is an enticing combination and one that lands with a particular vigour on the barrelling Second Son and the discordant fervour of Psychic Psychosis, before the more melodically expansive closer Cattle Prod.

‘Regulated by social appeasement, New direction, a correction for sickness, Plead for a cure…and then smile for a quick fix, Why not be you and I’ll be me’ (Self Legislated)

Anyone who has ever had the pleasure of sharing their home with a cat will know that they have an ambivalent attitude towards water at the best of times.  Our dog will plonk herself in the shower without a second thought should the mood take.  Our cat, on the other hand, well…I’m not sure the strikingly vibrant cover art to Cold Shower’s debut 7-inch quite anticipates the scale of the chaos that would ensue.

But Cold Showers’ moniker is, in fact, something of a misnomer.  The Plymouth band deal in urgently energetic, emotionally heartfelt punk.  The guitars are bathed in a warm resonance that seeps over the neatly punchy rhythm section.  Meanwhile, the gruff vocals brim with an unassuming sincerity as they wryly reflect on the pressures of getting through the everyday as well as the undeniable importance of power napping.

The song writing is tightly propulsive, with none of the five tracks even hinting at outstaying its welcome.  Indeed, my personal stand out, the darkly escalating Self Legislated, always leaves me rather longing for just a little bit more…

‘Destruction the solution, war the solution, dereliction the solution, the solution is no solution’ (We Are Making A New World)

Gimic return with a fizzing follow-up to their excellent debut EP, Defer To Hate.  The Bristol band continue to hone their very distinctive clean guitar hardcore that frenetically refracts a myriad of seemingly disparate influences through a Dischord leaning prism without it ever feeling like that it might be an odd thing to do.  Snarled, rasping vocals and a funkily limber rhythm section provide the band’s cornerstone, while the guitar weaves its own intriguingly serpentine path across three tracks that brim with unexpected invention.

The writhing Irrational Demographic kicks proceedings off with its dissection of the polarised echo chambers of much contemporary debate, before Plastic Prison explores how the same dynamic sees us construct our own confinement, building as it does to a fiercely dissonant crescendo.  The flip side sees the more expansive, slow-burn title track take centre stage and it doesn’t disappoint as it dismantles the warped political consensus that has led us to our current malaise.  This is the second press and the cover art is now magnolia upon white.

Frigöra (Release) are a band whose name regularly pierces the mists of hardcore history, shorthand for a rarely matched ferocity.

This retrospective though was my first proper encounter with Frigöra and, even with this forewarning, nothing quite prepared me for the truly unhinged carnage that they unleashed.  It feels as if every sinew of the band was dedicated to pushing their sound to its absolute limits.  The fact that they do not implode in on themselves was not you sense due to any self-restraint, but simply the fact that they physically couldn’t push it any further.

Frigöra emerged from Kawasaki City and were active between 1995 and 1999.  During this period, much Japanese hardcore revelled in its metallic crust influences.  In contrast, Frigöra found their inspirations in Scandinavian hardcore and then took their own interpretation to its very extremities.  Harshly distorted guitars, fiercely raw drums, and desperation shredded vocals are honed into a brutally frenetic, yet skilfully layered, fusillade.  The blistering execution is matched with a lyrical directness as they address themes of war, animal liberation, and capitalist excess.

Fullständig Frigörelse (Complete Liberation) pulls together Frigöra’s entire twenty-seven track discography.  Side One captures their solitary album, 1998’s Dance Of The Plague Bearer, as well as three previously unreleased tracks that include a cover of Mob 47’s Rustning Är Ett Brott (Armour Is A Crime).  The flipside then focuses on the band’s first two releases, their 1995 self-titled EP and their split release with Diskonto from the same year.  The accompanying booklet pulls together the artwork and lyrics – which span English, Japanese, and Swedish – from the original releases.

