G&P Review: Who's My Saviour

Who’s My Saviour
Wall of Sickness
7 Degrees
Discussing the difference between surprise and suspense, Alfred Hitchcock said suspense is telling the audience a bomb under the table will go off in five minutes and then watching ordinary people obliviously talk about baseball. He could just as easily put on the opening sequence from Orson Welles’ Touch of Evil. It’s an unbroken tracking shot that follows a car with a bomb hidden in its trunk as it wends its way through narrow Mexican streets filled with tourists and revelers on its way to the American border. After building up the excruciating tension, that the bomb explodes off screen may be the most jarring part of the shot.
A bomb will go off at the end of Wall of Sickness.
In fact, the first three songs are united by a rhythmic metallic clanking that sounds almost like a detonator ticking away in a car trunk. Who’s My Saviour savor that tension while flirting with restraint. The German trio’s prior album, Glasgow Smile, was a hallucinogenic thrill ride of off kilter riffing and concussive artistry, pushing grindcore’s dynamics and sneaking in sly melodies without ever sacrificing the headlong rush that makes it work. If there’s an album that truly embodies the trope of the overlooked masterpiece, Glasgow Smile was it.
But latest EP Wall of Sickness toys with you by playing things relatively straight at first, casually building up the little layers that make their songs interdimensional portals of sonic wonder and mystery.  “Intro” is all queasy seasick riffing at Quaalude speeds over a sample of Massachusetts Rep. Michael Capuano ripping into a panel of bank presidents who came hat in hand to Congress looking for a bailout. From the outset, Wall of Sickness is a fraught record that oozes the malaise of our current economic implosion. The first few songs are fast-fingered grind rushes that still drip with technical acumen in service of surgical strikes at the heart of a faltering society. These are also some of Who’s My Saviour’s most tuneful efforts; “Hemingway” and “This World Belongs to Us” practically beg for the sing along treatment. “Pillbox” slithers with a slimy sleaze before the song is devoured by a colony of army ants on the warpath.
But there’s a bomb at the end of this EP. The fuse gets lit somewhere around sixth song “Niere Kopf” as the wonted angularity and ambition start bleeding through Who’s My Saviour’s pores. The preceding five tracks were only intended to tenderize your mind to let their multidimensional daggers slide in all the more easily. The exuberant songwriting explosion bombs out of final track “Weedeater,” which builds a wall of stoner drone feedback into cyclopean citadels of circular riff insanity every bit as obsessive as the finest moments of “Shizo” or “When Magic Turns into Black Plague” on Glasgow Smile.
After my first listen to Wall of Sickness, I was disappointed. I thought Who’s My Saviour had sacrificed the quintessence that made them special. That changed a dozen listens later (all in the same afternoon, on endless repeat, I must add). Turns out I was too busy listening to the baseball discussion and not paying nearly enough attention to that bomb under the table.

[Full disclosure: 7 Degrees sent me a download.]

G&P Review: Kratzer/Kvazar

Kratzer/Kvazar
Split
7 Degrees/Blastbeat Mailmurder
There’s a gray-scale anti-rainbow that haunts the periphery of the visible spectrum and Kratzer and Kvazar divide its hues between them on their fog-colored split effort. The effect is like a reverse Wizard of Oz where all of the color and joy are leached out of a broken and disappointing world.
German crusties Kratzer dwell at the center of a bizarre Goode homolosine projection of the punk rock world in which the sneaky melodicism of Scandinavian d-beat somehow abuts raging Japanese hardcore. Kratzer chip their seven crusted cries from the cracking cement of abandoned playgrounds, ruptured highways and crumbling brutalist highrises, choked in the ash of industrial smog and sickened by the pestilential runoff of industrial waste. It’s the gray grime of our own claustrophobic modernity as its plaster veneer chips away, exposing the flimsy foundation beneath. The moody, mercurial “?/!” glooms its way through the broken landscape, the pivot point of Kratzer’s contribution, a murky slow motion encapsulation of their dimmed horizons and pervasive hopelessness.
After Kratzer managed to paint so evocative a portrait using only monochromatic tools, it’s kind of a bummer that Kvazar’s side is also bogged down in gray. Only this time it is the uniform mush of a bowl of oatmeal.  Apparently the band has been lurking in the Greek grind scene since time immemorial and these, their final songs, were trapped in cryostasis until they recruited Dephosphorus’ Panos Agoros to come in add the missing vocals. Unfortunately, the murky, mushy production that squashes everything together doesn’t play to the astro-grinder’s strengths, burying his distinctive yelp behind flat sounding drums and guitars. The endless gray horizons of one anonymous song after another only makes things worse as Kvazar just slog their way along colorlessly. Where Kratzer’s grays are an accurate snapshot of a black and white world, Kvazar’s contribution is a despondent drone through a missed opportunity. After the intriguing opening half, it’s a shame the second side of this promising split doesn’t live up to its amazing gray art.

