Labels: Southern Lord
Review by: Alex Deller
A new low in the band name stakes. I mean, c’mon, ‘Balaclava’ might have some scary terrorism connotations, but in the winterwear stakes it’s only marginally cooler than calling your band ‘bobble hat’.
Digressions, aside Balaclava play, like many other bands Southern Lord has bestowed patronage upon of late, gnarled, vaguely melodic, crusty hardcore that basically cobbles lumps of Trap Them, Cursed and His Hero Is Gone together Herbert West-style and holds the tattered results – usually smelly, monochromatic and crow-emblazoned – up to the world like it’s a discovery on par with the Dead Sea Scrolls. Snooty cunt I may be, but, shit, HHIG perfected this sound in 1997 and no-one’s really come close since, and while epic cuts like ‘This City’ or ‘A Prophecy’ offer up some variation that’s only because (a) they’re four minutes longer than everything else and (b) the former jocks Neurosis slightly more than the bands already mentioned and the latter dabbles in some spacier vibes and has a jaunty Kyuss riff bolted onto it.
What this means, in case you hadn’t figured it out already, is that while this is typically loud and typically serviceable, the fact that it’s typically fucking typical just about makes me pop a fuse and doesn’t exactly make me think I’ll need to listen to it ever, ever again.