‘You won’t find us washing with the tides from crowd to faceless crowd, nor dreamless in the mills where years are ground to dust, You won’t find us between white walls, where the lights are always on’ (Gone To Croatan)

‘The darkness before the dawn, It just goes on and on’.   And so goes the savagely primordial howl that heralds the return of Catharsis on the opener Nocturne, a return that is as thoroughly welcome as it is entirely unexpected.  The catalyst was the ever-darkening turn in the US as it accelerates, seemingly without pause, towards authoritarianism.  The poisonous fruit of decades of entrenched socio-economic inequality and the relentless militarisation of civic society are being harvested by a demagogue and his gaggle of opportunists.  For Catharsis, this is a call that could not be ignored.

The band were initially active between 1994 and 2002, before reforming in 2012 to continue to tour in line with their fiercely DIY convictions, with members also being involved in a myriad of other projects, including Requiem, Sect, Trial, and Undying.  Hope Against Hope represents their first new material since 2001’s Arsonist’s Prayer.  Now, normally you could find yourself approaching fresh music after such a lengthy hiatus with trepidation as much as excitement.  Yet, such was the clarity of Catharsis’ musical vision and political conviction, it was hard for me to imagine them coming back as anything other than the Catharsis that so indelibly helped to shape my understanding of what hardcore can achieve.

My confidence was not misplaced.  Hope Against Hope succeeds both in dramatically progressing the band’s musical expression and also conveying a sense that they have never been away – this is simply the organic next step.  Bleakly menacing, structurally ambitious, crust-tinged metallic hardcore continues to form the searing crucible that enables the band to ferment a barrage of unwavering, visceral intensity.  It is one clearly crafted with intent and a characteristically arresting inventiveness.  From the swirling, haunting, almost operatic, backing vocals that unfurl throughout Power, and which are further braided through with solemn violin during Gone To Croatan, to the ominously whispered spoken word of Eremocene and the exuberant melodicism that flares during Last Words, the energy is utterly irrepressible.

Lyrically, the band continue to favour often overtly apocalyptic, darkly allusive imagery, to evoke the consequences of rampant economic exploitation and environmental extraction.  They call on a broadly anarchist framing to explore how alternatives can be realised to nurture a more egalitarian future for humanity.  At the very heart of the album is a tension around the concept of hope.  How is it possible to sustain hope, when there is so little evidence of anything going right?

No easy answers are proffered, but rather there is a recognition that hope is the essential counter to nihilism.  Indeed, the value of hope amplifies as conditions deteriorate and as the need to challenge the sickness increases.  It does not assure victory, but it fights to protect and promote the very idea of what is right.  It is, in fact, a prerequisite to resistance.  In the band’s own words from their 1999 full-length, Passion: ‘But the important thing is to speak, to act, to do something, and let the consequences sort themselves out.  So if we live, let’s live to tread on kings, to break our bodies and our hearts to keep ahead of death, to dance right through our lives’.

‘Your job! Your job! To distract your potential…Your job! Your job! You should never take pride…Every boss in America is a master and slave to his own tragic rise’ (Consumer Talk)

Cleveland’s Knowso return with their third full-length and follow-up to last year’s Pulsating Gore.  The duo are in many respects the living embodiment of what we have come to expect musically from their home city – a wholehearted willingness to contort punk into challenging yet undeniably alluring new shapes.

The core of their sound lies in the tense play-off between the densely taut guitars and the nervously agitated rhythm section that can’t help but provoke barely controllable gyrations.  Amid the urgently angular propulsion, Knowso also find scope to subtly expand their sound from the broodily catchy Perfect For Bleach and Flourescent Pink Vein to the pulsing, synth fuelled choruses of Consumer Talk and Panopticon.

The sardonically acerbic vocals are delivered with a deadpan austerity, but that should not be confused with emotional detachment.  While Pulsating Gore focused on the bitter and unsuccessful battle to unionise Nathan Ward’s (vocals / guitars) workplace, Hypnotic Smack pans out for a wider view.  It conjures a typically absurdist and off-kilter contemplation of how our subservience to the demands of capital continues to distort and pollute the behaviour of both individuals and society at large.