[Full disclosure: 7 Degrees sent me a review copy.]

G&P Review: Dead Church/Suffering Mind

Dead Church/Suffering  Mind
Split
7 Degrees
So I says to myself, "Self, bands like Dead Church are the reason you keep getting out of bed in the morning. The song 'I Want Nothing" has everything you ask from a gloriously grisly grind tune. This Michigan trio quartet sounds like somebody royally pissed off the G'mork from The Neverending Story and if you come any closer he'll rip you to shreds. Self," I said, "Dead Church pack an insane amount of aggression into a miserly 56 seconds of minigun guitars and skull thumping drums that crash and careen like a room of ADHD toddlers on a Red Bull binge. For as short as the song is, Dead Church manage to cram in several distinct movements, stuffing less than a minute full of variety that never slacks off on the attitude. Self," I said, "'I Want Nothing' is a practically perfect grind song. What more could I possibly ask from?"
"Flip the fucking record over, asshole," Self said.
"Holy fucking shit, Self, Suffering Mind are at the absolute apex of their powers. 'War Street/Wall Street' is like the very essence of the Polish band distilled down to concentrated hatred. Dead Church are fan-fucking-tastic, but Suffering Mind probably turned in the sharpest 54 seconds of their keenly honed career. You hear that, Self? That is the sound of inevitability crashing down on your dimpled dome. It's the concerted evil of the world being barfed back on society, a putrid bile melange of everything venal, corrupt and compromised. It's the hatred slime from Ghostbusters 2 turned into weaponized audio.
"My only complaint, Self," I said, "is what the fuck is up with just a single song from each band on this 5-inch EP. Because this blue ball tingler demands a full release."
For once, myself and I agreed.

[Full disclosure: the label sent me a review copy.]

Their Bodies, The Performance Machine: Cloud Rat Unleash an Ode to Daunting Daughters

I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
Poi s'ocose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam uti chelidon--O swallow swallow
Le Prince d'Aquitaine a la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Whey then Ile fit you. Heironymo's mad engine.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih

T.S. Eliot
The Waste Land
1922

According to a variety of Eastern religions, our karma chains us to a nearly endless cycle of rebirth and suffering. But occasionally the blessed few achieve enlightenment, transcend their limitations and break that cycle through a process of liberation called moksha.
Cloud Rat's Moksha is built on a lifetime of bad luck, poor timing and worse decisions. The Michigan trio's latest, breakout record is a baker's dozen songs about addiction, loss and hard times, but it's so much more than a simple recital of misery. No matter how gray the skies get in Cloud Rat's world, there's an uplifting glimmer of hope that creeps through when you're not prepared.
The result is the clear frontrunner for album of the year and it's only January.
"Madison initially had the idea of using Moksha as an album title, and we just kind of ran with it because it can represent so many things that our lyrics address," guitarist Rorik said. "Liberation in a literal sense, i.e. animal liberation, Earth liberation, humyn liberation, feminism, sexual/gender liberation, etc. This existence that we all inhabit is so full of suffering and despair, and has always been that way, whether by nature’s hand or man. We all were brought in to this world against our will, and death is absolutely the only way out. There is a song in particular on this record that touches on that whole idea, 'Infinity Chasm.' I have a nine year old daughter, and the lyrics to the song are written like a note to her. First reminiscing about all of our time spent together, then apologizing for subjecting her to this world with all of its suffering as well as joy and beauty, and then showing the reality that eventually I will be gone and she will be gone, and there is nothing we can do about it."

The Needle...

