Labels: Bermuda Mohawk
Review by: Joe Callaghan
Cast your mind back to the early 00’s. Even the most preposterous of face-painted nu-metal clans had that part which divided up the nonsensical village-pillaging guitar chugs. You know, that wimpy sounding sing-along chorus, harmonised by a choir of pre-pubescent children? This record sounds like that entire chorus, but there’s about 40 minutes of it, and absolutely no children whatsoever. The whole article is overflowing with teenage angst spewed from the mouths of fully grown men, with inexcusably derisory metaphors about life being a noose, and being deafened by silence, not too dissimilar to other contemporary insincere radio-rock tripe like Rise Against, Story of the Year, or something equally earth shattering. But that’s okay – The last Victory Records Mail-out said that it’s okay to be sentimental and mushy in your songs because you can retain full masculinity points by chucking in some major-key Iron Maiden guitar harmonies and putting on a bandanna. So, here it is. 11 jams about life being pretty tough, girls not being very nice, the sound of nothing at all being very loud, having to tidy your bedroom and pulling a plaster off a boo-boo. Just when things get a little bit too wet, the sleeves are dismantled from the torso of your denim jacket as a sleaze-metal lick underlines the ceiling smashing chorus. Bodacious.