‘All that you believe is a commodity, Everything we touch preys on our psychology, Digital world brings new currency, If there is money to be made then none of us are ever truly free’ (Commodified Life)

Hailing from Pittsburgh, Illiterates continue to draw with relish on the traditions of 1980s’ US hardcore, with more than a passing nod to the youth crew of that era, as well as notable flares of more crossover inspired riffage.  The band’s previous albums, 2023’s No Experts and their 2021 self-titled debut, were blisteringly fast, no-holds barred affairs.  And while Does Not Compute shares the same base pleasures of scorching speed and lusty gang vocals, the band have also afforded themselves a little more room to introduce plenty of brutish mid-paced stomp and it works a treat.

While revelling in the moniker of ‘the dumbest band in hardcore’, the gruffly guttural vocals meld together a satisfyingly concise deconstruction of the modern malaise of political expediency, surveillance capitalism, and corporate virtue signalling, laced with a healthy dose of black humour and a robustly nihilistic vigour.  The twelve tracks crash home in as many minutes and are packed with a succession of standout moments.  From the absolute beast of a riff that defines Remember When to the ferocious contempt of Hold A Grudge, by way of the swaggering climatic breakdown to Read The Room, not a moment is wasted.

‘Everything’s getting less, But costing me more, My cash is running low, No credit anymore’ (Life In The Slow Lane)

As right-wing extremists and ideological grifters marshal huge, flag swathed crowds on to our streets with their toxic tropes that punch down on the already marginalised, it is easy to forget just how much neglect was required to create this poisonous state of affairs.  Well, some forty years of blind obedience to the free market delusion as it happens.  Plenty of time to ravage our social infrastructure, embed insecurity in people’s lives, entrench a doom loop of austerity, and incubate a fertile sense of powerlessness to be exploited.

This Is A War is the second EP from North East England’s Unified Action, and the follow up to their equally excellent self-titled debut.  The utterly bruising title track unleashes an unsparing recognition of the danger posed by people’s increasingly brazen flirtation with the politics of the far right, while the venomously staccato  Life In The Slow Lane and Gatekeeper, with its monstrous slab-like finale, unpick how despair at plunging living standards has been harnessed in the seemingly ever more insidious echo chambers of misinformation.

Across the five tracks, the band ferociously reimagine their 1980s’ hardcore influences.  The onslaught is deftly constructed and studded through with flashes of savage crossover riffage and semi-blast beat eruptions.  It is an uncompromising soundtrack to a nation that is intent on sleepwalking to the precipice of the abyss.

This split 7-inch sees Virginia’s Destruct and Stockholm’s Svaveldioxid in typically uncompromising form as they both contribute two new tracks apiece plus a cover of a track from each other’s discography.

‘Aimless accumulation with no respite, Endless reproduction, Endless night, No man’s atrocity this silent debt of misery’ (Reindustrialised)

Destruct have been in impressively prolific form since the release of their second full-length, 2023’s Cries The Mocking Mother Nature.  They have followed that in quick succession with their contributions to Screaming Death (a four-way split album with Disskerad, Rat Cage, and Scarecrow), To Stop The Conflict (a split 12-inch with Life), and now this latest collaboration with Svaveldioxid.

As ever, the band unleash a battery that brutally melds raw punk with the additional heft of metallic crust.  The d-beat fired rhythm section underpins the unrelenting waves of darkly ominous riffage, while the gutturally roared vocals contemplate how rampant greed continues to fuel environmental collapse and seemingly endless conflict.  Their three tracks include a cover of Krigets Hundar (Dogs Of War) taken from Svaveldioxid’s 2019 album, Dödsögonblick (Moment Of Death).

‘Uppgrävda lik, I krigande länder, Oskyldiga offer, Med bakbundna händer’ (Stillbilder) / ‘Exhumed corpses, In warring countries, Innocent victims, With hands tied behind their backs’ (Still Images)

If there is a band to match Destruct’s creative energies, it is Svaveldioxid (Sulphur Dioxide).  During the decade of their existence, the band have released five albums and a slew of EPs.  Indeed, the band’s sixth album is already slated for release later this year on Phobia Records.