For a band that went from daydreaming about starting a band to recording their first album in a scant six weeks, Moksha, released by IFB Records and Halo Of Flies Records in the United States and by React With Protest Records and 7 Degree Records in Europe, is a breakout moment that finds Cloud Rat expanding their sonic palette beyond simple hardcore without ever sacrificing the aggression that nurtured them. Instead, they build on their natural strengths with an extra layer of stumble-toed gloom. The mumbled misery of "Infinity Chasm" and a devastating take on Neil Young's junkie lament "The Needle and the Damage Done" may anchor Cloud Rat to their karmic penance, but salvation is in within the trio's sight.
Moksha is centered around vocalist Madison's emotional purgative, and she spits and screams her way through a lifetime's frustrations. No woman has so utterly dominated a grind album like this since Alyssa Murray stole the mic with Disrupt. Madison wails and eviscerates your heart like a hardcore Billie Holiday. Rorik and drummer Adrian smartly give her the foundation she needs to lay on the line one of the most bare and provocative vocal performances you'll ever hear. Where too many grind bands hide behind layers of metaphor or safe political abstraction, Cloud Rat is deeply personal and emotionally jagged.
"I always feel really self-conscious about my vocals in the studio," Madison said. "I didn’t really prepare much, just brought my lyrics and screamed them at Rorik because he stresses me out in the studio. Kevin Kitchel makes things really comfortable for us though, so that helps. A lot of my lyrics are very personal, so that brings out some demons as well."
Madison's lyrics are so personal she's occasionally shied away from setting them to tape, but her bandmates urged her to share her experiences.
"There have been numerous times when recording over the past three years that she has been reluctant to put some of this stuff out there, this record included," Rorik said. "She usually does though, and I commend her for it. We all come from broken homes, abusive upbringings, past drug problems, etc. There are a lot of other people out there who have dealt with the same things and worse, so that’s why I think it’s good that she puts that out there, so others can relate."
Kitchel (of The Oily Menace fame) has recorded all of Cloud Rat's music, and he said the band has become increasingly comfortable in his home studio. That allows the band to dig deep and focus on their performances, he said.
"My studio isn't a studio; it's just my dining room and a live-room the size of a mini-van down in the basement. So when people come to record, it's also hanging out with my cats, making food with stuff from the garden, and probably a lot of drinking because I have a kegerator that is usually full of homebrew or local stuff," Kitchel said. "We were fast and firm friends! In the years since the first recording session we have got to be much closer, and Madison even lived here for a while. She even pushed the bass player for The Oily Menace (who also lived here) through a window while dancing, so like I said, firm friends!  It's that level of comfort that lets bands be real. There were tour deadlines for each and every recording, but this time the guitars and drums were done months before the vocals. It's pretty amazing to me that they had so many great songs written for all these releases. The Moksha vocal and mixing sessions were I think over one weekend just before they left for the tour with thedowngoing, right down to the wire."

...and the Damage Done

Ecologically minded and unabashedly feminist, Cloud Rat also continue to stripmine the matriarchs of antiquity for metaphors to encapsulate their songs' themes, combining the band's penchant for feminism, paganism, and Eastern spirituality into a single package.
"Moksha does again borrow a bit from paganism/mythology, significantly in the tracks 'Olympia,' 'Vigil,' and 'Daunting Daughters,'" Rorik said. "We are all somewhat spiritually inclined. I think that mythology, especially Eurasian mythology/spirituality, is fascinating, and using it for imagery and lyrical allegories and metaphors makes things a lot more interesting than just lyrics like 'The world is fucked, government sucks, burn it down,' etc. I mean, I am way into a lot of bands that do that kind of thing, but we just choose not to."
While Cloud Rat have not abandoned the grind that has built their buzz the last few years, Moksha is largely defined by their extra-genre excursions, centered around their take on Neil Youngr. Drummer Adrian was the impetus behind the band's first recorded cover.
"It was Adrian’s idea to cover Neil Young. We always talk about doing covers but never do it. He was set on it, so one day I sat down with it and started figuring out how we could go about it," Rorik said. "I decided that we should basically just do it the way Neil did it, only full band/distorted, a bit slower and gloomier, with all three of us singing. As I mentioned earlier, drugs have been a big part of our lives since we were young. I’ve done a lot of crazy shit and started when I was 11 years old. The three of us have similar stories. Heroin ripped our community apart once, where about half of the punks in Mount Pleasant were into it. We lost some friends, some dead, others in prison, lives destroyed, etc. That’s why we did this song, because we know what it’s like, and Neil said it best: 'I’ve seen the needle and the damage done / a little part of it in everyone / but every junkie’s like a setting sun.'"
Adrian also provided the plaintive piano outro that delivers the album's final emotional uplift. More than a throwaway track at the end of a record, Moksha's title track punctuates the psychological journey. It's a spiritual culmination of Moksha's overriding themes.
"Originally 'Infinity Chasm' was going to be called 'Moksha,' but then Adrian brought this to the table a few days before we were going to finish vocals and mixing," Rorik said. "We all thought it was perfect for the record, so we kept it. He has a project with our friend Tom called Found Letters that is ambient/noise stuff, and they did this track one night fall 2012 while really drunk and depressed, at a barn in the middle of nowhere."
It's that kind of inspiration and confidence that make Moksha the must hear album of the year. It's a record guaranteed to place Clout Rat near the top of many best of 2013 lists.
Shantih shantih shantih.

