G&P Review: Mesrine/Sposa in Alto Mare

Mesrine/Sposa in Alto Mare
Grinders
Grindfather Productions
This Grinders split couldn’t be more stark in contrasting opposites. In the first corner we have Canadian spree killer enthusiasts Mesrine, whose high protein diet of classic grind tropes gets repacked into seven songs of aggression and nothing but aggression. Then there’s the chaotic three ring circus being offered by Italians Sposa in Alto Mare, who Cirque du Soleil their way through every convolution of spastic grind, weird noise and cheeky mockery they can find without a hint of filtering or editing.
Like an ADHD toddler on a Pixie Stix binge, Sposa in Alto Mare pack the split’s second half with a lumpy amalgam of surf rock country shtick on “Una Corsa di un Cow-Boy” and King Diamond-esque wails ofn“Black Metal Latin Lover” and “Inno Dell’ Heavy Metal & Dell’ Hard Rock” and every musical oddity in between.  The only time they catch their breath and come back to earth is to rip through a cover of Agathocles’ “Kurose.”  It’s a Willy Wonka world where everything is painted in bright but contrasting colors with ideas being flung out at dizzying speed but with very little connective tissue, making Sposa in Alto Mare’s side a hallucinogenic endurance test. Whether it’s good, bad or indifferent as a listening experience will be a Rorschach test of your musical preferences.
Mesrine’s 90 second shards of shrapnel grind, with nods to modern greats like Insect Warfare and Nasum, comes off looking so much more potent by comparison simply by virtue of being directed. There’s a great snap to the snare drum that makes their side of the split pop as they gnaw through songs about apocalypse kook Harold Camping, the Grim Sleeper murders and the violent underbelly of so-called civilization. There’s nothing flashy to the way they stomp the accelerator and never let up for their whole side, but by contrast it’s a welcome break to the over-caffeinated exuberance of Sposa in Alto Mare.

[Full disclosure: Sposa in Alto Mare sent me a review copy.]

G&P Review: Ape Unit

Ape Unit
Unforgiveable Holidays
Grindpromotion
Comedy grind is a tough business because it opens you up to new opportunities to crash and burn. Not only will people turn a critical eye on your grindsmithery, but it opens up your lyrics, presentation and art to additional scrutiny and people talk shit about your sense of humor.
Ape Unit's grind is adequate but maybe a touch too enervated to blast them out of the pack. Unforgiveable Holidays has a nice low end hum to it, but it's just missing that adrenal piss and spit that jolts the best grind to life. So the Italians' success will largely depend on how you react to their smirking sense of humor.
Their humor is more heh than ha-ha funny. It's all giant fat kid butt cheeks on the CD, goofy samples and absurdist song titles like "The Bad and the Breakfast" or "The End is Near, Tijuana is Nearer." So goofing is their business and business is good. But unlike Birdflesh or Crom, Ape Unit keep far back from that precipice where their clowning overpowers the actual songwriting. The songs are more likely to skate by at a punk beat rather than go full on blasting, but Ape Unit bend comedy in the service of their grind rather than allow the whacky hijinks to overwhelm the art.
I wish Ape Unit had a bit more musical punch to go with their Punch and Judy show, but Unforgiveable Holidays is a comedy grind record that doesn't go all Carrot Top desperate to make you laugh and keeps things in perspective.

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

G&P Review: Jesus Ain't in Poland

Jesus Ain't in Poland
Freiheit Macht Frei
Grindpromotion
Jesus Ain't in Poland sound like they could have been cloned from an Afgrund tissue sample. That's a simpler way of saying these Italians sound like a photostat of a mimeograph of a Xerox of Nasum. The Italian band have chosen to play in a pretty crowded sandbox and they have a hard time jostling for facetime against more aggressive peers like The Arson Project, Relevant Few and Sayyadina. Even that name plops Jesus Ain't in Poland in between Jesus of Nazareth and Jesus Crost. They just can't seem to differentiate themselves no matter how you look at it.
Musically, Freiheit Macht Frei is a whirlwind of high register keening and blastbeats, but there's no hook that consistently rips at your flesh, making their presence permanent. In fact, Jesus Ain't in Poland are at their best when they back off the blastbeats and led things get low and slow. The stumbling tempo of "The Kingdom" gives the wonderfully grisly bass the space to reverberate, letting the phone cable-thick strings rumble underneath the noise. But Jesus Ain't in Poland can even take that impulse too far. The very next song, "Scarlet Tongues" pushes the downbeat shtick into fumbling, pointless repetition.
Jesus Ain't in Poland have the speed; they just don't have the riffs yet. They're pulling from the right influences, but they need to spend a little bit longer studying what made their favorite songs so great in the first place. Once they pin that down, then they'll be ready to macht grind.