Intriguingly, while the high velocity dynamics of their sound are firmly rooted in Swedish käng, Svaveldioxid’s guitar tone is very much more indebted to the gratifyingly thick buzzsaw that came to define early 1990s’ Swedish death metal.  Yeah, that’s right – Entombed gets the mangel treatment.  Meanwhile, the echo-infused, semi-shouted vocals are immersed in the unremitting horrors of warfare.  Their three tracks also include a reciprocal Destruct cover, namely Two State Solution from 2023’s Screaming Death.

‘Blinding white walls and giant ads, Smells of perfume and processed foods, Plastic shops selling plastic goods, There are the police ready for fun’ (Voice Hunger)

Like many of her counterparts, France currently seems trapped in an inexorable downward spiral, as a refusal to challenge entrenched economic inequality fuels political volatility and encourages an ever more dangerous flirtation with authoritarian panaceas.  Each country has its own particular flavour of conflict, with France’s manifesting itself in the twin cycles of urban social segregation and rural depopulation, while trying to swim against the universal tides of surveillance capitalism and atomising lives.

Brittany’s Toxic Rites have this poisonous cocktail firmly in their sights on this, their self-titled debut EP, as well as recognising the need to avoid nihilism in the face of what seems inevitable.  Yet the soundtrack to this venomous polemic is decidedly English – an absolutely searing reimagination of 1980s’ anarcho-punk.  Strident yet catchy semi-shouted vocals segue between melodic choruses, with just the right hint of theatre, and sneering rat-a-tat-tat rhythmic eruptions.

The tautly surging guitars and martial rhythm section ensure a vehemently contagious atmosphere.  From the searing convulsions of Voice Hunger to the infectious fury of Rural Song, by way of the soaring chorus that defines Take Care, each of the four tracks fizzes with an energy and structural invention that can’t help but make your heart skip just a little quicker.  And an anarcho-punk album that will have you two-stepping in your kitchen? Now that is hard to beat.

‘Glória ao primeiro mundo, pela extinção da desigualdade, onde as lutas do socialism, chegam de tesla na sua cidade, aqui se morre de tédio e de ansiedade’ (Glória) / ‘Glory to the first world, for the extinction of inequality, where the struggles of socialism arrive in your city, here you die of boredom and anxiety’ (Glory)

Naõ (No) released their self-titled debut 7-inch last year and are now back with their first full-length, Obrigada (Thank You).  Sharing members as they do with fellow Bremen-based band Inferno Personale, the sheer velocity of their delivery comes as little surprise.  That said, their palette is a more restrained and stripped back one, fusing together raw 1980s’ Italian hardcore with fuzzed, but not overly distorted, d-beat influences.

From the savagely fluid Obrigada – Todos Querem Dominar O Mundo (Thank You – Everyone Wants to Rule the World) to the rhythmically seething Admirável Mundo Nuvo (Brave New World), the intensity is utterly remorseless yet impressively tight.  The bass punches resonantly through as the waves of riffage unfurl, squalls of fleeting melody deftly flare amid the onslaught.  Meanwhile, the snarled Portuguese vocals lock-in with a howling, exuberant ferocity as they dissect the intersections of class consciousness and the emigrant experience in our increasingly fragmented and technologically ensnared lives.  The strikingly ghoulish cover art rounds things off a treat.

‘Per un moment sento que s’acaba el mon, Erem eterns però ara ja no ho som, No sé com viure si et dic la veritat, Per a no confondre la realitat’ (Eterns) / ‘For a moment I feel like the world is ending, We were eternal but now we are not, I don’t know how to live if I tell you the truth, So as not to confuse reality’ (Eternal)

As the title implies, Col-lecció brings together each of Enemic Interior’s (Enemy Within) three excellent EPs to date – I, II, III – and book ends them with two equally fine new tracks, Mai Més (Never Again) and Fugir Endavant (Flee Forward) for good measure.