G&P Review: Standing on a Floor of Bodies

Standing on a Floor of Bodies
Sacrilegious & Culturally Deficient
7 Degrees
Horror film sequels are often terrible and completely unnecessary. There's always the contrivance of trying to explain why the slasher villain/exorcized demon/dissipated ghost/evil corporation actually survived the first film despite being soundly defeated by all appearances. The ham-fisted, cash grab nature of sequels usually means squeezing out everything that made the original serendipitously awesome in name of the most conservative, trite storytelling possible. Mike Stitches of Standing on the Floor of Bodies beat those odds by churning out another grindcore nightmare that's just as awesome, debatably better, than 2010 horrorshow demo Teaching Pigs to Sing. And he did that despite falling into the sequel trap of coming back with a bigger cast, enlisting new vocalist/lyricist Bvnny to back up the beating.
Standing on a Floor of Bodies is built on a foundation of bludgeoning Man is the Bastard bass, choppy programmed drums, keening electronic noise and just a dash of Body Hammer creep-factor, careening between blastbeats and power violence loom the entire time. New body Bvnny helps double up the vocal torment, twinning with Stitches to unleash a grunt 'n' groan counterpoint of pit of hell roars and shrieking, pestilential wailing. The results are 15 minutes of decidedly unwholesome and completely unsettling music that forms a single coherent whole, wrapped up in delightfully sanguinary artwork that looks like it was left over from an old Unsane album. Aside from an off-kilter intermission of half-heard ghost whispers and glimpses of fleeting noise that only ratchets up the  unease, every song on Sacrilegious & Culturally Deficient slams into the next, forcing you into the next uncomfortable moment like that demented carnival ride the Joker set up for Commissioner Gordon in The Killing Joke.
The album ends with almost a minute of placid silence and it's not just an arbitrary addition to stretch the album's runtime. It's a needed respite to regain your psychic bearings after narrowly escaping Standing on a Floor of Bodies' demented blastbeat funhouse. But don't think you've escaped. With an effort this good, you know they're bound to make a sequel.

[Full disclosure: 7 Degrees sent me a review copy.]

G&P Review: Dephosphorus

Dephosphorus
Night Sky Transform
7 Degrees
Night Sky Transform represents that moment when Dephosphorus shrugged off the tyranny of Earth's gravity to slingshot out into the silent, contemplative majesty of the star-dusted cosmos. Having punched roughly through the atmosphere with the astounding Axiom, Dephosphorus now feel free to slow down and behold the wonder that entranced Carl Sagan, Stephen Hawking and Neil Degrasse-Tyson. Night Sky Transform is, overall, a slower, more cryptic effort that patiently unspools its secrets over several listens. While bangers like "Cold Omen" fire up the ion engines to keep that forward momentum, Dephosphorus have truly transcended grindcore's limitations into something singular.
Like Dr. Dave Bowman's evolution into the star child in 2001, the DNA of Dephosphorus' grindcore past can still be sussed out, but it's been exploded and reincarnated into something unique. "Starless" still grinds, but it's just one scintillant star in a varied constellation of musical themes and modes. It's the digressions that define Night Sky Transform. With "The Fermi Paradox," guitarist Thanos Mantas gets his turn to step to the mic and intone the song's stately chorus, which builds upon and improves on "Stargazing and Violence" from the Great Falls split. "Unconscious Excursion" brings in Ryan Lipynsky of Thralldom/Unearthly Trance to meld his crusty black magic to the Greeks' skyclad visions of space and time.  The uncertain "Aurora" ends Night Sky Transform with the tentative anticipation of first interstellar contact with intelligent life on a hesitant note. It's a fraught moment that could have been the equivalent of old flying saucers that ended with The End...? but instead is far more poignant and aware of humanity's cosmic insignificance.
For all of the carefully considered art at on display, Night Sky Transform just didn't immediately grab me by the cortex the way Axiom did (Perpetual Strife disagrees; Perpetual Strife is wrong). The meditative nature means Night Sky Transform needs more time to seep into your pores, taking up one transcendent molecule at a time via musical osmosis. Just because my connection wasn't immediate doesn't mean the journey wasn't worth it.
I once again have to marvel at the astonishing packaging job done by 7 Degrees. The gorgeous gatefold and nice thick vinyl set the perfect mood for Dephosphorus' intergalactic excursions, and investing in the physical product will also net you the obligatory download code and an excellent album art poster to spruce up your mission control center.

