Hear Nothing, See Nothing, Say Nothing

By Michael Ramek

Sacramento, California-based producer/rapper G-Macc is among the most creative and uncompromising artists in modern hip-hop music.

Hailing from the South Sacramento neighborhood known as the Gardens, G-Macc, a long time member of the Garden Blocc Crips, weaves true life tales of gangbanging and street hustling through a dark tapestry of gothic imagery, vampire lore, and horror film ambience. His ruminations on the macabre coalsesce into singularly unsettling aural nightmares; ones in which modern day tribalism, violence, and retribution are imbued with foreboding qualities of the supernatural and occult.

G-Macc’s intricately layered soundscapes- a blend of classical composition, horror cinematics, and menacing, bass heavy G-funk- create a singularly frightening and captivating musical atmosphere. No less impressive is the lyrical skill that he brings to the fore, a seemingly effortless yet intensely dynamic rapid fire delivery, relentless in vehement tone and vicious intent.

Having contributed his considerable production skill to an ever growing number of records, mixtapes and compilations within the thriving Sactown rap underground, G-Macc is set to return with his latest full length record, the aptly titled “V.A.M.P.i.R.E.”, due out later this year. He is also hard at work on Dark Muzic, Inc., a larger, media-based project.

I recently had the opportunity to conduct an interview with G-Macc, and the results are as follows: (more…)

Dog Soldier-At Your Throat CD (HG Fact Records http://www.interq.or.jp/Japan/hgfact/) One of the more underrated bands hailing from Portland, Oregon’s incestuous hardcore/punk breeding swamp, Dog Soldier rose from the ashes of apocalypse tripper punx Blood Spit Nights. The band maintained the UK-style spikes’n studs infatuation of their former incarnation, but dispensed with the noxious vocal fx and raucous distortion that typified the BSN-era, trimming their delivery to a metal-singed gallop which recalled the anthemic ‘hard punk’ crossover of Broken Bones and the English Dogs.

While Dog Soldier’s debut 7″ and full length LP were not without their memorable moments, they sounded somewhat rushed and repetitive. Subsequent recordings by the band, however, including their two ferocious contributions to the Portland Hard Punk compilation (released on Hardcore Holocaust in 2006-mandatory listening) and their “Ghosts” 7″ (Whispers In Darkness, 2006, ditto), were notable displays of bestial punk aggression, caustic metallic burn, and doomsday atmospherics.

Where some of their more recent material displayed promise, Dog Soldier’s latest full length, “At Your Throat”, represents a step backwards for the band, delivering the expected dosage of barbaric axe squall but lacking in the standout songwriting and production of their best work.

Released on Japan’s HG Fact Records imprint, the record opens with a bang (or, more aptly, a procession of blood-curdling shrieks) that segueways into “Trade of Delusion”, a by-the-books “Dem Bones”-style ripper. Other numbers like “Devil’s Masquerade” and ”Divine Wind” exemplify the band’s apocalyptic ‘hard punk’ warrior crust nicely, but these songs are fewer and farther between than one might hope.
Though the formula remains largely the same throughout its nine song duration, bristling with the agile rhythmic battery,  careening leads, and brutish vocal convulsions one would anticipate from these PDX crusties, the majority of the record blends into an interchangeable blur of heard-it-before rhythms, riffs, and howls.
Less musical variation means fewer memorable hooks, and the flair of earlier work is more often than not bypassed for a more generic thrash fest. The production here is also surprisingly unadorned, lacking in the dense, dark sonic stew of better material, while less tempo variation equals a non-stop steamroller of dis-hammering that grows monotonous after a time.

This is by and large a below par effort by an above average group of punks. Get their previous 7″ instead.-Mike Ramek

Self Abuse-s/t (Higher Conscience Records-Arlington, Virginia) The essential ingredients here are spare- downbeat percussion and brawny riffs inspired by early-to-mid-’80s American hardcore, NYHC, and crustier inclinations. What sets this recording apart from the pack are not merely the well honed, if unadorned, chops but also a relentlessly morose lyrical bent and raging vocal delivery which greatly accentuate the chaotic, forlorn tone of the recording.

True, this nightmare vision slithers out of the same sort of primordial muck that typified GG’s more primitive rants, but there is burlier, tighter structure to this depravity, like early Sheer Terror and Iron Cross recordings on an ether binge.

Alcohol-fueled ruminations on futility, resentment and isolation abound, as this ode to all things dismal, dispirited, and down-and-out lumbers on, a sonic bender in five movements. Eternally on the brink of collapse, this journey into the darker recesses of addiction and, well, self abuse, is underscored by relentless mid-paced bludgeoning, four chord sludge, and primal punk hammering. Further accentuating the din are subhuman vocal croakings, somewhere between an ENT-style retch and Paul Bear-esque guttural groan.

Fans of fellow D.C. Crushers 86 Mentality will no doubt be pleased with the street-wise stomp-and-slash assail that Self-Abuse brings to the fore. Indeed, there are similarities between the brick’n'mortar blue collar fracas on this record and that of the aforementioned outfit, although this recording maintains a darker, more repugnant vibe throughout.