The Barcelona’s band sound is one deeply rooted in high intensity, bleakly melodic punk and injected with a notable sense of post-punk drama and flourishes of a boisterous pop sensibility.  The former ensures that an atmosphere of brooding melancholy is conjured, while the latter leavens the gloom with heartily catchy group choruses that will have you singing along in no time, no matter how rusty your Catalan.  The defining heart of the band though lies in the serpentine guitar leads, which readily evoke a surging emotional heft in the vein of Leatherface and Hooton 3 Car.

There is a pleasing continuity that runs through the 18 tracks, but the quality of the song writing also ensures that each track carries its own clear sense of identity.  The lyrics are fractured and darkly poetical as they wrestle with mortality, memory, and trying to make sense of the here and now.  Personal highlights include the shimmering dissonance of Eterns, the elegiac escalation of 100 Tambors (100 Drums), and the raucous fervour of Pilars De La Decadéncia (Pillars Of Decadence).

‘Balas que rompen, El silencio estrellado, Veo a una madre triste, Siento du dolor y lamento, En la ciudad de los vientos’ (Ecos De Chicago) / ‘Bullets that break, The starry silence, I see a sad mother, I feel her pain and lament, In the windy city’ (Echoes Of Chicago)

Fuerza Bruta (Brute Force) return with a new four-track, 10-inch EP, and follow-up to 2023’s full-length, Contra. The Chicago band, who include members of the Brazilian and Mexican diaspora, have been active for the past decade.  Their origins lie in that city’s Oi! punk scene but they refuse to be bound too tightly by the strictures that this might imply.  Ecos De Chicago is, perhaps, best understood as driving, darkly melodic punk, underpinned by a satisfying hardcore rhythmic grit, and a keen eye for a robust group chorus.

The gruff Spanish vocals speak to the devastating consequences of gun violence in their home city and the systematic, state sanctioned violence being executed on the US border with Mexico, before turning to wider tales of living on Chicago’s South Side.  The title track hits home with a particularly bruising vigour, while the closer Lado A Lado (Side By Side) sees fiercely jousting guitars culminate in a burly chant that elicits thoughts of the rather menacing bloke on the front cover, returning home after a particularly gruelling day of plunder and pillage.

‘Muzturren aurrian daukauz, Altza burua ta erantzun, Faxismua goitxik eta behetik, Hartu ta ebai errotik’ (Zatitxu Fatxa Hori) / ‘We are facing the enemy, Raise your head and respond, Fascism from above and below, Take it and cut it off by the roots’ (That Little Fascist)

Hailing from the Basque Country, Zikin (Dirty) already have two albums under their belt, including last year’s Bala Galdua Zure Buru Galduan (A Lost Bullet In Your Lost Mind).  Their first 7-inch, Zatitxu (Small Piece), sees the band continue to hone their well-established core tenets – taut, sinewy guitars, agitated stop-start rhythms, and flares of death rock melodicism.

But these four tracks are delivered with a muscular edge that infuses these constituent elements with an even more pressing velocity.  The urgent Basque vocals match this amplified intensity as they challenge Europe’s fast rising tide of right wing nationalism and the remorseless commercialisation of cultural life.  Yet this ramped up aggression doesn’t dictate that Zikin’s trademark fine detailing is diluted.  From the supple, bouncing mid-song bass lines that propel Zatitxu Fatxa Hori and Trapu Zaharrak (Old Rags), to the gleaming shards of bright, surf-tinged solo that define Gerizpia Iluntzen (The Shadow Is Darkening) it remains very much in evidence.

‘Cuándo murió la coherencia? Cuándo murió el sentido común? Cuándo restaron todas la fuerzas? Y enterraron la lucha en un ataud’ (Molestia) / ‘When did coherence die? When did common sense die? When did all strength fail? And they buried the struggle in a coffin’ (Inconvenience)

Hailing from Mallorca, this is Lakra’s debut release and it’s an absolute banger.  The gnarly, desperation soaked vocals sit right up in the mix, supported by occasional flares of energetically contrasting support.  Meanwhile, the guitars are tautly stripped back and underpinned by a fiercely primitive rhythm section.  The key lies in the fizzing dynamics of Lakra’s song writing as they deftly marshal these core elements.  Each of the EP’s five tracks seethes with a primordial energy and an uncompromising clarity of intent.