[Full disclosure: 7 Degrees sent me a review copy.]

G&P Review: Zodiac

Zodiac
Menschenstaub
7 Degrees
Menschenstaub is that rare album that seemingly does its job competently and with aplomb, but still leaves me feeling disappointed because it rapidly evaporates into nothingness. Crusty death punks Zodiac, musically, are custom built to tick off everything that sets my neurons a-tingle, but on Menschenstaub (People Dust) seems to slip from memory the second it's over. Is there some bizarre category of good albums that just don't quite succeed despite being perfectly acceptable?
The Germans hybridize fellow countrymen Keitzer and Audio Kollaps, pairing the former's Bolt Thrower chug with the latter's crusty grind. That forms the spine of Zodiac's attack, but then they dress it up with a patina of various metal flourishes, some successful (the early At the Gates swirl of "Genullt"), some less so (the pointless electronic twaddle at the end of "Abwesenheitsnotiz").
That protean nature means Zodiac never give themselves over fully to any particular musical impulse. But even with the myriad styles at play on Menschenstaub, Zodiac keep them all balanced and in check. For all that though, the band actually leaves very little impression. Menschenstaub is absolutely enjoyable when it's contributing to my inevitable tinnitus--the guitars are wonderfully thick, the vocals are deep and pissed and the rhythm section is tight--it seems to evaporate once the ten songs are over and nothing stands out in particular. I can't even pinpoint what makes it ephemeral (maybe it's only me), but I'm looking for something more memorable from them.

[Full disclosure: 7 Degrees sent me a download.]

G&P Review: Dephosphorus/Wake

Wake/Dephosphorus
Split
7 Degrees
Wake and Dephosphorus are like grindcore Diet Coke and Mentos on this excellent split, featuring three songs from each. The unexpectedly volcanic pairing pushed the Canadian and Greek bands to excel, friendly competition bringing out the finest in both for the best split you're likely to hear all year.
Dephosphorus' three new songs are less spacey than their Axiom material. Instead, the Greek trio comes with a handful of more concise and single-mindedly aggressive songs. However, "The Cosmologist" retains some of the wormholed, time sliding twistiness of old. If they can marry this newfound intensity to Axiom's ethereal nature, Night Sky Transform will easily be 2012's most unbeatable album.
Panos Agoros' vocals and Thanos Mantas' guitar shred are both outstanding once again, but the biggest quantum leap forward comes from drummer Nikos Megariotis, whose snare work, in particular, is much improved and propels the songs with a newfound urgency. The blasting passages of "The Final Computronium" are things of beauty on par with a grindcore Parthenon. While the drumming on Axiom was competent, this split finds Megariotis driving and defining the songs in ways he never has before.
For their part, Canada's Wake continue their tradition of snapping up great producers. They roped Scott Hull behind the boards for last year's Leeches, but this outing they enlisted the knob twiddling efforts of Colin Marston. For all that star power though, Wake's half of the split sounds squashed and muddy, particularly in comparison to Dephosphorus. But it's far from fatal. While I would have preferred more definition, I can't deny that "Veil of Odin" is probably the finest, most dynamic song they've ever penned. The opening frame lopes forward like a wolfpack catching the scent of a bleeding deer, just a heedless, headlong rush. Sliding toward the end, the song downshifts into a midtempo jam, giving everything space to breathe. The interplay between the pounding toms and churning bass upheaval, garlanded by single guitar note feedback, might be Wake's finest moment.
Like there was ever any doubt, 7 Degrees has paired their two finest artists for a teaser platter, playing them off of each other in a way that shows off both Wake and Dephosphorus' finest attributes and set them up with a package to best show off their quality. These are two great bands that deserve all the accolades they've earned.

[Full disclosure: 7 Degrees sent me a review copy.]