[Full disclosure: Grindpromotion sent me a download.]

Blast(beat) from the Past: Insane Assholes

Insane Assholes
Grindzilla
Subordinate
2005
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.

G&P Review: Fleshgod Apocalypse

Fleshgod Apocalypse
Mafia
Willowtip
Classically-attuned Italian death metallers Fleshgod Apocalypse seem to be pulling an anti-Coppolla with their releases. If you’ll indulge the strained simile, the band pooped out their Godfather III last year with debut album Oracles, which never managed to fully integrate their neo-classical compositions into the mix, leaving their death metal to override their overtures in a way that served neither. But, having failed that miserably in service of a noble idea, Fleshgod Apocalypse had nowhere to go but up, and fuck me if five-song EP Mafia isn’t an absolute stunner.
Now rather than tacking some string arrangement or bit of piano frippery on to the end of the song, Fleshgod Apocalypse have folded the two together seamlessly, forging an alloy with the tensile strength of death metal and the suppleness of their Baroque forebears. For only 20 minutes, Mafia is absolutely operatic in scope, befitting its mob-inspired themes.
“Thru Our Scars” and “Conspiracy of Silence” are both protein-laden hunks of death metal that give way to intricately knitted strings of notes ripped and jolted from a harpsichord. The gut busting grunts are also augmented with the introduction of a Messiah Marcolin-to-King Diamond wail that brings just one more finely honed layer to the proceedings (and I’m someone who can’t normally stand King Diamond).

Fleshgod Apocalypse – “Thru Our Scars”

A faithful but no less devastating version of At the Gates’ “Blinded by Fear’s” majestic melodic flourishes also perfectly complements the sweeping vistas of Fleshgod’s vision. Bringing the mob-theme home at the end, the band closes with the piano instrumental title track which sounds like something Tessio would be pounding out on an out of tune piano as the Corleone men hit the mattresses for a prolonged gang war.
Fleshgod Apocalypse are smart, Michael. They’re not dumb like I previously said.

[Full disclosure: Willowtip sent me a review copy.]

G&P review: Fleshgod Apocalypse

Fleshgod Apocalypse
Oracles
Willowtip
For all the badass posery and just fucking musical chops it takes to play death metal at anything approaching a competent level, I’m continually surprised at just how insecure and defensive its practitioners can be. Way back in the alphabet of album titles Morbid Angel was giving liner notes shout outs to classical composures and just about every tech death band of the ’90s felt compelled to name drop some obscure jazz performer as though acceding to what the musical snobbery classes considered the apex of composition somehow elevated their art.
Featuring members of Hour of Penance, Fleshgod Apocalypse are otherwise skilled musicians who squander a killer band name and Marco Hasmann’s neo-Dan Seagrave cover art by awkwardly shoe-horning classical music samples into what is otherwise enjoyable, excellently produced b-grade death metal.
Sure, the popular perception of metal is it’s music made by Neanderthals for troglodytes, but dropping a completely unrelated string section at the close of “As Tyrants Fall” with no real connection to the preceding bludgeon fest does not make your case for elevating metal’s musical merit. Each time Fleshgod Apocalypse try to cram in a piano run or misplaced bit of classical noodling it pulls you out of album, reminding you that this is not meant to be an enjoyable half an hour of music but rather a manifesto extolling death metal’s virtues.
The band comes closest to incorporating classical arrangements into their repertoire on “Sophistic Demise” with its trilling, continuously spiraling central guitar line, but the band plays to its strengths as a lumbering mountain of death metal on “At the Guillotine” or “Requiem in St. Minore” without all the faux classic froo fraw.
Guys, take a deep breath, think this through and heed your mom’s advice and just be yourself.

[Full disclosure: Willowtip provided me with a promotional review copy.]