From the savage climax of Desconocimiento General (General Ignorance) to the jags of wiry post-punk melody that define Molestia, and from the stomping fury of Muerta (Dead) to the menacing vehemence of La Sonrisa (The Smile), the band’s intensity is as invigorating as it is unforgiving.  The searing rage is provoked by the stifling conventions and self-interest that seek to repress difference, strangle the expressions of youth, and suffocate the aspirations for social change.

‘Consejos que son ecos, De su propia frustración, Exterminio del pensamiento, institución estudia, Construye un futuro, emancipación, No quiero creer en su sucio juego’ (Loca) / ‘Advice that echoes, Of your own frustration, Extermination of thought, institution studies, Build a future, emancipation, I don’t want to believe in your dirty game’ (Crazy)

Criminal is the debut release from Tenerife’s Eskolopendra (Centipede) and the trio have honed a richly atmospheric slab of bleakly melodic punk.  The musical palette is tightly constrained as a crisply metronomic rhythm section locks-in with the darkly lean guitar.  This austerity provides the perfect platform for a freewheeling vocal performance, one that sweeps from the stridently urgent to the sardonically detached, from spitting venom to brooding pensively.

It proves an intoxicating partnership, not least on the irrepressibly contagious Actitud (Attitude) and the tensely bristling No Hay Futuro (There Is No Future).  It also matches the fiercely controlled anger that defines the album – a fury at the suffocating everyday chains of social convention (Loca / Crazy) and misogynistic attitudes (Los Chicos / The Boys), and at a society geared towards protecting privilege and entrenched interests at the expense of progress and basic decency (La Ley / The Law).  The coldly seething Odio La Tele (I Hate TV) provides a suitably bracing climax.

‘Cuando las ciudades, Arden en llamas, Mejor escucha y mira, Como cambia el cielo, Recuera que la muerte, Siempre corre a tu lado’ (Sabes Quién Soy) / ‘When cities, Burn in flames, Better listen and see, How the sky changes, Remember that death, Always runs by your side’ (You Know Who I Am)

Suicidas are a Barcelona-based punk band, whose members have also played in a myriad of projects spanning Belgrado, Irreal, Ruidosa Inmundicia, and Tàrrega 91′.  While the band remain intermittently active in terms of live shows, their five EPs, including two splits with Mallorca’s Trance and New York’s Pox, were all recorded between 2012 and 2016.  Éxitos Y Fracasos (Successes And Failures) consolidates all fifteen tracks into a single album.

Tightly crafted, darkly melodic punk has always been the band’s calling card, the trio revelling in juxta posing a deep-seated sense of melancholy with their innately infectious melodicism.  The heart of the band’s sound is built around the stridently energetic dual vocals as the weave together tales of broken dreams and bitter betrayals, grappling to overcome the despair and anxiety that results.  Personal standouts are the serpentine Cuerda Floja (Tightrope) and the raucously escalating Corriendo A Ciegas (Running Blind) from the band’s 2012 self-titled debut EP, together with the plaintively arresting Sabes Quién Soy (You Know Who I Am) from their 2015 split with Trance.

‘Adormecidos una vez más, Para sobrellevar diez mil maneras de pensar, Lo colectivo, lo tribal, ya no más, Es la alienación final’ (Endredados) / ‘Lulled once again, To cope with ten thousand ways of thinking, The collective, the tribal, no more, It’s the final alienation’ (Tangled)

We live in a world where debate and contestation of ideas have been largely foreclosed by technocratic governance.  This absence has provided fertile ground for the increasingly malevolent discourse that pollutes public life.  Not so much conflict as punching down at the behest of self-serving grifters and demagogues.

