Grab Bag: Things We Missed
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In Monday’s Upcoming Metal Releases, we asked you for the bands flying under everyone’s radar. You came, you posted. But it didn’t seem right to dump these slighted metallers and punkers back into the next Things We Missed section. If you felt strongly enough to show them off, they deserved their fair share of shine. So here are the results collected grab bag style along with a selection of my own.
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Sangharsha – Bayou
On the one hand, you think you know what you’re getting with Sangharsha: New York-based, God City-engineered, sound compared to charred hardcore like Cursed. However, Sangharsha scream in Nepali, they’re not afraid of Corrupted-esque melodic stretches, and, jeeze, will you just listen already? Hear that? Bet you didn’t think you’d hear that. Opener “Dharaap” slows down the evilest Integrity riff and builds tons of tension before releasing it with a chorus utilizing an Unbroken sort of ‘tweener chord that slithers down your spine. The rest of the album stitches together all ends of the punk spectrum, unleashing torrents of sludgy core tumults and hooking you in with emotional appeals when you least expect it. Sangharsha were the epitome of a Things We Missed band: incredibly good, out of nowhere. Let’s make sure we never miss them again.
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Apocrophex – Wheels Within Wheels
Submitted by: PRC3PO
New Jersey’s Apocrophex speed along with the exacting technical precision of Origin. Stunning sweeps are matched by fleet-footed blasts. The surprise? The instruments are handled by one guy. Whatever damage Justin Buell inflicted upon his social life to spend weekends learning his craft is for our benefit. His death metal gymnastics might cause your first case of eyebrow cramps. But there’s more here than wild widdling: the songs are draped in an appealing spaciness, streaks of dissonance hint at deeper dimensions, and leads resolve with the smarts of a true songwriter. Throw in Pete Colucci’s gonzo gutturals, and you have a duo to keep an eye on.
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Crib45 – Marching Through The Borderlines
Submitted by: Matt
According to Encyclopaedia Metallum, three members of the Crib45 septet’s duties are “unknown.” A band with the hierarchy of a government agency? That’s novel. Joke aside, these Finns have done something novel: they’ve put together an interesting post-metal record in 2014. How? Well, Crib45 aim to give their riffs more immediacy than the typical ‘experimental’ sludgester. They also focus on amassing immersive clouds of tones saturated with atmosphere, knowing that hearing a lone guitar ring out isn’t very compelling. Marching Through the Borderlines is rather Floydian in that respect, with the band coloring in their tunes with psych-tinged, jazzy timbres. Other groups will pretend to drop tabs and play that card in PR memos. Crib45 actually have a Dark Side.
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Radiation Blackbody – Falling to Death Through Time and Space
Submitted by: kraigoftheflesh
Radiation Blackbody take the bass/drum duo and turn it dark. Falling to Death Through Time and Space is like the brains of early Nomeansno rotting from radiation poisoning, leaving them detached from reality and unable to shout about it. These songs are as technically sound as that comparison suggests, which makes sense: Radiation Blackbody have a better CV than most, with connections to Defeatist and Anodyne. But Falling to Death also careens into unexpected crevices like unmoored outsider art. It dances on the fringe of death, exploring the terrifying nothingness of nonexistence. And you’ll nod your head to the sweet grooves.
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Secret Cutter – Self Titled
Submitted by: Beardsly
Good lord. Secret Cutter are the band Billy Anderson would listen to if he was having the worst day of his life. These Pennsylvanians dole out audio punishment like a sadistic Oprah: You get a punch in the face! And you get a punch in the face! And you. . . Self Titled defies categorization by acting as a round-up of heavy albums’ heavy parts. Sludgy, thrashy, grindy; doesn’t matter. As long as it’s bruising, it’ll make the cut. And the singer has a particularly cutting scream, like Chris Spencer stuck in a bear trap. His howls lacerate your ears. The guitar amplifies the intensity. If you turn Self Titled up loud enough, the drums might stop your heart. Self Titled isn’t an all-of-the-time record, but there are certainly times when its style of crushing catharsis is warranted. Here’s a new go-to for your bad days.
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