The Great Wake Giveaway

Thanks to the generosity of Wake and their label 7 Degrees, I have been graced with an extra copy of Leeches, one of the best albums of 2011 (regardless of what Decibel's insane, out of touch grindcore columnist may say otherwise).
So that means one of you lucky ducks could add this quality bit of Canadian grind/violence vinyl to your collection. In the spirit of giving back to all of you who make blogging so much fun, I'm asking you to name the most valuable commenter here. Whose thoughts do you think bring the most insight to the joint? It can be one of the regulars or it could be a one timer who delurked long enough to say something that you found really insightful. If we can reach some sort of consensus (or if I find your argument particularly insightful) that nominee will win all the marbles.
You've got until Sunday to make your case in the comment section. May the best commenter win, and thanks to Wake/7 Degrees and thanks to all of you.

G&P Review: Wake

Wake
Leeches
Hearing Aids/7 Degrees
It's fun watching young bands grow up. Case in point, last year Calgary's Wake were like little hyperactive grindcore puppies, all boundless energy, floppy ears and too large paws on surprise 2010 standout Surrounded by Human Filth. A year later on debut full length Leeches and suddenly the band has grown into those oversize paws. Now that nipping puppy has some bite in his jaws when he uses your fingers as a chew toy. And play more often than not means putting on a seminar in grindcore drumming.
There's nothing overtly flashing about the drumming, but it's just so pinpoint and tasteful, shoved to the forefront so that it shows off Wake's growing confidence as a band. The drummer beats the toms on "The Means to the End" like they owe him money. It's a pounding reminiscent of Napalm Death's "Dementia Access." The tight snare roll of "Recycle the Sickness" is a small touch, but snaps through at the perfect point.
Otherwise, Wake are back with the same brew of death metal, grindcore and power violence jumble, just with more room to sprawl over the course of 14 songs. Set off by pristine Scott Hull production, Leeches sounds superb without being sterile. Hull allows the band to simply play, letting raw energy carry the commotion. When he does step in, like shoving the uvula-shattering screams of "Cult of War" into the limelight, it's a subtle but potent touch.
Less obvious than the precision drumming, however, is just how mature Wake's songwriting has become. They showed off an impressive array of skills on Surrounded by Human Filth despite only having four five tracks at their disposal, and with Leeches they demonstrate they know how to play with texture and tempo across a full length, whether it's the sneaky melodies that seep into "Aversion," obligatory slow song "Leeches" or the way "Dive's" corkscrew riff slithers between hammer of Thor cymbal crashes. At nearly three minutes and poised at about Leeches' midpoint, "Dive" is an expertly placed breather that sets off Wake's more aggressive fare.
These grindcore puppies may be growing, but I hope nobody housebreaks them too soon.

[Full disclosure: Wake sent me a download.]

G&P Review: Sandokhan/Krupskaya

Sandokhan/Krupskaya
Split
7 Degrees
I’m sure we all had the same argument with our friends as kids: Who would win in a fight, Batman or Superman. While I’m aware of arguments in favor of that Kryptonian fuck, those people are filthy liars and they’re not really your friends. Tell them to go read Hush and The Dark Knight Returns and then kindly shut the fuck up and never tax your brain cells with their stupidity ever again.
This split, available on a 12-inch from 7 Degrees Records, makes you ponder who would win in another fight: legendary Jamaican gangster Sandokhan, who was eventually gunned down by the cops, or Lenin’s wife Krupskaya, a scrappy political infighter whose turn-ons include libraries and education and whose turn-offs include Trotsky.
Let me spare you the trouble: it’s Sandokhan, whose 13 songs are far more poised and composed than Krupskaya’s 11 reedy offerings.
Sandokhan are guttural and grisly; the songs have a movement and flow like sharks queuing up for a feeding frenzy. Think Phobia’s more recent, better offerings; it’s not that strong but the focus is there. The drums are nice and natural, riding comfortably in the mix and the inexorable blasting is aimed squarely at your forehead, a burrowing brain worm of screaming rage and exploding energy.
Krupskaya are a good band undone by a bad mix. The sharp, pinging snare drum and distracting bass drum dominate the mix to the detriment of the songs. Additionally, the screeching vocals – think Dani Filth gone grind – can also be a bit grating. But if you’re into acceleration for its own sake, Krupskaya won’t disappoint.
Meanwhile, I’m wondering who would win in a Mother Theresa meets Gandhi smackdown.

[Full disclosure: The 7 Degrees sent me a download.]