If Fallout: New Vegas has taught me nothing else, and I have no cause to doubt the veracity of its prophecy, I know the post-apocalyptic West will be overrun by gangs whose dedication to a costume theme would do The Warriors proud. Among the uniformed thugs will be a bunch of Elvis-worshipping hoodlums running around dressed as Jailhouse Rock extras, and I’m guessing they may trace their genesis to Insane Asshole’s Grindzilla.
I have the anonymous commenter on the Letter G mixtape to thank for turning me on to Italy’s not-Cripple-Bastards grindcore exports Insane Assholes, a playful amalgam of expected grind and unexpected straight up old timey rock.
The lip curling Elvis attitude and pelvic gyrations bring a welcome flair, but don’t let that fool you into thinking Insane Assholes wander too far off the grindcore nature preserve. This is an album that manages to violate both the Grindcore for Dummies and Sound the Alarm rules before you crack the introduction, but when they hit that sweet spot, Insane Assholes are a joking blending of bad Evil Dead references and other B movie detritus that justifies their retarded name. “You Make Me a Monster” and “L’Infero Di Ash” rock a delicious burr to their guitars, liked a six stringed Scottish brogue run through a screaming tube amp, divebombing around Dino with rabies screeching.
Insane Assholes are not afraid to allot two or three minutes to a song, letting it expand and stretch out like my lazy ass cat on the white velvet couch I just spent an hour de-furring. But sometimes that indulgence conspires against Grindzilla. In fact, at 29 songs and 42 minutes, a little Insane Assholes goes a really, really long way. Especially the six minute plod of “La Fine,” which fakes a bad Black Sabbath groove and rides it to death.
While the rock 'n' roll swing is a surprise treat, there is not going to be much else that will catch a cagey grind aficionado unawares. However, taken in small doses, Grindzilla can be a thrill.