This is a deceptively simple affair, but the individual segments coalesce into a putrid heaping of hardcore/punk sputum not soon forgotten.-Mike Ramek

Blackout-s/t (Aborted Society Records, 1122 E.Pike Street #1377 Seattle, WA 98122/Profane Existence Records PO BOX 8722 Minneapolis, MN 55408 ) With a lineup that includes members of Assrash, Scorned, Phalanx, and Provoked , it is safe to say that Minneapolis’ Blackout boasts a formidable enough crust-core pedigree. Those expecting textbook spikes’n’studs squall from this assortment of grizzled vets are in for quite a surprise, however, as the band’s debut on Aborted Society (recently reissued on Profane Existence) boasts a rollicking amalgamation of unadorned American hardcore, punk, and bluesy rock and roll, cruder and more infectious than your average crusty shindig. Indeed, this record owes more to latter-era Poison Idea (think “We Must Burn”/ “War All The Time”), Motorhead, and a junkyard-worth of hand-me-down punk/thrash/roots/blues riff refuse than anything by Discharge or Warcollapse.

Some may decry the unusually spare production values herein. After all, we’re not talking ‘crasher crust’-style walls of noise a’la Atrocious Madness or the Crust War back catalog. Nope, this sucker sounds slightly better than a poorly recorded demo cassette, with waterlogged sonics galore-a veritible treble-bleeding murk fest.

Those willing to wade through the muck, however, will be privy to a caustic and genuinely rocking hc/punk escapade, riddled with semi-coherent debauched anti-authoritarian ranting (and a winning tribute to Apocalypse Now), scorching leads, anthemic verve, and bits of boogie rock flair to boot, all coated in rank sonic slime for your listening displeasure. Never mind the legions of garage rock snoozers, here’s a gaggle of aging Midwestern punx to the rescue!-Mike Ramek

After The Bombs-Spoils of War EP (The Total End Records P.O. BOX 80-Station C Montreal,QC H2L 4J7 Canada) While not quite lineal heirs to the throne of Sacrilege, Quebec’s After The Bombs do a good job approximating the ear rupturing  barrage championed by those UK thrash trailblazers. Their grim blitzkrieg incorporates tweaked out female vocal retching,  ’80s style hesher sonics, and sinister doom-laden tendencies into an otherwise low-end D-beat murk fest, much in keeping with the outer fringes of DIY punk  (Amebix, Antisect) and thrash. Not a tinge of the Motorhead worship that has characterized the output of fellow countrymen Born Dead Icons and Inepsy can be found on “Spoils of War”. No, these dirges reek of that Sacrilege-esque ripping of yore through and through.

Gloriously raw, reverb-soaked vokills occasionally recall the drugged out psychosis of Blood Spit Nights, while low-end crust/hc distortion contrasts with searing axe pyrotechnics, trebly leads, and rhythmic pummeling on the two condemnations of war and its ills herein, ”Spoils of War” and “Forward Into Death”. The band’s strength lies in an ability to at once pay tribute to and transcend the stylistic parameters of thrash metal and crust with notable proficiency and foreboding atmospherics.  Recommended.-Mike Ramek

Cross Laws-Ancient Rites EP (Sorry State Records, 1102 N. Greensboro St. Carrboro, NC 27510) Sophomore slump be damned: on”Ancient Rites”, their second EP on Sorry State, North Carolina’s Cross Laws maintain the urgency and brutality of earlier material, but have reworked their sonic onslaught into a sprawling, faceted juggernaut.

Their midwestern/SoCal hc worship has mutated into a darker, catchier barrage this time around, more elaborate and punishing than what came before. Naysayers take heed, however: while they’ve expanded in leaps and bounds over (slightly) earlier material, the stripped down RF7/N.O.T.A./Koro-style ripping is well accounted for throughout this effort, though bolstered by brooding melody. As should be expected, these seven bouts of hc/punk wrath rupture like so many lanced boils, though the ferment is laced with a saccharine burn not unlike that championed by Agent Orange at their “Living In Darkness” prime. The vocal work, a rabid Jerry A meets “Damaged”-era Rollins snarl, adds venomous emphasis to these hymns of unrest.

Cross Laws function like a well oiled machine here, delivering some of the rawest, most infectious hardcore in recent memory. Mind melt.-Mike Ramek

Out With A Bang-s/t EP- Fashionable Idiots (www.fashionableidiots.com) The sophomore EP from Italy’s Out With A Bang is lacking in the sort of frenzied thrashing that made their debut so memorable, as the band opts for a more KBD-sounding take on their Red Kross/Bad Posture/Adolescents mutation this time around.

While the fundamental ingredients may not have changed much, the shift in tone and production to a more compressed garage punk-sounding din on this record is much in keeping with a pronounced trend among a number of hardcore/punk acts, scaling down the caustic blitzkrieg for murkier riff buzz and throwback clamor.