This blistering seven track d-beat onslaught from Lima’s Vorágine (Maelstrom), on this their vinyl debut, bleeds with the frustrations of a life where we seemed locked in an endless cycle of soul sapping repetition.  The echo-infused vocals bark in torment, while the dissonantly distorted guitars and frenetic rhythm section are not shy of locking into their bruising groove amid the chaotically raw barrage.  The savagely convulsing Endredados and the deceptively catchy title track hit home with a particular velocity, as does a cover of Ataque Frontal’s Ta No Formo Parte De Esto (I’m No Longer Part Of This) from their self-titled 1988 album.

‘I’m feeling wild, But I think that it’s ok, To fall off the rails, For a little while, Everybody falls off the rails, For a little while, I’m falling off the rails again’ (Off The Rails)

It is the unspoken itch.  Not ever present, but also never entirely absent.  That desire for a dose of unashamed pop punk – pumping fists and open roads, or at least vigorous head nodding on the tube.  The problem when the itch does awaken itself, is finding exponents of this mysterious art capable of satisfactorily sating the need.

For while, on face value, it can appear a superficially straightforward sound, the reality is rather different.  The songs have to appear as though they have been fired off almost spontaneously, brazenly impromptu.  Yet, in fact, to succeed they must be anchored in the fine detail that provides the earthy depth to the breezy veneer.  And the pace must be irrepressibly upbeat, while ensuring that the wave of ninety second eruptions doesn’t merge in on itself, nor lose momentum to the temptation of unnecessary fripperies and self-indulgence.

Not many have mastered this delicate balance.  But a band who undoubtedly has, is Philadelphia’s Dark Thoughts.  Featuring members of fellow Philly bands Delco MFs, K.O.S, and The Ire among others, they are returning for their fourth album, and the  follow-up to 2020’s Must Be Nice.

Eleven tracks in fifteen minutes.  The riffs have just enough hardcore heft to root them properly.  The punchy rhythm section never errs from the snappily foot tapping.  The nasally melodic vocals will have you singing along without hesitation, not least on the regret-tinged Mike’s Dream and the wildly careering Sparkling Water.  You may even find yourself succumbing, at least temporarily, to the pragmatic optimism that beats at the album’s heart.  So, next time you get that itch, reach for the invaluable scratch that is Dark Thoughts.

Mexico’s Los Revolucionarios and Sweden’s Myetri combine forces to deliver seven tracks each of hardcore fired melodic crust on this split album.

There are significant notable shared attributes between the two bands.  Both have been active for just over a decade and have three full-lengths and another split LP to their name.  Both continue to relentlessly hone their thunderous melding of driving hardcore rhythms and soaring melodic crust.

‘El estado fallo y siguen desaparecidos, Me accompana el dolor, sonrisa falsa y traicon, El estado me quiere matar nos quieren someter, Traicon del estado y muertes, muertees’ (Desaparecidos) / ‘The state failed and they remain missing, I am accompanied by pain, false smile and betrayal, The state wants to kill me, they want to subdue us, State betrayal and deaths, deaths’ (Missing)

Side one sees Los Revolucionarios front and centre.  Theirs is an interpretation that draws eagerly on the dynamics of their hardcore influences to construct a darkly lean, emotionally charged onslaught.  This is particularly vividly captured by the seething climax to The Fall and the fiercely escalating velocity of Fire Inside.  The vocals, which alternate between guttural roars and rasping ferocity, explore the silent complicity, corruption, and violence that continue to shroud civic life in Mexico.

‘De som förblindats av hat bortom hotets rökridå, Raserar grunden som demokratin vilar på, De som förblindats av hat står enade med varan, Men faller till sist offer för sin egen fruktan’ (Pestens Tid) / ‘Those blinded by hatred beyond the smokescreen of the threat, Eradicate the foundation on which democracy rests, Those blinded by hatred stand united with each other, But ultimately fall victim to their own fear’ (The Time Of Plague)

Side two sees Myteri take over the reins.  The Göteborg band favour a more avowedly dramatic expression of their base elements.  This nurtures the deep sense of melancholy that defines their sound.  It is equal parts sorrow at what has come before and hopeful defiance that better is to come, as is embodied by Psykisk Terror (Psychic Terror) and Age Of Disinformation.  Meanwhile, the powerfully roared vocals deconstruct how systemic misinformation is fracturing our lives and sowing the malevolent seeds of political extremism and social intolerance.

‘The oligarch devours, Tear the flesh from their bones, A compost for a new world to grow, Bloated ugly corpses, A stench most foul’ (Stench)

Mass forced deportations, soldiers patrolling the streets, democratic and scientific institutions being systematically degraded, and the contagion of authoritarian rule slowly seeping into a nation’s lifeblood.  The rot is, indeed, thickening as autocracy becomes the new reality.  Minneapolis crust punks War//Plague have been challenging this ever-accelerating descent for over fifteen years and make a thoroughly timely return with this, their fifth full-length.

Muscular, metallic riffage and a galloping, cymbal awash rhythm section form the band’s backbone.  Swells of sombre melody and brightly unfurling solos flare through the wider battery, which leans into a discernibly more amplified stenchcore influence than on previous releases.  A bleakly allusive tableau of decay, despair, and death is evoked by the forcefully guttural, semi-shouted vocals as they contemplate a society seemingly locked into a cycle of greed and self-deception that will see it consume itself.  The surging Sacrifice and doom-mired Burn graphically capture the insidious atmosphere of desolate foreboding as it builds with a merciless intensity.

‘Media control, Suppression of dissent, A network of lies, Manufacturing consent, Walking into the new normal’ (Walking Into The New Normal)

London-based Mortar return with their second full-length of d-beat fuelled metallic crust with this follow-up to 2023’s Fire And Steel.  First things first, this album sounds massive.  Every element feels dialled up to the maximum – not blown out but rather big, burly, and bristling for the fight.  Importantly, amid the unrelenting rhythmic d-beat onslaught, space is given for the bruising riffs to breathe, while squalling solos and occasionally flaring melodic accents add further texture.

The semi-growled, semi-shouted vocals are drenched in urgency as they survey an atomised society that ignores the true causes of its plight in favour of scapegoating the already marginalised.  This refusal ferments increasing right-wing extremism that, in turn, heralds an authoritarian turn, leaving the world at the mercy of corrupt oligarchs and delusional warmongers.

From the barrelling opener, When There Is No One Left To Be Killed to the groove-laden Special Military Operation, and from the bludgeoning Living In The Shadow Of A Nuclear War to the slab-like fury of Walking Into The New Normal, there is no respite to be found.  This is a wholly uncompromising album in both execution and conviction

‘Příslib jistoty a lepších zítřků, Zářící pozlátko vyleštěny krví, Co zbyde až usadí se prach? Zábava lidí páchnouci smrtí’ (Pustina) / ‘A promise of certainty and better tomorrow, Shining glitter, polish with blood, What remains when the dust settles? Entertainment of people reeking of death’ (Wasteland)

Hailing from České Budějovice in the Czech Republic, Entrapped return with their second full-length, Světlo Je Mrtvý (The Light Is Dead).  The cover art homage to Bolt Thrower’s Realm Of Chaos ensures that expectations are well primed before the needle drops and unleashes the trio’s crust punk infused take on late 1980s’, early 1990s’ European death metal.

Downtuned, buzzsaw riffage, braided through with flourishes of mournful melody, is underpinned by a remorseless rhythm section as the band fuse together their menacing mid-paced groove with crushingly heavy breakdowns and frenzied blast beat eruptions.  Meanwhile, the savagely demonic Czech vocals conjure a bleakly dystopian future of authoritarian oppression, endless war, and environmental collapse.  This fierce blend hits home with particular velocity on the swaggering opener Poslední Vize Nekonečna (The Last Vision Of Infinity), the brutally intense title track, and the choppily compelling Hrobařův Průvodce Po Galaxii (Gravediggers Guide To The Galaxy).