It’s safe to say that these gents haven’t exactly become the Kingsmen overnight, but their preoccupation with muffled, fuzzed out kitsch equals considerably less fret shredding than before and noticeably scaled down berzerker sonics. The end result is a bit of a letdown, as their last record, the utterly psychotic “I’m Against It” one-sided 12″/7″, was one of the more off the wall rippers in recent memory. It would be unfair to shun musical progression, but when spontaneity and brute ferocity take the sideline for heard-it-before antics, the results speak for themselves.-Mike Ramek

Cross Laws-Behind the Curve (Sorry State Records, 1102 N. Greensboro St. Carrboro, NC 27510) From their inception, the onslaught wielded by North Carolina’s Cross Laws was likened by some to that of Articles of Faith. While elements of their early Eighties-style racket do merit some comparison to the AOF assault, the seething chaos of their outbursts belie surlier influences- the sort of middle American hatred surge typified by N.O.T.A. or the convulsive blur of Koro, for instance.

“Behind The Curve”, the debut 7″ from Cross Laws, oozes suburban discontent and vitriol from every pore with the relentless zeal and raw delivery that are hallmarks of the genre. Its unadorned volleys are unleashed in four chord spasms, replete with hammering rhythms, blazing leads, and vocal ferment that builds to a rabid snarl. The persistent pummeling is complemented by occasional melodic leanings, reflecting guitarist Daniel Lupton’s love of the OC hardcore-esque razor barbed hook. Songs like the opening “Buried Alive” and the mid-paced dirge “Don’t Call This Life” reflect this fusion of dissonant ripping and harmonic proclivity.

In less capable hands, this fusion of infectious upheaval might have yielded forgettable results, but Cross Laws pull it off in spades. Far from the retro-core posturing of similar efforts, “Behind The Curve” transcends mere tributary rehash with a ferocity all its own. -Mike Ramek

Dry Rot-Subordinate (Painkiller Records 516 Green Street #1B Cambridge, MA 02139) With each subsequent release proving more befuddling than the one preceding it, Southern Californian harbingers of apocalyptic Christian gutter squall, Dry Rot, wallow in deepening cesspools of psychosis and religious fervor.

 ”Subordinate”, their third outing,  chronicles an account of modern day slavery amidst idyllic suburban sprawl. Its terse hymnals of suffering, servitude, death and redemption provide a rough narrative, evoking vivid snapshots of human degradation through bleak ruminations from victim and victimizer alike.

Abrasive and disorienting, this sonic maelstrom is a distillation of the Void-esque meandering of Dry Rot’s “Permission” 7″ and the improv-oriented ruminations of their “This Is A Forest” 7″ . In comparison to that latter record, “Subordinate” might be seen as a more conventional effort, with the sprawl of past work reigned in for a more forceful, if less abstract, assault. Then again, few within the hardcore/punk community will find this procession of riff lacerations, tempo spasms, and inhuman vocal retching especially conventional to begin with. The aesthetic presentation, which includes a full color painting and sixteen page illustrated booklet, adds harrowing visual complement to the aural bludgeoning.

Ever on the brink of implosion, Dry Rot unleash another eruption of fetid hardcore/punk bile that is as unsettling as it is compelling. Their best yet.-Mike Ramek

VIOLENT MINDS-WE ARE NOTHING (Deranged Records, http://www.derangedrecords.com/) The cumulative effects of time, intermittant lineup changes, and periods of inactivity have had less effect than one might think on the caustic assault wielded by the Violent Minds. Throughout the band’s on-again off-again tenure, there has been a degree of consistency and continuity readily apparent throughout their ever growing repertoire.

While “We Are Nothing”, the sophomore LP from the newly revamped Violent Minds, is a less involved undertaking than its predecessor (reviewed below), it does manage to pack a considerable wallop. The same brute stomp and slash HC assails the senses on these eight songs, equal parts NA-prone fracas and anthemic warcry ,with some thrashier tendencies scattered about. Songs like the jarring opener “Total Control”, “We Are Nothing”, and “Scared Of Life” are as incensed and crushing and as anything in the band’s catalog.

The release of “We Are Nothing” hot on the heels of the long-overdue “Eyes of Death” LP, however, renders this  chapter in the VM legacy somewhat anticlimactic. Placed within the larger context of their musical development thus far, these latest recordings could be mistaken as an afterthought of sorts, at times sounding like a rough series of outtakes from an earlier session rather than an elaboration upon, and furtherance of, past growth. The band has always championed a stripped down sonic assault, but there is an almost slipshod quality to the garage-y sonics, meager production and loose, jittery  eruptions on this record that, at intervals, evoke hints of the unfinished-as if these were demo recordings of songs yet to be fully fleshed out.

The ingredients for an above par hc melee are here, but the musicianship and overall tone on “We Are Nothing” is delivered with less force, complexity, and impact than before. Still, the visceral bite remains intact.-Mike Ramek